Guardian Angel Neck Tattoo Novels & Stories

At school, plenty of my friends will want to date him. He’s the type of man my mama will warn me not to date: Dark, dangerous and tattooed. His cashmere sweater is torn and patched around the edges. “Never for once in my life have I thought angels exist. Sometimes, I think they don’t because angels never come to rescue you when you need them so much. Then, I realized that some angels come in the form of people, and you are one of them, so thank you, angel.”

Walking into the kitchen, I stop and stare as Miguel makes me breakfast, completely oblivious that I'm in the vicinity. He hums along to the music playing, his bare back flexing as he moves from one place to the other, his hair in a bun. My eyes lock on the angel tattoo on his shoulder blade and my thighs clench together.

"I'll be enjoying every moment of it." My cheeks are steaming red and glancing over at Galina, she is also blushing with her gaze downcast. She proffers me her hand and I wordlessly take it as I'm burning with fury inside over the dastard. My eyes catch sight of the tattoo on his muscled upper arm. The black ink of the Christian Cross encircled by a fierce Dragon, made a dramatic striking contrast against his fair skin. Some girls would think it was bad of a guy, however, to me it was bad news about a guy.

He walked over to where the men gathered and cleared his throat, getting their attention. They all raised their head to stare at him, one by one, a look he had gotten familiar with in their eyes. A look of admiration. He wasn't dressed in a shirt so his heavily tattoed chest and abdominal area were exposed. He had gotten another tattoo after Angelo's death. An eagle on his back and Angelo's name written under it, in Angelo's memory. ***

That was when I noticed the tattoos. His back was adorned with an intricate design of large black wings, streaked with delicate gold traces that shimmered faintly in the low light. The wings spanned across his shoulders and down his back, a masterpiece that was both beautiful and intimidating. They exuded a silent warning, a "do not mess with me" aura that fit him perfectly. Yet, despite their commanding presence, I felt no fear. This was Alessandro. The man who had carried me, who had stood by me even when I pushed him away. He wasn’t a threat—he was my protector.

“Your tattoos are beautiful.” I look at the tattoo of a skull surrounded by black flames. My whole right arm is decorated with tattoos from shoulder to wrist. My skin prickles with every caress of her fingers, but I don’t stop her from touching me. The tattoo sleeve has several tribal symbols, and there are a seal trident and a frogman tattoo on my shoulder. Each tattoo represents something in my life. The skull represents my status as an Assassin, and the cross is a play on my name. Her finger moves down the line of my intricate cross, then to the inside of my rib cage, where I have an inscription. Qui velit, ut vivat in aeternum.

But as I turned to leave, my foot caught on something—Medina’s outstretched leg. I crashed to the floor with a loud thud. My gown rode up, exposing my thighs. Drake’s gaze fell on me, his eyes lingering on the small tattoo etched into my skin. It wasn’t just any tattoo—it was the mark my mother had given me, my little “guardian angel.” I quickly pulled my gown down, covering myself. Drake’s eyes flickered with recognition before he turned away, his expression unreadable. Medina smirked, satisfied with her handiwork. She had tripped me on purpose.

There were an Angel Arin was just listened them and said I wanted to go on the earth. The God saw this and said to the Arin that okay you can go there.But one condition. Never tell anyone that you're an angel and never use your power to to save any human life cause if you do that you will be punished with die. Arin accepted this and goes out to the earth. On This time in the earth the the king Henry was rules the whole Britain. He was the most powerful king in this time. He had a beautiful daughter which name was isla. Everybody in the kingdom called her the Goddess of beauty.

he giggles. Muchie then lazily looks at his friend, sighing at the look on its face. His friend sure is the Angel of Death, no mercy at the souls in his hands. It even laughs sweetly like it didn't just take an innocent soul. Although the Angel of Death keeps a dangerous smile on his face pairing it with an innocent look, Muchie knows he was just a misguided kid. At his age of twelve, he was appointed to such title, to take lives while Muchie at eighteen is a level three guardian angel.

“I am French, oui? I have wine on top of more wine!” Angel laughed. He poured her glass full. Tipping it back, she drank it straight down in one long gulp. “Are you sure I should not break out the whiskey?” he teased. Angel giggled. “You might, and it’ll be for yourself, after I am through.” “I am a Frenchman, living in Paris. I think I am grown up enough to hear anything. I do not think you can shock me.” Angel tilted her head at him and gazed at one of his tattoos. It was a strange design of a chain with a fist grasping and it seemed familiar in some way.