Forearm Hawk Tattoo Novels & Stories

Even asleep, his arm was wrapped around my waist with a firmness that said *you’re not going anywhere. Then I saw my wrist. Where the silver arrow had pierced me, where the wound should have left a scar, there was something else. A symbol. Small, the size of a coin, as if someone had engraved it with invisible ink that only showed under certain light. Angular lines curving into themselves, forming a pattern I recognized instantly. Dark Tongue. I had a demonic symbol tattooed on my wrist. *“Pretty, isn’t it?”* The inner voice. Soft, purring — like a cat stretching after a long nap.

He was still asleep. I slipped back into the bed beside him. That’s when I realized—he was burning up. Sweat dampened his chest despite the cold. His bare chest glistened under the dim light. My fingers hovered over the black raven tattoo on his left breast, its wings spread wide, claws clutching a broken crown like it had conquered something… or lost everything. “What does it mean?” I asked myself in a hushed voice. “I’ve never really looked at you this way. But now, it’s all starting to make sense. The date on your forearm…”

My gorgeous yum-yum was dealing with so much by himself… Liam moved across to grab the salt and his shirt moved slightly, showing off some of his tattoos. He had some sort of symbols drawn across one side of his chest, but what intrigued me was the small picture of a bird sitting right above the symbols. A raven? Interesting tattoo for a wolf. I didn’t ask about it, it was clear Liam was a man of few to no words and with a very broody attitude. When we had finished eating, he ordered some more drinks and I realised he was trying to delay us leaving.

It's only after a deep velvety voice caresses my ear canals, that I open my eyes I comprehend that I haven’t hit the ground. I become increasingly aware of the warmth of huge muscular hands around my waist just below my breast. The smooth velvety warm caramel skin clung to seductive massive curves of muscle, trailing up to broad full shoulders Outlined in what appeared to be intricate golden tattoo ink in hieroglyphic patterns some I recognized like the Ankh the Egyptian representation of life on his rose gold armored gauntlets, others were completely unrecognizable to me with their intricate curves.

As he demanded, Athena made him a sandwich. By the time she was done cooking, he already came down, but without his shirt, he was only in his sweatpants, his tattoos visible to her. He had a cobra on his front and something that looked like a stork or a hawk in the back. She was figuring out why he got all of his skin covered in tattoos, “Stop ogling,” he yelled at her without a tiny bit of gentleness in his tone.

The wings stretch over his right pec, and his claws extend over his ribcage. There is a tattoo of a man inside his forearm with half his face missing. It’s a morbidly beautiful tattoo because the other half of the face is a skeleton. Taking my hand from his arm, he moves it to his other pec where there’s a tattoo of a wild-looking man standing in only a loincloth ─kind of like Tarzan. The picture doesn’t show his face. Just his bowed head and his strong muscled body holding a really sharp-looking knife in one hand. There are other tattoos, but what is most interesting is that both tattoos connect at his back. Moving around him, I see that the dragon’s mouth is spewing fire and that a fairy g

Wrapping it around his arm as he straightened it to bind her. “Don’t worry about that.” Hawk said weakly from where he sat against the house. Holding his side which was covered in blood. I gave him a worried glance. He held out his hand and twisted it. Making blue and green swirls of light travel to Marta. They wove around the tree and then gripped her neck like choking hands. Hardening into a shackle. She tugged at it. Squealing and fighting with surprising strength. “Don’t bother.” Hawk said weakly.

He looked like he'd been stung by an entire hives-worth of bees, and was still waiting for the swelling to go down. And then there was Aaron. He was the same height as Big Jim but looked like a rake beside him, which was crazy. Aaron was broad shouldered, almost three times me across and well defined, though you could never tell just how much until he had his shirt off. His hawk tattoo glistened with the trails of sweat running down his tanned chest, its inked talons raking his shuddering stomach as a feathered wing arched itself over his right shoulder.

When she finally stepped out, droplets sliding down her thighs, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were still flushed, her lips slightly swollen from biting them too hard. Her eyes were glassy with something unspoken. And when she turned, she saw it again — the mark on her left hip. A tattoo - like crest. Etched into her skin like a brand. It shimmered faintly in the light, elegant yet powerful. A circular sigil framed by olive leaves and ancient runes, with an owl perched atop a spear pointed downward, its wings wrapped protectively around the circle.

His hair was wet, and he had nothing but boxers on. I had a vivid view of his tattoos. Adorning his back was a fierce-looking wolf, jaws agape and poised to seize its prey. On his chest, a heart ensnared in thorny vines bled profusely, the tendrils winding their way to a blossoming rose, seemingly coloured by the lifeblood drawn from the heart. Positioned on the left side of his chest was a strikingly fierce yet captivating eagle. Additional intricate designs adorned his arms, crafted with bold strokes of black ink. The well-defined muscles accentuated the synergy between his movements and the artistic lines. I found myself pondering about the talented artist behind these captivating creatio