Deku Arm Scars Novels & Stories

How could even scars disgust someone? She didn't say anything for a moment and continued doing what she was doing on his chest. His arm was clad in a tattoo, above her head. His fingers were playing with her dark locks. On his chest, there was another tattoo which was light and the marks were clearer than on his back. "You carry the scars, that's why there's a crown on your head." Hearing her say that after a moment of silence made him look back at her but he didn't say anything. Rather, he waited for her to continue which she did;

I ask, scoffing. He reaches out, taking Clem’s hands and placing them palm up in his. Her hands are worse than his face and her neck combined. A portion of her hand is missing. Her fingers are deformed and jagged. The scars move up her arm, wrapping around her skin, cutting into it as if the scar tissue were a chain, binding her to him.

Evie froze. His dark undershirt was pulled taut, but it had ridden up slightly, revealing a vast section of his right shoulder blade and ribs. There, running from the base of his neck diagonally down toward his flank, was a grotesque, jagged mark. It wasn't the neat, surgical line of a human scar, nor was it the faint, faded white line of a shifter's healed wound. It was thick, discolored, and raised—a violent, keloid eruption of silver-tinted scar tissue that looked continuously irritated, as if his body’s supernatural healing factor was in a perpetual, agonizing war with whatever had inflicted it. Even now, under the stress of his exhaustion and the Feral Slide, the skin around the scar wa

Like everything else in his life. Jace lifted his shirt and glanced down at his arm. On the skin, there was a map of old punctures, small, angry marks scattered across the inside of his forearm. There were too many. He wasn’t sure he could wear short sleeves again without someone asking questions. Not that he cared.

“I need some time. Something has changed.” “There is no more time.” Matheson says sadly. “Your bear is out of control.” “You fucked up my chest.” The big guy with the tattooed sleeves shouts as he gets off the bike. He takes up his shirt, revealing four fresh pink scars running across his chest that look like bear claws. “This is permanent! You cut me to the bone.” “It wasn't me.” Armel says with a sigh. “It was my bear.” “Same shit.” Says the big guy with vengeance in his eyes.

He let out a soft low sigh, as he rolled up the sleeves of his cloth, displaying his well built muscles and veins of his right arm. A small scar– like the shape of a crescent, resided on his biceps, comfortably. He had gotten the scar when he was young and he remembered crying a lot as a result of that. The wound couldn't heal because his wolf powers were still dormant at that time and the wound was from a knife covered with poison from a moon cursed flower which prevent wounds from healing, resulting in a scar. Once, just beside the scar, a name which was written with permanent ink stood beside the scar like a protector, but all that was left of it now was fade which won't be noticeable unl

Her skin is so soft. I notice the slight bruise on her arm so I raised the sleeve of her shirt and see a bruise that looks like hand prints. I slowly pull her towards me and lift up the back of her shirt and see an almost faded bruise line a quarter way up her back. I see gashes that have almost healed and scars from others. Normally wolves don’t have scars unless it’s an extremely deep cut or it was made with silver or wolfsbane. I pull her shirt back down and just hug her to me. How could someone allow this to happen to a young girl? Let alone my mate?

"I'm sorry again. That was the worst part. Now, are you hurt anywhere else? We don't have much time left before Master gets here." I looked down and carefully brought up my arm with the engravings on it. I had been avoiding looking at the words ever since the Valentine put them there. Looking now, I saw that my skin was inflamed and full of blisters. The skin looked as if it was about to fall off my arm. Despite the redness and blisters, you could still clearly see Slut marked across my forearm. The girl looked at my arm with sad eyes. "I'm so sorry, Cheska."

he asked with a grin on his face. “The Prince is born with a thick black scar on his right thigh and a small red dot behind his right ear”, she continued. Dakar froze after hearing that, and the smile on his face turned into a deep frown. He had a terrible scar on his thigh. It was as black as coal and covered nearly all of his right thigh. And behind his ear, was a small dot, the size of a drop of water and it was pure red. He was born with them both.

I shuddered at the thought of why such facilities would be needed inside the pack dungeon. I could feel Alpha Julius’ eyes on my back as he stalked behind me. I knew what he was looking at, clusters of raised scars littering my skin from the nape of my neck to the base of my spine. Werewolves were quick healers, the only time we were left with scars was if the wound was made using silver or if it was life threatening. It was rare to see a wolf with any kind of mark on their body, unless perhaps they were a warrior. Regardless if my scars piqued his interest or not, he didn’t say anything, maintaining his stern and emotionless exterior.