It Ends With Us Heart Tattoo Novels & Stories

I’d take it in a heartbeat. THE END!

He turned slightly, enough for me to get a view of his front, but not for him to see me standing there. I noticed a tattoo of a heart on the left side of his chest. Instead of an arrow going through it, it was a rose. The heart was empty in the middle, except for the letter "A" at the top of the inside of the heart. An image of a man, who I could only pinpoint as Michelangelo in my head, came to mind and I could see him sculpturing this Adonis to pure, Italian perfection, and my, what a sight he was. "Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's rude to stare?" I was brought out of my ogling.

The tattoo, an indelible mark on his skin, became a symbol of our enduring connection, a visual anchor that soothed his mind in the midst of challenges. The evening breeze carried with it the echoes of our shared history, and in Logan's gaze, I found a reflection of a love that had weathered the tests of time and distance. The tattoo on his arm became not just an image but a testament to the resilience of our connection, a love story etched in ink and whispered confessions beneath the vast expanse of the night sky.

Her chest heaved, her breasts pushing against the soft knit of her sweater. Without breaking eye contact, he unbuttoned a couple of buttons on his shirt then whipped the thing off over his head. Her eyes widened and he knew she saw the tattoo across his heart. It was an infinity symbol with her name making up one of the curves, angel wings another. He'd had it done one night after he'd left her. Too much tequila and too much self-pity and he had a permanent reminder of what he'd lost. Girlfriends over the years hadn't liked it, but he'd never thought seriously about having it changed. She'd always been his heart and always would be. She pushed up on an elbow and reached up a hand to trace th

She was shy away and hid her in my chest. I placed her in a hot shower, pressing her back to me and kissed her neck. I was stunned when I opened my eyes. There was an old Italian tribal tattoo on her neck. What is it doing here? It was an arrow design with a crown holding double letter A. It was a symbol of the deity of death.

It smells of him and it calms me down immediately, but when I look up and find his shirtless body staring back at me, my jaw drops, and my blood heats. Calm is long forgotten. Rome is ripped and covered in tattoos. He’s always had them, I know. However, it’s more now, and his arms are covered in tattoos, not excessively, but enough. His front is untouched, all except for one that’s directly on his chest, specifically his heart. My heart seems to stop beating when I see the tattoo. It’s an infinity mark with a single vertical band running around the middle, and two dots on both ends of the band. It’s exactly like mine, only bigger. I stare at it with an open mouth.

His green eyes were black in the dim light. "Take off your shirt," I said. He pulled his shirt over his head. His chest was bare and I saw it. The tattoo. Over his heart. Little flower. In italics. Delicate and permanent, right over the place where his heartbeat was strongest. The ink was dark against his skin. The skin was raised slightly, the way tattoos were when they were healed.

I sighed as I removed my finger on my lip. I describe my tattoo to be a heart, not a love shape. A heart precisely, with a lock at the left ventricle. I described the lock to be the one you see on a door handle, where your key fits in. I added the heart should be in red ink and the lock darkened to create a real image. Then 'Bunny' should be written in calligraphy at the bottom side of the heart. "You know, that would require more lines on your skin, yeah?" the tattooist responded.

Each entry marked with a date, each one showing a woman watching herself deteriorate and choosing to document the descent anyway. The final entry was dated three days before her death. “The consciousness begs me now to complete the bond. It knows the end is approaching. It knows that if I refuse to merge, it dies with me. But I will not give it what it wants because I understand now what it actually needs. It needs to be chosen freely, not demanded. It needs a partner, not a host. And if it cannot accept that distinction, then it deserves to burn with me.” It is teaching me, even now, even at the end. It is learning that love is not consumption. Love is the choice to stay when leaving would

He mumbled before spotting it. His finger brushed against the tiny tattoo on my chest, just above my heart; It was an ace symbol. "I do not belong to you, but my heart, my heart belongs to you" I whispered. "Happy birthday Ace" I mumbled as his eyes locked with mine and he leaned in for a kiss. He placed his hand on the back of my neck, pulling me into a kiss. He used his other hand that was resting on my lower back, to pull me impossibly close to him. I could feel him getting hard under me.