Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

A New Lease on Life	By : Ghost-of-a-Chance Category: +S through Z > Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Views: 3157 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own TMNT, any of its characters or devices, or any songs/books/movies referenced. No money is made from this story. I DO own any & all OCs included in the story...and a Woozle.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
Special disclaimer: A few lines used from the translated lyrics of Rammstein's Wo Bist Du, and a rewriting of a few lines from Seether's Broken. I make no claim as to the ownership of either band or their songs.
Precautions: More foul language than usual, insinuated long-term abuse and brief portrayal of emotional abuse. Also, a teeny bit of citrus and some Mikey-torture.
Suggested Listening: Breaking Benjamin, "Breakdown" and Taylor Dane "I'll Be Your Shelter"

8: What're the Odds?
Daron's Apartment
Quite some time had passed since the blond's outburst, but little had changed. Amber and April huddled on his sagging microfiber couch, nervous eyes following him from one end to the room to the next as he paced. Every step was marked by yet another foul oath and every turn accompanied by another muttered gripe about Kimber, each word delivered without a hint of Aaron's southern accent. With every word, Amber became ever more certain in her beliefs.
Though he looked similar, the furious man cursing an ever-increasing blue streak was not Aaron Willis, the friend she left behind in her previous life…he was Daron Williams, Kimber Bryant's friend and the man responsible for wiping her existence from the records. With this confirmed, all that now mattered was why.
"S'cuse me," she asked without warning; he halted suddenly, turning to shoot an annoyed glare at her. "I guess you must be Daron Williams?" Another lemon-sucking scowl twisted his lips and he scoffed.
"Don't give me that, Kim," he snapped. "It's a little late to play the 'amnesia' card."
"I don't have amnesia," she insisted, rising and approaching him, "an' I'm not Kimber. She's…I'm sorry, but she's gone. I'm Amber O'Brien." She held out her hand in greeting, trying to soothe the guilt twisting in her gut; after all, she'd just run into one of Kimber's friends in her body, someone who clearly didn't know Kimber was dead. At her back, April stood and rushed to her side, Taser still at the ready; Daron frowned down at Amber's extended hand as if expecting it to bite him. "If you an' Kimber're anythin' like Aaron an' I were, you were prob'ly close friends…I'm sorry." Daron studied her silently, scrutinizing everything from her expression to her clothing with obvious annoyance.
"I find it hard to believe you'd put so much into your disguise without leaching the dye out'a your hair, Kimber," he finally stated, completely disregarding her words. "The accent's a little over the top, but it might help out, and at least that tattoo's covered. Still, our agreement was for you to stay the fuck underground until I came after you—I'm still working out your death in Missouri, and it's ridiculously difficult faking death certificates from the early 2000s—most states didn't have those forms online yet, and everything's been hit-and-miss."
He suddenly shoved his hand through his hair and pulled at the loose curls on the top, fear widening his blue eyes. "God, it's a miracle Hun hasn't seen you yet—If he finds out I helped you—" He shot a panicked glare at her. "He'll fucking kill me, Kimber! I'm putting my life on the line yet again and you don't even care enough to—"
Without warning, a pair of arms wrapped around him in a supportive embrace; his words remained unfinished. Black cotton-clad breasts filled his vision—the bitter perfume of coffee stung his nose—an aching heart thundered near his ear. No matter how he dissected the situation, he still came to the same conclusion: the woman he'd loved for years had fairly tackled him, pulling him close in a long-overdue hug.
When he finally regained full control of his arms, he pushed her away enough to search her eyes, and what he found there was heartbreaking. Though they were the same shade of mossy grey-green as before, the eyes he saw held sorrow, guilt, pain, and fear; though identical on the surface, those eyes weren't the eyes of the woman he'd loved since childhood. He choked up; he pushed her away and wandered across the room to the stereo system. Amber watched in silence as the machine shuffled noisily, finally landing on a tune she recalled from another life.
I'll never let you know, a haunting voice admitted as Daron struggled to pull himself together. But I love the way you laugh. I wanna hold you high and wash your pain away. I keep your photograph, and although I'll never tell, I wanna hold you high and ease your pain. As the unfamiliar verses rang out and Daron sank further and further into morose silence, Amber inched toward him; when she reached his side, she gently turned down the volume and caught his eyes.
"For what it's worth," she murmured as Reaver's lead singer droned in the background. "I'm sorry. It's clear she meant everything to you." He tried to force out an unaffected scoff, but it came out as more of a sniffle.
