Tattoo Science Fiction Novels & Stories

"However today, everything changed as I discovered you're actually a half-witted, harebrained, idiot whose silicone breasts had crawled to impair her brain." Scarlet's jaw dropped to the floor. She opened her mouth but before she could even say a word, I cut her off. "Have you heard of hypoallergenic tattoo ink? Based on your startled reaction I dare say you didn't. Perhaps you should have checked it on the internet first before marching here to accuse me of being fake just because of my tattoos." My voice thundered across the room, intimidating Scarlet who now stood on her place with her face, ears and neck turning crimson.

The silver-gold tattoos on his chest and arms flared with the intensity of a dying sun, generating a localized, spatial-warping shield of pure, kinetic chaos. "Keep typing, Queen," Caleb smirked over his shoulder, his molten gold eyes burning with the thrill of defying another god. "I'll hold the sky." Scarlett didn't look up. Her fingers danced across the glowing, holographic terminal she had forced the ancient console to project. Her cosmic gold eyes were locked onto the cascading lines of the orbital weapon's telemetry data. "Just give me ten seconds, King of the North," Scarlett murmured, her starlight brush weaving intricate lines of Origin Code into the terminal.

Her fingers trembled as she undid the last button, pushing the fabric aside to reveal my skin. "Greedy little virgin," I teased, but I shrugged off my shirt, exposing my tattooed chest—rippling muscles, scars from my rough past, all symbols of the darkness she was embracing. The ink swirled in intricate patterns: a snarling wolf on my pec, vines of thorns wrapping around my abs, each one a story of conquest and pain. Her eyes widened, fingers tracing the ink, sending shivers down my spine as her nails scraped lightly over a scar. "Touch all you want. But remember, this body is your master now. Every ridge, every scar—it's yours to worship, but only because I allow it."

Sage traced the V of the tall, thin trees and then touched the eclipsed moon, holding their hand before looking at me. “You dreamed of this scene and decided to get it as a tattoo in 1920? Did they even do tattoos like this back then? It looks… pristine.” Sage asked. “It wasn’t the usual asked, that’s for sure. Back then, it was usually sailors and the like who got tattoos. And then they were things like anchors or lady faces.” I admitted. “So, going to a shop on the sketchy side of town to ask for this got me a few weird looks. But, as they say, money talks. Brice Rimbaut didn’t have strong convictions about anything and liked the challenge of something not his usual.” I shrugged.

He whispered and bought the girl. When he returned home, he saw it facing the mirror and holding a ballpen. "What are you doing?" He approached it and saw its hand with a drawing. "I want to get a tattoo." It said innocently. "You know, you're crazy." She said and Amira laid the ballpen down next to her. "I want something like that." Pointing it at his arm and where else. A rose with thorns is the tattoo on Lucy's wrist. "You want a gangster look too?" Lucy asks here. "Why do you look like that?" Questioning it. "Having a tattoo means, freedom. You don't care what other people say. By the way this is an art." He said and took off his T-shirt and showed his tattoos on his chest. "This, this,

As much as she would like to have his warm flesh pulsing within her as she had his fingers, enough relationships like hers and his existed to assure that she hadn’t anything to worry about concerning procreation for this half-breed when she could hardly assure her own survival. All of those thoughts slipped out of his mind the moment he was on top of her, though, and since she had done her research, she let herself go into fully enjoying this. She caught a glimpse of his side, and although she knew he was telling the truth about the whole healing thing, she was shocked to see that the gashes were already starting to scar. Sofia could not help but think that was going to be one seriously cool

chest rising in a calm rhythm like he was meditating, not surrounded by criminals. Speaking of his tattoos, he's got the weirdest tats I have seen on any guy. His back bore the most outrageous tattoos in the history of tattoos. His back looked like someone had lost a wrestling match with a possessed octopus holding a tattoo gun. From shoulder to shoulder, the ink sprawled like a chaotic crime scene—tribal swirls, demonic curls, and angry squiggles that might’ve once meant something, but now just screamed, “I don’t pay taxes and I bite.”

Scar kissed her neck softly as she traced every line of the ink as if she was re-inking them herself. A large skull was surrounded by an array of roses. A Christian cross in the back, behind the skull, stuck out to Lani because of the dove perched on it so innocently. Scar's tattoos were a mixture of dark and light, they described him perfectly. The same happened on his arms, one was decorated with the ideas of Satan, the other those of holy angels.

All of them had a silver hue, yet it was clear that they were not crafted from actual silver. One had a small ruby, another had elegant cursive inscriptions, and another had delicate floral etchings. I couldn't help but admire the intricate artwork that adorned his arm, from his fingers all the way up to his wrist. "What is the significance of this?" I gently ran my fingers over one of the intricate tattoos on his arm. The elegant script, adorned with delicate vines, roses, and lotus flowers, intrigued me, even though I couldn't decipher the Greek letters.

Relief settles for a heartbeat—my pack is safe. “Rhett,” Laura sighs. “Tell me already, what the hell is going on with you?” “I don’t want to talk about it.” I glare at her. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to be alone.” I turn and head for my apartment. Inside, I strip off my clothes. I’ve been holding back from checking the stabbing pain in my chest. I turn to the mirror— And freeze. A tattoo runs across my back, down into my chest. A river of blue light twists into a crescent moon. Inside the glow, faint outlines of wolves howl and run, their forms made of mist and stars. The whole thing pulses like a living vein under my skin.