Tmnt #mikey Novels & Stories

A freaking hard chest, with proud pecs and which I'm sure his under a boring shirt hides his cute pink nipples. I lifted my head, and there they were... those addictive chestnut eyes, glaring down at me. The very eyes belonging to the reason I’d gotten wasted in the first place. Mikey. Fucking. Montero. This son of a bitch!

His upper half was ripped, chest solid and looking as strong as ever, and he did look almost the same way some hours back. His legs were longer, giving him a taller height, and those feet made large impressions on the earth. Then his eyes fell on me, and his brows furrowed. Old Mikey appeared my side, almost out of breath, as if he had been running a marathon. He had his gun in both hands. "We don't need that, Mikey," I told him. "Why? You ever seen something like this? Can't be sure what it could do." "He won't hurt us."

“Yeah. Yeah. I know. Or I’ll be punished.” “Exactly.” He pulled away, giving me a heated onceover. When he walked out, it took a few seconds before I shifted my attention back to the computer. I typed in the name of the Russian mafia organization, finding more articles than I had on the Voltairs. After reading a few articles it had become apparent that they had no issue ruffling feathers, acting as if they owned the world. I started writing down a few notes, startled when I heard a man clearing his throat. I placed my hand over my heart as I peered at Mikey. “I didn’t see you standing there.” He has something in his hand. It looked like a hard drive. “What do you have there?”

Damon I’m sitting in my office about four hours before opening when there’s a knock on the door, “Come in,” I call, and the door slowly opens. Mikey is standing there with a broken plunger that is dripping water all over the floor, and I stare at him in disbelief. “Dude, what the hell?” I ask, pointing at that disgusting thing. “Why is THAT in my office?” “The woman’s toilet is clogged. I think they were flushing tampons again,” Mikey says with his face full of disgust.

he says, tossing the page away. He eyes me curiously, and when I catch a certain scent, I grimace instantly. Sure enough Mikey pops out somewhere in the back, seemingly from a hole in the ground. He dashes to me in an instant. Like usual, he’s not wearing the standard suit the males in my family do. He’s got on a t-shirt that’s so worn it has a few scattered holes, and jeans equally old that are slung so low on his hips a female would be drooling over his skin on display. His body is a swarm of random tattoos and scars he wears with pride. Though none are on his face and glaringly obvious like mine. I instantly try to come up with a reason for being here right now, but I don’t have one. Then

Emory Mikey is always hungry. His stomach is a bottomless pit that never seems to be full, no matter how much he eats. Whatever food is within his vicinity, he runs toward it with relentless determination, and when he’s not allowed to eat when he’s hungry, he erupts into loud tantrums that don’t stop until he finally gets his way..

“I hope so.” “Well, it's been fun, but I need to get home,” Mikey says as he stands to leave. Tanya and I stand to walk him toward the door. Before walking out the door, Mikey turns to face us. He grabs Tanya and pulls her into an embrace. “I’m glad that you remember who we are. I hated lying to you.” “Thanks for everything, Mikey.” “You’re welcome, sis,” Mikey tells Tanya before letting her go. He grabs me and pulls me into a hug. “Make sure you make this right,” Mikey whispers in my ear before letting me out of the embrace. I nod my head in understanding.

"Ready, steady, go." He starts running as soon as he shouts go, his tiny legs propelling him forward as fast as he can. I don't think about anything but catching him, my own stubbornness refusing to let him beat me means by the time we reach the other side, I'm sprinting side by side with him. "Snack time everyone." The teacher calls out and I follow the brown eyed boy and his friend to a table to sit down, while the teacher gives us each a plastic glass of milk and a plate full of fruit.

I fixed him with a steely gaze, "Don't insult my intelligence, Mikey. I've got enough dirt on you to bury you six feet under. Now, either you start talking, or things are going to get very messy for you." Mikey's eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape that he knew didn't exist. He licked his lips nervously. "Okay, okay, I'll talk," he finally conceded, his voice barely above a whisper. I leaned in closer, a predatory grin spreading across my face. "That's what I thought. Now spill it, Mikey. Tell me everything you know about Emilio's plans. And while you're at it, enlighten me on how the hell Santino managed to gather dirt on us, the Chicago Outfit, and even the head of the FBI

"When Mike done with Jenny, we go get goggles back!" Mike shook his head, rubbing his eyes. The shadowy figure just beyond the gates sprang into his mind, weapon drawn, a shadow that had filled him with dread. In his mind's eye, he could see the dangerous horns tucked just to the side of the brow-line, see the tail, the thickset legs... "Wait, a fucking minotaur took your goggles?" Mike asked. Tink nodded, large tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. "Tink, a fucking minotaur lives in the walls?"