Death Do Us Part Tattoo Novels & Stories

My eyes drifted down to his torso, and my breath caught. God must have enlisted his finest artist to carve Killian Knight. The tattoo, a haunting web of thorned vines, began at his right hip and sprawled across his torso. Its black branches reached his heart, with another branch peeking over his left shoulder and spreading down his arm to his elbow. The intricate design, hidden beneath his clothes, was now fully exposed.

The water hits my back at just the right temperature and I move my hand over my back but then I move my hand to my wrist. I look at it with a sad smile on my face when I see the tattoo I'd gotten. It is an infinity tatoo , in the infinity are two butterflies on either side each one representing the each family member I lost . And the only one I had well that was until my uncle and aunt lived with me in ghe mansion and treated me like their own.

Stevee’s POV “What is happening?” I ask quietly, trying to read the room. “They feel their mates,” Kesly tells me. “He’s gone,” Ki whispers as her hand moves from her neck. “What happened to her tattoo?” I ask. . “As soon as he died her mark disappeared,” Kesly says. “Replaced with that dot.” Where the once beautiful T had been is now a small black dot. I hug Ki, who melts into my hug. “We were happy,” Ki lets the tears fall. I sit and hold her.

“Fine, but I’m here when you’re ready to talk. Don’t forget, I love you, Death Bear.” She brings my hands to her soft lips, kissing the back of it right on my tattoo of a yellow rose tipped with red that drips blood drops to my fingers. It’s one of the few I have in color. It’s symbolic of friendship and falling in love. I had gotten it when I first realized the innate connections I have with Jase. The connection with him is like the one I have with Carley. I’d see the world drowning in rivers of blood at my hands for them alone.

He then draws at the scratch paper a pistol and half of the angel's wing, I just stared at the paper that was placed on the table and watch at his hands, I place my finger on his hair and stroking it gently. "There, Fight for Life," He said when he finishes his drawing. I look at it and my brows furrowed. "Fight for life," I said and kiss him. That day we decided to go to a tattoo shop and had his drawing tattooed on our back near our nape, It was just a minimal size and it can't be seen when you don't look at it closely, we had the gun facing each other and the wings match when it was put together. After having our tattoos we decided to stroll around the city, He handed me his helmet and I

The light scattering of hair on his lower abdomen disappeared into the towel and the only thing marring the beauty of his skin was the angry red mark on his chest, just a few inches away from his heart where he had been shot yesterday. Now that he was finally unclothed, I was able to see the tattoo on his left arm. It was a picture of a phoenix in flight and it was magnificent. The artist had focused on every tiny detail down to the red eye of the phoenix and somehow, it suited him. He was just as majestic as the bird.

this was one of our BFF goal tattoos, with Canary, when she was still alive. The red wine glass with a little spill out of tossing. There should be an illusion of two wine glasses being genuinely beautiful and happy when you place them side by side. Unfortunately, only one survived. Canary lost it. She wasn't able to get her tattoo and celebrate her independence with me. "Still sober?" Rhyme uttered.

Zach Romano. Leaning against the kitchen doorway like it belonged to him. His black hair was a mess, his blue eyes flat, unreadable, and his bare chest on full display, carved with muscle and shadow. On his ribs, a tattoo stretched over olive skin, an Italian cross with Latin scrawled underneath. Mors tua, vita mea. Your death, my life. I stared at the tattoo. Then, slowly, my eyes dropped to his torso. Abs, tight and low, vanishing into a pair of dark gray sweatpants slung dangerously low on his hips.

It looked perfect on her and thankfully it seemed to be the right choice. Angel’s eyes zeroed in on my newest tattoo that Uncle Dante designed. My brother had the same one. It was a bold choice, but we wanted her to know that she was going to be our choice whether or not there was a fated bond. It was a galaxy scene that morphed into an image of Angel’s beautiful face. ‘Angel – My Queen’ was written in calligraphy. “We had these done last week and are definitely our favorite tattoos,” I said, winking at her.

It was the kind of sound that makes your body move before your brain catches up. He was on the ground by the dumpster. Black suit. White shirt. Both ruined. The shirt was open, soaked through. Too dark to be water. Too much to be anything but blood. He was still alive. His chest moved. Barely. Then I saw the tattoo. _Memento mori_ across his ribs in black script. Remember you die. Under it, fresh blood. The wound was right under the letters. Like someone had punctuation to make.