Blushing Drawing Novels & Stories

"It's nothing," "You're all red in the face, Eve. That doesn't seem like anything." I replied and stretched my hand out. "Come on, let me see." She blushed harder, picking up the paper and handed it over. My eyes widened. Staring back at me, was a rather realistic pencil drawing of me. She had been drawing me. The shades, the angles, fuck, the everything! Just how long had she been working on this? "You did this," I whispered, taking in every detail, every shadow she had denoted, every angle.

Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting in the living room with my sandwiches, a tall glass of milk, the TV on, serving as background noise, and my drawing pad and pencil in hand. I don’t know how long I sit there drawing, only taking breaks to use the washroom, but eventually I finish drawing Remus, which is surprisingly difficult, not because there aren’t many features to draw, but because there aren’t many features to draw. I try to make it feel as real as I can, as detailed as possible, and try to paint a picture of his personality through the drawing. And don’t get me started on the shading. I feel like my fingers might fall off by the time I actually finish, but I realize this is probably my

My throat tightened so badly it hurt. "Blair." I whispered. Something else lay beside them, a piece of paper, no, a drawing. I picked it up carefully. It was a picture of a girl standing between two stick-figure adults. All three holding hands. My vision blurred. Me. Blair. Her mother. The drawing was messy, the lines too sharp made by a tired hand, a scared hand, a child’s hand. My knees touched the floor before I even realized I’d fallen, I held the small shoe to my chest, shaking.

Damn. Another deep breath later I shook my head then moved his sketch aside and started drawing my latest victim instead. Willing my mind to think about my latest kill, I started sketching, fast. The lines, the shape of his slouched body, and the fear show his level of stress without showing off his face. The blood dripping from his stomach made them perfectly in line with the moment his life was slipping away. My wrist moves hurriedly, line after line, shading, shaping Rudy the tattletale. The coloring comes next, then I decided to stop when my back felt too tired to continue.

I ask, she brings her eyes back to me, this time she searches my face and I do the same. She has baby blue eyes, thick eyebrows, freckles sprinkled on her little button nose and her pouty lips are red, not lipstick red but natural red. It's like meeting Snow White in the flesh. She hesitates at first but she extends the notebook to me, I notice that her hands are shaking a little but I pretend not to have noticed. I take the notebook, keeping my eyes on her. The drawing is actually a sketch of a tree, birds flying away from it. It looks more like a picture to be honest.

She took her drawing book from the shelf and sat down near the window where the evening light gently touched her face. Petal opened the sketchbook to a blank white page.Petal’s hands shook as she clutched her pencil, tracing trembling lines across the untouched white sheet of her drawing book. Each stroke was uncertain, blurred by the endless stream of tears falling from her reddened eyes. The salty drops trickled down her cheeks, wetting the paper in scattered, translucent blotches that threatened to ruin her art—but she drew anyway, desperate for distraction, for release. The dim lamplight in her room cast gentle shadows over the page, reflecting the turmoil inside her.

"Fuck, after that last one, I'll happily let you draw a pretty picture on my face." The girls smiled brightly and made their way to our side of the table. Brian gave each of them a black marker and flipped a timer. Hycinth was still wearing her heels, making it easier for her to reach me. I felt her draw quick lines on my cheeks and above my eyebrows, before drawing a circle on my nose and filling it in. "Times up!" Brian called out. "What did you draw?" I asked curiously, although I had an idea. She smirked, "You make an adorable pussy...cat."

This time I am unable to deny it as my face reddens under his gaze. “I want to paint this.” He says suddenly as he gently drops me on the sofa. “What? Paint What?” “You. Blushing. It’s too cute not to.” “As in right now? You want to do that now?” He shrugs, “There is no time like now. I mean, you are redder than anything I have ever seen.” “I don’t think blushing can be held till you’re done. I’ll move, it’ll go, and the whole thing is ruined.”

However, she was not just blushing on her face but had red ears, too. The little girl was blushing so much. Did she think he could not see it, or did she consider him easy to fool? Chris curved his lips slightly and went back to work.

But the moment I shut my eyes, he returned, his breath on my neck, his weight pressing into me. I flinched and shut off the tap. Get a grip, Liana. Wrapped in a towel, I stormed out, pulled my sketchbook from the drawer like a lifeline. I needed to draw. I needed to bleed this ache onto paper. My pencil moved in frantic strokes, lines connecting, curves forming. Skin, shoulders, abs, that signature smirk. My vision blurred, but I kept going until the image was complete. Maxwell. Naked. As I remembered him. I stared at the drawing, breath hitching.