Detroit Become Human Connor Fan Art Novels & Stories

"NO! it's okay, don't worry, everything will be done the way you want it done." Someone nock on the door and Connor his right-hand man came in immediately, he looked serious, furious with his fists clenched tightly, he has always been nice to me, plus I can't deny he is attractive, his dark hair, hazel eyes, with bulging biceps, a really charming man himself. He gave me a sharp look, his eyes admiring my body briefly, as he always does. There is something about him that makes me feel safe, despite being a trusted employee of Darian, I know he would never hurt me.

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

My class group had chosen to represent "The Faces of Independence." It was a mural-style painting they had done together, showing a blend of modern-day heroes and historical figures. Connie's section of the artwork stood out so sharply from the rest, I could already notice all eyes on him. God damn it, I should not feel proud of him… Where the others painted flags and leaders, Connie had drawn a woman—half her face hidden in something like a shadow, the other half cracked. Chains ran down her shoulders, but in the background, there was a sun… barely peeking over a wall. It was not that pretty and perfect, but God, I loved the symbolism.

Connor made a cruel face spitting at the ground in front of Pete’s feet, “We are not family just people that live in the same house” Ethan looked at Connor with sympathy in his eyes. Ethan looked at him and felt a twinge of sorrow for the kid, maybe he was not as bad as Ethan had thought him to be. But looking at him more closely Ethan flashed his eyes shifted to a glowing red color as his face morphed into that of a wolf. “Is that why you didn't come home last night,” Ethan questioned sharply; his left brow cocked upwards as his lips were pulled into a grim line. Connor laughed as he turned to look at Pete, his face taunting and smug.