"It's pathetic, really," he rasped, "that comfort would be proof that she's gone. She'd never…she'd have just mouthed off at me, you know, insisted she had everything under control." Pained blue eyes met hers. "You're nothing like her, are you?"
"Far as I can tell," she admitted, "yeah…we're apples an' oranges. I can't say we'd'a gotten along even if I weren't stuck in'er body."
"Not even gonna ask how that happened…weird enough that it did." He led her back over to the sofa, collapsing in the threadbare recliner. "I'm sure you have questions."
Amber hesitated, eyeing him nervously. She gnawed at her lower lip, glancing over at April who was clearly as confused as her. "Why was she hidin' underground, Daron? Why have you been fakin' her death, and why'd you do so much for her when she's clearly been nothin' but a bitch to—"
A sharp glare cut her off. "Don't presume to understand her," he snapped. "You may be stuck in her body, but you don't know shit about her. Kim…she was tryin' to get out'a the Dragons! If Hun hadn't met her, she wouldn't'a joined, and he wouldn't'a met her if I hadn't let her live here for so long." Guilt bloomed in his eyes; he hid them from her, staring out the sauce-spattered window. "That bastard ruined her life…and it's my fault."
"How?" April asked, shaking her head in disbelief. "How's something Hun did your fault?" A sharp glare silenced her.
"None'a your fuckin' business, O'Neil," he spat sounding so much like Aaron it hurt. "I ain't forgotten you're here, ya don't need to verify your existence." Before April could protest, Amber snapped,
"Hey! Leave'er alone—she ain't hurt ya none." Daron met her eyes and wilted, incapable of hiding his pain; though the occupant of the body was foreign, it was still Kimber's body…If he weren't certain he had no heart, he'd suspect it was breaking. "So she got in over her head, wanted out, an' you swooped in to save the day."
"No saving to it," he bristled sourly. "I just got sick of her whining and did something about it." Amber's lips tilted in a humoring smile; go figure that Daron would be even more of a 'tough guy' than Aaron was. "Seeing as you're hanging out with the likes of her," he grumbled, shooting a glare at April. "I take it those stupid reptiles took you in…guess I owe'em for once."
"Stupid?" Amber shot back dryly. "I smell sour grapes. Don't tell me Donatello out-hacked you." Sure enough, a dark blush tinted his cheeks and a sour scowl twisted his lips. "Thought so. Fer the record, he tried to help Kimber...an' he's been beating himself up over not gettin' there in time; Purple Dragon or not, she died on his watch an' it's really messin' with him."
That shut him up. Daron stared wistfully through the stereo as a haunting clarinet solo echoed through the speakers, followed by heavy drums and keyboards. Ich liebe dich, a deep, guttural voice growled. The lyrics rang through the otherwise silent room and Amber followed along, her memory supplying the translation; she'd always teased Aaron that Rammstein was nothing but 'foul language and banging,' but she enjoyed some of it, including this one. Now, seeing the forlorn young man fight off heartbreak right before her, the song Rumstein had in common with Rammstein had new meaning.
The pretty girls are not pretty; the warm hands are so cold. All clocks have stopped. It's no longer healthy to laugh, and soon, I'll look for you behind the light. Where are you? I don't want to be so alone. Where are you?**
Daron Williams was hopelessly in love with Kimber, and she was gone for good; he needed time to process it. Amber silently squeezed April's arm and glanced pointedly at the door. "We'd best get going," she announced needlessly as Daron retreated further within himself. "We'll be in touch."
"Wait." Halfway to the door, Amber paused, turning to listen. Daron pried himself out of the sunken chair, slouched into the kitchen, and upturned a large metal crock from the counter. He dug through the pile of stale power bars for a moment, surfacing with a thick envelope. Hesitating a moment, he steeled himself, then shoved it at Amber. "Kimber can't use this now…just…" His voice cracked; he paused to collect himself. "Give those worthless reptiles a message for me, will you?" Amber nodded encouragingly, choosing to ignore the slight against her friends for the time being. "Hun must pay—for Kimber, for everything—and I'm in, even if it means teaming up with mutant jerks."
"I'll tell'em," she agreed, hesitantly accepting the envelope, "but I can't promise they'll be willin' to help if you keep insulting'em like that. Get that anger off yer chest, take some time to adjust, an' we'll go from there. April can play go-between, right?" She shot an innocent smile at April, who gaped in disbelief.
