Roman Numeral Tattoos Novels & Stories

The hoodie draped loosely over his head, obscuring his face, but the flicker of city lights occasionally illuminated the sharp lines of his jaw and the hints of a sinister smirk playing on his lips. The wind picked up, a fierce breeze whipping across the rooftop and causing the hood to flutter. As the fabric shifted, it revealed a chiseled, muscular torso adorned with intricate tattoos, each line telling a story of violence, power, and mystery. Prominently displayed on the left side of his chest was a large, bold tattoo—the words *Nosce Hostem* inked in a jagged, menacing script that seemed almost to pulse with life against his skin. The tattoo, a clear message, spoke of a deep connection to

His eyes are the color of fresh leaves, and they meet mine for just a second before he looks away. But it’s the tattoos that catch my attention. Intricate designs weave across his arms and chest, each one telling a story I’m not yet privy to. And then there are the Bratva stars on his shoulders; the ones my father told me about what they signify. They’re markers of high rank within the Russian mafia. Those stars should’ve been the dead giveaway of who Roman really is—someone not to be trifled with, someone who has lived a life far more complicated than I’d imagined. Not normal, flirtatious Jay.

Her skin was wet and slippery, so I simply dug my fingers in and kneaded. That tattoo down her spine was right in my face now. As I worked on her shoulders, I at last made a real effort at deciphering it. It was indeed Roman numerals, and I slowly pieced out that they were dates of some kind. Two of them. For a moment, I was affected. "Who was this?" I asked softly. I hadn't meant to turn our shower massage into an opportunity for bonding, but the tenderness was making me-- "Juice WRLD," she answered gravely.

It was now three in the morning, and the two of them stayed up in Michael’s room with both of them in their pajamas. Alba asked Michael to recheck his tattoo, and as he took off his shirt, his red crescent tattoo about two inches by two inches big was shown. He had a great body, but no matter how hard Alba tried, she could only see the man as a brother, and for that, she was very thankful. As they both looked closer, the tattoo on Michael’s chest was obviously the same as the one on the body of the dead man. The tattoo was just a crescent moon, but what made it special was the word LUNA written inside the moon in a specific way that made it look like swirls. It was an intricate design, since

"How do we protect him?" Julian looks me dead in the eye. "You don't." I frown. "What?" "Because he's already been branded." Julian pulls up his shirt. Tattooed on his ribs—a symbol from ancient times. I recognize it. The Order. The same mark that was on the ring Roman wore. The same symbol that was drawn on the wall when Emilia died. Cassian grabs Julian by the collar. "What the heck have you done?" Julian whispers—

“Yes what?” “Yes s-sir.” I shivered, my orbs scanning his chest which heaved in lust. Ink covering his body. The type of ink you could trace your fingers on. His tattoos were beautiful and elegant. My eyes latched on a specific tattoo on his collarbone, -- Wings embedded in a thorny rose. And a writing just beneath it which said, -- Alis volat propriis. I wonder what it means? Humming, his darkened greys met mine again. The hand which was on my waist now slowly travelled towards my ass.

Then, I saw him standing by a door to a room, or somewhere. He had taken off his shirt. His upper body appeared bigger. They were tattoos all over his back, his trousers hung low on his waist, dangerously low. I could run my hands through this type of body all day without getting tired. He was receiving a phone call. He was immensely focused. I stood still, waiting for him to finish. His words didn’t make sense at first, until it got to the part where he said: “She doesn’t know a thing. I have it all under control… In the end everything will be mine.” His words made me tremble.

It made me want to reach out and trace the hard lines as well as the tattoos on it. He turned slightly and I caught sight of the rest of his body. The tattoo also covered the left side of his chest, black ink used to drag large wings. It was a raven, it was so detailed down to the sharp talons and the glint of its beady eyes. There were other drawings like a rose with the letter “E”. What does that mean? Family? Or perhaps..a lover? For some reason that thought made me bitter. Beneath it was a phrase written in Latin that flowed into his ribs.

“Your tattoos are beautiful.” I look at the tattoo of a skull surrounded by black flames. My whole right arm is decorated with tattoos from shoulder to wrist. My skin prickles with every caress of her fingers, but I don’t stop her from touching me. The tattoo sleeve has several tribal symbols, and there are a seal trident and a frogman tattoo on my shoulder. Each tattoo represents something in my life. The skull represents my status as an Assassin, and the cross is a play on my name. Her finger moves down the line of my intricate cross, then to the inside of my rib cage, where I have an inscription. Qui velit, ut vivat in aeternum.

she spoke each word with intensity. "...ott van remény," I finished up the creed. Honestly, I'd heard, or seen it somewhere as a kid. Later, I regurgitated that saying to impress some A****n chicks. "Great, we have the same catch phrase." Alkonyka took off her shirt, revealing her lilac bra. Her tattoo was in Hungarian written in an archaic fashion. 'Where there is Valor' arched over her belly button and 'There is Hope' dipped beneath.