Romans & histoires Doom Slayer Tattoo

I peek at the tattoos and then. “It’s my family's name. My people. Our history…” I list out. “Grace, is my mother, Agia, my sister, Anslem, my brother. The names of my pack members and our history…” I trail off, hating the history the tattoo represents— the history of our war with the Slayers. The first supernatural war. Regaining my bearings, I point at the most pronounced tattoo and say. “This is for my father, Yazi.” Rain's brow shrivels at my words. She stares between me and the tattoo. Then. “Yazi?”

His keen eyes scrutinized the body, tracing the intricate patterns of tattoos etched into the attacker's skin. "This is no ordinary assailant," Elder Broja began, his voice low and gravely. "These tattoos, they speak of allegiance to a specific pack. Each mark represents a vow, a bond, a commitment to their cause." I exchanged a troubled glance with Lyra, sensing the gravity of the situation deepen with each passing moment. "What do these tattoos signify?" I inquired, my voice tinged with apprehension. Elder Broja's gaze bore into mine, his expression grim. "These symbols are ancient, passed down through generations. They denote allegiance to the Eclipse Pack, a ruthless faction known for th

I challenge, standing my ground. “So eager to be claimed, Voodoo Doll.” “Only by you, Witch Doctor,” I reply, wrapping my free arm around his neck and using it as an anchor so I can pull my lips close to his. His free arm wraps around me, securing me to him before his lips fall on my win in a consuming kiss. Shane drops the knife, breaks our kiss, and tosses me over his shoulders before he throws me on the bed. Shane strips off his clothes, and I realize this is the frist time I’m seing him naked. Holy sin, his body is hard from his defined muscles. Various scars grace his skin. He has some tattoos. One on his chest, it’s a voodoo doll over his heart. My initials are worked into the dress th

He nodded and retreated back to his room, followed by me. I noticed there was a tattoo which covered whole of his upper back. I couldn't help but admire how the tattoo complemented his tanned skin and the muscles beneath it. "You were assigned a duty here and you think you can train without abandoning it?" He said putting on his clothes and blocking my view of his bare flesh. "I have discussed this subject with the Princess. She said that I am free to train unless she needs my services."

" Aliya said, tears trickling down her cheeks "Wtf!! Is he crazy? Who's the motherf*cker? Nirvana yelled "Him" Aliya pointed at a guy and Nirvana eyes trace her hand till they landed on the guy He looked like a bad boy with tattoos all over his body which Nirvana found disgusting "Mr tattoos, apologize to her right now" Nirvana said sternly " What? Who's this crazy bitch? I should Apologize to her? The tattooed guy sniggered "Nirva it's okay, let's leav..

Doughy from good living and laziness. Drakon is carved from granite. His chest is a landscape of muscle and violence. A jagged white scar runs from his collarbone to his ribs—a knife wound, old and deep. Another scar, a bullet graze, marks his side. But it’s the ink that holds me. A massive tattoo covers his torso. Wolves. A pack of them, snarling, fighting, running. They wrap around his ribs and disappear onto his back. It’s a masterpiece of shadow and ink.

She wondered what he was trying to do. All he had on was a pair of brown pants, his upper body was rendered bare in front of her, and she could now clearly see the tattoo on his chest, it was a scaly figure that seemed to wrap around his slender frame with its head extending right over his right shoulder to his chest. Its mouth was wide open with sharp canines popping out of it. A tattoo of a mythical serpent-like creature, a Chinese dragon, not the kind of tattoo a respectable businessman would have on him. A thug, perhaps, or even the yakuza.

His husky voice seemed like a promising warning to her and she fluttered her eyes open. His dark eyes and devilish side smirk didn't seem sincere to her at all. But from the close she dared to see his face clearly, that dark spot was actually a tattoo which was a black snake. Half of it was drawn on his temple area and the other half started from the under corner of his left eye, running across his left cheek, sinking to his ear. She could tell that under that tattoo was the deep scar which was perfectly hidden by the art. He looked scary with that thing, like a demon. Cruel Damon.

Deep down i would have loved to throw my fist at his face but there I was standing with a pleading face like an employer who has bills to pay. “I do take it seriously,” I said, forcing cheer into my voice. “Seriously enough to show up, despite being half-dead and probably cursed.” He blinked. “What?” “Nothing.” I ducked behind the counter before my mouth got me fired and homeless and hungry and who knows... dead maybe. The machine hissed at me, customers shoved forward with orders like I was their personal servant, and my wrist burned beneath my sleeve. Still wondering why everything hurts so much down to my doom mark... Doom mark it is because nothing else explains this glowing tattoos

Instead, the place where the tattoo should’ve been was reddish and wrinkled—a common effect of tattoo removal. “Con il sangue, veniamo. Con il sangue, andiamo,” Val mumbled. “With blood, we come. With blood, we go.” I met her gaze. “This, my dear, is the Omerta tattoo of Cosa Nostra.” She swiped the image to Domenico’s. A very shirtless Domenico. I had never met Domenico Guerra upfront, but I had gotten a good idea of how he looked. If he and Adonis walked into the room, all eyes would turn to Domenico first before moving to Adonis. It was not to say that Adonis was less handsome, but there was something about Domenico that could steal the spotlight. And the same was with his sister.