Deku Arm Scars Novels & Stories

When he saw the two scars on Adele's left arm, his breathing instantly became much heavier, and he opened his eyes wide in disbelief. It was shocking. The scar on the elbow was about ten centimetres long. Although it was not too deep, it was very long. The one on the wrist was very thick and crooked, looking very ugly. He was a doctor, so he knew at a glance that the two scars had existed for a long time and they were not caused recently. Anyway, at that time, she must be in a lot of pain, right? It must hurt severely. He couldn't bear it just by looking at the scars. Moreover, she was just a woman and she had never suffered since childhood. He loved her so much. How could he accept it?

There was one boy in particular that kept looking nervously her way. I walked to him. He was a scrawny looking kid, dark shaggy hair with brown eyes. Freckles covered his face and a scar that ran from his chin to his chest. Kneeling in front of him, “Where did you get that scar?” He looked shocked by my question for a minute before answering, “training.” “The only scars that stay on a body are those that are made by an alpha. Everything else fades.” I stated the fact. “Yes, sir. You are correct.” That made my blood boil.

It was an enchanting presentation of 'food. “Oh, right! She made me lose focus!” James pointed out, making Jay slightly uncomfortable because he suddenly leaned over his desk. “Crystal Zetaruby.” Jay read the name as if he was considering it. “As beautiful as the person, right? But look… at the scar.” Jay followed James' index finger. A streak of scars, shaped like dry, red leaves, adorned the middle of his nose's bridge. “She has an eternal disease. Prurigo, sweet blood, means he probably has a lot of scars. Are you okay?"

He surprises me when he sits across me from the bed, turning his back to me but staying close nonetheless. I stared at his wide, muscular frame through his back. He was wearing a tight black shirt that showed off his muscles, flexing deliciously in every move he makes. His shoulders, in particular, were broad and strong-looking. Scars running down from his nape to the back of his arms, letting me know he'd been through shit to get those scars. There were tattoos decorating both his arms. The design intricate and attractive, a work of pure art which probably added to the list of reasons why all she-wolves swooned over him. He was the epitome of perfection, a Greek God in modern time. He was p

He surprises me when he sits across me from the bed, turning his back to me but staying close nonetheless. I stared at his wide, muscular frame through his back. He was wearing a tight black shirt that showed off his muscles, flexing deliciously in every move he makes. His shoulders, in particular, were broad and strong-looking. Scars running down from his nape to the back of his arms, letting me know he'd been through shit to get those scars. There were tattoos decorating both his arms. The design intricate and attractive, a work of pure art which probably added to the list of reasons why all she-wolves swooned over him. He was the epitome of perfection, a Greek God in modern time. He was p

Shе’ѕ wеаrіng аn armband of ѕоrtѕ tо hide thе dаmаgе, but it hаѕ ѕlірреd down аnd еxроѕеѕ еvеrу hоlе that’s been mаdе in hеr skin оvеr the lаѕt two weeks. Thеrе’ѕ a lumр rіght іn the crook оf hеr fоrеаrm. It’ѕ in the space whеrе a needle hаѕ made іt mark tоо оftеn. It’ѕ wееріng pus. Mу frіеnd isn’t just wаѕtеd, she’s sick.

As he moved, the moonlight caught the skin of his back. Amora’s breath caught in her throat. She had seen Oscar in work shirts and t-shirts, but she had never seen him bare-backed. Crisscrossing across his broad, muscular shoulders and running all the way down his spine were thick, pale, jagged scars. They weren't the clean marks left by a wolf’s claws during a fair fight. These were deep, twisted tracks—the kind left by silver-tipped whips or heavy, electrified batons. Without thinking, driven by a healer’s instinct she had inherited from her father, Amora reached out. Her fingertips softly brushed against the edge of a thick scar near his shoulder blade.

Kate said and Dede frowned. "What do you mean?" Dede asked. "I don't mean give your body to men. What I mean is you can easily get the attention of people. You will need that since you are not a citizen of this state. Life will be difficult," Kate said. "You have beautiful skin, don't mess it up," she said staring at Dede's light bronze skin tone. "This will help with the scar once it heals," she said offering her an anointment

He was pissed that Neil had taken off without guards and still had yet to return, and he was taking it out on me. I groaned and picked the knife up again. By midday, my skin was covered in nicks, bruises, and shallow cuts. My arms ached from the strain, my injured hand trembling every time I tried to grip the knife. Back home, marks like these would’ve been unacceptable—models weren’t supposed to have scars, or any imperfections, really, except for the exciting ones like vitiligo or heterochromia. The thought of permanent scarring twisted my stomach. With my wolf so weak, I was still healing too slowly. And healing slowly meant that the skin was more likely to develop marks.

So he took a shower after Kyron was clean. "Huff..." Vincent rubbed his arms and face. His skin became much smoother, without any scars. Vincent rubbed his left arm, then frowned. “Where are my scars?” he muttered softly. As far as he remembered, he had a persistent sewing scar on his forearm. He got the scars when he was 12 years old. But now the wound is gone without a trace.