"Don't bring me into this!" she protested. "This jerk's keeping me up every night with that devil music!" Amber chuckled dryly, shaking her head at her.
"Devil music?" she echoed with enough sarcasm to curdle milk. "Ya sound like my mother when I discovered Ozzy." Daron glared at April, who squirmed under the force of it.
"If it'll shut you up, I'll move the stereo to the other wall—next time, just come tell me it's too loud."

The Lair
A sudden, loud greeting drew all four brothers and their father to the kitchen where Amber and April were piling groceries on the table. In the frenzy of putting it all away, Daron's message for the guys was temporarily forgotten, and Amber's silence was, for the most part, unnoticed. As April said her goodbyes, the redhead hovered restlessly in the kitchen, contemplating the envelope she'd received from Daron. Its contents were spread out over the worn wooden tabletop in a morbid pile.
Credit cards, a bank account number, birth certificate, driver's license, library card, prepaid bus pass, a key marked with directions to a storage unit… It was baffling, but the proof was right before her in big bold print. In her attempts to disappear entirely, Kimber changed her name, and the name she chose was unbelievable…Kimber Bryant became Amber O'Brien even before Amber found herself trapped in Kimber's vacant body. "What're the odds?" she muttered as her stomach turned sickening cartwheels.
The world had officially become too weird for words; Amber needed a break. Without a second thought, she retrieved one of the tubs of tofu from the fridge, drained it, and set it up to press; as she silently mixed up a small dish of soy sauce and chicken broth and preheated the oven, Mike, Leo, and Donnie drifted into the kitchen. They were used to her acting strangely—she was, after all, an odd duck at the very least—but it was unusual for her to be so silent. Every query was seemingly ignored; every attempt at eye contact was evaded.
By the time the tofu was cubed, brushed with marinade, and baked, Donatello had inspected the paperwork splayed across the table. Surely, he realized as she piled the baked chunks onto a plate and plopped down at the table with it, there was something he was missing. As the brothers watched her warily she popped a chunk of tofu in her mouth, chewed and swallowed, and promptly started bawling like a baby.
"…the heck?" Mikey asked dubiously. "Surely it's not that bad! Ow!" he yelped as Leo delivered a timely brain-duster.
Leo shook his head and latched onto Mikey's carapace. "You got this?" he asked Don, his voice hushed as he steered the youngest out the door. The genius nodded, watching Amber warily. He heaved a sigh and sank onto the stool next to Amber's chair, wrapping an arm around her shoulders; as so often before, she dove into his arms, curling up in his lap and crying into his shoulder.
"What am I gonna do with you?" he murmured, rubbing her back through her shirt as she hiccuped and sniffled pathetically. "What happened, Braids? Talk to me."
"I…" A sniffle cut her off. "It jus' tastes like home…an' home's...home's gone."
"Tofu tastes like home?" he repeated in disbelief; she nodded, finally getting control over herself. Though she was no longer crying, she made no move to leave his lap, and inwardly he prayed for the strength to conceal his body's response. After all, he was a straight, healthy, adult male with a woman in his lap—worse yet, a woman he was pretty attracted to. Torture. Sheer…torture.
"Yeah," she mumbled, swiping her cheeks dry and hoping her nose wasn't running. "Whenever life got too crummy, I…well, I was kinda prone to binge eating. Evr'ythin' jus' went straight to my arse, but I didn't have to feel guilty 'bout tofu; kinda became a comfort food." She stared forlornly at the plate of small brown cubes, longing in her eyes. "April an' I met Daron Williams…I guess it just made me miss Wi - Aaron Willis even more," she admitted softly. Donatello cringed, eyeing the paperwork.
"Daron Williams," he sighed. "We know him alright…have more problems with his brother, though, the guy's a total thug. I take it Daron's responsible for making Kimber disappear?"
She nodded weakly. "He said she wanted out'a the Dragons an' came to him for help. He had all that ready to give her when the coast was clear."
Shock widened Donnie's eyes and he rummaged for the birth certificate; he held it out to her, his brain running miles a minute. "But it has your name on it!" he objected. She nodded grimly, passing him the driver's license; though Kimber's hair was hidden under a black kerchief, it was obviously her photo.
"She changed her name 'fore she went into hidin'…changed it to mine. She takes my name, dies in hiding, an' lo an' behold, I'm sucked into her corpse." She scoffed, chucking the card and certificate back into the pile with a vengeance. "What're the fuckin' odds."
