Legoshi Scars Novels & Stories

He hit the notch at full stride, pushed off with his left hand for balance — a brief, automatic contact, three fingers and a palm pressed against the log's flat surface as he cleared it — and when he came down on the other side his sleeve rode up. Lily saw it in the next instant. The scar. It ran the length of his left hand, from the base of the little finger along the outside of the palm to the wrist, and it was not new — that was the thing she registered first, not the shape of it but the age of it, the way old scars silvered and flattened and became part of the topography of skin in a way that recent scars hadn't yet. This was years old. This was something that had happened a long time ag

She looks at June, then at me, all confused. “Look, all I know is, I got this scar or whatever when I was a kid. I fell off a small cliff or something..I don’t know. My parents never told me the whole reason.” “Can I..see?” June asks politely as I show her my scar. She touches my skin softly, and weirdly, my pain starts to fade away. “How did you say you got this..injury?” June questioned. “I may have fallen off a cliff...why?”

As soon as Chelsey spoke, more tears came. She wasn't a crybaby; the tears she was shedding at the moment were enough to fill her quota for a few years. Lucas said seriously, "Give me a kiss on every scar I have. That way, they won't hurt anymore." "Stop it!" Despite Chelsey's words, she still leaned down to plant kiss after kiss on his scars. Lucas could feel her warm lips pressing against his body, but there was too much pain for him to be aroused. He smiled bitterly.

That better not scar! "Ah you dick! These leggings were expensive!" I pout, assessing the three trenches he has dug into my leg. "I'm going to make you regret the day you were born!" He growls, before howling into the forest. Shit! He better not have called for backup! The scratches have started to scab over already, but are tender as they are near the ankle I dislocated just moments ago. I swing my other leg around and kick the rogue harshly in the throat, stopping his call for backup and forcing a yelp out of him, as he gasps for air and coughs up blood.

“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.”

Rosie’s POV At dinner, I held out my wrist across the dinner table, frowning at the thin pink scar that curled along my skin. “No matter how much concealer I use, it still shows.” Chris leaned over, fork halfway to her mouth. “You’re being dramatic. It’s not that bad.” “I think scars from battle are kind of badass,” Tyler said, trying way too hard to sound casual as he flexed his arm, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt. “Look—Rogue ambush during my first patrol.”

When Liam’s bare torso was exposed to the shadow, Jaxson’s gaze dropped instantly to his left shoulder. In the half-light, the skin where the black athletic tape had been torn away was a deep, angry crimson, the surface raw and irritated from the friction of the adhesive. Beneath the redness, the slight, uneven line of the fractured collarbone stood out starkly—a permanent scar from the community rink. Jaxson’s expression softened into something dark, heavy, and intensely reverent. He leaned down, his broad chest pressing flat against Liam’s bare ribs, his large hands sliding beneath Liam’s shoulder blades to lift him off the mattress.

I have to try. He pulls away and looks down. I see his eyes darken and a low growl comes from his chest. Leon is not happy either. My scar is long and crosses from the left to the right under my belly button. It crosses to the very top of my right leg. It’s why I never wear bikinis or one piece bathing suits. I don’t wear any bathing suits actually; not since I was a young girl. Aiden runs a finger all the way along the scar before kneeling down in front of me and kisses it. He starts kissing my burn marks. When he stands back up, I’m in tears. “Why are you crying?” He asks.

Leo was pointing to the thin, jagged scar that ran through Alessandro’s left eyebrow—a souvenir from a night Caro hadn't been there for. Alessandro didn't flinch. He leaned into the child’s touch, his eyes closing for a brief second as if the boy’s hand was a healing balm. "It doesn't hurt anymore, piccolo," he said, his voice dropping to a tender Italian lilt. "I got it a long time ago, when I was fighting shadows. But the shadows are gone now."

That's when I noticed the mark. It was old, faded, but unmistakable. A burn scar, perfectly shaped like a star, just below the bend of his elbow. The skin around it was puckered and pale, like it had healed badly a long time ago. I stared at it too long. Lucas noticed. He released my arm and stepped back, pulling his sleeve down. "Again," he said. "Try the wrist lock." I didn't move. "Lucas, what's that scar?" His expression flickered—just for a second, too fast to read. Then it was gone, replaced by that calm, unreadable mask he wore so well. "An old injury. Nothing important."