Narcissist Survivor Tattoo Novels & Stories

She fills these shoes with an iron fist, vocal cords that bring the roof down, and more love then most of the club has ever experienced. Before Savannah died, I was having artwork tattooed on my back to show my love for my wife and son. It remained unfinished and I had the tat put on my chest to honor my wife and son when I got out of prison. After Sofia married me, I had the club’s emblem tattooed over the work on my back. Sofia, my babies, and the Crows are my family. It’s a beautiful morning. The wind is at our backs and sun on our faces. Desert Crows forever, forever Desert Crows.

Touching her tattoo, I ask her what it means. “I don’t know how to explain it. You’ll think I’m crazy if I do,” she says. “Try me. I’ve had my fair share of crazy,” I offer in response. “I had the tattoo done after suffering a loss a few years back,” she explains. Pointing at it, she continues, “You see this? It’s called a Nautilus shell. Can you see how it curls up into itself, almost like it’s never ending? For me, that represents infinity with no end and no beginning.”

The love of my life. Silvy The day after Goof proposed and claimed me he took me to Tank's tattoo shop to get my mark. Was I nervous? Hell yes. I was nervous about the entire process. Tank, bless the gentle giant, let me bring Ant in with us. Ant was a hit at the shop. I was a little worried the receptionist might not give him back. It took Tank forty five minutes to finish the work on my shoulder. According to Goof that is the least sexy part of my body. Did it burn? Sure. But not as bad as I thought it would be. I wanted to see what it looked like. Tank stood me in front of his mirror. It was amazing. It looked my the Renegades emblem with a motorcycle driving through the middle of it. A

Only because it was the last thing I remember from the night my parents abandoned me those years ago and the one bearing it was no one other than Donald Mathis. Apparently, it was a family mark. Each and every one of the Nathis were burnt on the same part of their body to which they used a dagger tattoo to shield the everlasting mark. My instincts immediately spiked. “No need to be so alert, I didn’t call you here to sabotage you.” “Then what exactly did you call me here for?” I matched his amused eyes with sharp wolf predator ones. He lowered his hand slowly, even more entertained like he’d expected my reaction. “Still loyal to the bone,” he said, taking a step back as if I were a wild anim

"You can say that to Carson." Carson, I didn't know he was that much of a psychopath if it was Nelson I wouldn't be that surprise but him, the guy who is unbothered and fucking rude. "Other than piercings, do you have tattoos?" I asked and he nodded showing off his back. I know that he has one on his left arm, the drawing is a racing car with his name on it and flames around the car, on his abdomen, there is a drawing of angels wing with a rose on the middle. And finally, on the back, there is a large phoenix with a cursive name on the top.

I'm about to scream when Nico orders his men to gag me. The pain is excruciating, and I feel the tears burning in my eyes, spilling down the sides of my face. After what feels like an eternity, the tattoo artist finishes his work. I relax in the chair, exhausted, just wanting this nightmare to end. When he's done, a bold, beautiful script tattoo reading "Nico Demonio" is sitting across the top of my breast. Nico comes to inspect it, a satisfied smile on his lips. He bites his lower lip, and then orders the gag and restraints to be removed.

I couldn’t falter; I wouldn’t let him bleed out on my floor, not when every heartbeat felt like a silent plea for survival. I settled onto the cold linoleum, my heart pounding as I locked my gaze on his battered body. Every inch of him told a story, each tattoo a chapter of pain and survival. The bold double DD letters sprawled across his knuckles caught my eye first, a stark contrast against the bruises and blood. A tree, strong yet fragile, adorned his left forearm, whispering secrets of resilience, while the wave-like patterns on his ribcage danced dangerously close to his deep, ragged wound. But it was the quote etched on his right forearm that pulled at my heartstrings, resonating with

I just hope we can grow closer and heal ourselves while we heal each other. Turning around in his embrace, I’m surprised he’s still sleeping. Last night must have been cathartic for him, just as it was for me - a purging of the secrets we allowed to define us. It stops after this; I won’t allow my abuse to take over my life anymore and prove to Nikolaos how much he’s loved. My eyes go lower, taking in his scars and how it now makes sense that he’s covered his body with tattoos. He was hiding his shame and turning it into power by looking more intimidating.

Scar is seated on the bed operating a laptop,she looked up to the man beside her tall and well built,his eyes deep like eyes that held many secrets and knows maybe too much. “Marcus,that works well in our favor, you'll upload the video,my health report,the scan results and everything related to my failing health on my official page when I step out,let's use their delusion against them” She scoffed reading comments under a post bashing her. “Karma,they say karma caught me,that bitch karma is scared of me” He slowly unbottoned his shirt revealing a tattoo covering his chest and stomach,an eagle holding a snake with it's claws,he got into the bathtub slowly.

When the pain finally eased a little, I opened them again—only to realize Nicholas was shirtless. My eyes lingered on his back. A massive tattoo stretched across it: Medusa, snakes writhing in her hair, her eyes pitch-black. Me: Why do you have that tattoo? He glanced over his shoulder, smiling faintly. Nicholas: You know why. Me: …You were abused? Nicholas: Yep. I bit my lip. I didn’t want to care. I shouldn’t care. But curiosity clawed at me anyway. Me: How? He set two plates down—pancakes stacked high, bacon on the side—and grinned.