#wool plaid wing chairs

[iuberlove]

Family Room - Open Inspiration for a sizable, traditional, open-concept family room remodel with a light wood floor, beige walls, a regular fireplace, a stone fireplace, and a hidden television

[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

mystic meadow and the sweet spot

pairing: harry styles x reader (farmers market au)

warnings: anxiety, awkwardness, shy!baker!harry, fluff, smut, unprotected sex, cockwarming

word count: 6.8k

synopsis: harry hates working the farmers markets, but the girl in the kombucha booth is cute

author’s note: hope you enjoy! xx all the love

masterlist

—

Harry used to hate working the farmer’s markets; there was so many people, so many awkward encounters, and so many stupid questions. The heat of the midsummer didn’t help either. He hated having to set the booth up and take it down, with the help of nothing more than an inadequate coworker, who spends most of his time on his phone or flirting with the other vendors. He hated working the markets, which is why he honestly contemplated quitting when his boss told him that he was scheduled to work the new rounds of the summer circuit, but the pay was double what he was normally making, in addition to mileage compensation.

It’s been a couple weeks since the market season began; every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, he has to set up his booth, put on a fake smile, try to sell as much as he can, and take the booth down, only to start it all again the next day in a different location. It’s exhausting, draining.

Today isn’t as bad as others. Cas, his poor excuse of a coworker, hadn’t even bothered showing up, but other than that, Harry hasn’t had any rude customers, and Andy, the guy who owns the spirits booth, gave him a couple bottles for cheap. By the end of the day, he sold most of the product, with only a few pastries and macarons to save for tomorrow, which will be handed out as samples.

He’s nearly all packed up when a girl meanders over near his booth. A loose yellow tee hangs off her shoulder with pale pink lace peeking out from the top of her chest, and she offers Artemis, the elderly woman who works the soap booth next to him, a soft grin. They make eye contact, and she gives him a warm smile. Thinking she’s a straggler who doesn’t know the market is closed, he offers her a tight smile while not-so-subtly boxing up the remainder of baked goods.

“Hmm, macarons,” the girl mumbles, fingering at the blue and white plaid tablecloth. “Any good?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says softly. He has never been really good when it comes to small talk, which is one reason why he probably isn’t able to have any lasting relationships; he barely had any acquaintances, let alone meaningful friendships. He scratches the back of his head, beneath a wool beanie he apparently had to wear, even though it’s been burning hot all day. Sweat seeps into his hair, threatening to drip down his neck. She nibbles on the inside of her cheek. He slides the tray of eclairs onto the side table, wrapping it with a healthy amount of plastic wrap before placing it in the insulated tote.

“And you’re not just obligated to say that since I’m a potential customer,” she smirks.

“Would never lie to such a pretty girl,” he says, smiling. He honestly can’t believe that those words actually came out of his mouth. A blush makes its way from his neck, to his cheeks, to the tips of his ears, and he prays that she can’t see it. The sun is setting; dull oranges and pinks peek over the tops of trees and wrap around her like wings, bright and comforting. He wipes his forehead, trying to conceal his blush from her. Just by looking at her, he’s sure that she wouldn’t even bat an eye at the rosy flush to his skin, but his stomach still balls up.

“Smooth,” she says. “You come here often?” Regret passes over her features as soon as she asks that, brows furrowing and head shaking. “Sorry, that sounded stupid. I just haven’t seen you. It’s normally Ryan or Cas,” she explains. She starts folding the tablecloth when Harry packs the final trays of pastries away.

“Well, Cas didn’t even show up today.” Harry can’t help the bitterness that seeps into his voice. He doesn’t mean to dump all of his anger on this poor girl, but she’s looking at him with such understanding eyes, it’s hard not to completely break and rant about everything that’s been building up. She hands the cloth to him, which he takes with an appreciative nod. “But, yeah, ‘ve been workin’ this fo’ a couple of weeks,” he says. Feeling like he’s being a little too standoffish, he offers her a smile, nudging the tray that caught her eye toward her. “You like macarons?”

It takes a bit for her to answer, and she bites at her lip, fingers wringing together. The skin of her palms are stained a pinkish-purple.

“Yeah,” she says. “They’re my favorite.”

“Here,” he says, scrambling to get a box. He digs into the tote, easily ripping into the plastic wrap. “Take some. Better you than me. ’Ve had enough sweets to last me the rest of my life.”

“Thanks.” She takes the box of pistachio-honey, raspberry-basil, and orange cream. “Pretty,” she says, fiddling with the gold ribbon he tied around it and already picking at the label. She lingers for a little bit, like she’s waiting to find something else to talk about, fingers tapping nervously on the table top. “I, uh,” she stutters, gesturing toward the booth across the way from his and a little to the right, “work the kombucha stand over there.”

It’s a large booth with large, draping black curtains shifting. If the wind catches it just right, he can see streams of warm colors painted on them, layered and bold. Two men are taking down a large banner that says ‘Mystic Meadow Kombucha’ with the outline of a bull’s skull beneath it, wildflowers winding around it. It seems to be more extravagant than Harry’s setup, with 3 large kegs in the front, decorated with fake vines and flowers.

“D’ya paint?” He asks suddenly, gesturing toward her hands.

“I do, but these are from some beets. We were testing new flavors, and I, well—” She bares her hands, laughing lighty, “I wasn’t careful enough.”

“I see.”

“So, I’ll see you around,” she says after a minute, offering him a shy smile. Before she walks away, she raises the box of sweets with gratitude. “Thanks, again.”

“See ya,” he says, eyes lingering on her, watching her skip back toward her booth. One of the men looks at Harry and smirks, nodding knowingly. The rest of the night, he finds his gaze wandering back over to her booth. A couple of times, she catches his eye, and when they leave, in an old van with a flaking paint job that wobbles over every bump in the road, she waves at him.

It’s ten at night before he gets back to the bakery, the sun long gone, but the dry heat still hangs heavy in the air. Marty, the owner, is still in the office counting the money for the night that she probably wasn't able to get to earlier. It’s a fairly small operation, with only two baristas, two managers, Marty and Ryan, and two bakers, himself and Cas, who probably won’t have a job after today’s no-call-no-show. Harry leans against the doorframe, handing her the bank pouch.

“‘M headed out,” he says. “See ya tomorrow.”

“How was it?” She asks before he can leave. He turns around.

“Wha’?”

“The market,” Marty supplies. “Is it still as bad as you thought?”

“Today was better than others,” he says vaguely, his mind wandering to the girl at the kombucha stand. A smile plays on his lips. Marty cocks a brow, leaning back in her chair.

“So you wouldn’t mind working next week?”

“Nah,” he says, “Tha’s fine.”

That night, he dreams of a girl, with pretty eyes, a yellow t-shirt, and stained hands.

In the weeks following their first encounter, Harry takes the time to visit the kombucha girl before the market opens, and at the end of the night, she stops by to get a box of leftover baked goods. He’s learned a lot of things over the past few weeks: her name is Y/N, she’s the daughter of the owners of Mystic Meadow, her main jobs being selling at local markets and businesses and coming up with the different flavors, she’s working on her bachelor’s degree, she’s single (Harry found it difficult to contain his joy when she told him that), and she’s an all-around sweet girl, who’s wonderful with people.

Harry also found out that he hates kombucha.

But that doesn’t stop him from getting one every time he stops by. It’s normally before the market is actually open to the public. She just gets so excited whenever he tries a cup of the newest flavor, normally an odd mixture of spices or herbs with vinegar and a fermented fruit flavor—it’s not even good fermentation, like with alcohol— it tastes absolutely horrid, but Y/N looks at him with such hopeful eyes the first time he has a sip; he couldn’t bear seeing the disappointed look in her eyes, so he accepts the little plastic cup from her, nodding thankfully, and takes it back to his booth, where it will sit for the remainder of the night, untouched and dripping with sweat, leaving faint rings on the tablecloth.

“I brought you something,” she says to him one afternoon.

It’s early August, the sun at its peak, beating down on his black tee; he really needs to learn how to dress for such heat.

“Yeah?”

She lugs a black glass bottle from the cooler in the far corner of the booth, hidden behind the wooden chair for her. Her smile stretches from ear to ear; it’s hard to contain his own, but why would he want to? When you’re in the presence of beaming sunlight, you shouldn’t shy away, rather, embracing it because you never know how long it’s going to last. Her finger is hooked in the small hole near the top, and she slams it down on the table, the decorated glass jar filled with inspirational quotes and stickers with the Mystic Meadow logo on them nearly toppling over. He clumsily grapples for it before everything falls.

“Sorry,” she laughs, rubbing the sweat that has already formed on the bottle. She holds it out for him to take. “It’s a growler of the pear and pink peppercorn,” she says, smiling. He takes it gingerly from her hands, turning it over and feeling the weight.

“Wha’?”

“You said it was your favorite,” she says, her grin falling slightly. His heart stops for a second. Guilt floods him as he smiles widely, dimples settling deep in his cheeks.

“Ah, yes,” he says. “Thank you.”

It’s quiet after that. Neither of them, he’s noticed, are very good at making conversation. Y/N is normally the one to initiate the pleasantries, but it still takes a little bit before they can actually get into a deep conversation. Sure, when they finally find a subject that the both of them are passionate about, they can talk for hours, like her paintings or his music, but the starting off is always difficult. Granted, that’s not abnormal for Harry; he’s never been much of a talker. He can fake it if he has to, but he’s a bit of a blundering idiot sometimes, and he’s learned that the less he speaks, the less likely he is to embarrass himself—especially when he’s around Y/N.

He’s been trying to find the courage to ask her out on a date for the past few weeks, hell, ever since the day they met, but of course: he hasn’t. Granted, he’s never had much luck in the dating scene, probably because he can’t flirt for the life of him. There are some times where something charming comes out randomly, but it’s soon followed by an uncomfortable silence, and he gets embarrassed.

He just needs to go for it. He knows that. He tells himself that every time he misses his chance, when he waits too long, and the window of opportunity is slammed in his face. Y/N is a wonderful match for him, and she’s too sweet to completely laugh in his face or flat out reject him.

But it’s still scary. His heart is in his throat, and his palms are sweaty. He wipes them on his jeans, noticing the slight tremor. He tucks them in the pockets of his jeans (yet another terrible clothing choice for such a hot day).

He just needs to do it, rip it off like a band-aid.

“Was wondering,” he blurts out, shifting nervously on his feet. “Do you have plans on Saturday?”

“No, do you have something in mind?” She looks at him with hopeful eyes, and he melts. He wishes he could be as comfortable as Y/N, to not be constantly worried about the approval and validation of the people around him. He wonders what it’s like to wear his heart out on his sleeve.

He wishes he could live like that.

“Uh, I have work,” he says, “but after, maybe, we could get dinner?”

“Sounds like a date.”

—

The Sweet Spot Bakery and Cafe is a cute little shop on a corner in downtown, ironically next to a nutrition store. A blue neon sign shaped like a mug flashes in the corner of Y/N’s eye. Rain pounds onto the red and gold striped awning, dripping onto the flooded concrete. There’s cute flower boxes beneath the windows, but the flowers look sad and droopy, the dirt splattering out with every powerful raindrop. Antique metal tables are stacked in the far corner, out of the rain. Y/N shakes off her umbrella.

A sweet chime sounds when she pulls open the door. Inside, the scent of coffee and sugar fill her senses. There is just something so comfortable about being in a bakery or even a cafe that always reminds her of warmth, of intimacy, of home. The shop is fairly empty, with an older man reading in one of the corners, snug in a velvet chair, and a couple quietly chatting on the other side, hidden behind a hanging plant, their legs crossed over each others’ on a leather stool.

An older woman greets her from behind the counter, obscured by a gold espresso machine. She’s short with graying black hair, brown eyes peeking behind horned glasses. Her red painted lips stretch into a smile.

“How can I help you, sweetheart?”

“Hi, is Harry here?”

