Porco Rosso Tattoo Novels & Stories

"Alonso is a great guard, but he is also old...I trust you with Rocco, better...Finish your breakfast, and we can meet in the study." Maria stands and pushes in her chair. " I am finished now." She had hardly eaten anything, but I wasn't going to hold it against her. My mother stood as well, as I placed my hand on Maria's back and led them to the study. "Rocco is also here to give you a branding." I tell her. "A branding?" She asked, with that fear in her eyes again. "A tattoo...everyone in the Archangel family have one." I showed Rocco where I wanted it. I had it placed on her upper left shoulder, that way her hair could cover it when she went on nice occasions. "It will only sting a li

My breath hitched as I caught sight of it in the mirror he pulled out of my bag—a faint yet intricate design swirling across my collar bone, glowing faintly silver before settling into a deep, ink-like black. The tattoo was mesmerizing, an elegant crescent moon at its core, its curves etched with delicate runes that seemed ancient and alive. Surrounding the crescent, fine lines branched out like veins, forming patterns resembling intertwining vines and stars, as though the night sky itself had been imprinted onto my skin. The vines wrapped gently outward, framing the crescent in an intricate lattice of beauty and mystery, their edges tapering off just shy of my collarbone. At the crescent’s

He didn't move, didn't try to resist me. I palmed the side of his head and traced the trickle of water down his neck, broad shoulders, and firm ass. Inked in tattoos, I trailed down his spine, working my fingers along his fine olive skin. “Hmm…” He stiffened and slightly pushed forward. Studying the area, I noticed it was red and quite swollen. ‘Una corona sanguinante’ was crested on it. A bleeding crown. Marco… My eyes snapped shut. I had never seen him this vulnerable, not even when he had bashing blue balls.

I know we’ve had sex several times already, yet I still feel a deep ravenous need for him. Rising from the stool, I wrap my arms around his waist and place kisses on his back. His stomach clenches under my hands as I run them down his textured abs. “Tell me about your tattoos,” I whisper in his ear. He looks at me from the corner of his eyes, then pulls me in front of him, places my hand over his left pec, and moves it down his tight stomach. The tattoo is a large, red, and black dragon. The dragon’s head starts at his shoulder, and the tail ends at his bellybutton. The wings stretch over his right pec, and his claws extend over his ribcage.

she murmured. “Yeah?” “Why do you have, like... seven tattoos and none of them are food-related? You own a restaurant, Mr. Velluto Rosso. Where’s the little pasta noodle?” I grinned, “You want me to get a tattoo of spaghetti?” “Obviously. A single meatball with, like, storm clouds behind it.” I barked a laugh. “Or a fancy cursive quote. ‘Live. Laugh. Lasagna.’” “Oh my fucking God.”

My gaze drifted unconsciously to his collarbone. There was a new tattoo there. Red, still swollen from being freshly inked, but unmistakable. It was my name. The characters were rendered in the most ancient, wild cursive form of script, like an old, binding sigil. My fingers trembled as I touched it. “When did you… get this?” Henry caught my hand and rubbed it gently against his palm. “Last night, after you fell asleep.” “Did it hurt?” “It was better that it hurt.” His eyes darkened, and a satisfied smile curved his lips.

I smiled, though my body trembled slightly with unease. He smirked, his eyes darkening as he sauntered towards me. Slowly, he reached out, invading my space. My gaze drifted to his chest, where intricate tattoos sprawled across his skin, half of his left chest completely inked. There was a large python coiled menacingly, its fangs bared as if ready to strike. Surrounding it were other symbols—a bleeding dagger, an intricate skull wrapped in thorns, and a blood moon rising behind them all. The ink seemed almost alive, dark and haunting, like it held secrets too dangerous to reveal. I had seen something like this before. The imagery was disturbing, almost as if he were part of some secretive c

he bared his fangs. Portia's face grew weary as her eyes darted, "No need to threaten me, Wayne. I know what you had to go through to steal this ring away, from what I can feel the portal is still intact. Can you take off your shirt and show your runes to me?" she persuaded. He silently removed his trench coat, casting it aside, and he pulled off his black turtle neck shirt. Then turned around to show her his back. At the upper expanse of his back, black symbols were finely tattooed across it.

Then he tossed it onto the boat seat like it was the most normal thing in the world. I didn’t even get the chance to roll my eyes because...yeah. That tattoo. The deep black phoenix stretched across the side of his chest and his left arm. Mix of abstract design, Russian calligraphy, ancient symbols, and fragments of sentences I’d read years ago and still remembered. Max looked at his dad in awe. “Daddy, why’d you take your shirt off?” “So I can move easier,” Pascha said casually. “Like a fish?” Max asked. “Like a shark,” Mischa answered.

I blush realizing he is talking about my mark from Freya, as Osric pats my back with a nod. “It’s good to see you and Liliana happy with Freya, she is good for you two,” Osric softly speaks as he rocks Roan, pouring himself some whiskey. “It’s good to feel the bond being so complete, I can’t imagine how you and Embry dealt with not having Raven at first, and missing Jonathan. What is Raven getting tattooed?” I question while downing my tumbler of whiskey, and Osric smirks. “It was hard being patient and waiting for them, but it is always worth the wait. She is getting a red raven done out of Viking knots in honor of our victory against Orin,” Osric answers, making me nod as it sounds like a