Simple Easy Batman Tattoo Novels & Stories

Deciding not to interrupt, I rest my weight on one knee and fold my arms across my chest, my eyes ravaging his half naked body. The tattoos along his arms flex and relax with each repetition, ink stretching, contracting and settling again. Ryat, unlike his father and brother, is the type to get tattoos on a whim, so there's a lot of them, mumbled and jumbled, all fighting for the spotlight. The entirety of his back is sprayed with ink ranging from wild animals, to reptiles, to random objects. The most prominent on his back is a crowned lion sitting on the left side of his shoulder blade. There are scales running along his skin like he'd hoped to be a serpent but instead got molded him into m

When the shirtless man grew closer, Gregg could see two large lightning bolt tattoos on each side of the man’s six-pack abdomen. Gregg could now see the dark figure. It was a man with white makeup on his face, along with what appeared to be black eyeshadow. The man had his pitch-black long hair tied up into a ponytail, and it looked like he had blood painted across his broad shoulders. The white makeup made the man look like Jared Leto’s Joker from the Snyder Cut Justice League. Gregg felt helpless while looking up at this shirtless, sweaty mass of raw muscle who was towering over him, holding a shiny long antique battle-ax in his left hand. Gregg recognized the man’s face through the white

“Alright, my love. Anything for you.” It was too easy, the way he said it. And though part of me wanted to believe him, another part knew Grant’s version of “handling things” often came with blood and fire. But for now, I chose peace. I chose the illusion. “Alright, you’re set,” the tattooist said finally, pulling her gloves off. She handed me a mirror, and I craned awkwardly to see. Daddy’s was inked in delicate red script right where only he would see it. It was beautiful. Dangerous. Ours.

I admire the tattoo taking up most of his back, it's similar to Storms. It's a pair of evil snake eyes in red, with a green and yellow snake wrapped around the pistol facing the red eyes of the evil snake. The words The Satan Sniper’s Motorcycle Club are written under the pistol. But what has me at a standstill is the shading that's done around the entire picture, it's a light shading but unmistakable. It's wings, Angel wings. I don't say anything. I want to but I'm tongue tied. I scan his back and stop at the blue bruises around his sides.

Of course, I would be stunned, I’ve never seen anything like him. There was a magnificent tattoo of a bat hanging upside down on the side of his neck, surrounded by deadly snake-like vines. It looked mysterious with stars twinkling all around it and I could bet on Carmine’s tail that there were more under the grey Henley shirt he wore. All buttons of his shirt were loose, with sunglasses hanging at the end of the placket, and if his muscles filled up those long sleeves, he had to have some load in those sweatpants. ‘What did you say about my tail again?’

Yes, I want a mate, but I will not turn down an evening with the fine specimen of a male sitting across from me. Because damn, he is fine. He’s in a simple outfit consisting of a white button up and black slacks, but he is wearing it. He’s left the top three buttons of the shirt undone, revealing the edge of a tattoo on his left pectoral, and through the fabric of the shirt I can see it extends across his chest, to his shoulder and down his left bicep. He’s rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and there is another tattoo on the inside of his right forearm.

“Little Bird.” Jumping, I turned to find Bane standing there in the same suit as I’d seen him in this morning, although he’d jettisoned the jacket. His shirt was open at the collar, revealing a tantalizing look at the tattoos that continued from his neck down onto his chest. His dark hair was fuck-me tousled, his dark eyes drinking me in. “Jesus, you scared me,” I told him. He smirked. The bastard. “Would you like a drink?”

Finding his gaze unnerving, she instantly flickered her gaze down. Her cheeks flushed when she realized he wasn’t wearing any shirt. His rugged body resembled a canvas. A number of tattoos spread across his tanned chest. There was a tattoo of a serpent designed on his upper left chest and the other side had roman numbers written on it. Her eyes traveled down his bulging biceps and paused at a tattoo that caused her a tinge of discomfort. Her eyes widened slightly when she noticed the evil symbol, a sigil of Baphomet branded on his bicep. Being a devotee of god, the discovery scandalised her. Why would anyone get that? Not a moment later, she realized it wasn’t the only one, he also had an un

We share a connection that goes beyond mere surface differences. His family served as a vital force that kept him going, motivating him to wake up every morning. In contrast, my own family suffocated me. I made a career decision that came at the expense of hurting my father. Ashton, on the other hand, would rather risk falling to his death than betray his family. While I tend to go against the norm, he remains steadfastly loyal. I recall a recent conversation we had where he revealed that he had refrained from getting a Batman tattoo because it would disappoint his father, Roman Johnson, a devoted Marvel fan.

I loved that he didn’t shave or wax all the way… it seemed more manly to me, plus it was soft to the touch and I couldn’t wait to feel more. He had tattoos, but he wasn’t tatted out like I had expected from a biker. He had the Dogs of Fire logo on his inner forearm, and that same arm was sleeved up to his shoulder. The other arm was also sleeved, but ended at the elbow. Down his left side and slightly across his ribs was a black and white tattoo of the lily flower with the word “Lily” interwoven in the design.