Straight Jacket Novels & Stories

Josh tells me. “It’s a shawl, not a jacket,” I correct him, making him roll my eyes at me. “Wear anything that keeps you warm,” he tells me, making me giggle. “How did you even see that as a jacket? It’s too thin to be a jacket,” I argue, still laughing a little. I wrap my black shawl around me as we both make our way to his car.

The fabric drapes gracefully, ensuring ease of movement and a professional appearance. Underneath the jacket, a crisp white blouse with a modest neckline adds a classic contrast, completing the ensemble with timeless sophistication. “How did you know that I love such attire?” “Stella helped me.” I’m taken aback by how well he knows my style. When I express my amazement, he sheepishly admits he had help from Stella. Her touch is evident in the perfect blend of sophistication and charm.

"Just for your information, you don't need a jacket. It burns here in summer." Matsyaa looked up at him and then down on her, "Oh, this! It's not a jacket. It's blouson." "A what?" Prem knitted his eyebrows and she explained, "A blouson. Um, a shrug. Like an overthrow? And, don't worry, it's made up of high-end cotton. It's very comfortable."

She told me she wears it to funerals, but whatever…it works for the occasion – a charcoal gray pinstripe suit. The jacket is a single-breasted blazer with a notch lapel, and the matching slacks are straight leg. I pair the suit with a light, cream-colored blouse featuring a soft, tied bow, creating a modest cowl neckline. I knock on the door, and the chairman of the council, Elder Elias, opens it to let me in. My eyebrows nearly touch my hairline as my eyes widen when I walk in. I’m not sure what I expected, but the warm, gothic tone wasn’t quite it.

Suits in shades of black, navy, and charcoal lined one side, each one perfectly tailored. I ran my fingers over the fabric of a charcoal-gray suit jacket. It felt like liquid under my skin, softer than anything I’d ever touched. The label read: Kiton. I pulled another out. Cesare Attolini. Stefano Ricci. Each piece spoke of exclusivity and luxury.

He said wrapping his hand around mine. "You're hungry?!" I yelled pulling him back. "Why didn't you tell me?! We can get the jacket later. Let's go and eat lunch!" "Should we?" "Hn." "I have the perfect jacket for you, Mr. Black." Someone said suddenly and we turned around to face the Manager of the Store. "This jacket just arrived now. It was made by Florence. It's from France." "Do you like it?" I looked at the jacket in her hand. The jacket was light grey in color and I fell in love with it instantly.

Chapter 63 Day one, and I could barely breathe. "Do I really need to wear this?" I brushed off invisible dirt from the outfit that looked somewhat close to a swimsuit, and as though it wasn't bad enough, it was tighter and clutched against my chest. "It's a compression jacket. It'll help you a lot more than you think," Clawface said into the open. We were in the middle of a clearing. An orange tree stood behind me, and I rested my back against it, arms wrapped around myself as I paid attention to the rest of Clawface's lecture.

There he was—Ronan. He leaned casually against the front entrance, an embodiment of danger draped in sleek sophistication. Clad in his signature dark attire, he exuded an aura that was impossible to ignore. The fitted black shirt clung to his broad chest, outlining muscles honed to perfection, while tailored slacks accentuated the powerful lines of his frame. The jacket that hung effortlessly from his shoulders was more than just an article of clothing—it was a declaration of his authority, a shield that didn’t soften his menacing presence.

XERXES I shifted in my seat, suppressing a groan as my fingers drummed against the polished arm of the chair. Gold embroidery gleamed on the sleeves of my ceremonial jacket, catching the dim candlelight, while the heavy, royal-blue fabric weighed on my shoulders like a boulder. This suit was made to command attention, crafted from the finest velvet and adorned with intricate golden designs that reflected my family’s standing. But right now, it felt like a straitjacket.

I stood from my seat, speaking to no one in particular as I straightened my black jacket. The jacket itself was another annoyance. It was itchy and uncomfortable, suffocating, unlike my fighting leathers. The gold embellishments were also tacky. Everything about this was restricting. But in a world of royals, you dressed nice, smiled when necessary and only showed the people what they wanted to see.