Do Not Go Gentle 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.

“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.

He say but I'm to focused on his tattooed body to care about anything he says right now. My fingers trace the inked skin. He has a huge tattoo of Kali, the goddess of destruction, on his front. Different designs litter his skin but my favourite has to be the flower on his neck. It is the only tattoo that has colour out of them all on his front. He has his nipples pierced and I never thought I would say this but it looks really sexy.

It was so fucking frustrating! “I need answers,” I said, and three sets of jaws clenched shut. “Fine. Then go fuck yourselves.” I stood and headed for the door. I’d given them an out. If they got killed now, it was their own damn fault. I reached for the doorknob and paused, staring at my hand. The tattoo. I turned around. If they insisted on trying to protect me, they would need all the help they could get. Lifting my hand, I pointed to the spot between my thumb and forefinger. “The guy last night had a tattoo right here. It was all black ink. A stylized V with an ouroboros around it. I’ve never seen it before. I’m not sure—”

He gives me apologetic eyes and moves back to the wardrobe to pick out his clothes in it and I follow, he reaches in to pick out his shirt and I see the large but beautiful tattoo of the word Rogue wrapped up in black wings on his back and my eyes trail down to the written words he had tattooed on the right side of his ribcage, the one he told me what it meant over a year ago. I try to read out every word written there even if it's barely showing from his sitting position and the fact that he already has a black T-shirt over his head, "Si pasas por el infierno, sigue adelante." my hand slowly raises his clothe to traces it and I can feel how his body tenses up almost immediately, "you told m

The hoodie draped loosely over his head, obscuring his face, but the flicker of city lights occasionally illuminated the sharp lines of his jaw and the hints of a sinister smirk playing on his lips. The wind picked up, a fierce breeze whipping across the rooftop and causing the hood to flutter. As the fabric shifted, it revealed a chiseled, muscular torso adorned with intricate tattoos, each line telling a story of violence, power, and mystery. Prominently displayed on the left side of his chest was a large, bold tattoo—the words *Nosce Hostem* inked in a jagged, menacing script that seemed almost to pulse with life against his skin. The tattoo, a clear message, spoke of a deep connection to

She sat down on the chair and began to look at them. She felt her skin crawl as she looked at the drawings. They were of the same man. Tall. Thin. Faceless. With tentacles. But now they were not alone, on the sides were written letters. On one alone they said many NO. NO. NO. And on another was a sentence written: Don't look out the window.

"For our baby's sake." Mrs Ruby nodded solemnly. "Be careful, darling," she warned, her voice filled with unspoken fears. The tension in the room was felt by all of them. The three women shared a silent understanding of the risks involved. With a deep breath, Natasha stepped out of the door, ready to face the unknown. As Natasha arrived at Damien's mansion, a sense of dread washed over her. The imposing structure, guarded by burly men, was a stark contrast to the peaceful home she had left behind. She was ushered in, her every move watched by watchful eyes.

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

The sensation of her around me, combined with the sting of the tattoo, sends an overwhelming rush of pleasure through me. With each careful stroke of the needle, she traces a new design onto my chest. The symbol, unique and powerful, reflects the merging of our lives. Her concentration is intense, but I can see the love in her eyes, feel it in the way her body moves against mine. This mark isn’t just for the world to see; it’s a testament to us—our bond, our passion, our forever.