As if he could hear her, Harry stumbles out from the back, the door swinging idly behind him. Flour coats his arms to his elbows, with a few stripes on his nose and forehead. The green bandana struggles to hold back his hair, curls slipping onto his forehead.

“Y/N,” he breathes out. He wipes his hands on the apron, a cloud of white billowing out. He coughs. He shoos the woman away and leans against the counter, his features impassive. To the untrained eye, he looks normal, fine, calm, even, but Y/N has learned how to read him; from the faint blush on his cheeks to the look in his eyes, which are unable to meet hers. He looks anxious, more so than usual, and there’s a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“Sorry, I forgo’ to tell ya, but I’m scheduled to close tonight.”

“That’s fine.” She tries to hide the disappointment in her voice. “We can do this some other time, then.”

“I can take my break in a bit. Marty doesn’ really mind how long it takes. D'ya wanna sit? Be out in a minute,” he says quickly.

“Sure,” she says, nodding. She opts for the corner booth, away from the other customers. Harry comes out from behind the counter only a moment later, like he promised, clean with a large white mug clutched in one shaky hand and a white box, wrapped in a pretty gold bow, in the other.

“Here ya go,” he says, sliding a large mug toward her. Foam sloshes over the edges and onto the table, wetting the napkin under the cup as well as her hand. He curses under his breath, grappling for the napkin dispenser. A poorly shaped face made with cinnamon smiles up at her, and she wants to aw at the sight, her lips pouting.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, wiping her hand with a stale paper napkin.

“It’s fine, H,” she whispers, placing her hand on his.

He doesn’t really know why he’s so nervous (more nervous than usual). It’s not like this is his first time meeting her; they’re comfortable with each other, and they joke around, and he also knows that she’s interested because of how understanding she was when he told her that his shift changed, or maybe that is a sign that she’s not interested.

He really needs to stop overthinking these things.

He’s a grown man. He should be able to talk with her without his hands clamming up or his heart beating out of his chest. Maybe it’s the pressure of it being defined as a “date” that makes it even worse. He just hopes that he doesn’t psych himself out.

“Thank you.” She grins.

“No problem. Remembered that ya told me once that you liked honey and cinnamon.”

Her heart swells at his words. Even though Harry puts on an uneasy exterior, he’s very attentive and loving. None of her exes would have remembered how she took her coffee after she mentioned it once.

“Sorry,” he says again suddenly, looking at the sad excuse of a smiley face on her drink. “Don’ normally work the front unless it’s too busy.”

“You should. Such a pretty face, I can’t keep it all to myself.” She pinches his cheek, and he shys away, swatting at her hand playfully. He nudges the box toward her.

“Macarons. Your favorite,” he says, and she nudges it to the side, taking a large gulp of the coffee.

“How’s it been today?” She asks, rubbing some of the foam off with her thumb.

“Slow,” he admits, breathing out shakily. His feet tap nervously on the floor, tapping back and forth, from heel to toe.

“Hey, it’s just me,” she says, placing a gentle hand on his. “No need to be nervous.”

“Right,” he says, nodding. “I jus’ feel like I should apologize again. I should’ve said something to you about my shift change.”

“It’s no problem, Harry,” she reassures him.

“I just got promoted. Marty needs help with orders and stuff, so I’ll be the bakery manager, now. She wanted me to close as a part of my training.”

“That’s great,” she smiles, lacing their fingers. He stares at them, his thumb tracing over her knuckles gently. Her skin is calloused and warm. He tugs her hand up to his lips, and she gives him a shy smile.

“You’ll still be working the markets, right?”

“Ya can’t get rid o’ me tha’ easily, lovie,” he smirks.

“Good.”

They talk for a good ten minutes, but the conversation is no deeper than the short interactions they normally have at the markets.

Harry wishes that wasn’t the case.

“Harry,” Marty calls from behind the counter, interrupting them. “A timer’s going off. What’s it for?”

“Oh, um—” He stands up, looking at Y/N with apologetic eyes. “I promise I’ll make it up to ya. Tomorrow?”

“Sure,” she says, downing the last of her drink and gathering her things.

“Brunch? I’ll text ya?”

“Harry,” Y/N calls out after he slips behind the counter.

“Yeah?”

She presses a quick kiss to his cheek, not missing the red forming on his neck.

“See you tomorrow.”

She gives him a wink before leaving. Harry stands, stunned in silence, his fingers tracing the warmth lingering from her lips.

“Whipped,” Marty mutters, a soft smirk toying on her lips.

“Shut up,” he scoffs.

“I’m not judging. It’s cute, H.”

“I don’ need this, ‘kay?”

She throws a wet towel at him, catching his leg before the door to the back closes.

—

As promised, they had Sunday brunch, with bottomless mimosas and American biscuits, something he still isn’t used to, with jam and poached eggs. Y/N, who is a lot bolder when she has some alcohol in her, chattered on and on about her friends, her parents, and her classes. College never seemed like an option for him. He always held the belief that in his career choices, a baker or a musician, he doesn’t need a degree; you either have it or you don’t type situations.

But Y/N, the smart little cookie, loves school. She talked about how she may get an education degree, but one is plenty of work right now. She commended those brave enough to be in a double major. She asked him about his family and his job, mostly; he would rather listen to her than talk, so he kept his answers short and sweet.

Afterward, they went to the park, cliche as it seems, because even though he’s lived in the area for nearly five years, he never took the time to stop by any of the parks, and Y/N took full opportunity of this: she gawked at him, pulled him out of his chair at the bistro, and slammed some cash onto the table. He tried to argue with her, that he should at least leave the tip, since he was at fault for their date yesterday not going to plan, but she wasn’t listening.

“I can’t believe you haven’t been to any of the parks,” she said, tugging him along the sidewalk. “There’s a nice one around here, only a ten minute walk. It has a pond and that cute little playground equipment—you know, the tiny slides with tiny stairs for the little kids. Do you remember those?” She stops. “Should we get bread to feed the ducks?” She shakes her head, answering her own question. “No, we can do it some other time.”

They spend the rest of the day by the pond, people watching, another one of Y/N favorite past times. After dinner, Harry didn’t get home until after sunset and went to bed with a smile on his face.

The next day, Harry spends two hours contemplating whether or not it was too early to send a good morning text. He nervously rolled around in his bed before he accidentally sent the message. She responded quickly after, and they talked for the entire day (seriously, he didn’t get up unless he absolutely had to).

Tuesday, market day, comes around quickly, and Harry gets there earlier than usual, not so subtly waiting for the Mystic Meadow van to chug through the grass lot, and when it does, his heart speeds up, but he doesn’t recognize the girl that hops out of the passenger side.

His mind runs amuck, as usual. Even though they talked nonstop the day before, he thinks that maybe she’s not here because she doesn’t want to run into him, that she was annoyed by him already, his wariness and nerves. His heart skips a beat at the thought. He tries to reassure himself that there are so many other possible explanations, but his anxiety wasn’t having it.

It takes him a while to gather the courage to go over to the booth, and he tries to act as inconspicuous as possible, pacing slowly in front of the other booths, organic fruit, soap, paintings, and jewelry, until he’s at Mystic Meadow. The chalkboard sign that usually says Y/N’s name in fancy lettering says, ‘Florence will be helping you today’ instead. A girl with very long, very bright hair turns toward him. Thick blue eyeliner outlines her eyes, and smattering of freckles enlivens her pale skin.

“Can I help you?”

“Where’s Y/N?”

She looks taken aback by the question.

“Sick,” she answers slowly, brows furrowed.

“Oh,” he whispers. “‘M Harry,” he says. Her eyes widen suddenly, and she gives him a quick once over, leaning her hip against the table.

“You’re Harry?” She laughs. “We thought she was making you up.”

“Tha’s...” Harry doesn’t really know how to feel about that; it’s a cacophony of pride, excitement, and little anxiety. Pride for the fact that Y/N talked about him to her coworker (and potentially even more people, since Florence said “we”), excitement from the fact that Y/N seems very interested in him, and, of course, anxiety from this stranger's piercing gaze. He wonders what Y/N said about him; maybe she talked about how awkward he is or his gauky figure or his clumsiness—

“How sick is she?”

“Not too sick,” Florence says, winking.

“Oh, tha’s not—“

He hates the fact that he actually sounds disgusted, even though he honestly doesn’t mind the thought of it. Sure, Florence is right; he wouldn’t mind being with Y/N in that way, but that’s beside the point. They have only been out on two dates, and the first one was at his work, of all places, so he doesn’t really count that one. He wants to take their relationship slow.

“I’m messing with you,” Flo laughs, crossing her arms, “Although, it is nice to see a grown man blushing.”

“‘M not blushin’,” he says, wiping at his cheeks petulantly. “Uh, is Y/N alright? How sick—” He swallows thickly. His skin heats up even more, struggling to find his words. He’s trying to figure out how to ask where Y/N lives without sounding like a stalker. Maybe he should just ask Y/N himself.

“Where, um, does she—”

“Here,” she says, chuckling. She rips a piece of paper loose from under the register box and writes down an address with looping script.

“Thanks.” He leaves the booth with a quick nod, the paper clutched tightly in his sweating palm; hopefully, it doesn’t smudge the ink.

“Hey, Harry,” she calls out. He turns. “You’re a good guy. I’m glad she met you.”

If he wasn’t blushing before, he sure as hell is now.

—

Y/N looks worse for wear when she answers the door to her apartment, eyes tinted red with exhaustion, puffy and droopy, and she sniffles, a stuffy breath slipping through her lips. She’s wrapped up in a fluffy blanket. Her eyes widen, and she tries to hide slightly behind the door when she sees that it’s him.

“What are you doing here?” She squeaks.

His nerves spike again, worried he’s intruding or maybe it was too soon for him to start showing up at her house unannounced, when he’s never even been there before (he knew asking Florence for her address was a bad idea). They have only been on a couple of dates, and now, he probably ruined any chances he had with her by acting impulsively and like a total creep.

“I asked Florence,” he answers softly. “Said you were sick.” When tears fill her eyes, he’s sure she’s going to yell at him for disturbing her and tell him never to come again. He doesn’t think he’s ever regretted anything so much; his skin is hot, his racing heart sinking into his stomach. “‘M sorry. I jus’ thought, since you were sick, you may wan’ some company. I’ll leave, sorry, sorry—”

“No,” she says, grabbing onto his arm before he can leave. “I’m sorry for freaking you out, but…” Her throat closes, and she tries her hardest to not start ugly-crying, but with Harry standing on her front porch, visibly drained from work, arms full of grocery and pharmacy bags, makes it very hard not to break. It’s exhausting having to take care of yourself when you’re feeling ill, and with Harry simply there, and knowing that he was thinking about her, makes things so much easier.

“You’re so sweet, H,” she says, a tear slipping down her cheek.

“May I?”

“But—” She hesitates, nibbling at her lip. “I’m in my PJ's,” she says softly.

“And ‘m all sweaty from being in tha’ sun all day,” he smiles. He lets himself in, thick boots thundering on the hardwood. “I came straight from, but I did pick up some soup and Sprite and tea. Hope you have honey and lemon,” he rambles, tugging everything out from the bags.

“Wasn’t real sure what kind of sick ya were, so…” He scratches the back of his neck. “I got everythin’.” He gives her an awkward tight smile.

“Thank you,” she sighs, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her shirt. “Do you wanna shower? I’m sure I have some clothes that can fit you.” She guides him to the bathroom, laying some towels and clothes into his arms. “The shower head screams sometimes so don’t be worried. It normally stops if you wiggle it a bit.”

“Thanks,” he smiles. Her shower is filled with dozens of half-filled soap bottles decorated the shelves and the little basket hanging from the shower head. The hot water is nearly all gone by the time he decides to use the no-more-tears strawberry shampoo. Her towels are warm and soft, softer than he thinks he’s ever felt before, and they’re big enough to nearly swallow him whole.

