Narcissist Survivor Tattoo Novels & Stories

“But if you want a romantic setup, I could do that. Now, what did you want to ask me?” “What’s your tattoo all about, what does it mean or was it just a spontaneous one?” He grew quiet for a bit, and I got worried, I probably shouldn’t have said anything. My curiosity would be the death of me. “The tattoo stands for a rebirth, my rebirth from drugs and addiction. I almost died from an overdose but I survived, so I decided to get it,” “Oh…. that’s fine,” I said in a lowly voice. “I wanna take a shower,” He said, as he pulled away from me to stand up.

“I’m not giving you a ordinary tattoo…I’m marking you as mine because I’d definitely kill any guy who tries to hurt you” “Lucien…” “There’s no refusal to this tattoo Natalie” “Where’s it going to be?” “On your thigh”

The eyes of the wolf glow with white ink, glowing faintly under the overhead light. Scars…deep, long and old–slash through parts of it, like he earned both the ink and the pain layered underneath. I am staring too much and I force myself to look away. And immediately regret it. Because my eyes land on Nico. He's lifting weight, tattoos on full display, biceps bulging with each curl. His sweatpants ride low on his hips, teasing the dangerous V-line. His tattoo is sprawled across the left side of his chest, creeping down his ribs and disappearing into his pants. And another, a burning rose, thorns curling into flames that occupied his left arm and hand is rendered in dark, smoky ink.

Then, I saw him standing by a door to a room, or somewhere. He had taken off his shirt. His upper body appeared bigger. They were tattoos all over his back, his trousers hung low on his waist, dangerously low. I could run my hands through this type of body all day without getting tired. He was receiving a phone call. He was immensely focused. I stood still, waiting for him to finish. His words didn’t make sense at first, until it got to the part where he said: “She doesn’t know a thing. I have it all under control… In the end everything will be mine.” His words made me tremble.

That night, Henry finally let go of all restraint. The room lay in shadow, and he pressed me against the floor-to-ceiling window, the lights of Riverton flickering like stars beyond the glass. “Claire…” “Yes?” “I want to get another tattoo.” “Where?” He gripped my hand and pressed it to his lower back, mirroring the spot that corresponded to mine. There, with each of his breaths, a faint outline of a feral totem emerged. “I want to tattoo your image. I want to carve you into my bones forever.”

“I know I lied, but that still doesn’t change how crazy I am about you.” He took off the shirt completely and revealed a large tattoo on the upper right part of his shoulder. Dear God. I’m in a foreign country with two sociopaths. Her name was written on his shoulder in big red letters. A gold and black butterfly represented the w. She lost her breathing. It just wasn’t there. This mounting pressure flooded her core. He had her name on his body. What was she to do with that?

“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.”

I trust he won’t hurt me. I trust he’ll bring the world to its knees for me. “I want to be your queen.” “You already are.” He grunts against my skin, and I briefly close my eyes at the sensation. My fingers trace along his forearm and arrow tattoo. The one I’m sure he got for me. It’s a reminder of our past on his skin. Just like his scars and mine. Proof we both survived. We’re survivors. “What else do you want?” he murmurs, fluttering kisses all over the curve of my breasts, the hardness of my nipple, and the softness of my tummy.

“Yannick saw the kids born from those women as assets. The boys would go on to become his boeviki, and the girls … Well, we had other uses.” We? Did she just say we? My eyes widen as I hold my breath. She straightens up, advancing on me with purpose. I start to stand, but she’s faster. She kneels in front of me, ripping open her jacket and shirt to expose the skin on her right shoulder. Pressed into it is a tattoo of a fox sitting on its haunches. Its black body is surrounded by thick, detailed chains. One look, and I can tell that the tattoo has been there for a long time.

It was so fucking frustrating! “I need answers,” I said, and three sets of jaws clenched shut. “Fine. Then go fuck yourselves.” I stood and headed for the door. I’d given them an out. If they got killed now, it was their own damn fault. I reached for the doorknob and paused, staring at my hand. The tattoo. I turned around. If they insisted on trying to protect me, they would need all the help they could get. Lifting my hand, I pointed to the spot between my thumb and forefinger. “The guy last night had a tattoo right here. It was all black ink. A stylized V with an ouroboros around it. I’ve never seen it before. I’m not sure—”