Carnation Tattoo With Name Novels & Stories

“What are you talking about?” Instead of answering, she rolls up the sleeve of her shirt. My blood runs cold. A tattoo. The La Rosa crest stares back at me from her forearm. My father’s crest. “What the…” My voice falters as I step closer, inspecting it. But there’s something different about this one. Inside the rose crest, etched within the intricate design, is a single letter. An I. My breath catches in my throat. The La Rosa crest was reserved only for my father’s children. Every one of us had it, each tattooed with a letter corresponding to our names. Mine had a C for Cara. Agata had an A. Roberto, Alejandro, Massimo, Paulo Jr., Loretta…

I asked Zion. He scrutinized my outfit choice. Black slacks, black button-down shirt, and a silver vest. The sleeves were rolled up, proudly showing off the new tattoo that I had Dante do for me. It was my girl’s name in Arabic inside of a fractal overlay. Our pups names were also placed within it in Arabic. “I think that Mama will love it. Are you nervous?” he asked me. Was I nervous? Nah. Not really. I was excited more than anything. I was a little anxious, hoping that she would like what I had planned out for the night.

In black, grey and blue ink, beautiful, intricate patterns of floral and wing designs mar my skin, but at its centre, Zefiro name sits majestically in stunning calligraphy. The bastard tattooed his name into my skin.

Em looked at Mickey as she spoke. “Helll to the yeahhh!” Mickey shouted. She jumped out the of the car then turned and looked at the girls. “Y’all comin or what?” An hour later the friends emerged from the tattoo place, Em sporting a bandage on her rib cage right under her previous tattoo, and another one on her wrist… which matched the ones on her three best friends. They’d all decided to get matching ones. Nothing big.. just a little Roman number IV. Symbolizing the four of them and how much they meant to each other. And then the one on Em’s rib cage, under her hummingbird which read: ‘Made to Endure’.

My gaze drifted unconsciously to his collarbone. There was a new tattoo there. Red, still swollen from being freshly inked, but unmistakable. It was my name. The characters were rendered in the most ancient, wild cursive form of script, like an old, binding sigil. My fingers trembled as I touched it. “When did you… get this?” Henry caught my hand and rubbed it gently against his palm. “Last night, after you fell asleep.” “Did it hurt?” “It was better that it hurt.” His eyes darkened, and a satisfied smile curved his lips.

I realized how much I missed him, more than I had admitted to myself. “You really love tattoos,” I remarked as he casually removed his shirt. His back was covered in intricate black and gray tattoos—half a skull, half the face of a crying woman. His shoulders and arms were adorned with shading, letters, and flowers that had intertwined over time. I noticed the names of my parents, mine, and his pack etched on a cross. My dad would have had a fit if I had even a single tattoo.

“I’ve never counted. At least three.” Her hand glides over my chest, slow and grounding, drifting downward — anchoring me to the present, to being alive, to her. And for the first time in a long while, the demons hesitate. “Is this where the iron went through you?” she asks after a while, her voice barely louder than a breath. Her fingers trace the tattoo on my hip, slow and reverent, following the ink that hides the scar beneath it. Two laurel branches — a symbol for her name — curve like angel wings, delicate yet strong at the same time. And a tiny heart.

He ordered and I obeyed, taking his fingers in my mouth and sucked my cum clean off them before he pulled them out again and I yelped when he ripped apart my shirt and took it off my body. Then he got up from his kneeling position and started to undress while I took a moment to appreciate his dirty blonde hair, out of its usual bun and all over the place due to how much I pulled at it before my gaze travelled down his now bare chest and abs that were filled with tattoos but I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw my name tattooed on his abdomen. Cressida. It was surrounded by skulls and red roses that had thorns and it almost looked like blood was dripping from the thorns.

I run my finger on the tattoo on his arm. "It used to be her name then I had it covered up so now it's a wolf." "Why would you have her name on you? Did you believe that it would be the two of you for the rest of your lives?" "I did." "I would never get a tattoo. And even if I love someone I would I'd never have a name of a person as my tattoo. I think it's like being branded. I think it's stupid." "I thought it was a great idea then."

The doctor laughed and said all new parents thought their babies were perfect. They named her Isabella, after Elena’s mother, who had died when Elena was too young to remember her. Her middle name was Antonio, after Elena’s father. He had kept secrets, but he had protected her for as long as he could. Isabella Antonio Russo-Cross weighed seven pounds and was healthy. When Marco was allowed into the room, he took one look at her and his eyes filled with tears. He said she already had Antonio’s stubborn look.