Novel & Cerita Cross Stitch Tattoo

“I’m here for a tattoo.” He leaned back, arms folding across his broad chest. The motion made the fabric of his shirt strain. “You? A tattoo?” He laughed, low and cruel. “Let me guess. Tiny heart on your wrist? Or maybe a quote about ‘strength’ in some flowery script so everyone knows how deep you are.” I pulled out my phone and showed him the design. “Lower back. Crescent moon with vines. I have the reference.”

I went downstairs and grabbed beers from the fridge and a fruit juice for me because intoxicating things are a huge no-no for me. When I came to the door, I paused. “Come on, baby. You don’t remember me? You should. Your work is right here.” The girl turned around and sat up on her elbows, spreading her legs. She revealed a tattoo of butterfly wings on both sides of her inner thighs. “I remember the work. I don’t remember you.” Croix said, his face so neutral and tone so cold like a girl with her legs spread isn’t in front of him right now. “Do you want me to finish this fucking tattoo or not?”

This is one of those moments where she just has to do this all by herself. The machine buzzes, the small needle whirring, as Zia hovers it above Emma's wrist. The sting when it touches her skin is a lot like the burn, with heat flooding his veins and centered on one spot. Zia glides the needle across her skin, slow, careful, and precise. Every now and then it pierces, and Emma gasps, low and under her breath. The first time it happens, Zia freezes, only continuing once Emma has reassured her she's fine. What neither of them sees is the single scent spark that flies from Lucus. The tattoo isn't that long or extensive, merely three words, and so by the time Emma becomes used to the sting and t

A pretty love tattoo that looked embroidered with red and green flowers adorned one and bloomed right after each other seated on one of her laps. Without thought, which was extremely unlike me, I reached out to touch the flower. Goosebumps sprouted on her skin along the path of my dragging fingertips. She was as soft as she looked, like a soft moist cream. “Perfect__love them,” I murmured. “Th-thank you.” She said, exhaling a jagged breath when I moved to the other leg, trailing my fingers along the star flower tattoo that looked like they were made of thread, a brilliant illusion created from ink. “They were done by an artist that works close to a club, I met with her a couple of times.”

"What the fu-" "The tattoos." I push the mass of doctors away from her and turn my gaze to her ribcage. There are several small tattoos, but each one is easily distinguishable from the others. The first in the line is a wolf's head with a number eight between the eyes. Next is an arrow, a dagger, two crossed arrows, a gun, and a target symbol.

Zoey “What’s this about?” Bri asked, sitting back in her chair. She wore Wyatt’s shirt open with only a thin low-cut bralette beneath. The new tattoo she’d had Issac drill into her skin was simple and elegant as it rested on her sternum just below her breasts. Up the center of her chest, the water lily bloom birthed a crescent moon, a series of lines and dots indicating its glow in a circle around it, and above that a dainty fleur de lis. It paired with the twin Hyacinth Bean vines that now wrapped around her biceps and snaked down her arms and around each ring finger all in elegant black and grey. She and Issac had this thing about being in each other's company in companionable silence. The

She's already taken as many as her fingers could pick up. "I don't have a boyfriend, and even if I do, I'm telling you nothing." She smiles, "You want to know where I've been? Then I'll tell you. I used to belong to a gang, I told you..." She rolls up the sleeves of the hoodie she's putting on and besides obvious needle marks, there's a small tattoo on her left wrist. It's shaped like a cross. Like a cross turned upside down. Where have I seen this tattoo before? "How did you join a gang? You're so young!" I gasp.

The icy blast would’ve made anyone else recoil, but Dante stood there, solid and unmoving, like he was made of stone. His back was a canvas of ink, just like his front. The artwork was nothing short of breathtaking. Spanning across his entire back was a massive, detailed tattoo—an angel, powerful and divine, standing within the ruins of an ancient temple. The wings spread wide across his shoulder blades, reaching toward his arms, while crumbling pillars surrounded the figure in dramatic grayscale contrast. It wasn’t just a tattoo; it was a story, a testament, a work of devotion etched forever into his flesh. It was absolutely beautiful—mesmerizing, even.

It was a testament to his unwavering dedication to all aspects of his physical fitness. One of the most striking features on Logan's left arm was the anchor tattoo, a symbol known to represent strength and stability, perhaps even serving as a connection to his time in the marine. Yet, what made this tattoo particularly intriguing was an unexpected addition. Just below the anchor, a smaller, seemingly incongruous tattoo came into view. This tattoo was a depiction of a little girl holding a toy, a charming but puzzling image etched onto his skin. It seemed to tell a story of its own, one that didn't readily align with the symbolism of the anchor.

My breath hitched as I caught sight of it in the mirror he pulled out of my bag—a faint yet intricate design swirling across my collar bone, glowing faintly silver before settling into a deep, ink-like black. The tattoo was mesmerizing, an elegant crescent moon at its core, its curves etched with delicate runes that seemed ancient and alive. Surrounding the crescent, fine lines branched out like veins, forming patterns resembling intertwining vines and stars, as though the night sky itself had been imprinted onto my skin. The vines wrapped gently outward, framing the crescent in an intricate lattice of beauty and mystery, their edges tapering off just shy of my collarbone. At the crescent’s