Tattoos That Wrap Around Arm Novels & Stories

My arms burned and I winced, sitting up to look at my arms. The new black marks seemed to scratch across my inner arms like claws from a beast. On my left forearm was now a thin, vertical line that met at my elbow joint, another horizontal line was drawn, the strange swirls stretching to make a shape triangle as the peak of it reached the horizontal line on my wrist. My right elbow joint had a similar horizontal line being drawn, but instead of stopping after reaching three inches, it continued until it circled my whole upper forearm. The line grew thicker, the black ink spreading. Another line at my wrist circled around before the vertical line was drawn between the two horizontal lines. A

And if you complain too much, I'll start rolling on you. With a little effort, Elena managed to get his shirt off and was amazed at how many tattoos he had. The room was only dimly lit – a lamp was turned on in the left corner of the bed – so she couldn't see very well, but she could see the shape of some of them. His left shoulder had some sort of tribal tattoo, very detailed, full of shapes and not leaving too much skin exposed. The rest of her arm had a fire snake that went all the way to the wrist, which is why she had never seen it, as she had only seen him in long sleeved shirts and they were hidden all the time.

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.

Intricate tribal tattoos adorned various parts of his flesh, curling around both arms, across his expansive chest, even snaking around his ribs on his flank. My eyes were drawn to a particularly striking design—a tribal wolf that seemed to prowl around his bicep and the curve of his elbow. Glistening beads of sweat clung to his skin, evidence of an intense workout, making the tattoos seem to come alive. The air between us became charged, as if humming with a silent, magnetic frequency. When my eyes met his, the connection was so immediate, so intense, it felt like a jolt of electricity had leaped directly from his gaze into my core.

Gianna gazed down at her wrist, looking at the small tattoo she got in her teenage years. It was a dandelion, some of the seeds scattered as if blown by the wind, forming a small musical note. Nothing about the drawing was unique, as surely, a lot of women already had the same tattoo as hers now. She had been thinking about erasing it many times over but decided not to. The black ink looked good in her milky skin, but she would rather it stayed hidden.

The eyes of the wolf glow with white ink, glowing faintly under the overhead light. Scars…deep, long and old–slash through parts of it, like he earned both the ink and the pain layered underneath. I am staring too much and I force myself to look away. And immediately regret it. Because my eyes land on Nico. He's lifting weight, tattoos on full display, biceps bulging with each curl. His sweatpants ride low on his hips, teasing the dangerous V-line. His tattoo is sprawled across the left side of his chest, creeping down his ribs and disappearing into his pants. And another, a burning rose, thorns curling into flames that occupied his left arm and hand is rendered in dark, smoky ink.

You will be sorry. The tattoo artist finishes the last details of the drawing on my arm and wraps it around me. I have my entire left arm covered in art, it goes all the way to the beginning of my hand, I liked how it turned out. I had already been capturing art on my skin since I was fifteen and I will continue to do so. Without any meaning, without any specific reason.

The Veins and Blood tattoo, like a river of life, traced mesmerizing paths within the knot work, creating a network of labyrinthine patterns. Turning her attention to his right, his muscular arm played host to the Serpentine Coil, slithering with an otherworldly grace. Her eyes followed the serpentine coil with a sense of fascination as it elegantly wound its way across his upper arm, elegantly descending to the forearm.

He was shirtless. I couldn’t help but notice the lines of his muscles rippling beneath his skin, the definition of his broad back, his sculpted shoulders. Every strike seemed to pull the muscles of his back into sharp relief, his skin flushed from exertion. His inked arm was a work of art—dark tattoos that twisted and swirled across his skin, snakes and vines wrapping around his biceps and forearm. The intricate designs seemed to come alive with every movement, as if they were telling a story only he could understand.

It was a testament to his unwavering dedication to all aspects of his physical fitness. One of the most striking features on Logan's left arm was the anchor tattoo, a symbol known to represent strength and stability, perhaps even serving as a connection to his time in the marine. Yet, what made this tattoo particularly intriguing was an unexpected addition. Just below the anchor, a smaller, seemingly incongruous tattoo came into view. This tattoo was a depiction of a little girl holding a toy, a charming but puzzling image etched onto his skin. It seemed to tell a story of its own, one that didn't readily align with the symbolism of the anchor.