Booktok Chair Novels & Stories

She wasn't certain of what else could help her than to finally speak to Theo. Seconds tick too slow, and her eyelids are getting heavy, indicating signs of a feeble state of her health. Tiya Lucia grabbed her 2-year-old chair, which she personally paid for a customized design. The chair was wrapped in vintage style fabric. The color was her favorite, burnt sienna, with silver traces of triangle patterns. It had a resting back with a length above her head. The chair had only one resting arm, like the one on the school. The desk was thick like it had a secret vault inside.

There was a magazine rack in the West Village townhouse. It stood in the corner of the living room beside the reading chair that was Alexander's — the one he'd had since the penthouse, the only piece of furniture from the penthouse that had made the move in its identical form, because some chairs were simply the right chair and you did not replace them. The chair had been with him through the penthouse years, through the Dom years before that, through the long stretch of his life when the chair had been the only thing in his apartment that wasn't strictly functional. It was leather, worn in the specific places where his body had worn it, the arms softened by years of elbows, the seat cushion

Sade said, holding up a hand. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “What the hell is that?” she asked, pointing to a very unique accent chair I had picked out. “It’s a chair,” I answered. “I don’t know if it’s really made for sitting, but it looked cool—different.” Khloe was standing with her arms folded across her chest, giving me a look that said she had told me so. “That looks like something out of a medieval dungeon slash torture chamber,” Sade said, staring at the chair as if it would attack. “It’s hideous and alarming in general.”

She slowly edged her way around it, and then dropped into the plush office chair with a sigh. So comfortable. So tempting. She almost wished she could fall asleep here. Jia let her body slump in the chair to test exactly how much she sank into the cushioning, which turned out to be to a considerable depth. Well, she thought as she fought her way back out, she was not going to do that again. The leather squeaked and whined until she struggled back onto her feet, and she turned around to look askance at the Satan Chair that threatened to suck the soul out of her. Nope, she thought. She rolled the chair back with a push and eased her way back around the desk again.

The room was big, with high ceilings and large windows that let in streams of pale light. Two men were standing close to a man seated on a chair that looked like an olden days throne chair. It was made of mahogany, with armrests shaped like a wolf’s head. “Who still uses this sort of chair?” I scoffed silently to my wolf. One of the men standing, I recognised as the Beta from last night and the other looking stern at me. The man sitting on the throne chair, I knew was the Alpha with the aura radiating from him. They all raised their heads up to look at me, that’s when I felt it, a spark igniting within me, spreading like wildfire through my veins.

Peeking around the room, I ensure no one is in sight. Climbing onto the chair next to the bookshelf, I run my fingers along the spines of the books. Jessica told me that it would be the one with no writing. Finally, I find it. An old tattered book that has clearly been looked through a thousand times. Standing on my tiptoes, I carefully pull the book off the shelf and slide down onto the chair.

She swallowed it down like medicine and crossed the table before taking the opposite seat. The chair was reinforced to hold her giant stature better. Thick, reinforced legs. Broader back. Special joints that should hold her weight. Should. It was still small, however. And still creaked under her weight with a long, wooden groan that broke the silence like a reluctant sigh.