Inside Bicep Tattoo Ideas Novels & Stories

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.

“Really?” “I mean, I clearly see you just came here from a dance class,” he said. He pressed his fingertips on the top of the table, making the veins in his forearms bulge and drawing my attention to the tattoo on his left bicep I hadn’t noticed before. I squinted at it, trying to make out what it was, but his voice drew my attention back to his face.

He exclaims which makes me then look down at my forearm to read my own tattoo which spelt 'family'. The tattoo was something that all of our members had to prove that they were in our gang and that we were a family. Jake had it on his bicep, Jason had it on his shoulder blade, Zack had it on his rib and Nick had it on his collar bone. Dominic got it recently on the back of her ear. Somewhere hard to find but still in her style. It suited her, and it wouldn't risk her identity being found out.

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

I said as he took the bowl before wolfing it down. “Woah there tiger,” I giggled as he set the bowl aside, “Where do you want this tattoo?” He asked as I bite my lip, “On my back,” I replied as he raised his eyebrows, “Okay, and what have you decided on getting?” He asked, causing a smile to appear on my lips, “I was thinking of getting a blossom branch with the word rebirth in Chinese on my side,” I explained causing his eyebrows to raise once again.

“Your turn.” “I’m not getting a tattoo.” He shrugged. “Didn’t think you would.” “Oh, fuck you. Fine.” I settled for two small tattoos. One of a pair of cherries with a bite mark above my right breast. “Those yours?” He smirked. “Because I’d bite harder.” I rolled my eyes at him but the tattoo artist found it funny. I got another one. “𝒮𝒾𝓃” on my side, under my left breast.

he greets, and I can tell it's Riccardo. Good thing I'm able to differentiate them with their personalities. “Hey,” I say softly, trying not to melt at how his dark curls fall over his forehead. He's in a gray tank top and shorts, muscles carved and glistening. I study the tattoo on his body for easy identification next time. He has a black and red snake wrapped around a dagger tattoo on the inside of his biceps. It coils perfectly with his muscles, the head of the snake near his wrist. It's sleek, dangerous and oddly elegant…just like him.

That was all Abby could say. A woman who always has the ambition to be the best does not believe that the other person has a toned waist and a six-pack stomach. The triceps and biceps muscles are also clearly visible, thus adding to the manly impression of the man with blood type B. When looking at the chest, there is something interesting. There is a tattoo of a pair of black wings.

I really did not want to feel weak ever again. My parents totally thought I was crazy when I decided to get a few tattoos. I had a big one slung over my shoulder that reached down to my bicep—our crew's tribal symbol. I also had another large one on my back and a warrior symbol on my inner bicep, courtesy of Gaspar. But my favorite was a cool tattoo guys get when they find their match. It sat just below my waistband, right in the middle of my stomach. A symbol that looked like this: ∞.

“This is completely new territory for me.” My eyes betray me. They drag over his bare chest, his abs, the way his pants sit low on his hips. And I feel my stomach tighten at the sight of his tattoos — ink and meaning and temptation. A yin-yang with hearts instead of dots and the number thirteen at its center, about the size of a big coin, is on his left side underneath his arm. Curling above it is the Peter Pan lettering — Sniff pixie dust and soar — in a cursive font. And on his bicep — the Reaper logo stamped on like a warning label.