Fantasy Football Loser Tattoo Novels & Stories

“The one I cut on the back?” I blinked at her. “You mean the little asswipe with the shitty tattoo who wanted to fuck up my pretty face with his brass knuckles? Yeah, I’m fairly positive I don’t care if he’s okay. But from the way he lit out of there like his tail was on fire, I’d say he’s just fine.” “It wasn’t a shitty tattoo,” she mumbled. “It was the eye of Horus. Some thought it was a symbol to ward off evil, but it’s actually supposed to symbolize healing.”

he teased and I sighed. "Sadly, I do." "I got a new tattoo, wanna see?" He pulled his shirt over his head. I saw 'Ryder' written in calligraphy on his upper back. "Wow, it's so nice." "I know right? You should get one." "I told you and I'll keep telling you that I don't want anything except for piercings on my skin." "Okay,as your lordship pleases." "What should we try today?" "Hmmmm, let's blend pizza and hotdogs together to make a juice."

His eyes went completely cold, though something deep and dangerous burned in the amber depths. He walked down the corridor to his private wing, shutting the heavy door of his bedroom behind him. He unbuttoned his dark black shirt, shrugging it off his broad shoulders and tossing it onto a chair. As he turned, the dim light caught the dark ink staining his skin. A sharp, dangerous serpent tattoo wrapped tightly around his ribs. And etched across his broad back was a cold Spanish quote: La lealtad se paga con sangre. (Loyalty is paid in blood.)

Only I knew she was alive and the tattoos were meaningful, still are. The tattoo was inspired by Talitha. She got a tattoo of a snake shedding its skin with a tiny butterfly next to it. I loved it. The work was implacable, I couldn't draw my eyes away from it, it was us. I wanted my own so I got the same tattoo on the side of my waist, right below my ribs on the tight. Mine is the opposite, a snake is wrapped around the butterfly playfully with a the quote, "Evil and good both win." That was two years ago. Adrian likes that tattoo the most, he adorns it with his mouth every time he has me bound to his bed, he likes it. He joked he would get my name on him but as much as I want my name on him

V GOD! His chest is a-fucking-mazing! I won't be mad if he never wears another shirt. GASPS! O.M.G! Did he really..? "You got my name tattooed on you?!" I excitedly shriek. He has 'MY KEYA' tattooed on his abs in Old English font. Curved kinda like how Tupac has 'Thug Life' tattooed on his abs! Wow he must be really crazy about me! I am starting to fall for this guy, hard!

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.

He countered with an indignant tone. "I didn't make it so obvious." I shrugged in reply. "Just answer already jàre, stop rubbing your victory to my face." I wanted to call Mike out for being a sore loser, and go further to asking him what battled he'd thought I won, but I spent the time thinking about tattoo designs —it wasn't that I was actually consider going through a process to bring so much pain just for a price of art on skin— It was just me humouring Mike. "I'd like a phoenix." I mentioned after a lot of thought. The news was greeted by a wide grin on Mike's face.

“Heard about Mickey. You dealt with him yet?” I sipped. “Permanently.” They grinned. Below us, Marcus emerged into the pit — shirtless, muscles rippling with every movement, the word “Hell” tattooed across his chest. The opposing fighter — a bit taller, leaner, with black ink across his jaw and neck — came from Rouder’s cult. Rouder wasn't present but I can see some of his men cheering from the crowd. Rouder wasn't exactly a friend, but we weren't at war either. The crowd roared as the bell rang, signaling that it was starting..

Before bed, he strips down to his boxers and slips beneath my sheets without hesitation. Not because we’re lovers. Not because we’re teammates. Because we’re both. And because sleep doesn’t come easy when your heart’s still on high alert. I lay against his chest, fingers drawing circles over one of his tattoos. The one that says: not made for mercy. “I still don’t know what this one means,” I whisper. He shifts. “It’s for the people who thought I wouldn’t survive.” “And now?” “Now I keep it as a reminder.” “That they were wrong?”

On the screen, I saw the same bird tattoo boldly drawn. "Yes, that's it! That's the tattoo I was referring to," I exclaimed. Camara looked at me and bowed her head. "This tattoo belongs to a gang leader in Texas," she revealed in a low tone. "His name is Fabian, a gang of assassins. He's usually used by powerful men to end the life of their greatest enemy at any time," Camara explained. I was confused, and my face showed it. "But who could be using him to attack Juliet now?" I wondered aloud.