He finds Y/N in the kitchen with a warped mug, seemingly handmade, filled with steaming tea. She stares at the cap of medicine on the counter, breathing heavily. He can see the confliction on her features, one moment she’s nearly convinced that she doesn’t need it, that her body can take care of it overnight, but she also knows that if she didn’t take it, she’ll be in for one hell of a terrible night; then she remembers how awful it tasted the last couple of times she’s had to take it.

Her nose scrunches when she finally decides to down it.

“Thanks for the tea,” she says, “I was just about to head to bed.”

“Oh, uh,” he says nervously. “I don’ want to impose. I’ll leave. I jus’ wanted to make sure ya had everything ya needed.”

A part of him wanted her to invite him to be with her; that part that is touch starved and eager to be near her again wants to toss any worries to the side.

“As long as you’re fine listening to my coughing all night, I’m fine with you staying the night.”

She listens to nature sounds to go to sleep.

How cute is that?

For the first couple minutes, they were ocean sounds, but she didn’t like the seagulls; she had him switch it to rain after a little bit. She looked a little embarrassed when she started playing them, but Harry listened to music in order to fall asleep, so it’s really no different. He never thought about listening to nature sounds, but it’s definitely something he could get used to.

It takes them a bit to finally get settled together. They start on their own sides of the bed. Not wanting to push his luck and make her feel uncomfortable, Harry stays on his side, trying not to hoard too much of the blankets, with a pillow hugged to his chest. She’s afraid that he won’t like her being so close to him, given her current state of health. They stare at the ceiling stubbornly, one occasionally glancing over to the other.

Soon, the night-time medicine kicks in, and Y/N throws caution to the wind.

“Fuck it,” she whispers, rolling onto her side, one arm nestling underneath him with the other prying between the pillow. “You okay with this?” She looks at him with pleading eyes, and he smiles.

How could he say no to her?

“Definitely.”

And so, she snuggles deeper into his chest, eyes growing heavy at the feeling of his fingers massaging her scalp, the scent of strawberry shampoo and Vix lulling the both of them to sleep.

—

Kissing her is something he doesn’t think he could ever get tired of. The feel of her soft lips over his, with tongue and teeth, aching and messy, is addicting. He never understood why people liked kissing so much; granted he’s only had five other ones to go off of, only two of them ever lead to a full-blown make out session on his bed, but still; how much fun could it be to practically suck another person’s face off?

But he severely underestimated the power of Y/N’s lips. The first time he felt them was a couple days after he spent the night with her when she was sick. It was a quick little peck he gave her when he dropped her off at her apartment, and ever since, he was hooked. It still completely baffles how much he aches for her lips when he can’t see her, and when he finally gets his fix, it feels perfect.

He finds himself craving the taste of her tongue.

How can someone’s mouth taste good?

It’s December, now, the market season long gone, and he and Y/N have been together for nearly five months. It’s more serious than any of his other relationships. Obviously, that’s not saying much since he hasn’t had many, but Harry slowly found himself opening up more toward her, which is more than any of his other ones.

He nips at the skin of her neck, tugging off her tee, and he finds the hickey he left a couple days ago, just below the collarbone, tongue pressing lightly on the tender skin. She whimpers.

“Fuck me, H,” she moans. She’s wearing a pink, lacy bra, the same one she was wearing the first day they met. He slips the straps over her shoulders, leaving a trail of kisses behind it. Her head lolls back against his, and his hand finds its way to her neck, caressing the warm skin. He can feel her heart rate pick up.

She slips her pajama pants and panties down, kicking them across the room. She slips further down the sheet, his hands firm on her hips. He tugs her frail bra up over her head. He fondles her breast for a bit before his lips trail down the valley, his warm mouth wrapping around her tender nipple, tongue soft against the pebbling skin. Y/N feels herself melt into him, skin sensitive to every teasing kiss he leaves down her body.

“Hey, babe?”

He rests his chin on her tummy, the thin hairs coating his jaw ticking her skin.

“Yeah?”

A sweet smile crosses her face at the chills that cover her skin when he speaks, lips so close to her skin, her pussy throbbing. Her thighs twitch. She runs her fingers through his hair, fingers smoothing the flyaways down. He kisses her bellybutton.

“I love you.”

He isn’t expecting that.

He chokes a little bit, his throat closing up on him.

“What?” He lifts himself up, crawling back up her body, and she cups his face. “Really?”

She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek.

She’s not afraid that he won’t say it back. Hell, there's a part of her that doesn’t even expect him to say it back. (There’s an even smaller part that thinks that he’s just going to leave, but she doesn’t want to think of that). She’s not afraid because she knows that she needs to be the one to reassure him, to love him, to coax him out of his shell, and she’s completely willing to do that, to put forth the time and effort, because she is wholeheartedly enamored with him.

She waits for him to process everything; she can see the confliction in his eyes. Ever the worrier, Harry is thinking of the negative outcomes that can come if he goes about this the wrong way, but he doesn’t dwell on them for too long. He thinks of the mornings that he woke up in her arms, the afternoons they spent in tje park, a new tradition for them, the evenings they spent in contemplative silence, where she would paint his profile and he would serenade her with another love song, and the nights they spent making love.

Loving her is probably the easiest decision he’s ever made.

“Love you too, babylove.”

Y/N lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, and she pulls his forehead onto hers.

He wants to thank her, for being patient, for being understanding, for loving him, for just being her, really. He doesn’t think she realizes how much of an impact she has on him.

She sits up and pushes him beneath her. He leans against the headboard. It’s cold against his hot skin, sweat slipping down the small of his back. They both struggle in pulling off his pants; he almost hits her in the head. She settles low on his thighs, straddling him, and her feet tuck beneath his calves. She spits on his cock, wetting the red tip, and strokes him slowly. He moans, pouting slightly.

“No teasin’.” He tugs her forward, until their chest to chest, his hands settling low on her hips, rocking her wet pussy back and forth over the length of his cock. Her clit rubs against the head, making her hips jolt within his grasp. He easily slips inside of her, his head knocking against the headboard. She teases him, still, just barely putting the head inside before pulling out slowly. It takes a couple more tries before she sinks fully onto him, a drawn out groan slipping past his lips. He pulls her back in for a kiss, fingers trailing along the curve of her spine.

“So deep,” she moans, her thighs twitching and quivering at his side. She caresses the skin of his belly, thumb teasing along the thin hairs.

“There ya go, baby,” he coos. “Takin’ me so well.” He sets his hand on her lower abdomen, feeling the little bump. “Can feel m’self,” he smiles. He waits for her to start moving. It takes a little longer than usual, probably from the lack of preparation, but she doesn’t let that stop her. She moves her hips back and forth, wiggling about to find that one special spot.

He thrusts himself into her, and she nearly collapses completely onto him, with a broken whine breaking from her chest. Hands gripping her fleshy ass, he moans against her neck. She tastes of sweat and cherries, addicting, and she grinds harder into him, hands gripping the headboard, which hits the wall with every move of her hips. The mattress creaks noisily beneath them, but they can barely hear it over the sound of each others’ moans of pleasure.

“Love you,” he says against her lips.

She breathes out her response, a pledge of her own love; it’s weak, but that’s no surprise, since she struggles for air when he bucks his hips, hitting the deepest part of her. The aching in her chest only adds to the pleasure, the burning fire in her stomach. Her arousal slips down to his thighs.

“‘M gonna come, babylove,” he whines, skimming his nose over hers. Her teeth nibbles his lips, riding him faster.

“Come in me, H, wanna feel you,” she says breathily. His arms quiver around her, squeezing her tight to him, his face digging into her neck. Her toes curl when he comes, his nails digging into her skin. She eases him through his high, cupping his cheeks and wiping the sweat from his forehead. She pulls his head to her chest, fingers carding through his curls; his heaving breaths leaves her skin wet. She moves up, whimpering softly, but he stops her, feeling some of his cum slip out onto his thighs.

“Hm, no, lovie,” he whines, wrapping an arm around her waist. He gently moves them onto their sides, while keeping his cock nestled deep inside her. “Wanna feel you.”

She loves being so close to him, warm and full. She’s never done this with anyone. It’s intimacy at its core, with Harry holding her so tightly against him. It nearly brings tears to her eyes. She’s so glad that she met Harry, so thankful that she took that leap of faith and talked to the cute guy at the baked goods booth, who had wise eyes and a nervous smile. She’s glad that she inched past that guarded exterior to find his soft, gooey middle. Harry kisses her forehead, shifting slightly, and her sensitive walls flutter around him.

“Feels good, baby,” she moans, rubbing along his waist.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah,” she says, still at a loss for breath, her fingers absently tracing over his inked skin. Goose pimples rise in their wake.

“I don’ like kombucha.”

“Good, ‘cause I don’t like macarons.”

—

[halothenthehorns]

Remus Involuntarily Cross-Dressing

An excerpt from my Marauders prequal, We Were-  Chapter 4: Reckless

"A really handsome troll?"

"No Sirius."

"Peter's long lost dad?"

"What does that have to do with his gigantic size?" Peter demanded.

"Clearly you need to brush up on your giants Pete," James snorted. "Hagrid's note even half the size of a full grown one."

"Maybe he's a werewolf," Sirius suddenly declared like he'd made the most brilliant of deductions.

Remus pounced on him. Even the first years didn't look up as the two went wrestling around the floor this time, Bobby Saigle stepping casually over them to get to the portrait hole.

Sirius stopped abruptly when Bless and Tegan walked in, straightening up to his feet and running his fingers through his hair, giving one last kick to Remus as he said smoothly, "evening ladies. Bless, just wanted to congratulate you again on that win, really something you were, I'd love you to show me those moves."

"Trying to take my spot on the team?" She challenged even as she smiled back at the flattery.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he promised, edging closer.

She knew exactly what that smile meant, but she side eyed James before going any farther and answering, "Would you perhaps like to sit with us at the match for Hufflepuff vs Ravenclaw next week? I can show you all kinds of moves by then."

Sirius knew exactly what had just happened, and he had no issues being used by her in the meantime until she realized it was never going to happen. "I'd love that."

Remus jabbed him in the back of the knee, but at least he waited until the two departed.

Sirius looked down liked he'd forgotten he was there. Then his smile brightened and Remus cringed into the carpet.

"You're coming to the match with us next weekend."

"Sirius," Remus whined. "Why me?"

"Because James is already pretending to like one girl and I don't want Atria to kill Peter," Sirius said like it was obvious. "Just talk to Tegan while Bless and I sneak under the stands, don't want to ditch the poor thing."

"Absolutely not," Remus stated in no uncertain terms, crossing his arms and clearly intending to stay right here for the next week just to prove his point. The plush carpet really was quite comfortable, he was mildly confident he could talk Peter into bringing him food and the majority of his homework, at least Kettleburn wouldn't dock him too much for missing that class, now he just had to figure out how to use the bathroom-

"Oh come on!" Sirius groaned, "I'm not even setting you up, I swear, just talk Quidditch with the girl for a few hours!"

"You're quite confident in yourself," James snorted.

"I'll not do it," Remus stated. He glanced uneasily around, finally lowering his voice to hiss, "not this weekend you idiot!"

It wasn't like Sirius had forgotten, but he still thought Remus could drag his butt from the hospital wing this one time! "I'll spring you from Madam Pomfrey, I thought you'd be thanking me."

"No. Absolutely not," Remus stated.

Sirius got a challenging gleam in his eye, but finally returned to his homework.

Remus gulped, but reached up to grab a pillow from the couch, not caring for the dirty look Veronica Fletch gave him as he dislodged her elbow from it as he sprawled out on the ground, now on eye level with Patricia Bishop for once.

It took him nothing to fall asleep, and especially the week preceding a full moon he was a very heavy sleeper. Still, even he would have thought he'd notice what Sirius had done to him when he woke up before the laughter caught his ears.

He'd been wrong, Sirius wasn't going to hold a grudge next week when he didn't do it. He was preemptively getting revenge now.

"That's a nice color on you mate," Peter told him, leaning over the couch with tears running down his face.

