Small Inner Bicep Tattoo Novels & Stories

Lana, just breathe. The water got louder. My heart raced faster too. I raised my hand to rub my forehead, and then I stopped. There was something dark on my wrist. A mark. A form. Not dirt. Not a shadow. Not something that could be cleaned off. A tattoo. There is a small, neat, sharp black mark just below the thin skin on my wrist. A small shape that looks like a crescent with a line through it. I opened my mouth. I couldn't breathe.

I smiled and hugged the flowers as I look at my reflection in the mirror. I'm wearing a beige loose office blouse and a plain black trousers. My hair is short again, I don't know, I won't let her fall out now. Every year I get a haircut up to my neck. I tore it off and held it behind my ear. I saw my sparkling piercings greeting me. I also felt the metal on my tongue because I had already returned my tongue piercing. I also have a minimalist tattoo on the side of my left wrist. It's just a little cursive and italic Harrison's. I just got bored when I visited Brent’s studio the other day. And yes, Luke still did. He's smiling ear to ear while doing it. That brute.

Personally, this was the safest I had felt in years and I don't think I am ready to end the moment so soon. We had unconsciously fallen into a rhythm. He drew small circles on the side of my hip right where my only tattoo rested while I slowly trailed down his chest tracing the tattoo on his left bicep, where his own tattoos rested, but unlike me, he had two, he had gotten another one since the last time.

She was upset that I didn't recognize her, and seemed deeply upset when I pushed her arms away and stared at her. Despite the simple black dress, the neckline was deep enough for the tattoo of his capital sin to be quite significant and easy to decipher. In the center of the small trunk was the image of a fat badger with his mouth wide open, where a small man fell into it. Around the animal, crosses, tombstones and flames spiralled over the woman's pale skin. The rest of the drawing was not noticeable enough for me to lose more than a few seconds staring, so I looked away when she also looked.

I refilled it and she took a long sip off the top before handing it back. "I'm Nico," she volunteered as I took a drink. "Thomas," I said as she took the mug from my hands. A black widow tattoo decorated the inside of her left wrist and another tattoo, green vines twisting and choking a broken clockwork, adorned her right bicep. I counted at least nine different piercings in her ears and eyebrow. She was short, almost a foot shorter than me, with a slight build. At first glance she appeared frail but I noticed the way the cords stood out on her arms as she randomly plucked textbooks off my shelf and thumbed through them before replacing them in the wrong location. "Nico's a unique name," I s

Things that would make me whimper. He reaches up, his bicep flexing as he pulls down two glasses. The movement makes his shirt ride up just enough to reveal a sliver of dark ink peeking out from under the fabric, a tattoo, something intricate, but I can’t make it out. My mouth goes dry.

I jumped when I heard someone closing the door to my right, I placed my hand on my heart while looking at the person walking inside. Arthur walked in while closing the door of the bathroom, a white fluffy towel was wrapped around his waist. It was hung so low that his glorious toned muscles and biceps, flat stomach and v-line were visible from where I was standing. I could see the long tattoo he had on the left side of his waist, I couldn't see what it was but I could see small sentences inked into his skin one after the other reaching from his waist to his underarm and ending up right beside his chest, he also had few butterflies tattooed on his left forearm.

engraved in tiny cursive writing. Tee gave me the same tattoo and I loved it, mine has "sugar +" so it completes her own. I was ten at the time, I felt invisible after barely crying from the needle in my skin as I got the tattoo. My second tattoo was also with Tee, this time we went to a tattoo parlour. I was fifteen, this time I had permission from Dad. I told him I wanted something meaningful to honor my late best friend and he agreed. Only I knew she was alive and the tattoos were meaningful, still are.