Sans Drawing Novels & Stories

I didn't even know that it was possible for me to ever smile that way. But I did, and it was all because of Cayden. When Cayden took that picture of me suddenly, I didn't even bother looking at it properly, and all I ever wanted to do was for him to erase it. The drawing looked so detailed. From the shadowing to the lips, to the fingers and all the way to the thighs where the drawing ends. "Me, obviously." He frowned at me like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "What, you don't think I could draw?"

Noah’s POV I stare at her as she hurries from her office towards the elevator. She looks as stunning as usual, the way her tight long skirt accentuates her curves and the way the two buttons on her shirt, kept open for comfort, although it looks responsible, still speaks promises of not just full luscious tits but also full succulent breasts.

“Darlin’, we’re in New Orleans. You want a crown? I’ll find you a crown.” “Condom crowns don’t count.” My mouth teased into a smirk. “Fuck. Back to my drawin’ board.” “If you can draw anything beyond a stick man and/or a penis, I’ll be very impressed.” “Blow job kind of impressed?” “Aiden.” Elena rested a hand on my thigh softly. “Can you draw anything other than a stick man or a penis?” I ran my tongue over my lips slowly and deliberately and grinned when her eyes flicked down. “I can probably draw an all right pair of tits.”

I said, watching a pair of swans glide past the shoreline. "Something I wouldn't guess." Andre thought about it for a long moment, kicking a loose stone off the path. "I can draw. Not just doodle in the margins of my notebook during lectures." "Alright, let me see your talent." He pulled a small sketchpad and pencil from his bag, an old, worn thing that clearly traveled with him more often than I'd realized, and gestured toward a nearby bench. "Here." We sat down, and he showed me a collection of his work. They were breathtaking.

“Not a handshake. I mean touched where it counts.” My cheeks flamed. “I—no.” Silas didn’t look surprised. He just nodded and went back to sketching. “And yet you’re here.” I looked down. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” “Yeah, you do.” I glanced up. “You’re looking for a line to cross,” he said. “A boundary to break.” He finished the sketch and turned it toward me. It was a minimalist design of a single open mouth. Lips parted, tongue just barely visible. Not crude. Not obvious. But full of heat.

My drawing tablet sat there, practically taunting me. I knew I shouldn’t. I really, really shouldn’t. But I grabbed it anyway. My fingers swiped across the screen, flipping through random sketches before landing on them. The nudes. The explicit sketches of Jace—of us—doing things that had never even happened except in my head. My stomach twisted, but I couldn’t look away. I should stop. I should. But in the next minute, I was sketching again. My hand moved on its own, each line more detailed than the last. I wasn’t even thinking, just letting myself get lost in the strokes—

She sat down on the chair and began to look at them. She felt her skin crawl as she looked at the drawings. They were of the same man. Tall. Thin. Faceless. With tentacles. But now they were not alone, on the sides were written letters. On one alone they said many NO. NO. NO. And on another was a sentence written: Don't look out the window.

It lay on a nearby table, its intricate lines and contours waiting to be brought to life once again. With focus, Ariana picked up a pencil and hovered it over the next blank space before her. The sketch held a special meaning, a piece of art that resonated deeply within her. As she began to recreate the lines, her hand moved breathing life into the paper. Ariana immersed herself in the act of drawing. Each stroke of the pencil represented a connection between her imagination and the tangible world. The rhythmic sound of drawing. As she meticulously recreated the details, Ariana's mind wandered, her thoughts drifting towards Mateo. The memory of his kind gesture lingered, intertwining with th

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.

Luca stared at it, blinked, and then set the pencil down as if it had burned him. He rubbed his knuckles slowly, picking at the callus on his thumb. He didn’t think of himself as particularly good at art, but those bodies came out clear. Realistic. Like something you’d see in crime scene folders rather than in fantasy stories. Drawing was the only thing that didn’t make him stutter. There was no one here to flinch away from. No voice to catch in his throat. Just lines and shapes, accompanied by the quiet click of the pencil moving. He was halfway through sketching a second face, this one was eyeless, just empty sockets, when the door behind him creaked open.