Donatello stared down the pile of documents nervously, silently calculating and questioning. Surely Amber wasn't brought to his world on such slim odds—surely it was more than just Kimber's choice in names that brought her to them, brought her into his life? If that were the case, even the slightest change could have changed the course of their lives—an alteration in the spelling, a switching of the first and middle name—the slightest variation would have left Amber, his Amber, wasting away in Limbo, never to stumble into his life as she had! As his thoughts careened out of control, he unknowingly dug his fingers into her hip and back, holding her as though she'd be ripped from his arms.
"OW!" she yelped, jolting in pain. "Dee, ease up, I'm not goin' anywhere!" Startled back to himself, he abruptly released her. Suddenly not anchored to his lap she tumbled off with a startled squeak; training took over and he dove after her, flipping so his carapace took the brunt of the fall, the impact resonating with a loud, hollow THUNK. Her cheeks darkened in a bright, fetching blush as she took stock of the situation she found herself in. Donnie lay on his back on the tile floor, staring blankly up at the stunned woman sprawled out over his plastron, never realizing he still had hold of her waist. He couldn't believe it, was certain he had to be mistaken, but his lungs were suddenly filled with a familiar musky scent—the same scent he was teased with the whole way from April's the day he brought her home, and never could completely air out of the lab.
'Shite!' Amber cursed inwardly, scrambling for a way to politely extricate herself without hurting his feelings, freaking him out, or making her reaction to the position even more obvious. 'What the flying, floating fuckity-fuck'm I gonna do?! We just farkin' met—he's gonna think I'm a creeper!' With everything she had, she prayed that he couldn't smell her wanting him and that his brothers hadn't retained enough of their reptilian nature to register pheromones. "Umm…" she mumbled avoiding his eyes, sure her cheeks matched her still-dyed hair. "This's awkward. Can I get off?" The moment the words left her lips, her eyes bulged and she sputtered. "ACK!—OF you!" she added frantically. "I mean can I get off of you! I don't mean get off as in GET OFF, just—AHGH," she groaned burying her burning red face in his chest. "I'm just gonna shut up now," she mumbled, mortified beyond belief.
The chest she was hiding in shook with laughter—wheezing, convulsive laughter interspersed with the occasional shnork and shnerk. 'Great,' she thought snidely. 'I broke'im.' She lifted her head and propped her chin on his chest, glaring darkly at him. "What," she grumbled. "We all know my filter's useless, get over it." If anything, he just snorted and wheezed louder. One particularly loud, nasal SHNARK did it—she burst out laughing, clinging to his plastron for support.
"What happened?!" Mikey burst out from the doorway, then promptly froze in horror. Wheezing and weird snorty-gaspy-grunty noises echoed through the kitchen; between the legs of the table, he could make out two bodies shaking on each other on the floor. Worst yet, the kitchen smelled funny—and not a ha-ha kinda funny. The bottom fell out of his stomach. Slowly, hoping they hadn't heard or seen him, he backed out of the room and took off for the bathroom like the Shredder was after him. 'That was fast,' Mikey thought squeamishly as he dove into the nearest cubicle fully clothed and cranked up the cold water, haunted by what he hadn't seen. Only thirteen days in their home and Amber had already hooked his brainy brother, cementing herself as 'sister.' Good thing she wasn't really his type...
Back in the kitchen the two lunatics got themselves together and lay gasping for breath. Clearly, Donatello wasn't as freaked out as Amber worried he'd be...of course, after such an epic filter fail, who wouldn't laugh their asses off? Still chuckling hoarsely, she propped herself up to slide off onto the floor. Before she could even move, a massive three-fingered hand latched onto her hip, anchoring her in place.
Shyly she met his eyes; in the space of a heartbeat, the atmosphere changed. Laughter faded into nervous silence—stitches soothed into butterflies—eyes shone with sincerity rather than amused tears. Amber fought to hold back, fought to calm her racing heart, but it was Donnie—the same Donnie she'd fallen for years before though they'd only just met. Though he barely knew a thing about her, she knew practically everything about him...Not for the first time, she cursed the unfairness of being so attached to someone who couldn't logically return her feelings, at least not for a good long while. Damn dreams...they made everything so awkward.
"Hey," he said with a lopsided smile, tucking a loosened lock of punch red hair behind her ear in a familiar gesture.
Her breath caught in her throat. "Hey, yerself," she replied with a weak smile.
