Cuddle Drawings Novels & Stories

You kept me hidden. Drawn from the back:him shielding her,his body turned just enough to block every angle. Card10: Moon Visual.You came with me.I was so happy that day. A soft,dreamy sketch of the suspended moon and two small silhouettes beneath it. Card11: Mobius ring.Our rings. A delicate line drawing of two intertwined bands.No beginning.No end. Adrian’s fingers lingered on the last card longer than the others. Then,slowly,he lifted his gaze.

As expected of a child. Aware that she will be sitting on the other side of the door with her beloved stuffed toy, Mr. Cuddles waiting for my arrival, I wasted no time searching for the keys from the disastrously unorganized insides of my bag, and instead, made three gentle knocks. “Laura, dear. Are you having trouble sleeping again?” I asked. She hastily stood up and reached for the knob which is a little bit too high for her and so, the wooden floor sounded as she ran across the house to search for something to stand on.

His favorite stuffed dinosaur lay face-down on the floor, waiting for him to scoop it up like he always did before bed. On the walls, his drawings were taped crookedly—bright bursts of color in messy lines that only I had the patience to understand. Some of them were just shapes, others full of suns and moons, stick figures holding hands. He was seven, almost eight, and everything he drew told me the same thing: he wanted to feel safe, he wanted to feel loved.

Small beds lined both walls, thin mattresses long since collapsed with age, faded blankets still folded at the foot of several of them, as though someone had once cared enough to make them each morning. Drawings covered one wall, taped there decades ago and somehow, impossibly, still clinging to the concrete children's crayon work, faded almost past recognition but unmistakably tender in subject. Suns with too many rays. Houses with crooked chimneys. Families, hand in hand. Aurora crouched slowly in front of one drawing near the corner, her flashlight beam trembling slightly as she studied it. A family, five stick figures holding hands beneath a bright yellow sun, and standing slightly apart

He whines and I laugh at him. I raffles his hair and hold his face in my palms. “So… how is handsome Denzel doing today?” “I’m fine! Here….” He reaches for a drawing book next to him on the bed and shows me a page where drew…. Ah! I don’t even know what he drew! But I guess it’s some cartoons. “… Look, Anna, I drew hulk and captain America!” “Oh… “ I take a closer look and frown, why doesn’t they look like the hulk and captain America I know?

A piece of paper fluttered out. It was a drawing. Crayons on construction paper. Catherine picked it up, and her blood ran cold. The drawing showed two stick figures standing on a jagged white line (the ice). One was labelled "Daddy," drawn in blue. The other was labelled "Sad Man," drawn in red. They were fighting. But above them, the sky was ripped open. A black hole was drawn in the clouds. And coming out of the hole wasn't light. It was a tentacle. A massive, black, spiraling limb covered in eyes.

I do similar ones of Michael to give to Carrie and one for Zuri but with a lion for the family. I then move on to the drawings for Christmas. For grandma Calista I draw a portrait of grandpa Thierry and her with all the current grandkids. I know she’ll love it. I make sure to leave room for more grandkids. I stare at grandpa Thierry and look at my other drawings. We’ve had a lot of loss in this family.

I crouched down, catching him in my arms, squeezing him so tightly he squealed. “You’re here early, where did you go yesterday? I was looking for you!” he said, beaming. I pulled back and forced a smile, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “I just... wanted to see you before work, honey.” He rummaged through his backpack eagerly and pulled out a wrinkled drawing. “I made this for you!” I took it, my hands trembling slightly. It was a crude drawing of our family—me, him, and Nathan, all holding hands.

At the center was a small wooden box he had been secretly working on for weeks. “Look!” he said proudly, lifting the lid to reveal a collection of carefully folded drawings. Emily gasped softly. “Luca, these are beautiful.” He beamed. “I made them for you and Dad. Each one is a story about us.” I knelt down beside him, my throat tightening as I looked through the drawings. There we were, stick figures holding hands, standing under a bright yellow sun, surrounded by hearts and stars. Another drawing showed our home with flowers blooming around it, and in the center, the three of us smiling.

I was just about to call after her - to tell her that we weren't done talking when she returned, clutching a stack of papers between her fingers. She crossed the room to where I was standing and held it out to me. "I wouldn't be so sure about that." I took the papers and began flipping through them - fast at first, but slower and slower when I realized what I was looking at. Drawings that Tate did. Various drawings of himself playing with other pups, drawings of the two of us with the rest of the pack, drawings of the two of us as a family with a faceless father figure, and finally, a drawing of a pack with a lone pup standing off to the side with drooped ears and a hanging tail.