Small Inner Bicep Tattoo Novels & Stories

On the left side of his back, I saw a compass tattoo. But what piqued my curiosity the most was a lone tattoo at the left bottom of his back. There were two hands. One was big and bulky, indicating that it was of man's. The other was slim and slightly smaller in size, indicating that it was of a woman's. Both hands were at a little distance away from each other and were connected through the chains. They were facing away from each other as if trying to oppose the chains. Beneath the tattoo, I noticed some lettering.

“I should get back, but if you guys ever need a tattoo artist, let me know.” “Actually,” I stopped her from getting into her car. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through some screen shots of designs I had in mind for the tattoo I wanted. “I want something like this on the spot where my neck meets my shoulder, and I only want it to be about two inches. How much would that cost?” Izzy looked at my phone, and bit her lip. “There’s a lot of detail for a small tat. The wolf would be easy, but the rose half would take longer and use more ink. I’d set aside around two hundred for this.”

"They stopped suddenly, too, as if he thought we were a...lost cause." Tristan's gaze met hers. "Was there anything else you can recall about the man tonight?" She went to shake her head, but then something flickered to mind. "He had a tattoo on his left pec, over his heart. It was about three inches long." She straightened, making Brady shift his hand to her hip. "I need something to draw on." Ceara stood and went to a shelf, bringing back a pad of paper and pen.

"It's just needles, Cheryl." "Yeah, absolutely not. I have a phobia of needles," I said, gripping my arm. "It won’t hurt that much, I promise. You’ll barely feel it," she assured me. After a ridiculous amount of back and forth, I finally decided to face my fears. I held onto Anna for dear life through the hardest thirty minutes of my existence while the tattoo artist inked Miles Jun-ho Han onto my skin, right above my ribs, with a small purple butterfly beside it—a symbol of how he made me feel.

the general manager whispered, his face losing color. Steve leaned closer to the glass. “Pause right there.” The frame froze. Steve pointed to the man’s wrist, and the security head zoomed in, sharpening the paused image as much as the system allowed. Beneath the edge of the uniform sleeve, a small patch of dark ink came into focus. A tattoo. Tiny, obscured, but undeniably real.

On the inside of my wrist was a small, pink, heart-shaped mark. My birthmark.

“We will be fine. We probably just need the right people in our lives… and get rid of this itch on my back.” I frowned as she hesitated before turning her back to me, wordlessly asking me to scratch her back for her. I couldn’t help but smile as I slowly unzipped her dress, taking in the flawlessness of her back and the tiny tattoo that was there right at the middle of her lower back. It was clearly an infinity sign, with a tiny drawing of the moon on each side of the loops. Extremely identical to the earrings and necklace I gave her. I opened my eyes to ask her when she got a tattoo.

I wasn't sure whether it was cooking or spell-casting, but she seemed fairly busy with it. I pulled my right sleeve back and exposed my inner forearm. I already had two other marks there, one a circle, the other a square with runes and other symbols in them. I cleaned a bare area with rubbing alcohol then applied a bit of ointment. I twisted off the lid to the ink. I could smell the musky metallic scent of it. It was some creature's blood mixed with metal to help the tattoo settle. I dipped the needles in the ink then stabbed myself in the arm repeatedly.

" Devon was still in disbelief, his eyes as wide as they could be. The fact that Bienley had gone and gotten himself a tattoo was mind-blowing enough, but it was no ordinary tattoo. There, on Bienley's back, was a masterpiece. Their names, "Bienley" and "Devon", were intricately etched, as if they were part of a beautiful, ethereal story. And woven around them was a delicate string of feathers, each one seemingly fluttering in a gentle breeze, as if carrying their love on its wings.

I reply, staring at the roaring fire in front of me. Sitting down, I take some skewed meat and begin to chew. I try to reach for some bread. “Here, take some of mine.” He gives me, watching me eat what he has just given me. His bicep flexes, peeking out his sleeve as he reaches and bends for more blueberries. Gazing at his forearms, I see something that makes me gasp. Reaching out my fingertip, I trace the tattoo on his inner wrist. “What does this tattoo mean?” The question hangs in the air between us.