Cuddle Drawings Novels & Stories

I pulled her closer into a warm hug, really hoping everything that was going on with me never affected my relationship with her. I just hope after the mating ceremony, I would really be back in control because I really didn’t want her to see that side of me. Pulling away from the hug, I looked at the picture again, trying to see how this stick really does look like me, and then I noticed she had more drawings. I slipped through the pages, but confusion washed over me. These… are weird. They didn’t look like the image of a person. They are more like… like symbols.

That one stung. I brushed a stray curl from her cheek. “What are you drawing?” She hesitated, then flipped the page toward me. It was a sketch of three stick figures. One was tall with black hair, one with long brown hair, and one small in the middle holding both their hands. Ryan. Me. Her. My throat tightened. “That’s beautiful, Molly.” She shrugged. “I was bored.” Claire appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, that look on her face, the one that meant she’d been thinking about something serious.

Step three: Show Mommy he’s not scary. Step four: Don’t get caught. I added a little drawing of a wolf family at the bottom, a big wolf, a smaller wolf with long hair like Mommy’s, and a tiny wolf cub with curls like mine. “What are you drawing?” John, the clumsy boy with a running nose, said , stretching his head to see. I covered it with my arms frowning at him. “No you can't see it.” “Come on let me, you don't want to talk to me anymore since you found your daddy.”

Victory pudding. Amara laughed softly and typed back: Tell him I love him. A minute later, another message appeared: He knows. But I’ll tell him anyway. She folded the shawl closer around her, then reached for her pencil. She didn’t draw a face this time. She started with a swirl—bold strokes of gold, deep reds curling into soft blues. An emotional portrait. The baby’s heartbeat, perhaps. Or her own. Still beating. Still holding. On the next page, she drew two hands—one steady, one trembling—reaching. Not yet touching. Just... almost.

It makes me feel wanted. "Who the fuck is Cuddles?" A smile graces my face. "My giant lizard companion." Ryan gawks at me as one would stare at a mentally ill person. "Your what?!" And that's when the entire wall crumbles to dust. I glance to my left, smiling brightly when my eyes land on Cuddles and the gang. Blue is wagging his tail while his crazy tongue is hanging out of his mouth. It's a habit even Cuddles has picked up—his tongue is hanging out too.

I need to be patient. "Anyways now I get to know you." He smiled patting the space beside him in the bed. "I came here to take pictures of you." I took my phone from my pocket. "Aren't you gonna draw me?" "Yes of course, but I need pictures of you because I cannot call you each time to complete my portrait, Alex." "You can call me anytime, my Kuschelbär. I'm exclusive only for you." He threw his hand on my shoulder. "Exclusive only for me, my Cuddle bear." I smirked as he looked somber.

As if on que Cuddles made it's entrance dragging the man who's leg had been crushed by the icicle as if holding something as light as a feather in her mouth. "H-Hey.." Gabreldi stuttered lifting his finger towards his comrade. "HELP! AH! AAHg!" Cuddles began taking bites of flesh from the man's pulverized leg. He began writhing trying to kick the little Baoar. "C-Call off your pet!" "That's probably why you weren't attacked. Now please call it off!" "Pet? we only found it a little bit ago. Though I'm definitely going to keep it! It's so cute!" Christopher announced excitedly.

She laughed and hugged me tightly, she was half a head taller than me, but it wasn't awkward at all. "You really don't have to." I said, smiling at her, only now could I take in the full effect of how much stress this had caused her. Her deep brown hair was pulled into a messy bun on top of her head, a pencil shoved into it, and her shrug's sleeves were shoved above her elbows, where eczema sat red and irritated and brought forth by stress. "Here's the drawings." I said as I pulled a folder filled with 205 different drawings. "I threw in a couple alternates, and you can rearrange them however you think they fit best. Oh!" I pulled out another paper filled with little boxes with intricate des

I unfolded it. It was a drawing in crayon and marker, the way first-graders drew — bright, flat, full of feeling. Two almost sticklike figures, one tall and one small. The tall one had brown hair and a white coat. The small one had a yellow dress and orange boots. They were holding hands. Above them, in large, uneven letters: ME AND MOMMY. In the corner, small and neat compared to the rest: I miss you — C I didn't say anything. I couldn't.

The first pages contained ordinary drawings. Faith. The house. The old fig tree. Then... His expression changed. Bethwel leaned closer. "What is it?" Alex turned the book around. Glen had drawn the northern woods. A square hatch. Six stick figures. One had a hat. Another had unusually large boots. Each figure carried a different symbol instead of a face. Joel smiled. "Children draw differently." Alex nodded. "No." "He wasn't drawing faces." "He was classifying them." He pointed at the figure with the hat.