Izumi Miyamura Tattoos Novels & Stories

Standing in front of a full-length mirror, Destiny stared at the lines on her body. Her mother's tattoo had been more like a maze, lines ran apart from each other, but always running parallel. Hers were more floral. It looked like vines had grown all over her body. It gracefully followed the curve of her hips and breast. Likewise, it ran double helices down the sides of her legs and her spine. It flowered up at the base of her neck and was embedded with lotus blossoms. Normally, she wasn't into flowery designs, but this tattoo was fascinating, there was something powerful, mystical about it. They looked more like tribal flowers rather than Hawaiian shirt flowers. That would have been very un

I’m entranced by the chain of butterflies tattooed around her upper arm. She says some bullshit closing stuff and leads the class through another om and the whole time I just sit and watch her. Trying to figure out what about this human is so damn intriguing to me. So intriguing she’s dangerous. She’s going to pull me off my mission—that’s something I just can’t allow. I resolve to get my ass up off the mat and get the hell out of there, but Jasmine’s musical voice becomes another invitation. “Thank you all for joining us tonight. La Cantina has food and drink specials for you all, so if you’d like to stick around and socialize, I’d love to have you. Namaste.”

She was trying to barter with Dante to remove his shirt so that she could see his yummy tattoos. My mother and I shared a laugh before I went to Dante’s rescue. My mate was holding his own against my horny grandmother. His glee floated down the bond, and I could see how much he truly liked her. She could be overwhelming to some, but he just embraced it. “I designed Ziyah’s tattoo. I can definitely do one for you too if you’d like. But you’ve got to either make it creative or give me free reign to design it on my own,” Dante said, flashing his signature smirk.

I said, nodding my head and raising my eyebrows mockingly. “Is that too big a word for a rock musician to use, Ms. Journalism Snob?” he teased me. “Just show me your other tattoos, Rock Boy.” He had a lot of them. I had to admit, the presentation was pretty cool. They were linked in a beautiful, twisting frame composed of sinuous shapes, like those centuries-old Japanese paintings of ocean waves, or a beautiful depiction of twisting vines. And amidst the twisting shapes were individual symbols that appeared like paintings hung in a gallery.

My friends and I were on the dance floor when I felt a pair of eyes watching me. My gaze locked with a young man who was a few years older than me. He had a tattoo on his hand that was a rose with a knife through the center of it. He was eyeing me up and down, in a way I’d noticed boys at school sometimes did. My friend, Kira Barinova, was there and I whispered to her, "Kira! Do you know who that man is?” Kira glanced over, and her eyes widened. “I don’t know about him personally. But I know that tattoo means that he’s a Ramono.”

“Dottie and I suspected as much. Bjorn, you don’t think Dottie and I just randomly showed up here to volunteer as gardeners, did you?” Bjorn’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. “What? What is that supposed to mean?” “Bjorn, I recruited them,” Miriam said, matter of factly. “I know who you are. I know your family history.” Miriam then pulled up the right sleeve of her silky, flowered blouse, revealing an unusual tattoo: a dog’s sharp canine, overlaid over a lovely purple flower. The tattoo had faded as Miriam became an older woman, seemingly having been there for decades.

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 flushed, when I realized that my dress zipper had come off, I looked up at him. I have a small smile, I bite my lip softly. Damien rubs his thumb pad on my lower bottom lip. “God, you are beautiful, Liora,” he said, directly looking into my eyes. I smiled, not knowing what to say or react. I have heard so many insults… Damien had always told me how beautiful I am, like that night. I blushed looking away. “Don't look away from me, Sweet,” he said softly. I looked back at him, he moved back, pulled off his shirt. His chest, arms were ripped, and he had tattoos, and one stood out. It was drawn in Japanese characters but I didn't catch the meaning, it was drawn over his heart.

Just before the performer climaxed, he raised his hip a bit, lifting Mia up with his hand behind her back. He was planning on emptying everything so deep inside her, barely anything would be left slipping out. But the second he did, I noticed something on his lower thigh. A little family inscription. It was the Japanese symbol… “絆” A tattoo. A very familiar one at that. I knew this, because I had the same one. As if to confirm I wasn't seeing things, I looked down at myself, just beside my soaked pussy, and met the same tattoo on the underside of my thigh.

An artist from the wrong side of the river who didn't belong here. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> "A tattoo artist," he said. "That explains the ink. May I?" _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> He gestured to my arm, and I extended it without thinking. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> His fingers wrapped around my wrist, cool and precise, turning my arm to examine the tattoos. A geometric mandala on my inner forearm. Script in Sanskrit along the outer edge. A phoenix rising from ashes near my elbow.