Small Female Forearm Quote Tattoos の小説・ストーリー

He looked at me briefly then back at my hand that was holding onto his. The biggest and clearer of the tattoos was on the back of his palm. It was drawn with dark ink that stood out on his well tanned dark hands. At first it looked like a sun rising in the horizon and glazing over a field with details of how it shines around it in tiny well drawn marks, I soon realized it was the sea the sun was rising on and not heaps in a field. "Solem Orientem Ghe Mari" I called out the foreign words written right under the tattoo of the sun and the sea. It sounded Latin or was it Italian?

,Raze said. “Everytime,a Silvenia was born,they put the tattoo.I have mines on my neck,Rex on the back of his left hand”,Rouge said and Rex shows his left hand to me “Russel on his wrist on the right hand”,Rouge continue and Russel shows me his right wrist “And Raze on his collarbone”Rouge ended. Ace cleared his throat and aked, “Doesn’t it hurt for babies to get a tattoo?”I just nodded that means I agree to what he just said.

Never once did her emotions take over as she mocked me, no she was just calm, bored almost. Nothing I said would or could penetrate her mental armour, as she slid off her signature black silk gloves. Looking over her long black perfectly manicured nails, the black diamond promise ring Angelo gave her for her sixteenth birthday sitting upon her long elegant fingers. A single letter ‘A’ tattooed on her right hand just above her thumb.

Her face was relaxed and she looked serene, the soft glow of the lamp on her bedside cast on her face like a filter. Fuck... She is beautiful. With how she was positioned on the bed, her shirt had slipped down a bit, revealing a bit of cleavage and I sighted the tattoo. The memory of her in that tattoo palour flashed through my head for a split second, I also caught a glimpse of the tattoo on the beach party day. But now, I could see it more clearly, it was a small wing and right below it, the word 'libre' was written in cursive.

"You can have as many as you fucking like, Aaro. I am getting a tattoo today." "Can I get one too?" she asked softly. I nodded. "Want to get one for your sister?" By the end of the afternoon, she had three piercings in her ear and a small tattoo that said ERO on the inside of her upper arm. The tattoo guy had given her several options, but she said all the letters needed to be in caps. Which you don’t usually do with a name, but fuck it if that’s what my girl wants then that's what she gets.

“You’re just tired. Too many night shifts.” But when she turned away, something caught her eye. The tattoo on her forearm—the one she’d inked years ago, a crescent moon surrounded by swirling lines—was moving. Subtly. Like ripples beneath the skin. Her breath hitched. “No… no, no, that’s impossible.” She pressed her fingers to the mark. Warm. Alive. For a heartbeat, her vision blurred. A voice—soft, ancient, and female—whispered through her mind:

“Do you notice a small tattoo just below the thumb and the forefinger?” I looked closely. It was a tattoo design of an Anchor. She reached out for my right hand and inspected the place there. A zing of pleasure went through my body as her fingers traced that part of my skin and I was finding it hard to concentrate on what she was saying because my body was humming with her touch. “Are you listening to what I’m saying?” “Yeah...I heard you.” She put her hands on her hips and shot daggers at me. “Repeat what I said.”

Rowan glanced at her and noticed her gaze fixed on the small, thin tattoo on her ankle. Nora wore a pair of knee-length wide-leg shorts and low-cut white sneakers, revealing the slender tattoo on her ankle. From a distance, it was difficult to discern what it represented, but upon closer inspection, it was a delicate "f". It was mainly to represent the word ‘forget’. Rowan had suggested she get the tattoo. Perhaps artists and designers tended to have a more unconventional and distinctive taste. Otherwise, given her personality, she would never have considered getting a tattoo.

The artist was a punk rock girl named Zoe who didn't ask questions when I told her I needed them to last at least two months. "What kind of look are you going for?" she asked while setting up her equipment. "Bad girl. Someone who's been around the block and doesn't take crap from anybody." Zoe grinned. "I can work with that." She gave me a dragon wrapped around my left forearm, a skull with roses on my right shoulder, and a compass with "Lost but not Broken" underneath it on my lower back. The tattoos looked completely real and would fool anyone who didn't try to scrub them off.

The whole thing left very little to imagination and absolutely nothing to question. The spotlight found the cherry red of her hair first, then the pale stretch of her throat, then the rest of her. The full curves of her chest pressed against the bralette's cups, the soft weight of her stomach, the flare of her hips, all of it moving in that first slow circle around the pole with the unhurried confidence of someone who had never once been ashamed of the space she occupied. The tattoos caught the light in pieces as she moved. A flash of thorns. The curve of a petal. Three letters on her left forearm that read ART in ink so dark it almost disappeared against the shadows.