Badass Irish Tattoos Novels & Stories

“is just for fun.” Heat climbed up my neck. “And what’s the fun one supposed to mean?” “You’d have to find out for yourself.” His voice dipped low again, and I swore my heart skipped. One of his friends Ryan grin leaned in then, resting an elbow on the table. “You’re not the only one with ink worth showing off,” he said, tugging up his own sleeve. The tattoo was intricate, swirling with roses and blades, like beauty tangled with danger. The other two joined in, each showing me their designs a phoenix across one’s back that peeked over his collar, a serpent winding down another’s arm in precise, dangerous curves.

Of course, whoever was with the woman probably needed somewhere nice to sit as it took a while with this sort of thing. “You and me both” she said, “but I gotta say some of those looked alright, we definitely haven’t found YOUR dress yet.” She wasn’t wrong, some of them had been decent enough, but none that really won me over. Exasperated I shook out my low ponytail, twisted my hair, and shoved it up into a sloppy bun on the top of my head. I heard a gasp and turned to see the saleslady staring at me. I realized, belatedly, that my tattoo was visible. In the mob, or mafia as it was typically called, we had distinguishing marks; one of the most frequent being strategically placed tattoos. Thi

Mark was slightly taller than I and was a hundred and ninety pounds of rock solid muscle, his shoulders were wide and his waist narrow, he was not muscle bound, but there was not a damn thing on him that was not exactly where it should be including a set of abs that would make a twenty year old jealous. Mark, like me in a sleeveless shirt caught a bit of attention. Both of his arms shoulder to elbow were covered in enormous tattoo's, on the right was Pan the Celtic devil; horns, hooves and red eyes glaring, on the left was an incredibly detailed image of the Pale rider of revelations fame. With his build, the tats and his five o clock shadow Mark was flaunting the "Bad Boy" look and carried

Mea Dea, my goddess in Latin, despite wanting to spit at him to address me properly, my heart races. “You can call me Queen Aylin,” I force out in a hiss, although his smirk tells me I don’t sound convincing. I break eye contact with him to look him over. He is truly carved to perfection. He’s wearing a tank top, which shows the entire tattoo on his neck. It’s a black and white piece of a phoenix, midflight with its mouth open in a scream, surrounded by fire. The wings extend onto the front and back of his neck in brilliant detail and the fire down to his collarbone. He also has several different pieces down both arms, none of which I bother to look at since I’ve been looking at him for far

The Riot Kings Summer Rally transformed Riverdale for one weekend each year. Motorcycles lined the main street, leather-clad riders from chapters across three states filling the bars and restaurants. Music, laughter, and the constant rumble of engines created a soundtrack unlike any other. Valentina stood in front of the full-length mirror in their bedroom, barely recognizing the woman who looked back. Faded jeans hugged her curves, tucked into well-worn boots. A simple black tank top showed off arms that had grown stronger from months of mechanical work. And over it all, the leather jacket with roses embroidered on the back—a piece of her past reclaimed, no longer hidden away in shame.

Emberlynn recognized the design because her mother had sometimes forced her to learn strange things, and the Celtics were one of them. Above the wolf, a crescent moon could hover, and at the base of the emblem, the words "Silver Woods Pack" were inscribed. The tattoo peaking from his arms where he had rolled up his sleeves wasn't helping her perception of him. The weirdest thing of all was she felt as though she had seen the tattoo and emblem before. Yet, she couldn't pinpoint exactly where. "You sure do stare a lot, but you don't talk much. No, you don't talk at all. But I want it the other way around. I want you to talk to me, be free with me," Damien said.

Willow smiled. "The only painful thing I experienced was this thing they did to my wrist" Iris showed the faint tattoo on her left wrist. It was two short lines. Willow remembered her mother has the same tattoo on her wrist but hers was a little bit different. She asked her about it but Terra shrugged it off. "Why?" "I'm now verified" She happily said. "What does that even mean?" "I'm free to be with you guys now. It's either this or death. That means I have to stay here" Iris sadly said.

He pushed past me with enough force that I had to take a step back, and I found myself grinning despite everything. The Brotherhood house was different this time around when I came in. Seeing Eamon seething in rage made everything look a lot more beautiful. It was like Moonshine on a clear mind. The main hall was decorated with old portraits and mounted animal heads, like some kind of hunting lodge. But it was the people that caught my attention. Six older students lounging around the space, all wearing identical tattoos on different parts of their body. Tree designs, dark ink twisted into complex patterns. One of them called out to me as we entered. "Hey, O'Donoghue. Where do you want to ge

Willow smiled. "The only painful thing I experienced was this thing they did to my wrist" Iris showed the faint tattoo on her left wrist. It was two short lines. Willow remembered her mother has the same tattoo on her wrist but hers was a little bit different. She asked her about it but Terra shrugged it off. "Why?" "I'm now verified" She happily said. "What does that even mean?" "I'm free to be with you guys now. It's either this or death. That means I have to stay here" Iris sadly said.

he drawled, "took you long enough. I was beginning to think you had changed your mind about spending the weekend with me." I rolled my eyes but could not help the smile that tugged at my lips. "Dream on, Killian," I replied, climbing into the passenger seat as he held the door open. Killian was hard to ignore—he was a huge guy, broad-shouldered and tall, with a presence that demanded attention. His dark hair was always a bit unruly, a perfect contrast to his sharp jawline and intense green eyes. His left arm was covered in a sleeve tattoo, the ink swirling down his arm in an intricate design—black lines, shaded geometric patterns, and symbols that I could not fully make sense of but seemed t