The dress was not a good color on him, he looked more like he was wearing bits of elephant skin. He yanked his wand from a still available pocket and jabbed so hard at it there was probably a tear there now, but it didn't change back to his robes.

"Sirius!" He shouted, but too late, the portrait hole had long since closed.

Heart thudding in his chest, Remus went bolting up the staircase before the rest of the common room pissed themselves with laughter.

He came back down the stairs with it hanging from one hand so he could strangle Sirius with it, but again he fell victim to trying to predict Sirius' next move. He would have thought he'd try bolting to their first class of the morning and skipping breakfast, but witnesses and a teacher weren't going to stop Remus this time.

The bright flash of blue light did, and he yelped to once again find his clothes had changed, this time to a plaid skirt and a halter top.

Sirius had circled back and was lounging in the common room in easy murdering distance.

"You're right Remus, that outfit does look better," Sirius nodded to himself while Remus tried to charge at him, Sirius flipping out of the chair and easily dodging him. "I'm worried you'll catch a cold though, here, let's try something else."  Another flash of blue light, and he was wearing a pink cardigan over a floor length wool skirt. "Much better!" Sirius praised, "still working out the kinks of-"

He had to duck the curse sent his way, but still leapt clean over a table while saying, "I thought you'd appreciate it! Now you can sit with the girl without freaking out! I'm sure I can even give you matching outfits the day of!"

The bastard went tearing out of the portrait hole again before Remus could catch him, and he almost made the mistake of going after him before he caught himself with one foot out. The Fat Lady would never let him back in while classes were going on, and the warning bell chose that moment to ring. He dashed back up the stairs and changed clothes quickly again.

He stopped from going back down the stairs though as he wondered how far Sirius would push this. Experience told him he wouldn't give up unless Remus did something to force him to say otherwise. Biting his lip, he went to James' trunk, and gave a merciful sigh his cloak was right there at the top. Swinging it on, he padded slowly and carefully down the stairs once more.

Sirius at least wasn't waiting for him this time, but he wasn't taking chances, cautiously assessing every step down to their Transfiguration class.

"Potter! Black! Will you pay attention!" Remus smiled and leaned casually against the wall, waiting patiently under the cloak until the bell rang.

They were the last three to leave, and Peter poked his head out first, swiveling side to side carefully before saying, "all clear. Are you really going to keep this up the rest of the week?"

Sirius came strutting out looking far too pleased with himself. "He's probably just going to hide in the dorms all day-"

Remus' hexes were as formidable as Sirius' transfiguration, there was a suctioning noise in the air around him before he sunk into the floor, stuck from the waist up. Remus had Sirius' wand in his hand before he even knew what happened.

"You're an arsehole," Remus pleasantly informed him as he removed the cloak.

"But you love me anyways?" Sirius offered, wiggling in place, and sinking deeper.

"Nope," Remus smirked.

"Fine, fine," he relented, making grabby motions for his wand back as he sunk up to his chest. "You win this time, alright?"

Remus still held his wand tantalizingly above his fingers, meeting his eyes for several long seconds. He was up to his armpits. "Say it Sirius."

Sirius groaned but forced out the words. "You win Remus!"

He dropped the wand, and Sirius grumbled as he got himself out of the floor.

The arsehole still hooked up with Bless over the weekend too.

[writinglionqueen]

Tender Love & Care

Summary: Your king returns to you after a battle. You can’t rest until his wounds are tended to.  A part two to My King And the third part; Forge Bond

Pairing: Drew McIntyre x Reader     

Word Count: 1,400

Warnings: None. This is all fluff. 

Dark trees over hanged the path ahead. Brisk cold was coming on darkened clouds, winter being brought on it’s wings. Leaves crunched underfoot and the stone castle ahead was a welcomed sight. The iron claymore in the king’s hand was chilled like winter’s ice.

Drew’s joints ached. His scratches and cuts burned. The cold bit at his fingers and toes. It pushed through the wool of his colors; the red and blue plaid not providing much warmth. His own clothes and cloak did nothing to shield him from the bitter snips of the frosty air. All he wanted was to clean his wounds and return to his warm bed where his wife would be sleeping by now. 

The moon was shining over his castle before him. The dark stones shining in the moonlight. The flags of his colors waved in the gentle breeze. 

His servants took the reigns of his horse from him. They lead him over to the stable as Drew went on towards the courtyard and the great hall. The wind howled through the courtyard, seeping into the king’s very bones like a tease. He growled to himself as he lugged towards the heavy wooden door. It creaked open for its king and it slammed behind him. 

The great hall was dimly lit. The large fire pit simmering in coals. But Drew’s eyes were adjusted enough. Guards posted, on weary legs, at the doors. Nothing was out of place or wrong. Except for one thing that caught his eye, upon his great chair at the head of the hall. 

The king stepped closer to his chair. A smile formed on his face as he could decipher the form. 

Sitting on his chair, curled in the vastness was you, his queen. One of your knees were pressed to your chest, the other laid across the seat. You were wrapped in your favorite fur; Drew’s last cloak, made of the golden fur of a bear Drew had killed protecting you. It had been softened with time, earning being your favorite after a while. 

Your head rested against the arm rest of the chair, your face tucked away in the fur. Puffs of quiet breath left your lips, hitting the fur on every exhale. But you looked peaceful and Drew didn’t want to disturb his queen, but he wanted her warmth. 

Drew’s hand reached towards your head. His large fingers stroked your head. He needed you awake though...or off in your shared room. 

“My queen,” the king whispered to you. You were deep in sleep. “My love, wake up.” You did. Slowly. A noise of displeasure of being woken up left your throat as you stirred awake. Your eyes fluttered open and up to find your king before you. 

“My king,” you whispered, jumping up to wrap your arms around your husband. He held you bit hissed as your limbs brushed his wounds. You pulled back swiftly, looking to your husband’s tunic to find it torn. You could see specks of blood upon the wool. “You’re hurt.”

You’re king was quick to try and shake his head. But you were already on the frits of fretting on your husband. 

“No, my queen, I’m not-” you cut him off by reaching for the bottom of the cloth bunching it up. 

“Take it off, let me see,” you said to him. He couldn’t protest as he helped you rid the shirt from his body. Your eyes and fingers moved across the cuts and scrapes. But the largest on, on his shoulder of his bad arm had darkened blood around it. “I need to clean it. Come.” You grabbed his hand, leading him out of the great hall and towards the kitchen where you could boil water and a sufficient amount of cloth was. 

“My love I don’t need ya to clean my wounds,” Drew tried while you pushed him down to sit on a bench as you went to the fireplace where the coals were barely asleep. 

“And I don’t need my husband to fester in his wounds,” you said back as you woke up the flames by poking around the coals, adding a log and settling a kettle over the flames. Drew went silent as he watched you scuttle around for a cloth and a bowl. You settled both on the table next to your husband. The water had warmed enough that you grabbed the kettle carefully, bringing it over to the table to pour the water into the bowl. You dunked the cloth to wring it out, looking over the wound again. 

You pressed the cloth to the wound, softening the dried blood to wipe it away. Drew hissed a few times but let you go to work cleaning his wound. 

“If I was there, you wouldn’t have gotten this,” you said to him. Drew let out a chuckle. 

“Aye, probably, my love,” Drew said to you. “You’re good with a sword and a shield. But I wouldn’t have had someone here to protect our people.” You smiled at that. 

“I think I’m better with a bow and arrow than a sword and shield as a pairing,” you teased back. Drew laughed at that. 

“Aye. Good shot ya are.” You hummed as you checked the wound again. 

“Hm...it looked much worse than it is,” you said to your husband. He smiled. 

“See, my queen, nothing to worry about,” he said to you. “Those southern invaders couldn’t lay their hands on your king, not much their swords.” You wanted to roll your eyes at your king’s cockiness.

“Was this the worse one?” you asked. Drew nodded. 

“Aye. Everything else is much a scratch or scrape,” he answered. His blue eyes held mischief. “See nothing to worry about, my love.”

“Menace,” you muttered. Drew only smiled. 

“Aye, my love I can be that too,” Drew teased. You chuckled, fixing the long plaid of his colors over his shoulder once more. Your fingers played along his chest. A nice silence was brought, the fire crackling behind the two of you.

“I’m glad your back to me...safe at least,” you murmured. Drew smiled kindly reaching for you and he pulled you upon his lap. You went easily, your linen nightgown bunching around your lap as you sat. You wrapped your arms around his neck. His arm encircled your waist. His thumb brushed your hip. 

“I’m glad you were safe here,” Drew murmured back. “I don’t know what I’d do if I ever loss you, little one.” He stroked your side. 

“And I don’t know what would become of me if I ever lost my king,” you whispered back before placing a soft kiss to Drew’s lips. His facial hair tickled your own lips for a moment before you pulled away, looking into the grey eyes of your king. “I’d die.”

“Don’t say that,” Drew whispered. “I won’t leave ya. Not by my own two feet, not by a sword, nor another. I’m with you always.” You smiled sweetly. You cupped his face. 

“And I’m always with you,” you said to him. Drew gave you the sweetest smile, reserved for when he came home from battles, reserved for when he bedded you, and the sweetest of times; when he became yours. 

“Now, I haven’t been with you for....a fortnight, I reckon,” Drew said to you. You giggled. His lewdness didn’t fog the tone of his sweetness though. He could be both, on a good mood. 

“I would say so,” you said back. “Our bed’s been cold for that long...and I was just about to say it myself.” The tease in your voice was unmistaken as you gave him a sassy wink. Drew chortled. His other armed looped under your knees, lifting you with ease in his strong arms as he stood to his feet. You let out a yelping laugh as he did so. 

“What do you say that we make our bed warm again?” Drew asked. You giggled. 

“Let’s, beloved,” you answered, feeling your heart flutter at the prospect as Drew carried out of the kitchen and towards the stairs that led your shared room. You giggled all the while as your husband chuckled with you. 

Your king was home and safe with you. The menace he was with all his cuts and scrapes but strength and courage and love. 

You clung to him, feeling him in your arms once more. Happy again with him. 

Tag: @adriennegabriella @amariemoore @andie01 @annoyingasian @artemisapalla316 @balorstrowmanblackmurphy @biforbecky2belts @br0th3r-n3r0 @burning-coco @calicina @calwitch @claymoreme @darlingambrose @dcnmarvelgamergeek @demonqueen29 @desstehhnee @detectiveramen @drewmcintyreinarefereeoutfit @finnsauroraborealis @fireyegale @fivefootxo @flawlessglamazon @harringtonsbaseballbat @homeorbust @i-have-saracasm @jazzy-tzw @kalliravenne @lilred91 @littledeadrottinghood @littlesuperstar @lolorockstar101boom @lovesweetpeaa @madamaholmes @meishaabae @mermaidqueen @moxleysbaby @moxley-unhinged @moxtiel @neversatisfiedgirl @new-zealand-chic @nothinginlifebutgreif @number1120 @queenofthearchitect @reigns420 @rollynch-roman-empire @sassymox @sassyspacedust @savemeroman @scuzmunkie @shieldgirl18 @softmoxymuffin @southsidebucky @superrezzy00 @taryn-dibiase @the-beastslayers-queen @thehoundsofjustice @thewrestlingwarehouse @theworldofotps @trashofambrolleigns @trent7thirsting @twistedbeautifully @unprettypeony @voidstrugh @writing-reigns @writtingrose @xbreezymeadowsx @xprincessofthefallenangels @yaint-me @youcantreignonmyparade 

[elfnerdherder]

Magnum Opus: Chapter 16

You can read Chapter 16 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 16:

           His dad didn’t like the idea of a dog.

           “They bark, they piss where they’re not supposed to, and they get hair everywhere,” he said, heading towards the fridge. “And I don’t want to pay for his dog food.”

           “I already bought dog food,” Will said, rubbing Winston’s flank. He was a mild-mannered dog, and even at the side-eyed stare Bill Graham gave, he wasn’t deterred. He nosed Will’s cheek, and his tail wagged.

