Tattoos For Grandma Novels & Stories

“I argued with my mom about everything when I was a teenager.” Wanting to keep the conversation flowing, I ask, “What kind of tattoo do you want to get?” I feel her arm brush against mine as she shifts a little. “I was thinking of bricks or blocks with some shading and a flower growing out of it.” When I glance at her, it’s to find her looking at me. She scrunches her nose and turns her gaze to her lap. “It means something good can grow in harsh conditions.” “I think it will suit you.”

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.

"Amber is too kind. My mom said not to hurt the people who did that to you. We only live together. She shared her life experiences, especially when that crazy guy decided to run off with that bitch who ruined my parents' marriage." "In that case, you should take care of your mom." Denis had already turned on the tattoo gun after dipping the needle in the ink. Denis' other hand began to hold Gaby's skin flat and taut for easy execution, and slowly and indeed, the needle started to dig into a few millimeters of Gaby's skin. Think of it like a sting that Gaby eventually got used to. Now Denis' focal point truly begins. Under the lights, he resumes his work for the umpteenth client since Denis f

I playfully glared at her while running my thumb across my throat in a slicing motion. "Before you, I think Jarek will kill me for tattooing someone else's dick on her mate because I had planned to tattoo a small and tiny one on you... and everyone knows Jarek junior is not junior at all." "I am certainly not interested in talking about my mate's junior with his ex-fuckbuddy. So I think we should get on with what I am here for." Gathering my hair, I tie them up in a high bun and lie on my stomach on the tattoo bed.

At nine o’clock the same night, I watched Isabel's live stream on my phone. She was flaunting her million-dollar Patek Philippe watch. "I tattooed the word ‘old spinster’ on that freeloading old hag. She’s thirty years old, but her skin is already all crusty. I made sure to use darker color ink so it wouldn’t come off!" The viewers in the livestream applauded what she did, which inspired her to gloat again.

A few days ago, when I met Eloha at the hospital and saw the butterfly pendant on her neck, I thought that surely it looked like the tattoo on the woman from years ago. Yet, when Eloha touched me, the feeling was quite different…almost nauseating. I peeled myself away from her, my eyes cold as glaciers. “You still have not shown me your tattoo.” I calmly stated, and I measured her expression for anything, anything to give out a little loophole. But there was nothing. She only pouted, her eyes getting moist. “I have to honor everything and everyone, including my body, in the few days of my grandmother’s death. I will be able to show you after the funeral.” She said, and for a moment, there wa

I approached their weak-ass leader and pulled him by the collar. "Remember my face and this tattoo you dummy, cause this day forward I will be your master. You and your useless gangmates will be my slave. You understand?" I said, looking hard at him. I grabbed his jaw and took a dagger that I always hid inside my boots. I carved a letter 'V' on his face. It stands for Violet. I tap the wound I made. "Aarrgghh!" He cried out in pain. Oh, my, my. Music to my ears.

I say closing my eyes, waiting for the shouting. "Oh, hell no, I am not letting some little boy fresh out of leather pants school, dictate where I'm going to go every day." Grandma says rising form her chair. She is sporting another of her famous moo moo's which she swears allows her to move around quicker. This one has a black and white zebra print design all over it.

She was trying to barter with Dante to remove his shirt so that she could see his yummy tattoos. My mother and I shared a laugh before I went to Dante’s rescue. My mate was holding his own against my horny grandmother. His glee floated down the bond, and I could see how much he truly liked her. She could be overwhelming to some, but he just embraced it. “I designed Ziyah’s tattoo. I can definitely do one for you too if you’d like. But you’ve got to either make it creative or give me free reign to design it on my own,” Dante said, flashing his signature smirk.

Marco’s POV Her eyes seemed to sparkle with a mix of curiosity and nostalgia. "Ah, the tattoos," she mused. "They've been a subject of intrigue for many years. Passed down through generations, their meaning has always been shrouded in mystery. Some say they hold a connection to our ancestors, a symbol of our heritage. Others believe they are a mark of great significance, tied to a prophecy yet to be unveiled." Her words sent a surge of excitement through me. It was a glimmer of information, a thread to follow in unraveling the secrets behind the tattoos. "Have you ever heard of anyone who could shed more light on their significance? Perhaps an elder or a storyteller?"