Bloody Knuckles Aesthetic Novels & Stories

I pictured a stranger putting his hands on her skin, and the mental image pushed my rational mind away. The sheer force of my fury caused my grip on the water glass to tighten to an unnatural degree. My knuckles turned pure white under the harsh fluorescent lights of the boardroom. My muscles locked up, and the raw power of my alpha blood flooded my right arm. I did not throw the glass across the room, nor did I slam it down on the table to make a point. I simply crushed it. The thick crystal shattered into dozens of sharp pieces right inside my palm.

Comforting. I stiffened beneath the weight of his touch, my breath snagging, my gaze darting up to his face. He didn’t look at me, his focus was somewhere internal, calculating, as if measuring my temperature meant more than words could. His palm lingered there a moment too long, and in that moment I caught the bruises again. The dark swell across his knuckles. The scrapes along his skin. Fresh and Violent. The image was instant. Mr Ugly—screaming, writhing, bleeding. Those same fists striking him again and again until he was broken. Dead, maybe.

Instinct took over and with the guidance of Scarlett, the baby latched onto her mother’s breast. “Definitely my child.” Knuckles murmured as he gently brushed his hand over her soft red curls. Protect what’s mine The tattoos over his knuckles held a new meaning as he looked at them holding his daughter. Neither saw Siobhan as she snapped a picture of them. Nessie leaning against Knuckles’ bare chest with Abigail at her breast. Finger tattoos proclaiming PROTECT WHAT’S MINE cupped the tiny head. The other hand declaring DEFEND WHAT’S MINE were interlaced with smaller fingers with runes on them holding the small body.

He looked up and I could see his canines flashing, his eyes glowing red. Oh no. *********************************************** Dominic and Sky's asthetics are live on I-G (the_fem_ink). Have you checked them out?

The concrete drank the blood that spread like ink, staining the gray a horrifying crimson. Three more stormed in, their faces contorted with a mixture of anger and fear. One with a blade, glinting wickedly under the dim warehouse lights. One with fists, balled tight and ready to deliver blunt force trauma. One with a taser, its electric hum a low, menacing thrum. I smiled through the sweat, tasting copper. My knuckles were already bruised, throbbing with a dull ache. The cut above my brow pulsed, sending a sharp sting down my face.

My breasts tingle, my hands sizzle with the need to reach out and touch him. I don’t know what he reads on my face but his eyes have gone cold again and his voice is even more intimidating. “Put down the cloth.” I’m no good at following orders, never have been, especially those given by men. I have no idea why the cloth slips from my fingers and lands in the bowl. Dagger leans in and picks it up. His chest is inches from my eyes and his tats fill my vision. The ink appears prison-grade, but the artwork is intricate. A Grim Reaper stands over a crying woman holding a swaddled baby. The design weaves into swirls of flowers with branches that turn to thorns as they flow further out across his c

This was enough only to see the pointed tips of the ears sticking out just above the head and somewhat resembling horns. He involuntarily clenched his fists and immediately noticed that the nails were very sensitively stuck in his palms. His fingers had to be straightened, he froze, looking at his own hands. The fingers remained quite human, but their tips were covered with horny plates, ending instead of nails with sharp spikes, more like needles. From the middle of the hand, like bracers, silvery scales rose up the arm and safely disappeared under the sleeve of the jacket, making one wonder where this innovation ends. - Kim?!

The daughter of my greatest enemy, wearing the face of innocence while carrying the blood of betrayal in her veins. My jaw clenched until it ached, the muscles in my neck standing out like steel cables under tension. I forced my fists open and closed repeatedly, nails biting crescents into my palms with enough force to draw blood. The pain was sharp and grounding, but it did nothing to quiet the storm building in my consciousness.

I sighed, laying my head on my crossed arms. A little while later, the door burst open revealing the man I feared the most -JG. Seeing him hit me with the realization that I hadn't seen him since the attack at the warehouse. He was freshly shaved, wore a loose fitting trouser and a tight T-shirt that hugged all his muscles. There were new creases on his face that wasn't there before, making him look even tougher and menacing. He moved closer and looked down at me, eyes blazing red. "Lana" he said with a deep voice.

I gape at my knuckles, gazing as the black clasps wraps tightly around it, and I know that very soon, it will be blood spewing out of it. Blood of whoever is ready to face me out there. The blood of whoever is willing to take me on out there. The blood of my opponent, and I'll enjoy every last second of feeling it against my knuckles, having them at my mercy. I will enjoy every damn second if it because that's what I do, and that's who I am.