           “I’m not going to exercise him,” his dad said.

           “You don’t have to. You won’t be here for him anyway, I will.”

           “What’s that supposed to mean?” his father asked. Will shrugged, rubbing his ear to relieve tension.

           “You work a lot, and I don’t have after school activities. He has nowhere to go,” he said, and he looked at his father with a bleak, needy expression. “Didn’t Dr. Du Maurier say I needed something like therapy? This dog was free, and he’ll cost you nothing. Animals are great for therapy.”

           “Are you twisting my words on me?” Bill asked suspiciously.

           “No,” Will said, and it was a good lie. Bill eyed Winston like he was a chewed-up slipper just waiting to happen, and he let out a loud, sullen sigh.

           “First time he pisses in the house, he’s gone,” he said, and Will grinned. It was the first good win in a long time.

           The second win was getting a call on Friday saying that Abigail had woken up at the psychiatric hospital. He took Winston out for a morning run around the place, then jumped into the truck and headed in her direction. His pulse hummed in his fingertips, and he drummed them on the steering wheel, toe pushing the accelerator without his realizing it.

           Once there, he was surprised to see Hannibal getting out of his car as well, well-groomed and wrapped in a light wool coat. He waved and crossed the parking lot, gaze up towards the cloudy day.

           “You got a call as well?” Will asked.

           “They said they already called you, so I thought that I’d wait,” Hannibal replied, walking into the building. Will suppressed a shudder, looking up at it. Although cheery, the outer structure belied the horrors his mind conjured about such a place. Nightmares for the longest time haunted him that one day he’d go into one that he wouldn’t be allowed out of. Hopefully, with Hannibal beside him, they wouldn’t think to question it.

           Unlike the hospital, with its chemical smell and starched nurses, the psychiatric hospital had an air of pain hidden by floral print pillows and still life paintings of fruit. The doors behind them closed, and Will’s throat tightened as a thread of nervous energy coiled in his gut. As they signed in, a nurse with an appropriately stern posture led them down the hall towards the wing for injury treatment and ‘suicide risks’.

           “Abigail isn’t a suicide risk,” Will muttered under his breath.

           “We don’t know the state of mind she’s going to be in, and they’ve had her awake for at least two or three hours,” Hannibal reminded him. Will wanted to argue, but the wallpaper in its ugly shade of pink distracted him, then the sound of voices inside the room distracted him even more.

           “If they don’t fit, just keep the tags on them and I’ll return them,” Alana was saying as they opened the door. “I just thought it’d be easier for you to have something.”

           “Thank you,” Abigail said, voice near-indiscernible. At the sound of the door she looked up, and when she tried to make eye contact with Will, he had to look away; he didn’t want to see.

           “Alana Bloom, what a surprise,” Hannibal said, and Will nodded in agreement, feet treacherously moving him closer to the foot of the bed without his permission. Alana stood up, legs crowded with bags from various clothing stores, and she smiled.

           “I’m just visiting with Abigail,” she said, like they deserved an explanation.

           “That is kind of you to do; I wasn’t aware that you were acquainted,” Hannibal said, and Will felt him step up to his side, a sturdy presence. His gaze was fixed on the cotton blankets across her legs, a putrid green that looked close to vomit. The air smelled of medicine and unwashed hair, a faint undertone of something woodsy, earthy. He wondered if Abigail had carried the forest back with her when she’d been rescued, or if there was an aerosol spray one could use to recreate the stench of that dark, bleak night.

           “We’ve met once, but some of us at the university thought that we could donate money and get her a few nice things,” Alana said.

           “Apparently I’m a celebrity,” Abigail informed them, a serrated edge to her voice. “I’m all anyone can talk about.”

           “It was a traumatic event, and the media likes to spin such things in their favor,” Hannibal said.

           “You’re Hannibal, aren’t you? Will’s friend?” Will grimaced at her voice, how it was utterly, utterly wrong. It wasn’t Abigail, eyes pleading for understanding, but a different person, a different face. He wanted to look up, to see what’d become of her, but he couldn’t bring himself to lift his head. What if he saw the girl that’d first held the hunting knife?

           What if he saw her father instead?

           “I am. You’re rather perceptive,” Hannibal complimented her.

           “Not perceptive enough,” she replied, and it echoed back to the time Hannibal had sat across from Will in the school hallway. Jared Freeman had just murdered their teacher, and Will hadn’t known him well enough. She lived with him, loved him as her father, but not enough. Will thought that by the end of it all, he’d drown on never having enough. If Hannibal heard the same pull, the same echo, he gave no indication. Will glanced to him and caught his eye, and he swallowed heavily and looked away.

           “I was the person that Will called that night,” Hannibal explained when no one spoke. There was a collective breath being held in the room, one fragile enough to pop from the prick of a needle.

           “I assumed it wasn’t the police. He dialed more than three numbers,” Abigail replied.

           “How could you tell?” Will asked, and his voice came out wrong. It was aggressive; it was accusatory. He stared down at the stain on the blanket as though looks alone could purify it, and he reached up to rub the side of his neck. Another turtleneck layered underneath a plaid shirt hid the worst of the damage.

           “I knew what to look for,” Abigail replied after a moment, clipped. The silence hung once more, heavy and intoxicating, and Alana cleared her throat to try and dispel it.

           “I need to make a call,” she said lightly. “Abigail, I hope the clothes work out for you. Hannibal, I wanted to ask you something, actually, outside?”

           “Oh, yes, of course,” Hannibal said, falling in line with her plan. Will glanced over to him again, but he was already walking out of the room, head turned towards Alana intently as she closed the door behind them. It clicked, a sharp and pronounced sound in the silence.

           Will spied a sturdy chair near the bed and sat down, rubbing his face to wipe away the dips and furrows of his frown. He felt Abigail’s stare burning on top of his head, but he chose to ignore it. He listened instead to the steady, rhythmic chirping of her heart monitor.

           “Are you going to look at me?” Abigail asked when Will didn’t speak. “Or…are you just going to stare at that ugly stain on the blanket?”

           “That stain is very ingrained in the threads,” Will said after a moment. “They dried it, and it set the stain.”

           “Will,”

           “I’m afraid to look at you,” he continued, talking over her. “I’m afraid of what I’ll see.” His gaze dropped to the floor, and he shook his head, unable to form the words to convey how hornets stirred in his chest.

           “D-do…do you think I’m like him?” she asked, and the stark, straightforward tone she’d used on Alana and Hannibal dropped.

           “You were a fisherman,” Will said. “But you didn’t want to be, at least; that’s what I’m telling myself. You didn’t want to be the bait.”

           “And you murdered my father,” she bit out.

           “You or him, Abigail, and I chose you,” Will snapped. “You let him see us and assume too much. You couldn’t kill him, so you put me in the position to kill him for you.”

           She said nothing, and in the quiet coated with blood, he looked up at her. Tears trailed down her cheeks, and she clenched her blankets, vainly trying to rend them in two.

           “Do you hate me?” she asked, and her voice broke. “You…y-you must hate me.”

           “No,” Will said hoarsely. “I love you.”

           She looked up at him, and when their eyes met, she saw. She saw his love, and what that sort of love really was, the only thing it could ever be. It was not pure. It was not romantic. It was desperate, needing. It was the love of Garrett Jacob Hobbs, and because of her it hadn’t died with him. It’d merely moved to a new host, something to devour and eat away at the bits of him that were left. Will saw the moment that what little façade she’d held up crumbled away; like waves against the breakers when the breakers couldn’t hold anymore.

           “I’m sorry,” she said, and she buried her face in her hands to muffle her cries. “I’m sorry I did this to you…I didn’t…I didn’t want this.”

           “You did what you thought was necessary to survive,” Will said. “I don’t hate you for that.”

           “I used you.”

           “Does that make you feel responsible for me?” he asked, a snarl on his lips.

           “I knew you’d endured this kind of thing before, and I used your past against you,” she said, and fingers dragged through her hair to grip it unmercifully.

           “But does that make you feel responsible for me?” he repeated.

           “Yes,” she hissed into the cotton blanket. “Don’t you?”

           “Yes,” he agreed. “I suppose that means we’ll have to be responsible for each other.”

           “I’m sorry,” she repeated, and she lifted her head to look at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as though he’d dipped a brush in blood and drew a fine line.

           “Are you really?” he asked.

           “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she said, and he couldn’t help but sneer.

           “Oh, come on, Abigail…you got what you wanted. Don’t back down now,” he chided, and she flinched. “They said you’re on a potential suicide watch…but I don’t think that’s true.”

           “It’s because I’m not talking to them,” she replied. “They think I’m going to do something irrational.”

           “No, I think you’re fairly rational. I think you’re equally good at manipulating them, too.”

           “What do you mean?” she asked, and he heard the dread in her voice.

           “If you’re on suicide watch, no one is likely to think you had any hand in your dad’s murders,” he said pleasantly.

           She said nothing more, her expression bleak as she seemed to truly see him for the first time. She wiped her face and ducked her head, her hair falling forward to hide the thick patch of gauze at her neck. When she didn’t speak, he stood and walked to the door, opening it. Alana and Hannibal were speaking quietly, although they stopped and turned towards the sound of him clearing his throat.

           “We’re ready for more people,” he announced, walking back into the room. After a beat, they followed.

           It was something of an interrogation, Abigail’s tears gone now that someone other than Will could see. He didn’t see Garrett Jacob Hobbs in the edges of her eyes, but as he looked on, he saw a cunning tilt to her lips and a manipulative curl to her eyelashes. She was a different sort of predator, one that watched and knew precisely what to say and when to say it. She sat with poise, receiving the state of the union without having to even get out of bed.

           “What’s going to happen to the house?”

           “The families grieving will likely get whatever money is gained from selling it. It’s a payoff for wrongful deaths,” Alana said. “Nothing’s been decided of course, but that’s generally what happens.”

           “Then what’s going to happen to me?” Abigail whispered.

           “First, you’re going to focus on your recovery. Your school was contacted, and they’re willing to put things on hold for you because they understand that your mental recovery is key,” Alana replied.

           “I was on track to graduate early,” Abigail protested, shaking her head.

           “That may not be feasible, given the circumstances,” said Hannibal gently. Silence. The unspoken reality that she probably couldn’t go home anymore. There was no home to go to. Abigail stared at the blanket, anger and despair rippling along her skin with short, electric bursts.

           “Do you remember what caused your father to react so poorly?” Hannibal asked when she didn’t speak.

           “He was upset about Will,” Abigail said reluctantly. “Then he got a phone call, and someone asked for him. When he got off of the phone, he started acting weird.”

           “Weird?” Alana pressed.

           “He left the kitchen, and when he came back he grabbed my mom, and he…he changed. He was loving, up until the part when he wasn’t anymore.” She swallowed heavily, hand reaching up to her neck before she stopped herself.

           “He received a phone call?” Hannibal asked. “Did you recognize the caller?”

           “I’d never heard that voice before that day,” she said, slowly looking over to him.

           “Was it a friend? An accomplice?” Alana wondered out loud.

           “Whatever he was, whatever he said…it set my dad off. He forced me into the car after he left my mom in the kitchen, and he went to Will’s house.” She said the words, but each one pulled out a thread of what little control she had over her voice. She clenched her jaw and looked down at her blanket, shoulders curling in on herself.

           “You were very brave,” Alana said warmly. “You both were,” she added, glancing to Will.

           “Will was braver,” said Abigail. “I just ran…he fought.”

           “It takes courage to run from a predator that you knew would chase,” Will replied.

           “Especially when the person you’re running from is your father,” Hannibal added.

           “Is it selfish to be grateful that you were there?” Abigail asked, looking up at Will. “Is that selfish of me?”

           “No,” Will said hoarsely, and the word was a hot poker down his throat. He took a step away from her, faltering. “Excuse me…I have to go.” He headed towards the door, not looking at Alana or Hannibal.

           “Will you come back again?” Abigail asked, sitting up farther in her bed. He grabbed the door handle and paused, rubbing his throat.

