Japanese Ronin Tattoo Design Novels & Stories

Sasha blurted out. Aki shrugged. “Brown Slayers have full body tattoos, right? Well, it turns out Budo’s tattoos are non-tribal and resemble those of gangsters.” “What’s his spirit animal?” Sasha asked. “A hissing cockroach,” Aki replied. All three Slayers looked at each other and then burst out laughing.

Water bucket hovered, dripping prelude to hell. Kenji stood predator still, porcelain sleeves rolled to elbows exposing a dragon tattoo coiled taut, obsidian eyes locked on the traitor with surgical calm. No suit now—just a black shirt clinging to lethal lines, katana sheathed at hip, unnecessary. His hand gripped the hose steadily, accenting gravel-velvet lethal. "OmegaTech. Names. Amounts. Or we continue." Rourke spat blood-flecked defiance, broken nose swelling purple. "Fuck your empire, Sato. Go to hell."

Deciding not to interrupt, I rest my weight on one knee and fold my arms across my chest, my eyes ravaging his half naked body. The tattoos along his arms flex and relax with each repetition, ink stretching, contracting and settling again. Ryat, unlike his father and brother, is the type to get tattoos on a whim, so there's a lot of them, mumbled and jumbled, all fighting for the spotlight. The entirety of his back is sprayed with ink ranging from wild animals, to reptiles, to random objects. The most prominent on his back is a crowned lion sitting on the left side of his shoulder blade. There are scales running along his skin like he'd hoped to be a serpent but instead got molded him into m

Looking around, Ryden found Damon passed out on the bed. He walked over to his friend and started removing his clothes, leaving him in only his boxers and moving him underneath the bedspread. He tucked him in, only to notice a tattoo design on his neck. It was like his own, only it said, not all those who wander are lost. He tried to recall when they got the tattoos, but he couldn't find even a hint of one. Ryden looked down at the man on the bed for a while, before finishing tucking him in and left the room, closing the door behind him.

10 now and very impressed her dad’s were friends with The King. ‘Are you ready to go swimming?’ Ronin asked. We got changed and spend most of the day at the pool, Ronin and Bodhi admired my new tattoo. ‘You know we have a great tattoo artist at our pack too, that specializes in fine line designs’. Suddenly a plan came to mind, I could get a tattoo at every pack I visited like a souvenir. Bodhi mindlinked the tattoo artist and scheduled an appointment for tomorrow afternoon. We dried off and I put on my suit, this time without the jacket because of the heat and we headed to the backhouse together. Alpha Leonardo looked like a tough guy, with very broad shoulders and a lot of dark facial and b

For the most part, the packs got along but there was still always a sense of authority that was tested. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you look good. Can’t be representing our pack badly.” Jacob was getting our Crest tattooed on his chest. It was the head of a wolf with its teeth showing and blue blood dripping from the fangs. Kind of spot on for whoever designed it but whatever.

At least, that is what I tell myself. Ryker doesn't answer me. Instead, he crouches low in front of me, his massive frame folding down like a predator that wants to toy with its prey. I catch the nasty manner with which his knuckles are bruised with scars, looking so rough like they have seen more than their fair share of fights. I also recognize the serpent tattoo coiling up his right forearm, with another tattoo that is a dead man’s skull circled by a crescent moon in blood-red ink right on his left bicep.

And the ones after that, Arnold fired and Ronan twisted, one hand grabbing Arnold's arm, the other pulling in a perfect spiral. Arnold lost control of his center and in a blink, Ronan flipped him clean over the shoulder in what looked like an Aikido takedown. He hit the floor hard, groaning. “Pl…please don't, I'l—” Arnold started. Ronan crouched next to him, yanking down his collar. And there it was. That snake tattoo. “The mark of Lucian’s underground circle.” Ronan sighed. He stared at it, jaw grinding. “I knew it.”

“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.

He simply shrugs off his black-and-gold coat, letting it fall over a nearby chair. The fabric slides down his arms, revealing the crisp white shirt underneath, stretched taut across those powerful shoulders. My mouth goes dry. He begins unbuttoning the shirt with deliberate, unhurried movements. One button. Two. The fabric parts slowly, revealing inch after inch of smooth, golden skin stretched over hard muscle. A dark, elegant tattoo in Japanese script trails down his left ribs, the characters bold and beautiful against his skin. My gaze traces it helplessly. He turns slightly to toss the shirt aside.