Badass Forearm Tattoo Novels & Stories

His hair damp and dark against his forehead, skin still flushed and sheened from exertion, catching the pale morning light in a way that turned it golden. The tattoo I had only ever seen in pieces revealed itself fully for the first time. Dark geometric lines beginning at his wrist, winding up his forearm with the patience of something that knew exactly where it was going, curling over the swell of his bicep, continuing across his shoulder and unfurling onto his chest in patterns that were precise and deliberate and entirely unhurried. A private language written in ink that he had never offered to translate.

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

Rex "This one's on me, sweetheart," I tell the brunette standing in front of me. I throw in a wink for good measure. Her eyes give me a once over, stalling on the tattoos that peek out from under my rolled-up shirt sleeves. Both of my upper arms are covered in tattoos I've designed myself but I've purposely kept my forearms bare. There's no rhyme or reason to it, simply a personal preference.

That was when I noticed the tattoos. His back was adorned with an intricate design of large black wings, streaked with delicate gold traces that shimmered faintly in the low light. The wings spanned across his shoulders and down his back, a masterpiece that was both beautiful and intimidating. They exuded a silent warning, a "do not mess with me" aura that fit him perfectly. Yet, despite their commanding presence, I felt no fear. This was Alessandro. The man who had carried me, who had stood by me even when I pushed him away. He wasn’t a threat—he was my protector.

Nadia's POV I lay in bed, hearing the chirping of birds and seeing the small amount of sunlight peeking through the curtains in mine and Nate's room. I bite my lip as I think about what happened between us last night. It was pre bliss. I roll over in bed and watch his peaceful sleeping form, bare chested and muscles fully on display. His left arm is over his eyes, which is where his forearm tattoo is. I take the time to admire it closely, the intricate vines, thorns and cracks perfectly placed, travelling up his arm until they fade away into his skin close to his elbow. I glance as his bare chest, realizing he has many more tattoos that I never noticed before.

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

' he replied in an icy voice. I slowly turned around to look at him, why was his features so tense? Before he went to sleep, he seemed to be in a better state, but now there was an evil aura rippling through his body. My eye suddenly fell on his left arm, he had a tattoo; it was a black dragon tattoo with a savage mouth opening that started from the end of his shoulder and extended to his wrist. This tattoo made him look tougher and more dangerous. She suddenly turns and slams her hips on the table, this movement taking her left arm out of my view, causing me to see her right arm. My eyes widened in surprise, for there was a tattoo of history on his right arm on his biceps.

I whispered, “You were amazing.” He pulled back and beamed at me. “Did you see my roll? And—and how I dodged and flipped him?” “I did! I don’t even think I could have done that,” I laughed, brushing his hair from his face. He puffed his chest. “The warriors say I’m strong. That I’m brave.” I kissed his forehead. “You are. You always have been.” He held up his arm, showing me a fresh tattoo inked onto his forearm. A beautiful phoenix with its wings spread in mid-flight as it stood in flames.

A tattoo covers one of his pecs, moving up to his shoulder and down part of his arm. His arms are just as huge as the rest of him—sculpted biceps and forearms and… good Lord, this guy looks like he should be felling trees or something. My eyes don’t stay on his arms, though—they go right back to the bongos. And the fact that those bongos are covering his… bongos. “My package?” he asks. “What?! I’m not looking at your package,” I protest. My voice seems to come out at least an octave higher than it is. I practically squeak like a mouse.

More than enough. I didn’t move right away. I just lay there, letting my eyes trace the lines of him. His forearm—thick, corded with muscle, covered in those dark tattoos that twisted like smoke and vines—curved protectively over my stomach. The ink stopped just short of his wrist, leaving a strip of bare skin that looked almost vulnerable. I followed it up to his shoulder, the swell of his bicep, the faint scar from some old motorcycle accident he’d laughed off once like it was nothing.