           “Yes,” he decided after a moment. He all but fled the room, past the bustling orderly with a tray of food, past a girl standing in the hall looking utterly lost, and almost past the reception area where a stern woman called to him to sign out. He grabbed the pen and scribbled his name on the line, ducking his head under her scrutiny. When he walked through the exit doors, he had the sensation of liberty, of being behind bars and suddenly being set free.

           Outside, he nearly collided on the sidewalk with a gingery boy whose chin was tucked, prepared to charge. Will skirted around him, but paused when he saw a very familiar person following the fury that carved a path towards the entrance.

           “They won’t allow you in there, Nick, be reasonable,” Freddie Lounds said, grabbing his arm to haul him back. “You’re hurting, and that’s understandable, but-”

           “That cannibal family ate my sister,” he shouted, rounding on her. “You’re all pitying her, but-”

           “Who are you talking about?” Will asked sharply.

           “Butt out of this,” Nick snarled. Freddie shot him an apologetic glance, but she did a double-take when she saw who it was.

           “Will Graham?” Her hold slackened, and Nick tried to head towards the door. Will took an exaggerated step in front of him.

           “Who are you talking about?” he repeated, not at all calm.

           “Out of my way,” Nick spit out from clenched teeth.

           “Not anyone I know, I hope,” Will continued, unmoving.

           “And if it was?” he growled. “What are you going to do about it?”

           “Then you and I will have problems. Several, in fact,” he replied. His hands curled to fists. “You should go.”

           “Are you protecting a cannibal?” Nick scoffed. “You some kind of sick sympathizer?”

           “Go,” Will encouraged softly, “before my patience runs out.”

           Nick looked like he very much wanted to argue. When he stared into Will’s eyes, though, he seemed to see something that gave him pause. Perhaps it was the shadows of Jared Freeman, covetous and afraid. Perhaps it was Garrett Jacob Hobbs, calm and steady with a knife that carved with ease. Perhaps it was Eldon Stammets, so desperate for connection that he’d bury Nick alive if he wasn’t careful. Perhaps it was Will himself, something dark and flitting, something lethal enough that Nick wasn’t confidant that he’d win that fight. He let out a slow, manic hiss of breath and turned, climbing into his car to drive away furiously. Will let out a short breath and shook his head, rubbing his temples to release the building pressure.

           “Impressive,” Freddie said. Will had almost forgotten about her –almost.

           “You should leave too,” he said unpleasantly.

           “Are you going to threaten to hurt me too, Will?” Freddie asked.

           “Thinking about it,” he replied.

           “Are you angry about what I said in my articles?” she asked, and if she felt threatened she didn’t show it. She wore an unsightly pair of plaid pants with a wide-brimmed sun hat, complete with a sheer burgundy top and striped jacket.

           “You’re tasteless. Tactless. Immature, trashy, and your writing is sub-par at best,” Will said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

           “I could rescind what I said about you. If you give me an interview, I can change everything.”

           “You’re the one that implied I was a killer,” he snapped.

           “You did kill a man,” she replied.

           “You implied that before I defended myself.”

           “I can fix that,” she said calmly.

           “You’re not getting in to see Abigail,” he said, “and you’re certainly not getting an interview with me.” He stared down at her pointed, faux-crocodile print shoes, and he scowled.

           “You were asked to consult on a crime scene about a criminal profile. Interesting that they’d give such a serious job to a senior in high school.”

           “Go away,” he suggested.

           “Is it because maybe you think like them, therefore they wanted your insight? Can you think like a killer, Will?” She took a step closer, peering up at him with wide, intrigued eyes. He was a breath away from her before he knew he’d taken a step as well, her words triggering something furious, something dark. It’d taken a heartbeat, a shift between sound until he towered over her, and he leaned in close so that he could whisper.

           “If you really believe that I can think like a killer, maybe you should stop trying to piss me off.”

           A camera flash scattered dots of color across his eyes, and he blinked, reaching up to rub them as she pocketed the camera he wasn’t aware she had. A small smirk of victory skirted across her lips, and she turned, heading towards an old hatchback pinto.

           “Have a pleasant day, Will Graham,” she called out, climbing into the car. She drove away, and Will had the sinking sensation that he’d found a way to somehow make things even worse.

           “Are you okay?” Alana called out behind him, and he whirled around, struggling to compose his face into something like a measure of calm.

           “Yes,” he said, and she walked closer, gauging his reaction with a critical expression shown only in her eyes. He looked down to her fashionable pumps rather than witness her see too much.

           “That didn’t look like you were okay,” she said, pausing a polite step away.

           “I have a habit of sometimes making things worse,” he replied with an unconcerned shrug. “It’s nothing that I can’t handle.”

           “If you say so,” Alana said doubtfully.

           “I wasn’t going to hurt anyone,” he added, glancing up at her face before looking off towards the cars.

           “I didn’t think you would. You don’t have a violent bone in your body.”

           “You don’t think so?” he asked.

           “I think you have a self-preservation instinct, as we all do,” she replied, folding her arms. “But I don’t see a single part of you that genuinely enjoys hurting other people.”

           “Thank you,” Will said sincerely.

           “Do you have someone to go home to?” Alana asked. “A family member, a guardian?”

           “Are you worried about me being alone?” Will asked, a thread of snark in his voice.

           “I think you’ve gone through something that no one should have to endure, and I think the last place anyone should be is alone when that’s happening,” Alana replied, not rising to the bait.

           “You could come with me,” Will suggested. Alana laughed, and it wasn’t mocking; it was full-bodied and pure.

           “I have a class to get to,” she said, “otherwise, maybe I would.”

           She left him with that maybe, and as he drove home he was left with the thought of her sincerely believing in his inability to enjoy hurting people. He had three voices in his head, plus his own that assured him that while the thought was kind and warm, it most certainly wasn’t true.

[putthison]

eBay Roundup

There’s a lot of great menswear on eBay, but to find the good stuff, you often have to search for hours. Which is why we do these roundups so that our readers can find good deals easily and quickly. For those looking to get an extra round-up each week, subscribe to our Inside Track newsletter. We not only cover the best of eBay, we also list each week’s store sales. 

In today’s roundup, you can find things such as this Chimala chambray workshirt (tastefully pre-distressed with some faux darning), Robert Geller trucker jacket, and waffle textured Camoshita Balmacaan coat. I also really want this sashiko tote from Freemans Sporting Club. The photos of it on FSC’s site look great. 

To find up more menswear gems, try using our customized eBay search links. We’ve made them so you can quickly hone-in on high-end suits, good suits, high-quality shirts and fine footwear.

Outerwear

Tan patchwork Nonnative coat, XS

Grey Real McCoys work jacket, XS

Black Schott leather jacket, XS

Olive waxed cotton Barbour coat, 38

White Stutterheim rubberized raincoat, S

Black Engineered Garments shirt jacket, S

Visvim washed cotton field jacket, S

Black Private White VC bomber jacket, S

Hooded pullover Kaptain Sunshine coat, 38

Black hooded Nom de Guerre trucker jacket, S

Navy Patrik Ervell jump jacket, M

Black Robert Geller denim trucker jacket, 40 (pictured above)

Blue Patrik Ervell field jacket, M

Navy Engineered Garments M-41 field jacket, L

Engineered Garments denim trucker jacket, L

Waffle textured Camoshita Balmacaan coat, 44 

Navy Engineered Garments parka, XL

Navy Apolis field jacket, XL

Sweaters and knits

Cabled shawl collar Engineered Garments cardigan, S

White Barbour crewneck sweater, 40

North Sea Clothing Company sweater, L

Pinstriped 3sixteen cardigan, L

Vintage red Letterman cardigan, L

Shirts and pants

Vintage styled 45rpm pullover shirt, XXS

Grey Apolis chambray, S

Grey band collar wings + horns shirt, S

Pre-distressed Chimala chambray, M (pictured above)

Patchwork Mark McNairy short sleeved shirt, M

Blue plaid J. Press short sleeved shirt, L

Engineered Garments fatigues, 34

Dark green J. Press flannel trousers, 34

Freemans Sporting Club grey chinos, 36

Shoes

Rancourt Venetian loafers, various sizes

Gucci horsebit loafers, 8

Allen Edmonds perf toe bluchers, 8

Crockett & Jones semi brogues, 8.5

Tan wool Belgian shoes, 9.5

Loake suede chukkas, 9.5

Alfred Sargent shortwing boots, 9.5

Edward Green galosh oxfords, 10

APC side zip boots, 10

RM Williams Chelsea boots, 10

John Lobb apron toe bluchers, 10.5

Allen Edmonds black semi brogues, 10.5

Alfred Sargent double monks, 10.5

Meermin shell cordovan longwings, 10.5/11

The most 90s sneakers you ever done saw, 11

Ralph Lauren burgundy plain toe bluchers, 11

Edward Green perf toe bluchers, 11

Margiela plastered side zip boots, 11

RM Williams tan suede Chelsea boots, 11

Alden Indy boots, 11.5

Belgian shoes, 11.5C

Yuketen upland boots, 12

St Crispin’s quarter brogues, 12.5

Ties

Black Isaia bow tie

Yellow striped Ben Silver tie

Navy Nicky Milano jacquard bar motif tie

Slate blue Bloomingdales grenadine

Brown Cable Car Clothiers knit tie

Grey Shantung silk Kilgour tie

Brown striped Nicky wool tie

Nicky dotted grenadine tie (1, 2)

Grey cashmere Nicky tie

Bags, briefcases, and wallets

Grey Makr tote bag

Freemans Sporting Club sashiko tote (pictured above)

Camo Hill Side key fob and card wallet

Brown John Lobb card wallet

Black Jil Sander folio

Misc.

Mid-brown Ben Silver dress belt, 34

Sunglasses (Oliver Peoples, vintage French frames)

Black nonnative hat, 7 1/4

Ralph Lauren jewelry box

Ralph Lauren slide buckle

Grey Reigning Champ baseball cap

Wood books?

Antique corner chair

Unique wired dress form

Black Tom Ford grained leather dress belt, 38

If you want access to an extra roundup every week, exclusive to members, join Put This On's Inside Track for just five bucks a month.

[jeremystrele]

41 Wingback Chairs that Reinvent a Classic Favorite

Nothing makes a dramatic impression quite like a stately wingback chair. This unique design has a rich history and purpose – originally, the hallmark wings were included to protect the upper body against drafts and intense heat from fireplaces. You might have found them in extravagant drawing rooms and private studies where occupants would sit and read, socialize, or perhaps even grab a quick snooze. This list features 41 of our top picks ranging from traditional wingback designs to ultra-contemporary statement pieces, each one showcasing the fantastic versatility of a style that has continued to change and evolve over the years.

$5145BUY IT Grand Repos Wingback Chair: Designed in 2011 by Antonio Citterio, the Grand Repos Lounge Chair uses its curvaceous form to embrace the body for a feeling of refuge. Swivel, recline and relax in this fully adjustable work of art. This model is available in black and silver base finishes along with upholstery in a range of naturals, neutrals, and striking firetruck red.

$8924BUY IT Hans Wegner EJ 100 Ox Chair: A statement piece that looks fantastic from every angle, this mid-century modern lounge chair is ready to become a central statement point anywhere in your home. This piece is available in classic leather (including the brown leather wingback chair you see here) and a vibrant spectrum of premium fabrics.

$5000BUY IT Papilio Style Wingback Chair: Named after the Latin word for butterfly – “papilio” – this piece is the perfect embodiment of grace. Japanese industrial designer Naoto Fukasawa conceptualized the wing design to reflect a protective nature, a powerful aid to relaxation. This swivel chair is just as practical as it is comfortable, the back zipper facilitating easy upkeep of the wingback chair slipcover.

$1600BUY IT Wegner Style Wing Chair: Based on Hans J. Wegner’s CH445 Wing Chair, this versatile design perfectly captures the spirit of mid-century modern flair. Every angle is exceptionally tailored to match the original from the deep pitch of the seat to the height of the back. Find the perfect wingback accent chair for your favorite space from the selection of leather and wool upholstery options.

