Sasuke Tattoo Novels & Stories

“Don’t you have training to do?” “It’s not nearly as fun as watching you.” I countered, pouting just a bit. My eyes found the tattoo that started at his shoulder and snaked down his back. A scaled dragon, full of razor-sharp teeth and eyes glistening with intelligence. Its tail was curled around his waist, and ended in a tuft of dangerous points. Atlas’s tattoo seemed much brighter now; definitely brighter than the faded blue it had been in the past. His dragon, it looked as though it were made from ice.

he chuckled,”You’re a good asset to my gang. “What’s the last part of my training?” I asked, remembering the conversation from earlier. “You have to get a tattoo,” he stated. “A tattoo?” I gaped, “Why?” “It’s the trademark,” he smiled,”It’s kind of like a brand. Everyone in my gang has the tattoo.” “What’s the tattoo of?” I wondered. “A Devil's,” he smiled, “Or serpents.” “Why a Devil?” I questioned. “My gang name is The Devil's Brotherhood,” he smirked. I chuckled, and looked at him.

This same man was his master, the man he had worked for five years, now sitting in front of him like a king on the coach, in his own house while he was at his feet. He was seated comfortably with one leg crossed on the other, in a black pants and a collared white shirt which tightly showed off his bicep. Four bottoms of his shirt were left unbuttoned and wide open which exposed the tattoo designed all over his chest, down to his waist. It was a tattoo of an eagle, whole wigs were spread wide to cover his full shirt. His dark straight hair was neatly glued to the back and grazing his shoulder while a strand of long hair fell across the side of his handsome face. His brown sparkling eyes were

Reiner explained. "So?" "According to the data obtained, everyone has the same tattoo." Reiner explained again. Reiner explained what he got. Morgan looked at the picture of the tattoo on Reiner's iPad clearly and then turned to Jonathan. Jonathan who understood immediately gave his explanation. "The snake with the skull head on it is an identifying mark of the rebel and Satanist groups in Country J. And they are all subordinates of the owner of the tattoo of a pair of snakes on the arm of someone who they believe is the boss of darkness." Jonathan explained.

And that did the job, he snatched away the fake ID from me and walked away angrily. I noticed the tattooed man staring at me now while sipping his drink slowly, fuck! He’s so hot. He looked so manly in a suit which suggests that he is either a businessman or a body guard to some rich men. But on a second thought, body guards don’t wear such expensive accessories all over him. I can recognize his ring form here.

Asim switches to the other breast and I moan as Hikaru licks and nibbles where they marked me. It looks like I have many tattoos where all of my mate marks are from the Celtic dragon and vines on my wrist to the dragon on my shoulder, the Kitsuné on my neck and the wolf shield on the opposite side of my neck. Add them to my three actual tattoos which are all witchy and I look very inked up.

“Not Ferrero’s crest. Not the family I was born into. Yours.” Her lips trembled. “That’s permanent.” “Exactly,” he said, his grin erratic, hungry. “So every time I bleed, every time I fight, it’s your name the world will see.” The tattooist looked nervous, his hands trembling as he approached. Alessio stood behind him, arms crossed, gaze sharp. “Don’t shake. If you falter, you won’t have hands left to work with.” The man swallowed, steadied, and began.

He closed his eyes, his jaw slackening as I scrubbed his scalp. A comfortable silence soon settled between us. As I leaned forward to rinse the shampoo from his hair, my eyes caught the tattoo inked across his back and upper arm. The design was bold against his skin, curling like claws and wings. Black flames wrapped around a serpent swallowing its own tail. "What does it mean?" I asked, my fingers lightly brushing the ink. He didn't answer at first. "It's a symbol of resurrection. Power earned through suffering." I traced the outer edge. "You got it before or after everything?"

Light spilling out. I move closer, staying in the shadows. And then I see him. Dante is at a sink, washing blood off his hands. His hair is wet—he must have showered. Water droplets are running down his bare back. His scarred back. With FARFALLA tattooed down his spine in elegant script. My name. My nickname. Permanently etched into his skin. I swallow hard, my eyes tracing the letters. Tracing the scars around them. Evidence of everything he survived. Everything he endured.

His shirt was cut open, exposing the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of old scars, and one intricate tattoo along his ribs, a coiled serpent devouring its own tail, inked in deep black with faint crimson accents that looked almost alive under the low light. As I traced the antiseptic-soaked cloth along the edge of the fresh wound, my fingers accidentally brushed the tattoo. Lucas inhaled sharply. His hand shot out to grip my wrist, but instead of pushing me away, he held me there. His thumb pressed against my pulse point, and I felt it race. “You keep saving people who don’t deserve it,” he murmured roughly. “You should have stayed away from me when you had the chance."