Realistic Stitches Tattoo Novels & Stories

The fresh ink began to shimmer and move subtly on my skin, responding to my growing arousal. Raven set the needle aside for a moment and picked up a soft silk strap, tying it around the top of my left thigh, just above the new tattoo. The strap pressed lightly against the fresh ink, making it pulse warmly. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “The binding is awakening.” He repeated the process on my right thigh, then stepped back to admire his work. The intricate patterns looked like living chains wrapped around my thighs, shimmering faintly with every heartbeat. Raven climbed onto the table between my spread legs. He leaned down and dragged his tongue slowly through my soaked folds, tasting me while t

My short skirt clings to my ass perfectly, showing off my long legs, and my top stretches over my boobs. My make-up is flawless, as always, but when I see my blue eyes glowing, I freeze. Why the hell is my beast close to the surface now? It can't be just because I'm annoyed? I have more control than that… I'm sure I do. I shake my head and focus on my new tattoo. Honestly, it hurt like hell. The artist had to use a silver needle and ink mixed with wolfsbane to stop it from healing, but it was definitely worth it.

I ask. He lifts up his black shirt up and there was another wound on on right torso. "That looks worse than the one on your shoulder." I state. I pick up a guaze and try wiping off as much blood as I could. I try not to let my gaze roam over the other parts of his body, especially his tattos. Looks like he added more ink. I bend a little to get a good look at the wound before stitching it up. "It is not that deep but longer than the other one." I stand uprightly and pick up a new needle. "So, this would take a longer time." I raised an eyebrow at him, silently asking for his permission before I start. He gives a small nod and I begin stitching.

I chirp. Benji gets to work copying the sketch onto tracing paper with stencil fluid, and to his credit, Chase doesn’t even try to sneak a peek. Still, I take it upon myself to distract him, sinking back down into the chair on the other side of him, slipping off my shoes, and kicking my bare feet up onto his lap. A growl rumbles in his chest as he clamps a hand down onto my thigh, squeezing, and I eye-fuck the shit outta him while my mind conjures up all kinds of dirty thoughts. “Alright,” Benji sighs, swiveling on his stool with a razor and a damp rag in his hand. Chase points out the spot on his arm where he wants the tattoo again and Benji shaves the area, prepping it to transfer the sten

He shifted in the water, turning his broad shoulders away from me so his back was fully exposed. When the fabric finally fell away, my breath hitched. My eyes trailed over his skin, mapping out the dark, intricate ink of the tattoos that spanned his shoulders and spine. But right in the middle of that beautiful, dark canvas, just beneath his shoulder blade, was the angry, puckered crater of the gunshot wound. The skin around it was a violent shade of mottled purple and red, the edges pinched tightly together by thick, dark surgical stitches. It looked raw, disrupting his tattoos like a violent tear in a painting.

“Two long tears. Both eyes.” The tattooist looked up from his tools, his expression grim. “You realize what you’re asking for? This isn’t just any tattoo. It marks you as part of a violent group. Step into River, and you’ll be arrested on sight. Worse, your soul will be bound to hers. If she dies, especially by your hand, your soul shatters into fragments. You’ll be left a husk—a mindless, broken shell. Are you sure about this?” In the corner, Argent leaned against the wall, her arms crossed, her silver braids reflecting the dim light as she formed a heart with her hands.

“As I did before.” The white puppets from outside hurtled toward Stringmaster, gathering around her. Footsteps echoed outside, as if the inmates all stepped toward the cell at once. “Do not test me, sylph.” “I’ll fight back,” she said, holding her ground. “I won’t feel guilty hurting your current human shields.” Her eyes swept over the big man beside her, noticing the tattoos covering his skin. At first glance, the inkwork seemed chaotic—a mishmash of poorly shaded lines and jagged outlines. Sloppy work, she thought. But the more she looked, the more deliberate it seemed. Hidden within the mess were grotesque images—women in chains, women with animals…

Fractured bones were immobilized with precise, makeshift splints. I reached through the bars, grabbing the arm of an old man huddled near the front. He flinched violently, letting out a terrified whimper. "Don't move," I growled, pulling his arm closer to the dim torchlight to inspect the black thread stitching a deep gash on his forearm. My breath hitched in my throat. My eyes widened in absolute shock. The cross-stitch pattern was irregular, tight, and executed with a specific, blind-handed technique meant to minimize scarring under primitive conditions. It was a rare, highly specialized medical style.

She will not only have my heart, but be the heart of the pack. “Alpha Marc, you are not the boss of me. My tattoo was done by an amazing artist.” Stasia stated giggling, trying to pull away. “Please sit down. You touching my back, is giving me weird sparkly sensation. We need to stay focused remember. Oh, it was made to look real is all.” I sat down, on stool next to Asher hating to leave her side. Running my finger down the lines of her tattoo was sending warm sparks through my body as well. There was something more to it. It was connecting our hearts. I could feel the warmth of her soul.

Whatever you do, do NOT pass out! Squeezing the jagged cut together the best I can with one trembling hand while trying to adhere the butterfly stitch proves to be nearly impossible and agonizing. Sweat beads across my brow as I carefully placed the last strip of a butterfly stitch over the seam of the bloody wound. It's still bleeding a little, but no longer gaping open on the side of my arm.