$448BUY IT Arne Jacobsen Style Egg Chair: Inspired by Arne Jacobsen’s iconic 1958 design, this piece mimics the hallmark curves and glove-like fit that makes the Egg Chair such an important part of the modern design lexicon. This red wingback chair swivels and adjusts, making it great for a reading nook, bedroom, or living space. You can find an authentic original available here.

$2800BUY IT Tom Dixon Wingback Chair: Make a dramatic statement in your living space with this contemporary take on a timeless style. The gorgeous Wingback Chair from Tom Dixon features exaggerated wings for eye-catching aesthetic appeal, easily doubling as support for deep relaxation and unexpected naps. The back of each piece features a brass logo to let everyone know you have a modern original.

$1500BUY IT Modern Reader Wingback Chair: Embrace the light and playful look of contemporary Danish design with the Modern Reader designed by Tor Hadsund. This small wingback chair features subtle wings and a curvaceous seat, its supportive shape sure to become a guest favorite. Choose from an array of vintage-inspired textile colors to suit your interior with ease.

$1887BUY IT Modern Metal Base Wingback Chair: Milan-based designer Michele Menescardi created a fantastically charismatic statement piece with this casual wingback chair. This lounge features a classic shell shape situated atop a perfectly contemporary lightweight metal base. The removable lumbar support cushion offers extra support right where you might need it most.

$1535BUY IT Modern Bent Plywood Wingback Chair: Enhance your favorite space with something a little different – perhaps a splash of a distinctive pattern. This piece features a molded plywood body for retro appeal, its seat upholstered with durable fabric made by Sunbrella in a playful desert inspired print. This Wayfair wingback chair model is also available in charcoal black for a more subdued look.

$370BUY IT Blue Modern Wingback Chair With Steel Legs: Are you looking for a colorful accent sure to capture attention? This blue wingback chair features striking upholstery, durable yet soft to the touch, situated atop vintage-inspired metal hairpin legs. Thanks to the more traditional sizing, this high wingback chair is a little easier on the knees than most of the low-profile lounge style options.

$1500BUY IT Papa Bear Style Wing Chair: Designed to look like the Hans J. Wegner original, this Papa Bear recreation is constructed from a sturdy walnut wood frame and upholstered in quality Italian upholstery. Although not shown in the image above, this piece comes with a matching ottoman to complete the set.

$218BUY IT Grey Tufted Wingback Chair: This tufted wingback chair combines classic design details with contemporary charcoal gray upholstery for a look that transcends eras. The plush seat and back beckon enjoyment, ideal for social areas and cozy relaxation spaces alike.

$318BUY IT Purple Wingback Chair: Infuse your living space with a splash of elegant color. This purple wingback chair features smooth grape upholstery lined with rows of decorative nailhead trim. It also reclines – a handsome alternative to traditional recliners.

$130BUY IT Blue Velvet Wingback Chair: Upholstered in super-soft bright blue velvet, this wingback chair is sure to become an everyday favorite. This piece combines ultra-modern aesthetics with a touch of retro mid-century charm. The price is perfect for those who want high-end style on a budget.

$1700BUY IT Domus Lounge Chair: Finnish architect Ilmari Tapiovaara created the Domus Lounge Chair in 1946 using the molded plywood techniques that were, at the time, completely changing the landscape of the furniture design world. This classic piece lets its beautiful birch grain steal the stage and bring a natural touch to any interior.

$216BUY IT Small Mid Century Modern Wingback Chair: Countryside charm absolutely radiates from this chic and welcoming wingback chair. This piece combines current trends and classic materials, its curvaceous body upholstered in smooth beige fabric and lined with rustic burlap along the exterior. Explore the other color and material combinations to find the best fit for your décor theme.

$264BUY IT Grey Faux Linen Contemporary Wingback Chair: With its graceful swooping lines and plush all-over padding, this gray wingback chair feels just as comfortable as it looks. Because this piece maintains such a lovely neutral theme, it can easily accommodate any range of accent colors – great for those who like to experiment with different accent pillow combinations from season to season.

$233BUY IT Beige Fabric Wingback Chair: Invest in a comfortable armchair that will continue to suit your interior no matter how your tastes change over the years. This wingback recliner chair is upholstered in a neutral beige, decorated with subtle nailhead trim to accentuate the outside edges.

$229BUY IT Floral Wingback Chair: Enjoy a blast from the past with this mid-century modern style chair, upholstered in a vintage-inspired floral print with playful retro colors. Use as a standout accent piece within a contemporary interior or pair with other era-appropriate pieces for a complete theme. This floral wingback chair is certain to draw compliments from guests.

$399BUY IT Patterned Wingback Chair: Not only does this reclining wingback chair capture the eye with its paisley print, it also offers an excellent seating experience thanks to its plush padded arms and leg rest. This piece is available in several other colors and patterns for smart coordination.

$468BUY IT Striped Black And White Wingback Chair: Center your interior décor around this eye-catching focal point! An instant statement piece, this striped wingback chair features black and white stripes in luxurious soft velvet. Consider adding this piece to a dark-themed modern interior, or pair with gold accents for a cool Art Deco vibe.

$260BUY IT Plaid Wingback Chair: Plaid is always a cozy pattern option for interiors with nautical, cottage, and rustic themes. This plaid wingback chair looks fantastic on its own or paired with a bright colorful accent pillow like the one pictured here.

$450BUY IT Mid Century Modern Yellow Wingback Chair: Bring a ray of sunshine to your favorite space with this cheerful yellow wingback chair. Soft linen fabric makes this piece soft to the touch, while the sturdy hardwood frame ensures longevity. Black-finished hairpin legs complete the mid-century look.

$237BUY IT Red Wingback Chair: Complement your interior theme with a wingback chair recliner in classic red. This piece is fantastic for a bedroom, media room, living area, or home library – anywhere you like to kick up your feet after a long day. You can also find this chair available in cream, grey, and navy blue.

$264BUY IT Velvet Teal Wingback Chair: Color, texture, and class – this velvet wingback chair makes a dramatic impact with its rich teal color, a statement piece your guests will love to admire. The conservative footprint helps to save space and the lightweight form is easy to move for social gatherings.

$171BUY IT Wingback Dining Chair: Offer guests a sophisticated spot at the table with this wingback dining chair. The button-tufted backs offer classic appeal with a high-end look. Plush seats and supportive backrests ensure lasting comfort for everyday use. Each set includes two chairs.

$221BUY IT Antique Wingback Chair: Enjoy the look of an antique wingback chair without the price tag or upkeep with this distinctive design. The seat and back and upholstered in ruby red with taupe damask wrapped across the back. The wings are lined with chocolate bonded leather, perfectly coordinated with the dark-finished legs.

$700BUY IT Queen Ann Wingback Chair: A gorgeous Queen Ann wingback chair with a decorative twist. This piece is upholstered in a linen cotton blend, printed with antique French script for elegant eye-catching style. Travelers and calligraphy enthusiasts alike are sure to fall in love with this unique design.

$251BUY IT Tufted Antique Wingback Chair: Give any room a high-end classic treatment with this elegant wingback chair. This button-tufted piece would command respect across from an executive desk, can inform first impressions at an entryway, or enhance ambiance within a home library.

$431BUY IT French Wingback Chair: Gently distressed mindi wood framing gives this piece the look of a vintage wingback chair with all the advantages of sturdy modern construction. The body and cushion are upholstered in beige linen upholstery for a soft touch and highly versatile appeal.

$1712BUY IT Genuine Brown Tufted Leather Wingback Chair: This genuine leather wingback chair is sure to make a stately impression wherever you place it. The deep back tufting continues along the sides of the wings to provide all-encompassing comfort for a luxurious seating experience. Small front casters make this handsome piece easy to move.

$311BUY IT Black Bonded Leather Wingback Chair: With a high back and oversized wings, this impressive chair is sure to make a bold statement in any interior. The black bonded leather upholstery glimmers with a trim of silver nailheads for an extra dash of decorative appeal. For those seeking a little more color, this model is also available in a beautiful teal.

$272BUY IT Wingback Chair With Ottoman: Light brown acanthus leaves swirl across the upholstery of this patterned wingback chair with ottoman. The pattern motif is classic yet fits well within the modern home as well. You might find this pair to be a fantastic fit for a quiet reading area, bedroom, or a well-appointed living room.

$261BUY IT Swivel Wingback Chair: Classic style meets contemporary comfort with this tufted wingback chair. Enjoy the swivel base as you socialize with guests, answer emails on your laptop, or curl up in the evening with a great book. The faux leather upholstery offers a timeworn look for heirloom appeal.

$324BUY IT Wingback Office Chair: Upgrade your work day with this executive-style wingback desk chair. Button-tufted upholstery over thick cushioning provides lasting support and comfort, helping you focus more on the important tasks at hand. Sturdy caster wheels provide excellent mobility.

$260BUY IT Tufted Wingback Recliner Chair: Kick up your feet in the comfort without sacrificing your preference for traditional aesthetics. This reclining wingback chair maintains a conservative footprint, ideal for smaller spaces or those who prefer a cozier seating experience. Explore the attractive range of neutral and natural colors available to find the perfect fit your interior.

$263BUY IT Rocking Wingback Chair: What a charming piece! This pink wingback chair makes a dreamy first impression with its pastel upholstery and bold button tufting. The rocking base is perfect for calm evening reading in a home library or rocking an infant to sleep in the nursery.

$352BUY IT Beige Rocking Wingback Chair: If you need a rocking chair for a nursery, this wingback chair would be a perfect fit. The seat is extra-wide to accommodate story time with a young one, while the back is tall enough to support the head of a tired parent. This model is also available in a versatile light grey color.

$170BUY IT Roll Arm Wingback Chair: Soft and subtle, this model is an easy fit for any interior style. The rolled arms embody a classic aesthetic while the smooth lines stand in line with contemporary trends. Enjoy the versatility of the white upholstery pictured here or explore the available selection of bold hues to bring a splash of color to your space.

$810BUY IT Scandinavian Style Tall Wingback Chair: Designed with excellent support in mind, this tall wingback chair features a full backrest and dramatic side wings. The gently splayed wood legs hint at subtle Scandinavian influence – a light modern look for cheerful spaces. This piece is available with dark or light grey upholstery.

$810BUY IT Wicker Rattan Wingback Chair: This lovingly-crafted wicker wingback chair is perfect for interiors with themes ranging from nautical to rustic and beyond. The thick seat cushion is bouncy and firm for support, while the soft feather-filled back pillow ensures lasting comfort for long chats with friends. Guests will love the high back and substantial armrests – and, of course, the distinctive style.

Recommended Reading:  51 Lounge Chairs That Every Book Lover Dreams About 32 Comfortable Reading Chairs To Help You Get Lost In Your Literary World

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41 Wingback Chairs that Reinvent a Classic Favorite

Nothing makes a dramatic impression quite like a stately wingback chair. This unique design has a rich history and purpose – originally, the hallmark wings were included to protect the upper body against drafts and intense heat from fireplaces. You might have found them in extravagant drawing rooms and private studies where occupants would sit and read, socialize, or perhaps even grab a quick snooze. This list features 41 of our top picks ranging from traditional wingback designs to ultra-contemporary statement pieces, each one showcasing the fantastic versatility of a style that has continued to change and evolve over the years.

$5145BUY IT Grand Repos Wingback Chair: Designed in 2011 by Antonio Citterio, the Grand Repos Lounge Chair uses its curvaceous form to embrace the body for a feeling of refuge. Swivel, recline and relax in this fully adjustable work of art. This model is available in black and silver base finishes along with upholstery in a range of naturals, neutrals, and striking firetruck red.

