Gojo Satoru Drawing Pencil Novels & Stories

His hands part way for his eyes as he stares at me before he slowly brings them down, his cheeks a bit red now "O-Oh" As I look at him now, I notice that he's wearing a light brown polo shirt and white dungarees, his hair a bit gelled back even though some of it has fallen forward while Cream has on a black turtleneck sweater and trousers with a white baseball hat over his head and glasses as well. My eyes linger more on Cream "You look a lot like him" "Who?" Caramel walks closer. "Gojou Satoru" I answer "Except you don't have the sparkly blue eye thing that makes me want to stare at you all day"

The bread he brought back lay untouched on the table. Leo looked better today. A little color in his cheeks. A little more energy. He drew something on the wall with a blunt pencil — two stick figures, holding hands. One had messy hair. The other had a hat. “Who’s that?” Matteo asked, pointing at the drawing. Leo grinned sleepily. “That’s me. And that’s your boss.” Matteo’s breath caught. “Why him?” “Because he looks like someone who doesn’t smile. But I think maybe he wants to.”

"That's what Mama tells me. Be brave even when it's hard." Darius's composure wavered. I watched his jaw tighten, his hands clench briefly before relaxing. "Your mother is very wise." "I know. She knows everything." Soren pulled a folded paper from his pocket. "I drew something. Want to see?" "Very much." Soren unfolded it carefully. Two stick figures—one large, one small. Both smiling. "That's me and Mama. It's just us two. A pack of two." Darius's hands trembled as he took the drawing in. I saw him struggle to keep breathing normally, his eyes fixed on those two simple figures.

Leo cheered, skidding to a halt beside my chair and thrusting the paper right into my lap. I looked down at the drawing, a soft, involuntary smile breaking across my face. It was drawn in bold, vibrant colors. In the center was a stone castle with blue flags on the turrets. Standing in the grass out front were three stick-figure people holding hands. On the left was a figure with black hair in a red dress labeled Mommy. On the right was a broad figure colored in black crayon labeled Mr. Tyson. And right between them, holding both of their hands with a yellow smiley face, was a smaller figure labeled Leo.

Chloe's POV The sketchbook was open on the kitchen table and the pencils were laid out in order from 6H to 8B because that was the way Léo had arranged them on the first day he sat down next to her with his own sketchbook. The 6H made light lines. The 8B made dark lines. Most of the drawing happened in the middle. She used the 4B for almost everything because it didn't smudge when you pressed hard.

Heat pooled between my thighs as I worked. I switched to a softer pencil for the intimate details the way his fingers dug into her flesh, the arch of her neck as she cried out, the moment of connection where their bodies met. I smudged the lines with my fingertip to create softness around the edges, making the pleasure look almost blurry, like memory or orgasm itself. My free hand slipped between my legs without thinking. I was soaked. I circled my clit slowly while I continued sketching, adding tiny details: the diamond lock necklace resting between her breasts, the faint bruises on her hips shaped like his fingerprints.

My fingers itch to smooth back a few locks of dark hair that fall over his thick eyebrows. His smoldering eyes moving up and down my body. I can feel the heat of his gaze burning my skin, then he shifts his eyes back onto the sketchpad in front of him. His hand is moving fast. The pencil snaps between his fingers. He quickly snatches another pencil from the jar of pencils beside him and returns his gaze on me.

A way of enjoying my solitude. The pencil scratched softly against the paper as I shaded the angles of his cheekbones, the dark fall of his hair, the slight furrow in his brow. I wasn’t as good as I used to be. My lines were shaky, the proportions slightly off, and it took me quite a few attempts to get his nose right. But as the drawing took shape, something inside me unclenched. I stared at the rough sketch of Elijah Lockwood. It still needed perfecting, but given that it had been years since I had last drawn something that was not charts, I felt pretty impressed with myself.

Unfortunately, the people never compared that with his skills. I picked up my charcoal pencil and looked at the blank, white page. I scratched my head, trying to figure out what to draw. All the others were busy working on their sketches. Noah too was focused yet calm, cool and collected. I took a deep breath and hesitantly moved the pencil over the page. Two hours passed by and I heard the teacher clap her hands to grab our attention. We peeked through our pages and she was smiling widely. "Alright, students. Stop with your beautiful sketches. I'll come around to look at it."

Yukio laughed. “Does Papa love Mama so much that he needs to see her face while working?” He laughed. I looked at Sora and he was smiling. “Uh why don’t we paint? Do you know how to paint?” “I know a little.” He looked down, embarrassed. Sora stood up and went to his shelf. He gathered pieces of papers and some paint brushes. He handed them to Yukio and we sat down on the floor. “What are you going to paint Mama?” “I’m painting something that makes me happy. What about you?”