Voltron Tattoos Novels & Stories

he chuckled,”You’re a good asset to my gang. “What’s the last part of my training?” I asked, remembering the conversation from earlier. “You have to get a tattoo,” he stated. “A tattoo?” I gaped, “Why?” “It’s the trademark,” he smiled,”It’s kind of like a brand. Everyone in my gang has the tattoo.” “What’s the tattoo of?” I wondered. “A Devil's,” he smiled, “Or serpents.” “Why a Devil?” I questioned. “My gang name is The Devil's Brotherhood,” he smirked. I chuckled, and looked at him.

There, stark against his skin, was a tattoo. A complex, intricate design of two family crests intertwined—the Moretti lion and the Castellano eagle, forever wrapped around each other. He got it on our wedding day. He said it represented the eternal alliance of our families, and our eternal vows to each other. “Aurora,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Do you remember this tattoo?” The cold night wind blew past, whipping a strand of hair across my face. I looked at the tattoo in silence. After a long moment, I reached out.

He was alone this time. "I know you must be wondering how your tattoo disappeared all of a sudden. I remember I told you it's not just a tattoo, it's a magical one. It can hear, see and talk when angry. And I also remember I told you I won't let any harm come to you but it's like you never trusted me. I saw how your mom was heartbroken after seeing your tattoo and then guessed she might tell your dad about it and bring trouble to you. You are my best friend, protecting you is my pleasure. So now wake up and have a physical look at me. Find me in your washroom if you really want to see me."

Otherwise, it would have taken him a lot of effort to deal with the black wasps that could get in by every opening. "Bravo. I never knew that you, a toy boy, could be so powerful. Now, get ready to take my ultimate strike!" After a momentary shock, Arnold the giant laughed out loud. While he ran his strength, all the dark cyan tattoos on his body started to glisten with strange dark black light. Look blood vessels, the beams of light kept going up and gathering on his bald head. A palm-sized tattoo on the top of his head suddenly released a glaring black light.

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.

He preferred it that way. Beta Remus entered the hall and sniffed appreciatively. His black eagle tattoo peeked out from the collar of his shirt. In a pinch, he could release the inky bird and it would take flight, providing reconnaissance from above. Each pack member's tattoo, received upon turning sixteen, transformed into a unique animal providing a unique gift. Only one wolf could claim each creature.

Doughy from good living and laziness. Drakon is carved from granite. His chest is a landscape of muscle and violence. A jagged white scar runs from his collarbone to his ribs—a knife wound, old and deep. Another scar, a bullet graze, marks his side. But it’s the ink that holds me. A massive tattoo covers his torso. Wolves. A pack of them, snarling, fighting, running. They wrap around his ribs and disappear onto his back. It’s a masterpiece of shadow and ink.

For the most part, the packs got along but there was still always a sense of authority that was tested. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you look good. Can’t be representing our pack badly.” Jacob was getting our Crest tattooed on his chest. It was the head of a wolf with its teeth showing and blue blood dripping from the fangs. Kind of spot on for whoever designed it but whatever.

Because if I looked—if I saw—I’d fall harder than I could ever afford to. But right now? I’m looking. And I fucking hate that I can’t look away. His body is a masterpiece of power. Carved abs. Broad shoulders. Veins on his arms like he’s always halfway to bursting. And his chest—God help me—his chest glistens like he walked out of some ad for sin itself. And then— Then I see it. That fucking tattoo. A lion’s head, snarling right in the center of his chest. Its mouth open like it’s about to roar. Eagle wings stretch from both sides, curling around his collarbones like a crown of chaos.

Then the black tee. Elena watched, mesmerized. Without the suit or the hoodie, the full extent of his ink was visible. A massive vulture was tattooed across his back, its wings stretching to his shoulders. Scars—some from blades, some from bullets—marred his bronze skin like a map of a violent life. "You're staring again, sweetheart," Julian said, stepping toward her. He looked like a pagan god of war. "I've never seen so much of you," she whispered.