$8924BUY IT Hans Wegner EJ 100 Ox Chair: A statement piece that looks fantastic from every angle, this mid-century modern lounge chair is ready to become a central statement point anywhere in your home. This piece is available in classic leather (including the brown leather wingback chair you see here) and a vibrant spectrum of premium fabrics.

$5000BUY IT Papilio Style Wingback Chair: Named after the Latin word for butterfly – “papilio” – this piece is the perfect embodiment of grace. Japanese industrial designer Naoto Fukasawa conceptualized the wing design to reflect a protective nature, a powerful aid to relaxation. This swivel chair is just as practical as it is comfortable, the back zipper facilitating easy upkeep of the wingback chair slipcover.

$1600BUY IT Wegner Style Wing Chair: Based on Hans J. Wegner’s CH445 Wing Chair, this versatile design perfectly captures the spirit of mid-century modern flair. Every angle is exceptionally tailored to match the original from the deep pitch of the seat to the height of the back. Find the perfect wingback accent chair for your favorite space from the selection of leather and wool upholstery options.

$448BUY IT Arne Jacobsen Style Egg Chair: Inspired by Arne Jacobsen’s iconic 1958 design, this piece mimics the hallmark curves and glove-like fit that makes the Egg Chair such an important part of the modern design lexicon. This red wingback chair swivels and adjusts, making it great for a reading nook, bedroom, or living space. You can find an authentic original available here.

$2800BUY IT Tom Dixon Wingback Chair: Make a dramatic statement in your living space with this contemporary take on a timeless style. The gorgeous Wingback Chair from Tom Dixon features exaggerated wings for eye-catching aesthetic appeal, easily doubling as support for deep relaxation and unexpected naps. The back of each piece features a brass logo to let everyone know you have a modern original.

$1500BUY IT Modern Reader Wingback Chair: Embrace the light and playful look of contemporary Danish design with the Modern Reader designed by Tor Hadsund. This small wingback chair features subtle wings and a curvaceous seat, its supportive shape sure to become a guest favorite. Choose from an array of vintage-inspired textile colors to suit your interior with ease.

$1887BUY IT Modern Metal Base Wingback Chair: Milan-based designer Michele Menescardi created a fantastically charismatic statement piece with this casual wingback chair. This lounge features a classic shell shape situated atop a perfectly contemporary lightweight metal base. The removable lumbar support cushion offers extra support right where you might need it most.

$1535BUY IT Modern Bent Plywood Wingback Chair: Enhance your favorite space with something a little different – perhaps a splash of a distinctive pattern. This piece features a molded plywood body for retro appeal, its seat upholstered with durable fabric made by Sunbrella in a playful desert inspired print. This Wayfair wingback chair model is also available in charcoal black for a more subdued look.

$370BUY IT Blue Modern Wingback Chair With Steel Legs: Are you looking for a colorful accent sure to capture attention? This blue wingback chair features striking upholstery, durable yet soft to the touch, situated atop vintage-inspired metal hairpin legs. Thanks to the more traditional sizing, this high wingback chair is a little easier on the knees than most of the low-profile lounge style options.

$1500BUY IT Papa Bear Style Wing Chair: Designed to look like the Hans J. Wegner original, this Papa Bear recreation is constructed from a sturdy walnut wood frame and upholstered in quality Italian upholstery. Although not shown in the image above, this piece comes with a matching ottoman to complete the set.

$218BUY IT Grey Tufted Wingback Chair: This tufted wingback chair combines classic design details with contemporary charcoal gray upholstery for a look that transcends eras. The plush seat and back beckon enjoyment, ideal for social areas and cozy relaxation spaces alike.

$318BUY IT Purple Wingback Chair: Infuse your living space with a splash of elegant color. This purple wingback chair features smooth grape upholstery lined with rows of decorative nailhead trim. It also reclines – a handsome alternative to traditional recliners.

$130BUY IT Blue Velvet Wingback Chair: Upholstered in super-soft bright blue velvet, this wingback chair is sure to become an everyday favorite. This piece combines ultra-modern aesthetics with a touch of retro mid-century charm. The price is perfect for those who want high-end style on a budget.

$1700BUY IT Domus Lounge Chair: Finnish architect Ilmari Tapiovaara created the Domus Lounge Chair in 1946 using the molded plywood techniques that were, at the time, completely changing the landscape of the furniture design world. This classic piece lets its beautiful birch grain steal the stage and bring a natural touch to any interior.

$216BUY IT Small Mid Century Modern Wingback Chair: Countryside charm absolutely radiates from this chic and welcoming wingback chair. This piece combines current trends and classic materials, its curvaceous body upholstered in smooth beige fabric and lined with rustic burlap along the exterior. Explore the other color and material combinations to find the best fit for your décor theme.

$264BUY IT Grey Faux Linen Contemporary Wingback Chair: With its graceful swooping lines and plush all-over padding, this gray wingback chair feels just as comfortable as it looks. Because this piece maintains such a lovely neutral theme, it can easily accommodate any range of accent colors – great for those who like to experiment with different accent pillow combinations from season to season.

$233BUY IT Beige Fabric Wingback Chair: Invest in a comfortable armchair that will continue to suit your interior no matter how your tastes change over the years. This wingback recliner chair is upholstered in a neutral beige, decorated with subtle nailhead trim to accentuate the outside edges.

$229BUY IT Floral Wingback Chair: Enjoy a blast from the past with this mid-century modern style chair, upholstered in a vintage-inspired floral print with playful retro colors. Use as a standout accent piece within a contemporary interior or pair with other era-appropriate pieces for a complete theme. This floral wingback chair is certain to draw compliments from guests.

$399BUY IT Patterned Wingback Chair: Not only does this reclining wingback chair capture the eye with its paisley print, it also offers an excellent seating experience thanks to its plush padded arms and leg rest. This piece is available in several other colors and patterns for smart coordination.

$468BUY IT Striped Black And White Wingback Chair: Center your interior décor around this eye-catching focal point! An instant statement piece, this striped wingback chair features black and white stripes in luxurious soft velvet. Consider adding this piece to a dark-themed modern interior, or pair with gold accents for a cool Art Deco vibe.

$260BUY IT Plaid Wingback Chair: Plaid is always a cozy pattern option for interiors with nautical, cottage, and rustic themes. This plaid wingback chair looks fantastic on its own or paired with a bright colorful accent pillow like the one pictured here.

$450BUY IT Mid Century Modern Yellow Wingback Chair: Bring a ray of sunshine to your favorite space with this cheerful yellow wingback chair. Soft linen fabric makes this piece soft to the touch, while the sturdy hardwood frame ensures longevity. Black-finished hairpin legs complete the mid-century look.

$237BUY IT Red Wingback Chair: Complement your interior theme with a wingback chair recliner in classic red. This piece is fantastic for a bedroom, media room, living area, or home library – anywhere you like to kick up your feet after a long day. You can also find this chair available in cream, grey, and navy blue.

$264BUY IT Velvet Teal Wingback Chair: Color, texture, and class – this velvet wingback chair makes a dramatic impact with its rich teal color, a statement piece your guests will love to admire. The conservative footprint helps to save space and the lightweight form is easy to move for social gatherings.

$171BUY IT Wingback Dining Chair: Offer guests a sophisticated spot at the table with this wingback dining chair. The button-tufted backs offer classic appeal with a high-end look. Plush seats and supportive backrests ensure lasting comfort for everyday use. Each set includes two chairs.

$221BUY IT Antique Wingback Chair: Enjoy the look of an antique wingback chair without the price tag or upkeep with this distinctive design. The seat and back and upholstered in ruby red with taupe damask wrapped across the back. The wings are lined with chocolate bonded leather, perfectly coordinated with the dark-finished legs.

$700BUY IT Queen Ann Wingback Chair: A gorgeous Queen Ann wingback chair with a decorative twist. This piece is upholstered in a linen cotton blend, printed with antique French script for elegant eye-catching style. Travelers and calligraphy enthusiasts alike are sure to fall in love with this unique design.

$251BUY IT Tufted Antique Wingback Chair: Give any room a high-end classic treatment with this elegant wingback chair. This button-tufted piece would command respect across from an executive desk, can inform first impressions at an entryway, or enhance ambiance within a home library.

$431BUY IT French Wingback Chair: Gently distressed mindi wood framing gives this piece the look of a vintage wingback chair with all the advantages of sturdy modern construction. The body and cushion are upholstered in beige linen upholstery for a soft touch and highly versatile appeal.

$1712BUY IT Genuine Brown Tufted Leather Wingback Chair: This genuine leather wingback chair is sure to make a stately impression wherever you place it. The deep back tufting continues along the sides of the wings to provide all-encompassing comfort for a luxurious seating experience. Small front casters make this handsome piece easy to move.

$311BUY IT Black Bonded Leather Wingback Chair: With a high back and oversized wings, this impressive chair is sure to make a bold statement in any interior. The black bonded leather upholstery glimmers with a trim of silver nailheads for an extra dash of decorative appeal. For those seeking a little more color, this model is also available in a beautiful teal.

$272BUY IT Wingback Chair With Ottoman: Light brown acanthus leaves swirl across the upholstery of this patterned wingback chair with ottoman. The pattern motif is classic yet fits well within the modern home as well. You might find this pair to be a fantastic fit for a quiet reading area, bedroom, or a well-appointed living room.

$261BUY IT Swivel Wingback Chair: Classic style meets contemporary comfort with this tufted wingback chair. Enjoy the swivel base as you socialize with guests, answer emails on your laptop, or curl up in the evening with a great book. The faux leather upholstery offers a timeworn look for heirloom appeal.

$324BUY IT Wingback Office Chair: Upgrade your work day with this executive-style wingback desk chair. Button-tufted upholstery over thick cushioning provides lasting support and comfort, helping you focus more on the important tasks at hand. Sturdy caster wheels provide excellent mobility.

$260BUY IT Tufted Wingback Recliner Chair: Kick up your feet in the comfort without sacrificing your preference for traditional aesthetics. This reclining wingback chair maintains a conservative footprint, ideal for smaller spaces or those who prefer a cozier seating experience. Explore the attractive range of neutral and natural colors available to find the perfect fit your interior.

$263BUY IT Rocking Wingback Chair: What a charming piece! This pink wingback chair makes a dreamy first impression with its pastel upholstery and bold button tufting. The rocking base is perfect for calm evening reading in a home library or rocking an infant to sleep in the nursery.

$352BUY IT Beige Rocking Wingback Chair: If you need a rocking chair for a nursery, this wingback chair would be a perfect fit. The seat is extra-wide to accommodate story time with a young one, while the back is tall enough to support the head of a tired parent. This model is also available in a versatile light grey color.

$170BUY IT Roll Arm Wingback Chair: Soft and subtle, this model is an easy fit for any interior style. The rolled arms embody a classic aesthetic while the smooth lines stand in line with contemporary trends. Enjoy the versatility of the white upholstery pictured here or explore the available selection of bold hues to bring a splash of color to your space.

$810BUY IT Scandinavian Style Tall Wingback Chair: Designed with excellent support in mind, this tall wingback chair features a full backrest and dramatic side wings. The gently splayed wood legs hint at subtle Scandinavian influence – a light modern look for cheerful spaces. This piece is available with dark or light grey upholstery.

$810BUY IT Wicker Rattan Wingback Chair: This lovingly-crafted wicker wingback chair is perfect for interiors with themes ranging from nautical to rustic and beyond. The thick seat cushion is bouncy and firm for support, while the soft feather-filled back pillow ensures lasting comfort for long chats with friends. Guests will love the high back and substantial armrests – and, of course, the distinctive style.

Recommended Reading:  51 Lounge Chairs That Every Book Lover Dreams About 32 Comfortable Reading Chairs To Help You Get Lost In Your Literary World

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Modern Furnishing from B&B Italia

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10 Stunning Apartments That Show Off The Beauty Of Nordic Interior Design

50 Stunning Scandinavian Style Chairs To Help You Pull Off The Look

How To Combine Modern Home Style With Original Features

5 Living Rooms That Demonstrate Stylish Modern Design Trends