Voltron Tattoos 소설 & 이야기

As she unbuttoned his shirt, she noticed the tattoo of a horse on his neck which was mostly concealed by his shirt. "This is one of Christopher Stallion's men," she said. "What?" "Look at him," she said, pointing to the tattoo. "That is impossible," the governor incredulously. "My men are all trusted men." "But he has the tattoo of a horse on his neck. It would interest you to know that Stallion has a similar tattoo, and so does every member of his gang. Do you doubt it? I have a tattoo of a scorpion on my back because I am a Black Scorpion. All the members of the gangs have tattoos on their bodies."

I stared behind him and the mats gradually grew bigger when I saw what his tattoo was. I held you gently, I even felt him flinch because of that, but he let me go. I noticed the slight tilt of his face as if trying to see me. "Y-you, have the faction's tattoo." I whispered. The symbol of this faction is the fire burning a sword with the wings of a bat. "Like you..." It was almost like a breath. His voice was hoarse as he said that before gently facing me. "Why did you choose that tattoo..." "I want to be the fire that burns the sword of evilness and fear, I want to be brave to protect the person I want. I want to be fearless to face the truth... and I want to have it, to be different ...."

He scoffed, taking off his trousers, and I looked away. A wave of dread washed over me, not sure what to expect next. Fear rose in my chest as I curled my fingers into the bedspread. By the time I looked back up, he was fully undressed, but he had his back facing me. I felt a drool escape my lip as my eyes traveled over his body—broad shoulders, his muscular back adorned with a large crest tattoo, identical to his brother's, except he was larger, taking up the entire top left side of his back. The tattoo depicted a shield with two swords crossed above it. Two lions stood on their hind legs, pulling the shield from both sides. Below the shield, a banner displays the name "Dontrell." The desig

Whilst Isla was not the prettiest of the bunch, due to the fated bond we shared, she did have the ability to make me stronger, if we were to mate and that is why I wanted her back. I bet it would be so easy to convince her to come back and I was counting on that. At this moment, I was heading to the shower to wash off as I just finished combat training. My muscles were sore, but they were bigger now, and I had also gotten a couple tattoos on my arms. One was a sleeve which consisted of a wolf, with blood spewing out of its mouth surrounded by a snake and some roses to signify death. It was a dark tattoo, but I think it helped me express myself a lot, so I liked it.

I said while fiddling my fingers. "You do not have to thank me. I'd happily eliminate every last one of those cowards from the entire region," he said tightly. I noticed his jaw was set and couldn't help but take in his features. His black hair feathered across his eyebrows and I watched as he ran his hand through it to brush it away from his eyes. His full lips were set in a frown as if he was picturing eliminating the witch hunters in his mind. I also noticed the tattoo that ran from his neck and down to his shoulder. The abstract design framed a triple goddess moon symbol with a dagger that impaled the inner circle. This brought my thoughts back to the night before and Tor's magnificent p

“But don’t come crying to me when you’re still sitting here days from now, staring at that tattoo and pretending it’s the biggest mystery in your life. You have the key to make your choice by getting laid.” Her presence receded as abruptly as it had appeared, leaving an ache in my chest that wasn’t entirely physical. The silence felt heavier now, the weight of her words pressing down on me. I stared at the tattoo again, my fingers trailing over it almost absently. The design twisted and curled, impossibly intricate, like something alive and untamed. It felt… ancient. Powerful. And yet I didn’t know what it meant in my mate bond with Lucien and Damon. Did it mean that I’m only mated to Lucien

The hoodie draped loosely over his head, obscuring his face, but the flicker of city lights occasionally illuminated the sharp lines of his jaw and the hints of a sinister smirk playing on his lips. The wind picked up, a fierce breeze whipping across the rooftop and causing the hood to flutter. As the fabric shifted, it revealed a chiseled, muscular torso adorned with intricate tattoos, each line telling a story of violence, power, and mystery. Prominently displayed on the left side of his chest was a large, bold tattoo—the words *Nosce Hostem* inked in a jagged, menacing script that seemed almost to pulse with life against his skin. The tattoo, a clear message, spoke of a deep connection to

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.

I smiled, though my body trembled slightly with unease. He smirked, his eyes darkening as he sauntered towards me. Slowly, he reached out, invading my space. My gaze drifted to his chest, where intricate tattoos sprawled across his skin, half of his left chest completely inked. There was a large python coiled menacingly, its fangs bared as if ready to strike. Surrounding it were other symbols—a bleeding dagger, an intricate skull wrapped in thorns, and a blood moon rising behind them all. The ink seemed almost alive, dark and haunting, like it held secrets too dangerous to reveal. I had seen something like this before. The imagery was disturbing, almost as if he were part of some secretive c

Lola, age 17, 5'11". A mix of the family’s strength with a dancer’s fluidity. Her ash-blonde hair - like her mother’s - falls in sunlit waves down to her mid-back. Cool-blue eyes, flecked with green, study everything with a strategist’s patience. She’s begun etching tribal spirals along her collarbone, each marking a mastered martial form. Torin, age 16 and 6'1", his teenage frame thickening with muscle. He wears his inky-black hair shaved at the back and sides, leaving a top knot swept back from a high brow. His eyes - dark green like moss-damp forest floors - hold a spark of brotherly mischief and loyalty. Broad shoulders taper to a narrow waist; even in a simple linen shirt, you see the p