Novel & Cerita Roman Numeral Date Tattoo Ideas

I stuck to my gun, playing with him just a little. "What about this one?" I ran my finger across a set of Roman numerals on the left of his chest. It was the first bit of skin-to-skin contact I'd had, and sent an electric tingle through my entire body. His chest was just as hard as it looked, which made me all flustered just thinking about it. "Sixteen and eleven," he translated the numerals, bringing my focus back to the tattoo. "It stands for sixteenth of November: the day my little sister was meant to be born, and the day my mum miscarried her."

I resisted the urge to fan myself as my body temperature shot up. Other than bulky muscles, black ink marked his back with various tattoos. My brain had melted the moment I saw his hot, muscular body, so before I could think about it, I took a step in his direction and then a few more until I had a clear view of his tattoos. At a little distance down the neck, there was a tattoo that portrayed eight phases of the moon in a horizontal alignment. On the right side of his back, the anatomy of a wolf heart was tattooed with blood dripping down in drops. A date, 12-08-1994, was etched beneath the wolf's heart.

Zach Romano. Leaning against the kitchen doorway like it belonged to him. His black hair was a mess, his blue eyes flat, unreadable, and his bare chest on full display, carved with muscle and shadow. On his ribs, a tattoo stretched over olive skin, an Italian cross with Latin scrawled underneath. Mors tua, vita mea. Your death, my life. I stared at the tattoo. Then, slowly, my eyes dropped to his torso. Abs, tight and low, vanishing into a pair of dark gray sweatpants slung dangerously low on his hips.

I bow my head, pretend to focus on the screen. "You were staring," he says in a low, amused voice. He leans against my desk, arms crossed, towering over me. "My tattoos interest you?" I shake my head, too quickly. "No, I… it's nothing." He chuckles softly. "Liar." He pulls up the left sleeve of his t‑shirt, revealing more of the raven and other symbols: a miniature cathedral, eight‑pointed stars, Cyrillic numbers. "Every design has a story. The raven… it's for memory. For those we've lost, but never forget. The stars are rank. The cathedral… the faith you keep even when everything else goes to hell."

“You had your initial tattooed on me, yes.” He shook his head and touched the tattoo on her ankle. “No. See, this is the heart. Half of the heart was extended down to form the letter J. Beside it is a butterfly. The body of the butterfly with a dot at the top is the letter I. The top part of the butterfly wing, is actually curved to form the letter N. Didn’t you notice why those lines were thicker than the rest of the lines?” Julianne stared at her ankle, making out the lines of her tattoo.

he rasped, his eyes fixed on the far wall. She worked in a heavy, charged silence for a few minutes, carefully dabbing away the blood. As she moved to apply a fresh bandage, her eyes drifted to his chest, following the line of hard muscle down to a tattoo sitting directly over his heart. It was a small, faded date in Roman numerals. Her breath caught, her heart skipping a beat. It was the date they had met in Florence, five years ago. "You kept it," she breathed, her fingers hovering just inches from the ink, wanting to touch it but afraid of the fire it might ignite.

It made me want to reach out and trace the hard lines as well as the tattoos on it. He turned slightly and I caught sight of the rest of his body. The tattoo also covered the left side of his chest, black ink used to drag large wings. It was a raven, it was so detailed down to the sharp talons and the glint of its beady eyes. There were other drawings like a rose with the letter “E”. What does that mean? Family? Or perhaps..a lover? For some reason that thought made me bitter. Beneath it was a phrase written in Latin that flowed into his ribs.

He said and grabbed my hand before I could touch a tattoo on his left side of chest. “What is the meaning of your tattoo, it’s beautiful.” I complimented a beautiful and unique design with something written in old language. His lips which were on my mid riff, stopped and those hazy eyes again locked with mine. Did I make a mistake? I promised not to dig into his personal life until he’s ready to share it with me. “It is an ancient Roman symbol of war and victory and the phrase defines a man who never sees the defeat.” He explained the meaning of his tattoo to me. I was surprised, he didn’t shut me out.

“The Raven. Known as the harbinger of death. Marked in her rebirth, granting ultimate authority within her title. And yet, in all her glory, eventually came to a slow, excruciating end. One where she, despite her best efforts, was unable to prevent the death of our lineage.” “…No…,” I whispered. But she was right. I could keep lying to myself, keep refusing to look… but there was certainly more than just a raven tattoo there…. It was almost like… bite marks. Semi-circles littering my skin, overlapping in their design to the point where it was almost impossible to make out what they were. …Unless you knew. Unless you knew exactly what you were looking at. And if someone is marked with a doubl

His eyes tell what his lips won’t say and they are asking me what the fuck I think I’m doing by touching him without his consent. No single idea. But I like the body contact. I think he does too. I roll his sleeve to reveal his tattoo. My thumbnail hovers above the date under the bigger tattoo. “What does this mean?” We are still holding hands and my free hand is dancing across his inked skin. “Calum, what does the date mean?”