Detroit Become Human Connor Fan Art นิยาย & เรื่องราว

I wanted so much to say it out loud to him. Cornelius or Connor was the type of man I wanted to stay away from. To me he was like Justin, a man whose ego was bigger than the American continent itself and whose dick had pushed into more holes than a mole. To be clear, Connor might have had the looks, the lush brown hair, the dimple I had noticed he had today, the sharp jawline, the lickable body but still he was a player. A person who had broken so many women's hearts and I was not ready to be in that list.

There was rhythm. And it was all hers. ---- One Tuesday, Connor walked in with a paper bag of takeout and a familiar, crooked grin. “You’re late,” Adrian said, opening the door and squinting against the sunlight, noticing a streak of ochre paint on his shirt from the mural he was half-heartedly painting for Elias’s room. “You should be glad I showed up at all,” Connor replied, stepping inside with the ease of someone who belonged there. Before Adrian could respond, Elias’s soft thump echoed down the hall as he crawled clumsily, reveling in his newfound mobility. Connor instantly crouched.

But boy, do I want to smack his arrogantly handsome face. “Thank you.” Unfortunately, I have to endure Connor’s presence because Santana continues the conversation. Surprisingly enough, he and Declan remain silent. As I continue to stand there, I can feel the heat of Connor's stare. He must hate the fact that Santana and Declan like me. I heard that Santana is not a fan of Connor’s revolving door. Not that I’d be one of the women taking a spin, considering he thinks I’m just a silly girl. If he only knew.

I knew better than to become friends with this Kind. Connor shrugged, brushing off some dust from the left cuff of his grey coat. “What am I supposed to do? I was thirsty.” He smiled, showing his teeth where the blood of whatever he had hunted was still visible. I shot him a pointed look. I didn’t have the desire nor the time to reprimand him or argue with him.

I cared very little what people thought; in that instant, I wanted to kill Ophelia with my bare hands. “Nadine is not a whore like you; she is my mate and my future Luna,” Connor said sternly. “She was blessed with the good fortune of having four mates, and that is something you will never understand; you will never even imagine why you are such a horrendous person that the gods spared the man who was meant for you from having a shitty life by your side.” I looked at Connor in shock.

I could feel the war inside him—the way his body was responding even as his mind fought it. Connor was a known playboy. The kind of man who could charm a woman out of her panties in under five minutes and forget her name by morning. If I weren’t his best friend, he would’ve had me bent over this couch months ago. So why the hell was he resisting me now?

But dear Windchaser boy, Connor, adds, "you have been whipped." I stop him from continuing, "What is up with this whipped then? Why do one call it whipped when you do not use the actual item." "Stop over analyzing and tell us about this monster," Connor says as he is getting irritable with Lestat hovering around him like a rather large piece of meat. "Well, as I said, it is human, and it has got a lot of teeth. "Yes," Connor says. "Generally, humans do have a lot of teeth. You have to be more specific."

Heart pounding, I follow warily behind them. Declan’s jaw is tight, and his arms are rigid as he makes his way to the front of the garage. Connor must see my panic because he stops beside me and places an arm around me. “It’s okay, San. They’re cool.” I nod my head and tighten my hand around his. As soon as we get closer, I notice that one of the men looks familiar. Then I remember, he’s the other guy that came into the diner with Declan. “Hey, welcome to our shop.” He mutters with a cheerful smile. Connor steps forward and shakes his hand. “Hey man, thanks for the help.” The guy shakes his head and gazes at me from beneath the fringe of his lashes. “Yeah, no problem. Hey Santana, I don’t k

“Connor was twenty at the time. He was a college sophomore. He only had one friend… Lucas. Lucas was the only friend I saw him hang out with. Connor didn't have any friends. Not that he was a loner or an introvert, but that he was a creepy weirdo. I didn't know at the time, but I found out later on. He did these things that a mentally stable person wouldn't do so no one would want to be friends with him.” “Horrible things like what?” “One of the least horrible things he did was he killed hundreds of stray cats and hung them in what he called ‘His Collection’.” Lincoln's eyes widened in horror, “He really is a nut job!” “No, he was way more than that. Remember, I said 'least’ horrible things,

I turned to see Connor sitting on the chair in the corner of my room watching me and he said, "I am not rejecting you and I won't accept your rejection, so put that out your pretty little head, mate." Connor got up and walked over to me, he was wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt with a necklace around his neck showing he was T.J.'s Gamma. He wore black jeans and boots, had the club ring on his hand and a tattoo on his neck, and was blonde with blue eyes and dimples when he smiled. He was around 6'0 feet with a muscular build but not buffed muscular, his scent was of wood and rain, like in the forest. He looked into my eyes and said, "So, what's it going to be, mate," and I backed away, his gaze