Just like that, the moment was over. He seemed to take a moment to get ahold of himself, then sat up on the tile to let her push off his shoulders. Moments later they were once again seated at the table staring at the plate of tofu, avidly ignoring the elephant in the room. "So," she stated matter-of-factly, snagging another piece of tofu. "If I eat all this, I'm gonna turn into a blimp. Wanna try some? I promise it don't taste like old shoe." He shot her a hairy eyeball stare but popped a piece in his mouth regardless.
"Hey!" he grinned. "That really is good—what's the secret?" She laughed at his giddy expression, feeding him another chunk. It wasn't that great and she knew his family was sure to cook it better, but she appreciated his words nonetheless.
"Hide the flavor," she answered with a cheeky grin, "otherwise, it does taste like old shoe."
Several minutes later Raph lumbered into the kitchen and over to the fridge; armed with a soda he turned to retreat, only to get an eyeful of Donnie trying to feed Amber a piece of tofu. "Ya two're disgustin', ya know dat?" he grumbled, then stormed out again.
The two friends just laughed at his attitude. As they teased each other, revealed past embarrassing moments, and one-upped each other's stories, they both silently relived the brief moment of connection that had passed, one doubtful the other saw them that way and the other trying to hold back a lifetime of love. Both wondered if their friendship would ever become more. Only time, they admitted to themselves, only time would tell.
Halfway across town in Daron's small flat, his cell phone rang; from the first note of the tone, he knew without a doubt who it was. 'Go fuckin' figure,' he thought, struggling to reign in his temper and terror as he accepted the call. 'Of course, he'd call now…not like enough hasn't happened.' "Hey," he greeted the caller nervously. "What's going on?"
"Where is she, Piss-ant?" Hun growled at him from the other end. "I gave ya a week; ya gonna deliver?" Daron shuddered, curling into a ball in his recliner.
"I - I can't find her, Hun," he lied carefully. "She must'a cut town or something…the name we had's pulling up nothing—must've been an alias or something."
"No excuses!" the musclebound thug bellowed, making Daron practically leap out of his skin. His traitorous heart pounded frantically in his chest, his lungs shuddering and aching as adrenaline coursed through his veins. Fight or flight, neither would help. "Find that bitch! She knows too much an' I'm sick'a waitin! You find Kimber Bryant an' you find'er fast or I'll break every bone in yer scrawny body! Are we clear?!" Daron's stomach roiled. Bile surged up his throat and he choked to keep it down.
"Y-Yes, Sir," he stammered, hoping against hope that he could devise a plan in time to save his hide. "I-I understand…I'll f-find her." A dark laugh on the other line sent his hair standing on end.
"Ya better, Brat…I'm runnin' out'a patience." Without another word he hung up, leaving Daron a shaky, shivering mess as every call before. Kimber was dead, but Hun wouldn't believe it without some sort of proof…physical, corpse-type proof…Daron was running out of options and fast. As he willed his heart rate to calm and his eyes to cease pouring, he cursed his parents anew.
How could such a psychopath be his own flesh and blood?
"Donnie?" a soft voice called from the lab's doorway. Bleary-eyed from sleep, Donatello stretched the crick from his neck and scanned the shadow-shrouded room. "Dee, ya'wake in here?" Like a dream summoned to the waking world, Amber waited in the doorway, a long, silky violet nightgown accenting her soft curves delightfully. He loved that color on her, especially how it set off the fine fiery highlights in her warm brown hair.
"Awake enough," he answered with a shrug and lop-sided grin, beckoning her near as he leaned back in his desk chair. "What's wrong? You have a nightmare?" That bright blush tinted her cheeks as she shyly avoided his eyes, hovering just out of reach.
"Not exactly," she mumbled. "I jus'…well…" She trailed off, finally meeting his eyes. "I can't sleep…not after what happened…didn't want ya thinkin' badly of me." He chuckled warmly as he caught one clenched hand in his own and drew her closer, guiding her to perch on his knee.
"Not even a remote possibility, Amber," he teased as he played with her long brown braid. "If anything, I'm glad you're so comfortable around me—I'd hate to think you felt like you couldn't be yourself when I'm around." Sleepy green eyes dropped to his lips as he spoke, then swept back up again, the smooth grey-green set off by another blush. "You are comfortable around me, right?" A carefree smile curved her lips.
