Chrysanthemum Tattoo Men Novels & Stories

For a moment, Gu Mocheng thought his eyes had been mistaken, but the truth stared him right in the face: a tattoo on the back left side of her waist. It was not odd for girls to have tattoos, especially girls with strong personalities like her. However, the tattoo’s design was one he really did not wish to see. A red crane flower bloomed enchantingly at her waist. It glowed especially brightly--vivid and dazzling. Gu Mocheng was not unfamiliar with this tattoo. It could be said that he was very familiar with it. That was because people with these tattoos were his arch enemies.

Sick sick sick Morana, so sick. ‘Oh but we’re not sick. Just look at him.’ My wolf purred along my dirty thought. Running my gaze through the tattoos drew on him, that beautified his manly appearance, my mouth watered at the sight. At his upper trunk around his neck was a crossed feathery tattoo, with the word “Pure” written and carved underneath. Visible from the sides of his shoulder was the bottom of a rose flower that was drawn up his broad shoulder. His arms, the both of them were covered in different tattoos, ones my eyes could caught. There was a splitted dagger among the drawings, a broken heart, a crescent moon, marks I have no idea what it represents.

Taking another big gulp of this foul concoction, I finally feel brave enough to approach the dance floor. But then I look up and see something that makes me pause. Across the bar facing my direction is a man in a gray suit without a tie, his white shirt unbuttoned to the collarbone. His large muscles are barely contained within his expensive-looking jacket and the open collar of his shirt reveals the edges of an artfully inked tattoo of what I think might be a chrysanthemum. Power and confidence roll off him in waves, affecting all those around him, and drawing me in as well. It is almost impossible not to stare at this adonis of a man, with the cheekbones and chin of a god but the eyes and

I hear a mans voice approaching me " Ana. Anastacia." I turn to him. "Who me?". He looks like he's in his early thirties. He looks white but more Italian though he doesn't have any type of accent. He has black hair,short blunt curls that fall over his forehead.He has brown eyes and a peach skintone. He looks incredibly clean cut but in a dark sense because he's wearing a black button up shirt with his sleaves rolled up revealing a tattoo of what looks like a bunch of roses covering most of his forearm surronundig a cross. If I wasn't so stressed out about finding the love of my life I would say he's one of the most attractive people I had ever seen.

I shake my head at him and look away. He's sitting with his knees pulled up and his arms draped lazily over them, giving me a view of his arm and hand tattoos. He has 'love' and 'pain' tattooed across his knuckles; on his right hand, he has a rose, and on the left, he has a skull. My eyes follow up his arms looking at the artwork on them for a second before I rip them away and return my glare to him.

While I could tell he was fit and took pride in his appearance, his body had more of a lean physique, a build similar to that of a swimmer. “So this is the one?” Asked the last man, his expression dark, hiding all his emotions. His beauty still enchanted me; his eyes were a unique deep purple coloring, his jet black hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and I wanted to untie it and run my hands through it. His dark features stood out compared to his fair skin, and from what I could see, his was covered in tattoos. On his neck, he had an apple tattooed with a dagger going through it and wings spread out on each side of the apple; I wondered what it symbolized. My mouth went dry when I not

Then he reaches for the hem of his own shirt and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion. I’ve seen him shirtless a thousand times. Memorized every line of muscle, every scar from a childhood he rarely talks about. But I’ve never seen this. Over his left ribcage, directly above his heart, is a tattoo. Fresh, still slightly red at the edges, covered in a thin layer of protective film. A single white rose, rendered in exquisite detail. Petals unfurling, delicate and luminous against his skin. Thorns subtle but present, wrapping the stem in elegant black ink. Beneath it, in small, precise script:

Then, I saw him standing by a door to a room, or somewhere. He had taken off his shirt. His upper body appeared bigger. They were tattoos all over his back, his trousers hung low on his waist, dangerously low. I could run my hands through this type of body all day without getting tired. He was receiving a phone call. He was immensely focused. I stood still, waiting for him to finish. His words didn’t make sense at first, until it got to the part where he said: “She doesn’t know a thing. I have it all under control… In the end everything will be mine.” His words made me tremble.

I look at him and I feel like I'm going crazy. With a trembling hand, I touch the tattoos on his left hand. I feel hypnotized by them. There are thorns surrounded by roses. The drawing climbs on the cloth to the shoulder and then descends slightly on the back and chest. It's a great drawing. I follow it lightly with my fingers feeling tingling as I walk my finger over the tattoo. Something is written between thorns and roses near the heart. A name. "My Forever Elle". I put my hand to my mouth and sigh. What the fuck is this? Is this a bad joke?

I approached their weak-ass leader and pulled him by the collar. "Remember my face and this tattoo you dummy, cause this day forward I will be your master. You and your useless gangmates will be my slave. You understand?" I said, looking hard at him. I grabbed his jaw and took a dagger that I always hid inside my boots. I carved a letter 'V' on his face. It stands for Violet. I tap the wound I made. "Aarrgghh!" He cried out in pain. Oh, my, my. Music to my ears.