Joker Scars Novels & Stories

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?"

"It doesn’t matter. Men always have scars!" But Jocelyn was still sorry for him. "This scar is so deep that it’s unlikely to fade!" Looking into her eyes, which were full of sadness, he couldn't help giving a chuckle and hugging her. "It doesn’t matter. I’m delighted as long as both of us remember that the scar on my palm is the proof of my love for you!" Jocelyn glanced up at Skyler with red eyes, as she was moved.

My eyes fly open in shock, skirting away to look anywhere but at Maverick’s now exposed body. His glorious, sculpted body with a stellar pack of abs and scars. I sneak another peek when I registers I saw scars. Werewolves rarely scar, especially with the help of herbs and our expedited healing. But I was right. Maverick’s torso is covered in a variety of scars in all shapes and sizes. He has a huge bite mark on his side, a thin pink line from right above his left nipple down to his navel. He looks like he fell into a wood chipper and was pieced back together.

“Not just good – amazing.” “One hundred percent amazing,” Jo said solemnly. “Thought so.” Scars held out a huge hand and she took it, felt the raised skin there. Without even looking, Jo knew that he had more scars on his hands and briefly wondered what he must look like under his jeans and blue t-shirt and cut: she’d heard from Jinx that the fire had burned Scars so badly, he’d needed reconstructive skin grafting on his back and legs. “It’s a pleasure, Jo.”

Silver burn scars crisscrossed the skin there—evidence of my attempts to end my suffering in the containment facility. "Did you suffer there?" he asked softly, his fingers lightly tracing the scars. The unexpected tenderness in his touch made my legs give out. I sank to the floor, my wolf whimpering as I kept my eyes fixed on the ground. "Suffering is relative," I whispered. "Inside or outside those walls... it's all different levels of the same hell." James crouched beside me, his wolf's dominance carefully controlled. "These scars," he said, gesturing to my wrists. "They can be removed with specialized pack healing treatments."

His scars. Lexon raised his hand. His chest tightened when he saw the long scar that began at his collarbone. The scar he always wondered, how did he get one so long, and so wide? It was the worst scar on his body... And now he knows how he got it. He watched as they took the silver blade to Jace. It looked as though they were trying to split him in half, carving him up like a damn turkey! His little wolf's painful screams shattered his heart, the amount of blood spilled terrified him.

I watched, my eyes narrowing, as he held his arms out toward me. My breath hitched. His skin was ruined. From his wrists all the way up to his forearms, his flesh was covered in a frightening web of scars. There were deep, jagged lines, discolored patches, and dozens of circular puncture marks. They were injection scars, overlapping one another, telling a story of years of brutal, desperate experimentation.

“Fuck, I may die first.” Her head moved from side to side as her lips curved. “You said last night that no man has died from not ejaculating.” “It’s an untested theory.” She turned, sitting on her knees and stared down at my chest. After an agonizing, indeterminate amount of time, she lowered her hands over my pecs, running her palms over my skin. “How did you get the scars?” “Knives, mostly.” I lifted my arm and showed her a more circular scar. “That one was a bullet.”

Was there an enemy watching them like I was ? The front door opens and a woman walks out , she stops and squints up at the sun. Her hair was a mess, her clothes looked like they had just been thrown on and in her hand was her heels. The walk of shame. Whoever she was , was just coming from an interesting night by the looks of her. Then the door opens behind her and a tall man I recognise comes out , he’s shirtless but has his jeans and boots on. Tattoos cover his full arms and chest all the way up his neck and then stop. His long hair was loose , blonde. I recognise him as Joker , one of Carnage's inner men. He pulls what looks like a cigarette from behind his ear , digs in his pocket and li

I jerked the socks off in one swift motion. That’s when my heart dropped. My gaze landed on the soles of her feet, and the world went deathly quiet. Thick, jagged, and angry burn marks covered the sensitive skin of her arches and heels—scars that could only have come from a cigarette. Fucking hell. Who the fuck had dared to hurt her like this?