"Oh, Dee," she almost gushed, leaning in to wrap her bare arms around his neck. "Of course, I am! You get me—you understand me—I wish I'd met you before I met Aaron…I wasted so much time waiting for him to love me when you—I mean—" She cut herself off, gnawing her lower lip. "—that is…" She fell silent as he traced a calloused fingertip over her lip, and her breath caught in her throat. The tentative caress left her mouth slack, the chewed lip popping loose again.
"Don't go gnawing that off, now," he teased, his voice husky with want. "I happen to like it." The moment their lips met, fireworks erupted in the shadowy corners of the room. The cramped desk chair fell away leaving them reclining on a soft mattress, Amber eagerly straddling his lap. With every breathless kiss, she uttered another soft, feminine whimper, grinding against his canvas-clad thigh. Finally, he drew back, peppering her smooth neck and bare shoulders with open-mouthed caresses. "Amber," he breathed into her collarbone. "I…I know it's sudden, Amber, but I think…I think I'm…falling for you." With a sleepy smile, she reached out to cup his cheek in one small hand, a sudden tease in her eyes.
"That's nice, Donnie," she murmured, "but you still gotta go to bed. That chair's bad on your neck." Everything ground to a halt; he gaped at the tousled minx in his lap.
"Wait, what?" As if on cue, she spoke again, but this time her voice sounded like Mikey's!
"Donnie, you're gonna get a neck-ache if ya don't go to bed—don't make me sic Amber on you—she's actually snoring for once!"
"AH!" Donatello woke with a jolt and strangled shout, his heart racing; as his eyes focused Michelangelo appeared right in front of him, arms crossed and almost pouting. "Mikey?!" he blurted out, fighting to shake off the lingering impression of Mikey's voice coming out of Amber's mouth; the very memory of it made him shudder.
"Geez, you'd think I wasn't doing you a favor," the younger turtle sulked. "I try to save ya a neckache an' this is I thanks I get? So ungrateful, I swear." As Mikey tapped his foot impatiently by the door, Donnie hoisted himself out of his desk chair, wincing at the loud crack emanating from his already stiff neck. Mike shot him a 'told ya so' frown and huffed his way out of the lab.
Despite the sudden bizarre ending and Mikey's odd sullen attitude, the otherwise pleasant dream lingered in Donatello's mind as he padded over to the cot in the corner. Sure enough, Amber was sleeping soundly in it, her lips tilted in a faint smile. Every now and then a soft snort or mumble would break the silence; for once, she'd clearly achieved stage three non-rem sleep; if the pattern continued, she might get an extra hour of uninterrupted rest that night.
Half-remembered impressions of violet silk, fiery brown hair, and wordless whimpered praises teased Donatello as he studied the other-worlder, reminding him that it was far, far too early to be falling for her. He barely knew her, had known her for a mere two weeks, and two weeks was hardly enough time to form a lasting romantic attachment. Despite his brain's insistences, though, he had to admit the idea was attractive to him—almost as attractive as he found Amber herself, even after all the weight she'd lost.
Attraction can take seconds; love can take years. Wasn't it Aristotle who said, "Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies?" Logically, Amber and Kimber were the same soul inhabiting different bodies, but he was sure Aristotle wasn't talking about counterparts. Either way, Donnie mused as he brushed a flyway lock of punch red hair from sleep-crinkled eyes, they weren't there yet. What point was there in rushing? Taking his time, delaying until he knew for sure, it would only sweeten the day he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was the one for him. With a last long glance, he slipped out of the lab.
"Donnie?" Mikey mumbled from the sofa as he ambled by. "Next time you an' Amber do the nasty, can ya please not do it in the kitchen? We eat in there."
His first inclination was to sputter a protest that no such thing had happened; then he recalled all the times the youngest had pelted their friend with barely-veiled flirtation. He smirked as he passed by, stretched lazily, and hummed innocently as he made his way to his room.
"Oh, gross," Mike whined on the couch, clutching the nearest throw pillow like an oversized teddy bear. "I'm gonna have nightmares."

UP NEXT: Well that escalated quickly in Worse

"Reaver" song - The song this lyric is heavily based on is Seether's Broken. As with many things so far, the version of the song from the new universe differs from the version we know; in this case, it's not just a few words and the band name which have changed but the entire meaning of the song.
Translated Lyrics taken from English translation of Wo Bist Du by Rammstein, from their album Rosenrot. Believe it or not, it's NOT a breakup song—look up the lyrics translation and you'll see why.
- 8
- 9
- 10
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

A New Lease on Life