Doom Slayer Tattoo Novels & Stories

Because if I looked—if I saw—I’d fall harder than I could ever afford to. But right now? I’m looking. And I fucking hate that I can’t look away. His body is a masterpiece of power. Carved abs. Broad shoulders. Veins on his arms like he’s always halfway to bursting. And his chest—God help me—his chest glistens like he walked out of some ad for sin itself. And then— Then I see it. That fucking tattoo. A lion’s head, snarling right in the center of his chest. Its mouth open like it’s about to roar. Eagle wings stretch from both sides, curling around his collarbones like a crown of chaos.

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.

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.

It was clearly a sore subject. His breath was deep now, his chest rising and falling slowly. Kate’s eyes traveled to his chest tattoo; a black and grey skull with a snake constricting it covering the majority of his left pectoral muscle. It continued across his shoulder and down his left bicep. She wondered if it had any significance, deciding to ask him when he awoke.

The four types of tattoos were the Alpha tattoo, the Beta tattoo, the Zeta tattoo, and the member tattoo. My tattoo had seven moons at the top of my back with two versions of the Helm of Awe on each shoulder blade. In the middle of my back was Yggdrasil, the tree of life with a wolf head coming out of the roots. Finally, below the wolf and running down my spine was my name in Old Norse. In the middle of Yggdrasil’s branches, the Alpha sign of our pack was cleverly blended in.

He asked as he breathed out his smoke. I take off my jacket and my shirt to show him my tattoo of the Criemsons. The tattoo shows a blood sword that encircles with vipers and roses that symbolizes our gang or mafia name. I swiveled to indicate my identity while his ladies gape at me like the last cupcake in a bakery they wanted to devour. "Holy mother of great mercy" He grinned. "Now can we converse interaction?" I asked before I put my clothes in and I know his kittens will groan for consuming clothes.

I left his lips and moved my lips to his throat while my hands felt his sculpted abs,like he was carved out of the finest marble. I grazed my finger on his tattoo he had just below his right nipple. "It's a symbol from Roman mythology which signifies bravery and readiness for sacrifice for a good cause."He explained me about the beautiful tattoo.There were many on his back and biceps,most of them inked to hide his scars from old fights.I dropped a wet kiss on it and then trailed downwarda whereas my hand moved to his awakening member.

I say. He leans towards me and kisses me briefly, but he doesn't say anything. He rises from the bed, his cock still semi-hard. He turns his back to me and I sit up. His back is covered in tattoos. It's some kind of winged creature—a demon? Dragon? Grim reaper?—and it's the sexiest thing I've ever seen. I didn't notice it earlier. He doesn't look like the kind of man to have a tattoo. Who is Damien Keller?

I curled around my stomach, trembling. When it was over, Damon knelt beside me. Blood smeared his shirt. His eyes searched mine. "Are you hurt?" I shook my head. He stood and motioned to the fallen attackers. One of his guards rolled up a sleeve. A tattoo. Black ink. A stylized wolf. I staggered closer. My breath caught. "That mark—I saw it. On the SUV. The day I crashed." Damon’s expression darkened. "It’s Andrei’s mark."

The set gave an incredible panoramic view of anything going on in the bed at just about any angle. I heard the door close and looking into the headboard saw Mark come up behind me, he had removed his shirt and in the mirror behind him I saw the reflection of the huge tattoo that covered his muscular back: A Baphomet; the half man, half goat sitting cross legged within a circle, the universal symbol of Satanism, as I said I am not the only sick one in the family Over it in gothic lettering was the Latin expression Lex Talionis, The law of retaliation. "Ready for bed already sis?" He asked as his arms slowly encircled my waist pulling me back into him. I reached down to my left hip and unsnapp