Everything Was Beautiful And Nothing Hurt Tattoo Novels & Stories

Forgetting about the situation that was happening currently I was snapped back to reality when I see him lunge at the grey wolf that was chasing me, they snarl and tear into one another; his claws tear into the side of the grey wolf who lets out a howl from the injury that was just inflicted onto his torso. Whimpers are to be heard as the grey wolf backs away from the black wolf and stares at me as he growls and snaps his jaw, within a second the grey wolfs retreat back to the forsaken territory as they take off running in retreat from the attack that was inflicted onto them, sighing in relief my arms collapse under me as I stare up at the sky laughing in relief of being able to live another

With a heavy heart, Scar ventured toward her before sitting behind his broken woman, his legs bent on either side of her with his arms placed stiffly on his knees. "It's gone..." she spoke softly after a while, the fire burnt Scar's face harshly but he didn't care, "All my drawings, my ideas, all of my work - gone. Every tattoo gun I ever saved my money for, every design I worked hours on... ash. H-How could this happen, who would do such a thing? I never hurt anyone so... why must they hurt me? I-I don't understand..." she managed before she burst into tears.

Maya waggled her brow at Jared as he stepped out of the dressing room, looking like a stereotyped bad boy and ticking off all the boxes with his denim jacket which was opened showing off chiseled muscleks and surprisingly a tattoo, though it was an inscription that puzzled her: I want to be your everything except but one thing, Your past. It was very poetic and in all the tats did do Justice to the whole bad boy imagery that was being projected. "Howdy," she taunted, adding a wave and stifling giggle for good measures. He groaned and she chuckled.

The tattoos made his scar invisible, but staring at his back so closely like this, I could see almost everything, and they made my stomach twist. How could someone do such a thing to him? Some of the scars started all the way from his shoulder to the dip in his back; others were short and sharp, and some looked like they'd been branded into his skin with a hot iron. Just how much torture had he gone through? His back was like a canvas of both beauty and utter chaos. Tears brimmed in my eyes as I traced each one of his hurt. "You're beautiful," I whispered, then leaned down and pressed my lips to the deepest of his scars.

“What’s wrong? Tell me what you are feeling?” “Hurts.” Tatum’s hand ran across her belly. Another wave hit me, making me fall to the floor in pain. My chest was on fire. Looking down, the tattoo was fading. It wasn’t as dark, but turning into a scar. Blair kept chanting as Heather hooked up a monitor to Tatum and pulled out the ultrasound mechine. “Fuck.” Heather screamed. It all happened so fast. Ripping the I.V. out of Tatum, blood squirted across Tatum’s face. Heather’s fist slammed on the emergence button.

Pretty fucking cool if I did say so myself. Everyone was so genuine and welcoming, just like the rest of Beauty’s people had been. Imeela made me feel like one of the family. That was unexpected but welcome. Zion and Jackson were both interested in getting some tattoos done by me. Beauty went ahead and bragged about Inkfinity. She offered to be my canvas that day. I, for one, could not fucking wait to get my hands on her silky skin.

And his back, that my nails have sunken into, scratched, grabbed for mercy, covered in a full skeleton, laying on a bed of black roses, smiling amongst the darkness around him. I miss all of it. The quotes spread over his body, even the tattoos on his arms and calves that I’ll still be able to see, I miss them. I want all of them back. I want him back. And it hurts to know I can’t have him. And that if he were to know the truth, he wouldn’t want me.

“Not everything beautiful stays that way.” The words hit harder than they should, settling heavy in my chest. I glance at the tattoo again, at the delicate petals tangled in sharp thorns. It fits him. Perfectly. Leaving the tattoo, my eyes rest on his face. “You're wrong,” I surprise myself by saying. His gaze snaps up to mine and the intensity I find in there is enough to steal my breath. “Am I?” “Beauty doesn't face. People just stop looking for it.” The words hang like charged electricity between us. For a second, I fear I might've gone too far.

Shit! "Don't tattoo me, you jerk!" I scorned moving my body. "I want to, my precious. Don't move, the tattoo is beautiful," he complimented continuing. The needle hurt, but I couldn't do anything with it. I couldn't move, I didn't want to struggle, it may harm me. The needle could kill me. "It's done and it's gorgeous, it suits you well," he said moving away. "Fuck you!" I said exasperatedly though I never knew where he was standing.

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.