Realistic Broken Clock Tattoo Novels & Stories

Of course I sent him out of my house and asked him never to come back, I never knew that side of him existed, he was always so nice and it saddens me to cause him so much pain. My shift finally ended around 10pm, I changed to my skimpy skirt and a leather jacket and headed home meanwhile still feeling the iche that tattooed man from earlier left in my pant, I guess i will just have to use my vibrator and the images of his tattooed arm right up my throat and hitting my back against the wall while…… “Oh hi adult” a familiar voice interrupted my dirty thoughts I looked forward and saw about four teenagers that looked nothing higher 17 years of age. I recognized one of them to be the kid with a

“For me?" He nodded, animatingly he started explaining. “The paintbrush represent your talent in painting and your dreams, the cross is your faith, the key is your future, the clock is for all the good and bad memories that made you strong, the grinning boy is me and the frowning girl is Catherine. Your lifelines." Sandra's eyes widen, she met his smiling eyes and chuckling. He motioned her to raise her hand. Sandra let him put it around her wrist, her heart beating fast.

My little escape for the night to be with my number one rebel partner, Ben. I padded across the room toward my dresser, opening a jar of lotion. The subtle scent of vanilla filled the air as I trailed my fingers over my arms, rubbing the cream in absentmindedly. My gaze landed on the small mirror propped on the corner of the dresser, catching a glimpse of the intricate tattoo curling along my collarbone. The mark. My mark. With a soft smile, I turned to face the mirror more fully, letting the towel slip just enough to reveal the dark, swirling design etched into my skin. I traced the lines with my fingertip, marveling at how something so permanent could appear so delicate.

I resisted the urge to fan myself as my body temperature shot up. Other than bulky muscles, black ink marked his back with various tattoos. My brain had melted the moment I saw his hot, muscular body, so before I could think about it, I took a step in his direction and then a few more until I had a clear view of his tattoos. At a little distance down the neck, there was a tattoo that portrayed eight phases of the moon in a horizontal alignment. On the right side of his back, the anatomy of a wolf heart was tattooed with blood dripping down in drops. A date, 12-08-1994, was etched beneath the wolf's heart.

He was still asleep. I slipped back into the bed beside him. That’s when I realized—he was burning up. Sweat dampened his chest despite the cold. His bare chest glistened under the dim light. My fingers hovered over the black raven tattoo on his left breast, its wings spread wide, claws clutching a broken crown like it had conquered something… or lost everything. “What does it mean?” I asked myself in a hushed voice. “I’ve never really looked at you this way. But now, it’s all starting to make sense. The date on your forearm…”

Turning off the faucet, I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my waist. Taking a deep breath, I gaze at my reflection in the mirror and run a hand across my jaw. The light of the bathroom casts shadows over my shoulders as if spotlighting my tattoos. Like some Confradia Assassins, I have a tattoo that represents my status in the organization. Mine is a human male’s face hidden in the shadows, half of the face is complete with the crimson light of vengeance in one eye and the other half is the skeletal face of the male with an empty eye socket.

The click of the seatbelt seems to seal me into his control. He slams the door shut with a deafening clap, his powerful frame filling the car as he starts the engine. My eyes are drawn to the intricate symbol tattoos adorning his bulging muscles, and I cannot help but feel both intimidated and mesmerised by them as they start to writhe and twist, moving across his skin as if alive. “Why do your tattoos move?” I whisper, my face unconsciously inching closer to his. His dark eyes meet mine, sending a shiver down my spine. “They’re ruins,” he answers gravely. “Tobin cast them to ward off dark magic.” I can’t tear my gaze away from the pulsating marks on his skin. “But why do they move?” I wonde

I reached out, patting her back gently and rubbing small circles to help her calm down. She looked like someone who had spent years holding up a heavy wall and had finally let it crumble; the exhaustion in her posture was palpable. As she shifted, she slipped off her jacket, and that’s when I saw it. Her shirt lifted just enough to reveal the number 22 tattooed on her skin. Barbara had been right — there was a heart next to it. But looking at it closely now, I saw it wasn't a perfect, romantic heart. It was a broken heart, the edges jagged and separated by a thin line of skin, as if the ink itself were mourning something lost.

Gianna gazed down at her wrist, looking at the small tattoo she got in her teenage years. It was a dandelion, some of the seeds scattered as if blown by the wind, forming a small musical note. Nothing about the drawing was unique, as surely, a lot of women already had the same tattoo as hers now. She had been thinking about erasing it many times over but decided not to. The black ink looked good in her milky skin, but she would rather it stayed hidden.

“The Raven. Known as the harbinger of death. Marked in her rebirth, granting ultimate authority within her title. And yet, in all her glory, eventually came to a slow, excruciating end. One where she, despite her best efforts, was unable to prevent the death of our lineage.” “…No…,” I whispered. But she was right. I could keep lying to myself, keep refusing to look… but there was certainly more than just a raven tattoo there…. It was almost like… bite marks. Semi-circles littering my skin, overlapping in their design to the point where it was almost impossible to make out what they were. …Unless you knew. Unless you knew exactly what you were looking at. And if someone is marked with a doubl