Black Onyx Tattoo Novels & Stories

Noir thought he was finally going crazy. He’d been up for the past hour watching his mate sleep. He insisted on her sleeping with him on the bed and now he couldn’t be happier. Her deep red hair spread like a fan contrasting deeply with his dark sheets. Her long eyelashes sealed her eyes. Noir found it very difficult to watch her. He restrained himself from kissing those plump pink lips. It was a sweet torture. He was about to stand from the bed and watch her sleep when he noticed the black writings on her wrist. It was a tattoo.

In black, grey and blue ink, beautiful, intricate patterns of floral and wing designs mar my skin, but at its centre, Zefiro name sits majestically in stunning calligraphy. The bastard tattooed his name into my skin.

I flashed him a smile, heading back to whisk myself under the sheets. “Take it wherever you’re going. It’s a protective jade.” He yelled behind me. “Yes, sir!” It was impossible to carry such a stone all around. It had edges that fit up to a hexagon and a weird drawing of a yin-yang symbol, supposedly. The whole school would definitely think I’m some shaman trying to hold the females into some kind of fraternity. I walked past the monochrome-colored tiles, dropping the newspaper collection and the weird-looking stone on the dining table.

* He wasn’t going to fool himself into thinking Big Boss took an interest in him. But Big Boss was moving closer, and from this distance, Tyler could make out the exact color of his pupils. Black, filled with a type of spark he’d never seen before. Behind those eyes lay something sinister, but he was far too fascinated by the intricate phoenix tattoo wrapped around Big Boss’ neck that he had lost focus on everything else. The interlacing hues of red and gold fused together to form a brilliant orange against the fair canvas of Big Boss’ skin. And before he knew what he was doing, he had his hand out and was touching Big Boss’ tattoo.

She wanted to remember. Thick steel ring through her septum. A heavy tattoo gun buzzed right above her cunt: “PROPERTY OF DAMIEN BLACK” in big black letters with arrows pointing straight down to her pierced, ruined holes. Then the permanent collar—thick steel, welded shut around her neck forever. A metal plate bolted on that read “Black’s Prize Pony – Do Not Return.” Damien fucked her slow and deep on the table right after, staring into her empty eyes while she whispered broken “thank you Owner” between sobs and orgasms.

What the fuck was this? I separated from Alonso and sat on the bed, looking at my right forearm, which was shining. He frowned, watching, as I did, in complete silence. Once the glow was over, he just said, “What the fuck was that, little one?” “I do not know.” And what we saw left us perplexed: it was a black tattoo of the compass star and the tip that marked north had a red dot. I touched my tattoo, specifically on the red dot, and Alonso’s mark glowed, as he groaned. We both gasped in surprise.

“You think this is over? You’ve only broken the lock. The thing beneath the Black Moon stirs, child. And it remembers your name.” Kaelira’s blood ran cold. “No,” she whispered. “The Echo was the last of it. I destroyed it.” “You destroyed its shell,” Varyn said. “But its heart — the true Black Moon — was never in this world to begin with. It’s waiting. And it’s calling you home.” Zevran stepped forward. “Then we’ll burn your god a second time.” Varyn’s expression softened, almost pitying. “You can’t fight the storm, boy. You can only drown in it.”

Atlas’ POV Onyx. That was my new favorite name. It suited her perfectly describing the color of her long, black shiny, silky hair that I wanted to run my fingers through. Fuck. Her scent was better than anything I had ever smelled in my life; coconut and with a hint of warm vanilla. I wanted to inhale that scent forever. Her eyes were the prettiest shade of purple I had ever seen. I never even fucking liked purple until I saw those gems. I was a compete sucker for her. Her skin was smooth and pale like porcelain, and her lips were so full and pink. I needed to feel them against mine.

Saint was about to look away grudgingly when Nicholas's towel lowered itself and then fell to the floor, revealing a tattoo. His gaze snagged on it before he could even stop himself. The tattoo rested low on Nicholas's back, directly above his waist. The design climbed the base of his spine in elegant black lines. Sharp points and sweeping curves intertwined around a narrow central shape that resembled a watchful eye. Thorn-like flourishes stretched outward before curling back in on themselves, giving the impression of something dangerous held barely under control.

The icy blast would’ve made anyone else recoil, but Dante stood there, solid and unmoving, like he was made of stone. His back was a canvas of ink, just like his front. The artwork was nothing short of breathtaking. Spanning across his entire back was a massive, detailed tattoo—an angel, powerful and divine, standing within the ruins of an ancient temple. The wings spread wide across his shoulder blades, reaching toward his arms, while crumbling pillars surrounded the figure in dramatic grayscale contrast. It wasn’t just a tattoo; it was a story, a testament, a work of devotion etched forever into his flesh. It was absolutely beautiful—mesmerizing, even.