Pot Of Greed Tattoo นิยาย & เรื่องราว

“And didn’t I tell you to drop the formalities when we’re alone, darling?” I have heard of the Dread Moon pack wolves being tattooed, but I have never seen one in person before. His right arm and pectoral are adorned with black ink, and I spy his pack crest amidst some rose designs. It is actually quite a beautiful tapestry and something inside of me seems to pull me toward him.

Giggling as the embodiment and prominent symbol of the sin of Glutton added, with his pair of reddish eyes and a mix of red and brown hair marks while sipping his drink and comfortably leaning onto the wine table of their mansion. Walking back and forth as the embodiment and prominent symbol of the sin of greed is quite in an antsy state. He just quietly listens to his brothers as he minds his own business, and all the while looking down with his blue-colored pair of eyes and blonde hair. “Will you all keep quiet, I’m sleeping here.” Demanded by the one who owns a pair of emerald green eyes and blonde hair with his prominent symbol of the sin of sloth, as the symbol and prominent figure of t

“Don’t worry, I will fuck that rigidity and shyness out of your tiny pussy. I look forward to see what you will turn into in bed.” With he finally undressing himself, I suddenly spot a tattoo right below his navel. It’s an Eastern script, meaning “fortune” and “fate”. It looks exactly like the one that my cohort told me about, the one that she warned me of. I freeze. “Are you OK? Are you ready to do this right now?” Kent checks with me. I inhales deeply, and then look up to him to tell him that I just changed my mind: “No, Kent. I can’t sleep with you now.”

I don't want this, he tried to tell himself, but the weight of their attention was a drug he was already craving. A jagged scar ran down Gideon’s ribs, disappearing into the waistband of his discarded gear. A massive tattoo of a serpent coiled around his right arm, its fangs bared at the shoulder. On his back, the ink was a sprawling map of the Sopttyi District—the streets he’d bled for, the territory he’d claimed. Gideon began to strip Kan, his movements slow and deliberate. He pulled Kan’s shirt over his head, revealing a chest that looked carved from marble. Timothy sat up, sliding closer, his eyes catching the glint of metal against Kan’s dark skin.

Running down his spine was a tattoo of a dagger, flanked by two cobras coiled around its blade, each poised to strike the other. The crossguard was shaped into a Trinacria—its eyes hollow and haunting, its hair a wild tangle of serpents. On its three bent legs were the words etched in a stark, gothic script: Famiglia, Orgoglioso, Patria. The ink stretched over the planes of his back like a warning—Family, Pride and Homeland. He stood up, and my suspicions were confirmed—completely naked, without a hint of shame. He slept next to me completely naked—fucking naked. But before I could even start to argue or throw some biting comment his way, something else pulled my focus—his ass.

“Geez, you look like you’re about to murder someone. You have to relax, bro. I know you have a crush on him and all, but he’s not stripping for the class. He’s just existing. Violently existing.” The guy sitting two seats over leaned across the aisle like they were all in on the same conspiracy. “That’s actually not normal tattoos, guys. That’s mafia ink,” he said, his voice slow and smug. “I’ve seen those before. A dagger-and-rosary combo is classic mafia. The guy’s probably got a rap sheet and a body count. I bet he’s got a private plane parked somewhere with blood money in the cargo hold.” Archer snorted. “You watch too much N*****x, bro.”

Despite the fact that he was a CEO and was the youngest, most successful business man in Detroit, this man must have been through a lot. He had a tattoo of a viper's head, covering the large expanse of his back. It was a masterpiece. But, Adelynn didn't know what lay underneath the tattoo. She didn't even know about the small but visible tattoo on his inner thigh that said, 'THEY'RE ALL TWO FACED LIARS'. Because if she had, she would have understood the reason for most of his actions. ...

I bite my lip as I take in his bare chest, the tattoos on him look like they were inked by a god. Each of his existing tattoos are flawless, the one that catches my attention every time is the crown tattoo, I have never seen any like it. The crown has a flame where the biggest stone on it should be placed and it burns brightly in my vision everytime I see it, as if it were a 4D tattoo. I always feel like I have seen it somewhere before, like I know what it represents and I have the clean sheet to the history of the tattoo on my fingertips but it slips away everytime. My second favourite is his sleeve tattoo, it is a tribute to his sisters.

Because if I looked—if I saw—I’d fall harder than I could ever afford to. But right now? I’m looking. And I fucking hate that I can’t look away. His body is a masterpiece of power. Carved abs. Broad shoulders. Veins on his arms like he’s always halfway to bursting. And his chest—God help me—his chest glistens like he walked out of some ad for sin itself. And then— Then I see it. That fucking tattoo. A lion’s head, snarling right in the center of his chest. Its mouth open like it’s about to roar. Eagle wings stretch from both sides, curling around his collarbones like a crown of chaos.

I lie, trying to lift a hand to him but my hands are bound in front of me, "I'll give you a new job, too. Come on, dude, you don't have to do this." "Not everything is about money. Loyalty means more to me," he says and taps a tattoo on his arm. It says Moro and whatever the fuck that means, I guess it's really important to him, "Everyone underground knows The Prince means big money, dude. You can't try to convince me your dad doesn't care about you, we all know he does. That's why you never show your dumbass face, but now we know what you look like... a faggier version of your papa." Classy.