Realistic Stitches Tattoo Novels & Stories

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.

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.

Something about the adrenalin of the tattoo gun I guess. I did get a tattoo added for Roxie in the end. It took me a while to think about what I wanted but in the end I had a twisting, mixed up lightning bolt. Not a cheesy, pointy outline, but the crackling, thin shards that splinter across a dark sky. It is on the side of my ribs, surrounded by the constellations of the Fyrestone compound.

Thin vines, soft roses, perfect. “This one,” I say. “It’s gorgeous.” “Thought you’d like that.” He smiles. “Lie back. Jeans a little lower.” I unbutton them and shimmy them down more. The lace waistband of my panties is fully visible now. Dante gloves up, cleans the area with cool alcohol wipes. His touch is professional, but his eyes keep flicking to mine. “You nervous?” he asks, voice low. “A little,” I admit. “First tattoo.” “You’ll be fine. Deep breaths.” He places the stencil carefully. Peels it off. “Check the mirror.”

It’s like a really faint tattoo without the ink. I shut the water off so I can look at it closely. It’s an infinity mark with a single vertical band running around the middle, and two dots on both ends of the band.

Stacy kept up a running conversation about nothing in particular to keep Angel's mind off of the little pain she was inflicting in order to stamp my name and ownership on her body. I kept one hand in hers while playing with her hair with the other; my eyes on the needle as it moved in short meticulous progress across her flesh. Three hours later we were done and my baby was sporting a brand-new tattoo right across her Mons; it said simply Colton Lyon's on top with a butterfly that covered both labia majora in the same color scheme as her angel wings. With the clit piercing in the middle it was fucking hot and my mouth watered at the sight of it. Stacy gave her a mirror to look at it and she

Relief settles for a heartbeat—my pack is safe. “Rhett,” Laura sighs. “Tell me already, what the hell is going on with you?” “I don’t want to talk about it.” I glare at her. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to be alone.” I turn and head for my apartment. Inside, I strip off my clothes. I’ve been holding back from checking the stabbing pain in my chest. I turn to the mirror— And freeze. A tattoo runs across my back, down into my chest. A river of blue light twists into a crescent moon. Inside the glow, faint outlines of wolves howl and run, their forms made of mist and stars. The whole thing pulses like a living vein under my skin.