Booktok Chair Novels & Stories

I lift my head up to see if anyone was staring at me , luckily there were none – very few people actually come to the library these days. My eyes catch the attention of an old arm chair that sits a meter or two away from me. It looks worn out yet oddly comfy – like the chair our grandparents would use , where it does not look like much it’s unimaginably comfortable. My eyes travel to the base of the chair and I notice that a thick book lays underneath one of it’s legs. It provides support to the worn of chair .

Lila asked him, finally turning around, his entire body moving all at once. “No. Did you buy that fucking spinny chair?” Kai demanded, as soon as he got to the counter and looked over the side. “Yes! Happy birthday!” Lila cheered, jumping off of her newly placed seat. The swivel chair that had finally arrived that afternoon and had a giant picture of Batman’s face on the seat. The metal central support of it was covered in Marvel stickers, with the base of the chair having the Avengers printed all around it.

Luna Tamika sat there. There are 2 comfy, thick leather chairs in front of the desk. On the left side of the office were a wide, floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and a zero-gravity chair where Toya sat on the phone. She was typing something on her laptop, which was on a little table next to her. I walked past her to go back to sit on the sofa. And she dramatically rolls her eyes at the phone while still talking. I stifle a giggle. There's also a door with gold lettering labeled 'Alphas Office' in between the bookshelf and the sofa I'm sitting on. Lastly, there is a recliner that matches the sofa I am on and a glass coffee table. A tiger lily and a calathea plant are on the table. I see she really

Stay to myself, don't do or say anything offensive and remain upright. Just. Keep. Moving. My new mantra. I was guided forward, my clunky shoes soundless on the stone floor, every step heavier than the last. But I made it to my seat without a problem-no tripping, no challenges. Wicked. The chair was massive, some kind of carved black wood with huge arm rests making me shudder to touch them. They literally looked like arms, skeletal, ending in grasping claws cupped upward. I refused to turn around and see what was carved into the top of the chair, knowing it would likely give me nightmares later and praying quietly the seat was really wood and I wasn't sitting on what remained of someone.

Look. Everett pulled a chair over and sat down next to me. He reached towards my laptop, making my stomach flip and heart race faster, and he picked up a book next to it, ‘Hmm… “The Alpha’s Roar”?’ he read the title of one of the children’s books and chuckled, ‘Why are you looking at books for children?’

DAMIEN'S POV Saturday we found the chairs,not at the first place or the second. The third shop, a small furniture store on Clement that Elara had read about but never visited, run by a man in his sixties who made pieces to order and kept a small selection of finished work on the floor. The chairs were near the back. Two of them, slightly different from each other in the way handmade things were, the same design executed twice with natural variation. Deep seats, wide arms, fabric the color of dark moss that looked like it had already been lived in.

On a ninety-degree angle from it, there was a tabletop in black marble, held up at the other end by a sphere of brass. On the inner wall, there were two black leather couches and two armchairs. Under the coffee table that stood between the couches, there was what looked like a delightfully soft, creme-coloured rug. On the wall next to the door there was a bookcase with a built-in bar and on the other side of it, another door. “Have a seat,” Bane told Emma and made a gesture towards the couches. Emma reluctantly walked over to them. She sat on an armchair. She hoped that the engulfing fatigue she felt wouldn’t win and make her drift off in the incredibly comfortable armchair.

He sat and he looked at the room. Two people at tables. One with a laptop. One with a book — the actual physical book, the open spine resting at the reading angle, the person's head bent at the concentration. A child in the corner, age perhaps seven, reading what appeared to be a graphic novel, the images large and the text secondary, the child absorbed in the same quality of sustained reading that the fourteen-degree chair had been specified to enable. He looked at the child.

His chest rose and fell quickly, and his boots echoed sharply against the polished floor. As expected, Zane didn’t flinch. He sat behind a massive black oak desk, comfortably nestled in a deep leather chair that looked like a throne. The room smelled of smoke and expensive cologne. The walls were lined with dark shelves filled with books, trophies, and a few framed photographs that seemed too perfect to be real. One side of the room had tall glass windows, the curtains half drawn. Heavy shadows danced along the walls.