Star Wars Tattoos For Men นิยาย & เรื่องราว

A massive tattoo stretched across his back, dark, swirling lines that formed a wolf’s head surrounded by a crescent moon. Kieran stood at the counter, chopping vegetables with the precision of a surgeon. His long red hair fell over his shoulders in loose waves, and his tattoo was just as beautiful as Kai’s: a roaring dragon with flames curling down his spine, its tail disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans. Kylan, of course, was leaning against the fridge with a smirk that could melt steel. His tattoo was a constellation of stars and a running wolf, the design wrapping around his ribs and down his left side.

But he is just like any other male I have ever met and only wants one thing… A stray tear falls from my eye and I feel a calloused thumb brush it away. “Miss Delaney, I am sorry for you to hear that. But if someone had said that about me. I would like to know. But don’t let him see this tear. Him nor his words are worth that.” He says with such a genuine smile… I didn’t really pay much attention to Kylo’s appearance earlier. But he is pretty hot. Raven black hair, messy on the top, shaved on the sides. He is really tan, like all he does is lay in the sun. His eyes are a golden honey color. And they shine. His arms are covered in beautiful tattoos, mostly of forest trees, moons, and wolves. I

I don't care about myself being hurt, I don't fear death but then he would find a way to hurt Diana. The thought makes my blood boil. I am certain he knows of Diana, there is nothing he doesn't know. “We were never together,” Dan tilts his head a little to the side as if he wants to watch me from a new angle. “Would she say the same?” I shrug again The door opens and a man walks in. He's wearing an ivory suit that compliments his rich dark skin. “I've been waiting for you.” Dan says to the man. He's bearing the same tattoo that every elite in the vow bears. It's a star and a V. It's pretty simple but the gravity of power the ink carries is massive enough that it keeps the world spinning.

There are just tattoos, and there are also models. Luke and Andrei are one of them. They are both topless, but only Andrei has a tattoo on the waist to the abdomen. I think they are Chinese symbols because I can't read them. In fairness with his abs, it looks well cared of too. Luke, on the other hand, is tribal, from the shoulder to his biceps. I was stunned there and spontaneously played with my brain that morning he pushed us up. My face immediately warmed up when I remembered how nice it was when his muscles flexed. I can't believe that that man is in love with me. Oh my God, is this the thrill? Why am I smiling? Shit.

"They're not rogues. The symbol on his left arm—it's from a northern pack." I followed his gaze and noticed a tattoo—a black 'S' with a small crescent moon in the center. "Do they have pack symbols tattooed?" I whispered, and the man was still engrossed in conversation with his companions, not looking directly at us, but his attention seemed focused on me. "Yes, but on my left chest." I shifted my gaze to him. "What does it look like?" My fear from moments before had dissipated, perhaps because having him beside me eased my trembling heart.

Each man wore the mark. Different symbols etched into skin: a serpent coiled around a sword on the left forearm of one, twin wolves snarling beneath a bleeding moon on the wrist of another, a skeletal crown on the palm of a third, and a phoenix swallowing its own tail just above the elbow of the last. Each tattoo pulsed faintly, dark and ancient, remnants of an allegiance born of secrecy, ambition, and old blood.

Funny how I get nervous again, wanting to back out when I was so courageous earlier until I saw them. Some of his men went outside, and some were still there. They all have tattoos on their arms and probably up to their body. Well, tattoos are all over the world now. Even minors have! “A million and a hundred dollars.” His eyebrow shut up. A loud burst of laughter suddenly echoed inside the room.

My gaze drops back down his torso, and that's when I notice the tattoos. Five aligned stars on the side of his torso, near his ribs—the largest closest to the center, the others decreasing toward his back. They look like marks of conquest, as if each represents something only he knows. And on his right arm, a thin, precise line, slightly above the elbow, minimalist and geometric, like a discreet reminder that even a man like him has secrets etched into his skin. Holy shit. He's not just attractive — he's dangerous. This guy is pure testosterone.

I have a faint recollection of him saying he’s also the Gamma, something that I should be so proud of him for, but I can’t care about it right now. I move on autopilot and follow them, not even phased that Mase is still buck naked. He seems completely comfortable and unphased by it. I have to imagine he did that in some way to have a dick measuring contest with Javed. Most males would have at least put on shorts by now. Everytime I get a glimpse of his back I see the massive pack tattoo that pretty much takes up the entire thing. I know that all pack members get the emblem but females usually get tiny ones no bigger than a coaster. Jeez that had to hurt!

Where are you? Voices echo on the wind, multiple people trying to call on his name. He’s running for his life. His tattoos – four stars on each of his arm – a symbol for every life he has ever lived, and will be living. A star for every deity that he’s ever mocked. A star for every partner he will ever love.