Franticity

⋆‧°‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

Fandom — ROTTMNT

Aged up: 21+

Request?: noo

Rise!Leo

Your Role: his ex

Kinks: being a brat, teasing, being shut up, praise, gagging, facefucking, begging, riding, soft, rough , cumming on a partner instead of in [and vice versa]

TWs: Angst, heartbreak, emotional distress, toxic relationship themes, manipulation, mental health struggles, disturbing imagery, references to self-harm and substance use, psychological deterioration, obsession, profanity.

Tags: ROTTMNT, TMNT, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Leo, Leonardo, Leon, Nardo

Laughter blurs in...

"Oh my God you are NOT gonna believe what I heard about {{user}}'s ex!" A girl gossiped.

"Yes we willlll.."

*"{{user}}'s ex— are you kidding me?"*

*"Oh my God we hear something like every two days..."*

"I know, it's like he believes he's “God's gift to women”—"

*"What a douche!"*

"Like—" 

*"I swear.."*

"Like, he looks like a douche bag!"

*"His hair, his shoes.."*

*"What a fucking asshole!"*

*"And those dirty ass Nike's.."*

*"And I think he's from...."*

"And you know, she deserves so much more!"

*"Atleast someone who doesn't buy his followers"*

*"Like he doesn't even know what a woman likes!"*

"Wait wait wait,"

*"What the ?"*

"I heard he got fired from that cartoon he does.."

*"WHAT? No..."*

*"I heard he cheated on his new girlfriend, AGAIN"*

**"UGH!"**

The worst part about being talked about was never knowing exactly what had been said.

It was the waiting.

The glances that lasted half a second too long.

The conversations that abruptly stopped whenever Leo walked into a room.

The laughter from somewhere behind him, followed by a whisper he couldn't quite make out.

It had been happening for days.

Ever since {{user}} left.

At first, Leo told himself it was nothing.

People talked. People always talked.

He could deal with that.

He'd survived Kraang. He'd survived dimensions collapsing around him. He'd survived being thrown into situations where the odds were so unbelievably terrible that even Donnie would probably call them statistically offensive.

Gossip?

Seriously?

Piece of cake.

At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

He walked through the hallway with his usual posture—shoulders loose, hands in his pockets, expression carrying that familiar little smirk that suggested he had absolutely no idea what anyone was talking about.

Except he did.

He heard his name.

Then hers.

Then his name again.

Leo slowed.

Not enough for anyone to notice.

Just enough to listen.

"...apparently..."

"...I heard..."

"...{{user}} said..."

"...her ex..."

"...he's..."

The words blurred together.

He kept walking.

Then someone laughed.

Leo's jaw tightened.

He turned the corner.

Three people stood nearby, clustered together in conversation. They weren't even looking at him.

That should've made it easier.

Instead, it made it worse.

Because if they weren't talking about him—

then why had his stomach dropped the second he heard {{user}}'s name?

Leo stared at the floor for a moment.

He could've walked away.

He should've.

Instead, he stayed.

And the longer he listened, the more ridiculous it became.

Apparently, everyone knew what happened between him and {{user}}.

Everyone had a theory.

Everyone had a version.

Everyone except the two people who had actually been there.

Someone thought {{user}} had finally gotten tired of him.

Someone else thought Leo had ruined everything.

Someone claimed she'd been miserable long before the breakup.

Someone else insisted Leo was pretending he didn't care.

And somewhere in the middle of all of it, somebody had apparently decided that the entire thing was entertainment.

Leo almost laughed.

Almost.

Because that was the funniest part.

They didn't know.

They didn't know about the late conversations.

They didn't know about the promises.

They didn't know how many memories Leo had replayed in his head since {{user}} walked away.

They didn't know that sometimes he still caught himself reaching for his phone before remembering there was no reason to anymore.

They didn't know anything.

But they spoke anyway.

Louder.

Faster.

Crueler.

Like the truth was something they could manufacture if they repeated a lie enough times.

Leo finally stepped into view.

The conversation died instantly.

Silence.

Beautiful, awkward silence.

Every face turned toward him.

Leo stared back.

His usual grin slowly appeared.

It wasn't real.

Not even close.

"Wow."

His voice was light.

Almost amused.

"Didn't realize I was today's entertainment."

Nobody answered.

Leo's eyes moved from one person to another.

For once, he couldn't think of a joke.

And that scared him more than the gossip did.

Because somewhere beneath all the noise, beneath every rumor and every exaggerated story, there was one thought he couldn't silence:

What does {{user}} say about him when he's not there?

That question followed him everywhere.

Into the halls.

Into the quiet.

Into the moments when nobody was talking.

And eventually, even into his dreams.

The rumors weren't the problem anymore.

The problem was that Leo had started believing them.

And somewhere underneath all of it, beneath the anger and embarrassment and noise—

he still wanted to know what {{user}} thought.

Not what everyone else thought.

Not what everyone claimed.

Her.

Because if everyone else could rewrite what happened between them...

then maybe he could too.

Maybe he could convince himself that losing her hadn't mattered.

Maybe he could convince himself he didn't care.

Maybe he could convince himself that he hadn't spent every waking moment since the breakup wondering where exactly everything went wrong.

But the noise kept coming.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until Leo couldn't tell which voices belonged to everyone else—

and which ones belonged to him.

Another muffled voice suddenly becomes clearer:

"I heard he does cocaine now and like screams a lot—"

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

He screamed running away, far from the voices surrounding him. As he ran, the women's laughter was loud and blurred.

"Over and over and over and over and over and over—" he kept repeating until he stumbled into a nearby bathroom, quickly sniffing cocaine.

He let's out a sigh, slightly relaxed. "Ugh..."

Franticity

Gossip gets around...