Tattoo Drawings Novels & Stories

It's a drawing of the moon cycle with the center silhouette of a howling wolf. "How is a drawing going to help?" I'm perplexed. "This a drawing of a tattoo. Faris, one of the non-affiliated wolfs drew it. He said he saw it on a lot of the wolves who held them captive. We believe this is how they identify each other. It's always in blue ink on their forearm." Amelie hands me the drawing. "This will help narrow down who joined and who has been forced to help them. This is great!" I can't believe they are dumb enough to mark themselves. They are making it easy.

The tattoo had been left to heal, and remaining true to the promise I made him, I hadn’t looked at it; no matter how much I was itching to. Gulping, I closed my eyes as he gently peeled off the plaster. “This is my way of claiming you, Rose,” he said and kissed the exposed skin of my shoulder. He removed the bandage, and I slowly opened my eyes. On their own accord, my hands came up and covered my mouth as a gasp escaped my lips when I saw the beautiful drawing that had taken over the hideous scar. It was a motorcycle lost to time and consumed but a wildflower bush. The vines wrapped the metal in their embrace, and big red roses bloomed around it, claiming it. Right next to it lay a huge gra

I chuckled. The tattooist came back to assume his position. He adjusted the light again, then he cleaned the area with an antiseptic. A thin layer of petroleum jelly was applied. Using a tattoo machine with sterile needles attached, Cartel began to draw an outline of the tattoo. I sat at the side, holding Jason's hand as I watched the whole process in curiosity. He started from the left, then to the right. It was amazing how he handled the machine with his left hand, I smiled to see the 5th person I've met in the world, embracing his left hand like me. This was my first time in a tattoo parlour.

I bent over the dead soldier, my heart heavy as I realized that the same tattoo adorned his neck as well. he design was unlike anything I had seen before, yet there was an unsettling familiarity about it, a memory tugging at the edges of my mind. The tattoo depicted a flying demon, its wings outstretched, eyes aglow with an otherworldly luminescence. The level of detail was astonishing, every line and curve capturing the essence of the creature in a way that was both mesmerizing and disconcerting. The artistry was undeniable, but there was an underlying malevolence that sent shivers down my spine.

Gianna gazed down at her wrist, looking at the small tattoo she got in her teenage years. It was a dandelion, some of the seeds scattered as if blown by the wind, forming a small musical note. Nothing about the drawing was unique, as surely, a lot of women already had the same tattoo as hers now. She had been thinking about erasing it many times over but decided not to. The black ink looked good in her milky skin, but she would rather it stayed hidden.

His touch was gentle, but I could feel the strength in his fingers, a reminder of the power he held over me. He was a perfect specimen of masculinity, his muscles rippling under his skin, his veins bulging with strength. I couldn't help but feel a rush of desire coursing through my body. I sighted his tattoos; it seemed like his tattoos seemed to draw me to them like a magnet, and I couldn't look away from the muscles that bulged beneath them. They seemed to tell a story, each one representing something unique. I lifted my hand, softly placing it on the drawings. I could see him take a deep breath when my palm landed on his chest, tracing the drawings.

The icy blast would’ve made anyone else recoil, but Dante stood there, solid and unmoving, like he was made of stone. His back was a canvas of ink, just like his front. The artwork was nothing short of breathtaking. Spanning across his entire back was a massive, detailed tattoo—an angel, powerful and divine, standing within the ruins of an ancient temple. The wings spread wide across his shoulder blades, reaching toward his arms, while crumbling pillars surrounded the figure in dramatic grayscale contrast. It wasn’t just a tattoo; it was a story, a testament, a work of devotion etched forever into his flesh. It was absolutely beautiful—mesmerizing, even.

“How about you? How’s your drawing coming along?” I let out a sigh of exhaustion. “Not very far since last week. It’s like, on paper everything is fine, but once I get to an orange or the pig skin, my fuckin hand won’t stop shaking.” “Yeah, that’s no good for tattooing. Maybe think about what you’re eating.” “What?” Avery stops drawing to look at me. “You need your strength to sit for hours between drawing and tattooing. Food is fuel. Don’t tell me that huge hunk of handsome body guarding you isn’t trying to fatten you up.”

He drops it in the box with the other stuff while my eyes fly wide, my brows practically hitting my hairline. “Seriously?” I gasp, blinking as the pieces start to slot together in my brain. He’s got tattoos crowding his thighs and forearms, which seems like strange placement when the rest of his body is a blank canvas- unless he’s been doing them himself. Those would be the easiest places for him to reach. “Did you tattoo this one?” I ask, picking up the drawing from the side table again. “I was working on it,” he replies with a shrug of his shoulder.

Even the tattoos on his arms were hard to recognise, they just seemed like black smudges on his skin in my mind. “Okay, so we know we’re looking for a male with arm tattoos.” Alpha Devin noted the description of the man behind the sketch and proceeded to label the first two sketches as well. “What about this one?” It was one of the more chaotic ones, drawn the day of my father’s funeral, I could hardly get a clear image in my mind to put on paper, but my hands kept moving, scribbling an abstract image onto the page. “I’m sorry, that shouldn’t be here- it, I drew that the day of my father’s funeral, my mind was too clouded to think clearly.” I stumbled over my words, pulling the page from her