Novel & Cerita Goku Scars

He must be in worse shape than I thought. "How the fuck am I supposed to believe you after everything you’ve done?" My voice shakes. He flinches as if I just slapped him. Then he turns away. Both hands come up, his fingers raking through his damp hair, gripping it so hard I'm surprised strands don't tear out. I open my mouth to scream something else, but the words die in my throat. His back. The wide, muscled expanse of his back is covered in scars. Some are old. Others are thicker and angrier, like they never fully healed. And scattered among them are small round marks. Cigarette burns. Perfect little circles of ruined skin.

“Gloc, I’m just going to my house for a bit, need to make sure all my papers are in order. I’m going to take my break a little earlier. If you need me, I’ll be back in a few minutes. Alright?” The fisherman, Gloc, just nodded. His eyes on out towards the sea. Gloc had a huge scar on his face, one that runs along his eyes down to his chin. It sorts of reminds me of Yohan’s forehead scar. The only difference is that Gloc’s scar ran along his left eye, blinding it permanently. It was completely white. He notices me staring and looks down at me. Flinching, I attempt to look away, but he already saw me staring. He grins, and I see a sliver of golden teeth, “I got it in a dog fight.”

Grayson: As Gabe falls back asleep, my eyes flicker down towards his chest. His wounds have almost completely healed, but they left several pretty bad scars. I slowly reach and gently trace them with my fingers. I notice three long, deep scratches starting at his shoulder, going all the way down to his abs. As I trace them, he stirs in his sleep, turning the other way. He has a few scars on his back too. I move closer to hug him from behind, wrapping my arms right under his and pressing my cheek to his back.

He muted a wince trying to force his way out. "Nah, this isn't treated properly. It's gonna get infected in a few hours…" Scar said, examining the wound. It felt fucking strange seeing a wound on Ghost. "Don Carianno interrupted us. She wasn't done treating it but had to leave." "What did the boss say to you?" Scar probed. "He punched me. A couple of times." And for the first time, Scar noticed the bruise lying on his cheek. It increased his anxiety but he didn't say a word. Ghost would pounce on him if he made another exaggerated reaction.

He was going to make a small effort tonight, it was a surprise birthday party and he wanted to look the part. Pulling on a pair of black ripped jeans and a black tank top, Scar combed his hair back and out his face. His tattoos were completely on show along with his muscular arms. Through the tank top, you could see the outlines of his defined stomach. Scar spent a lot of the time in the gym, it was his stress relief and punching a punching bag was much better than punching a wall - according to Malia. Scar looked nice.

"Leila, you just focus on your own business. When you need help, call me. As for other things, you should not get involved." He turned around and I saw that his back was covered with scars. The old scars were from the debris that had cut him when the Sin Pack exploded. The new scars, from a knife cut at some point, hadn't healed. These wounds were squeezed into his creamy white back, and it made my heart skip a beat. I couldn't help but lunge forward. I didn't care if the spray of water would get my clothes wet, I wrapped my arms around his waist from behind and pressed the side of my face against his shoulder blade.

I couldn’t fathom how anyone else would think any different, but this time when I roam his features, his scars were gone. Darting up from his body, one hand slapped across my mouth, the other tracing the deep scar that should have been going through his eye down to his throat. The tough skin, marred with red and purple, was now gone. His chest was completely clean, not a speck of once ripped skin.

she said, glancing at me, “if you could heal someone that is close to death… maybe you can fix scars too.” The room quieted just a little. I followed her gaze and realized what she was talking about. My scar. The old burn mark that curved down from the corner of my jaw to my neck—a part of my past I had tried to hide but couldn’t erase. I instinctively reached up, fingers brushing the edge of it. I hated that thing. I hated what it reminded me of. Rachael tilted her head. “I’m just saying… wouldn’t it be kind of amazing if you could heal yourself too?”

It wasn't just a sound; it was a physical vibration that rattled my teeth. Gage stepped into the moonlight. He was a titan of a man, his skin bronzed and mapped with jagged silver scars from a hundred pack challenges. He didn't wear clothes, save for a pair of loose, buckskin trousers that sat dangerously low on his heavy hips. His chest was a broad expanse of corded muscle, thick with dark hair that trailed down into the waistband of his pants. His eyes weren't human-they glowed with a predatory, golden amber that promised ruin.

Then he's bare from the waist up, and I finally see what I've only felt through the bond. He's beautiful. Not in the way pretty boys are beautiful. In the way predators are beautiful. Broad shoulders. Muscled chest. A trail of dark hair disappearing beneath his waistband. Scars scattered across his ribs—some old and faded, some newer. The body of a man who has fought for everything he has. I reach up and trace one of the scars. A thin white line curving over his ribs. "Where did you get this?" "Knife fight. I was nineteen."