Bible Verse Forearm Tattoos Novels & Stories

she muttered. He raised it up to his chest, revealing a tat that looked like Asian writing. “Nice ink,” she breathed out as she sat up a bit more to get the best view of him. “What does it mean?” He shrugged. “Maybe someday I will tell you, bossy girl.” He then lifted the shirt higher. She caught writing on his arms. “Wait…. Keep your arms up. Greer rolled his eyes, but he did it. Under one arm was the inked words Strength & Honor. She gazed at the other. Enlightenment. What an odd thing for a man to have as a tattoo. “Damn…” Her panties just got wet as her breathing picked up.

Running down his spine was a tattoo of a dagger, flanked by two cobras coiled around its blade, each poised to strike the other. The crossguard was shaped into a Trinacria—its eyes hollow and haunting, its hair a wild tangle of serpents. On its three bent legs were the words etched in a stark, gothic script: Famiglia, Orgoglioso, Patria. The ink stretched over the planes of his back like a warning—Family, Pride and Homeland. He stood up, and my suspicions were confirmed—completely naked, without a hint of shame. He slept next to me completely naked—fucking naked. But before I could even start to argue or throw some biting comment his way, something else pulled my focus—his ass.

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.

Before my eyes closed. I would have thought I dreamt all that if he didn't wake up wrapped in his tattooed arms. The confusion in my brain was enough to confuse a whole nation as the memories of last night played in my mind. I stared at his tattoos and noticed that it wasn't vines, but words drawn to resemble vines. Some I couldn't read and some I could. The ones I did read were sweet. It was a message to his mom and someone I'd assume to be his sister. But as I traced it, I felt ridges on his arm. Like scars. Where his tattoos hiding scars? And thinking about that reminded me of the one on his abdomen that he doesn't give time to heal properly.

I stopped. The tattoos I'd been catching fragments of for weeks were finally visible in their entirety, and they were — extensive. Dark ink covering both arms nearly to the wrists, climbing his chest and shoulders, wrapping around his back in patterns I couldn't fully read from here. A skull on his forearm, a snake threading through the eye socket, dark red and black. Words in Russian across his ribs — I could see them but not read them at this distance. On his chest, above his heart, a single phrase in Cyrillic I could just make out:

He brought his hands up in surrender, letting out a series of small laughs. Silence filled the room for a few minutes as I finished eating. As Alex leaned over the counter, I now had a full view of the tattoos that covered his forearms the overhead lights illuminating the details. "Can I ask you something?" I asked, biting my lip to which he nodded. "Like madness is the glory of this life," I quoted the sentence on his arm. "Timon of Athens Shakespeare, right?" "Yes it is," He answered, a bit taken

He closed his eyes, his jaw slackening as I scrubbed his scalp. A comfortable silence soon settled between us. As I leaned forward to rinse the shampoo from his hair, my eyes caught the tattoo inked across his back and upper arm. The design was bold against his skin, curling like claws and wings. Black flames wrapped around a serpent swallowing its own tail. "What does it mean?" I asked, my fingers lightly brushing the ink. He didn't answer at first. "It's a symbol of resurrection. Power earned through suffering." I traced the outer edge. "You got it before or after everything?"

that his brother was the crazy religious one. Now... the pale pink bracelet looked almost absurd against the dark ink of his tattoos. It was contrasting strangely with the geometric patterns... and symbols that wound up his forearm. He'd worn it with clear hesitation at first... shooting me skeptical looks... mouthed me like, 'Why are you making me do this, Veronica...' As if I was asking him to wear a tutu. But now, somehow, it looked like it belonged there... like the soft pink had found its place among the bold black lines, blending into his aesthetic in a way I hadn't expected.

“Lorenzo, the bar….The weight's going to fall.” Lorenzo didn't move an inch, all he said was: “You wanted to lift weights and that's what you're going to do.” “Please,” I struggled. If I stayed here much longer, the weight would come falling and it'd land on my chest, then I'd be dead and a dead person can't get vengeance. “Loren—” His hands came under the bar and his forearms bracketed my entire field of vision, and the Latin text on the tattoo was right at eye level now, close enough to read.

I had always imagined how romantic it was going to be, but right now, it hurts more than it pleases me. He had tattoos on his chest, arms, and hand. The tattoo on his chest had words I couldn't read because it was way too tiny; A lion on his arm with words I still couldn't read because they weren't English; and a rose on his arm with his mother's name tattooed in it.