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desceros · 3 days ago

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Can I request a Leo (you decide which version you prefer) x Female!Reader from his perspective? I want to make him suffer a little so I want him pining hard for the Reader and thinking that his love is unrequited for whatever reason. Can you add a scene where he is observing her having fun with one of his brothers and his mood worsening because he doesn’t know how to have that kind of complicity with her? If you want you can make him discover that his love is reciprocated at the end ahah

A/N: I chose Rise Leo for this one because I enjoy the thought of this version pining for some reason. Enjoy! 💖

You Just Have to Be You (angst/fluff)

💙 ROTTMNT Leonardo/Female Reader 💙

CWs: Angst, pining, anxiety, jealousy, misunderstandings, feelings of inadequacy, confessions, first kiss, and a happy ending. All characters are aged-up.

Leo is the master of deflection.

A virtuoso of the witty comeback, king of the quip. It’s his brand. It’s his armor. And right now, that armor feels about as effective as wet paper.

When you arrived in the lair tonight, your smile lit up the room like someone had turned the sun on just for him. Or, at least, that’s how it felt for a heartbeat. When he let himself believe, for a single second, that maybe—just maybe—the smile was meant for him.

But then you veered left, straight toward Mikey.

Of course it was Mikey. The emotionally available, effortlessly charming, cosmic ray of chaos and warmth. You two had a rhythm, a shared wavelength of spontaneous laughter and inside jokes.

Leo lingers in the doorway of the communal area, arms crossed like it would keep his chest from splitting open. He’s trying to look casual, but tension hums through every taut muscle in his body. You’re here. That, in itself, is enough to send his carefully constructed cool into a tailspin.

But you’re across the room, caught up in a laugh with Mikey. The way your face lights up when he’s around makes something twist inside him, sharp and aching. He wants to be the reason you smile like that.

But he doesn’t know how.

He watches you. You and Mikey share a language he can’t speak: a language of stencils and color schemes, of bumping shoulders as you reach for the same can of paint. You move in sync, a natural, uncomplicated complicity that makes a hot, tight coil of something bitter and ugly form in his stomach.

It’s jealousy, raw and caustic.

Every single one of his interactions with you is a calculation. A script. What’s the wittiest comeback? Will this smile make your heart race? He’s so busy trying to be the guy he thinks you want that he’s completely forgotten how to just be. Seeing Mikey make you glow with laughter without a single premeditated one-liner makes him feel like a fraud.

Leo catches himself scowling, turning his head to hide the sting. He’s supposed to be the strong one. The leader. How did he become the guy who watches, hopelessly pining, stuck on the sidelines? He tells himself to walk away, to go train. But he can’t. He’s frozen, an idiot watching the girl he’s hopelessly in love with.

You, of course, have no idea—and why would you?

To you, he’s just Leo. The face-man, the one who cracks jokes when things get serious, the one who dodges feelings like he dodges punches. How could you ever look at that and see someone worth taking seriously? Someone worth loving? The thought is a bitter pill he swallows down every single day.

Your laughter finally trails off, and Mikey nudges you playfully toward the kitchen. “C’mon, I made those matcha mochi brownies you like.”

You squeal, delighted, and Leo’s stomach sinks further.

He starts to turn away—he should turn away—but then you glance up. Just for a second. Your eyes meet his.

And suddenly, it’s hard to breathe.

Your smile softens. It’s not the same one you gave Mikey. It’s … different. Gentler. A flicker of something that makes Leo’s heart stutter. But then Mikey’s orbit claims you again, leaving Leo reeling from that split-second of possibility.

He exhales sharply, running a hand down his face. He’s being ridiculous. Over-analyzing. That look probably meant nothing.

Didn’t it?

Donnie slides up beside him, unnoticed until he speaks. “You’re staring again.”

Leo jumps, scowling at his brother. “Do you mind?”

Donnie shrugs. “Not particularly. But your emotional repression is starting to make me uncomfortable.”

Leo groans. “Go away.”

But Donnie doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He stays, arms crossed, eyes watching the same scene across the room. You’re leaning on Mikey’s shoulder now in the kitchen, your laughter muffled against his hoodie as he dramatically reenacts something.

Leo’s heart clenches.

“I’m just saying,” Donnie murmurs, voice uncharacteristically quiet, “if you want something to change, maybe stop watching her like a sad protagonist in a movie and say something.”

Leo doesn’t answer. He can’t. His throat is tight, his tongue suddenly heavy in his mouth. Because the truth is, he has tried. Sort of. In his own backwards, cryptic, ‘ha-ha-only-kidding’ way. A carefully curated compliment here. A joke with a sliver of truth buried deep in the punchline there. But it never lands.

Or maybe you never see it for what it is.

And why would you? He hides everything behind irony and confidence. Smoke and mirrors. That’s his whole thing.

Leo rubs the back of his neck, irritation flaring. “It’s not like I can just walk over and tell her I like her. It’s complicated.”

“It’s not,” Donnie says. “You like her. So talk to her. Try doing it honestly. Radical concept, I know.”

Leo glares at him. “This, coming from you?”

Donnie shakes his head with a huff.

“I’d mess it up,” Leo says after a few beats of staring at you. Then, his voice is barely audible, like the words burn on the way out. “I’d mess it up, and then things wouldn’t be the same.”

Donnie sighs. “You know, for a guy who talks all the time, you’re remarkably bad at communicating.” He pats Leo’s shoulder. “Just … think about it, would you?” Then he’s off, leaving Leo alone with his heartbeat thudding traitorously in his ears.

Leo stands in the hallway alone, wrestling with the weight of his feelings. The idea of messing up with you—of putting his heart in your hands and watching it shatter when you hand it back—is the scariest thing he’s ever faced. And he’s faced mutants the size of buildings.

Donnie’s words echo in his head, and Leo clenches his fists at his sides, knuckles white. Say what? ‘Hey, I’m sorry to interrupt you while you’re having fun with my brother. But are you aware that my entire sense of self-worth hinges on your smiling at me? Also, here’s a terrible one-liner.’

Yeah, real smooth.

He takes a deep, fortifying breath. Okay. New plan. Not a grand confession. Not even a flirtatious overture. Just … he’ll walk into the kitchen. He’ll grab a drink. He’ll lean against the counter and just be there. Part of the group. Not a weirdo lurking in the shadows. He can do that.

He’s just pushed off the wall—when you’re walking toward him, a half-eaten brownie in your hand, a smudge of chocolate at the corner of your mouth. His plan evaporates. Abort mission, ABORT!

“Hey,” you say, your voice soft. You stop a few feet from him, tilting your head. “Hiding out?”

Leo’s mouth opens, but the witty retort he was searching for has apparently fled the country. He settles for a weak, “Just, uh … thinking.”

“Mikey was saving you one of these, you know.” You hold out the brownie. “Or what’s left of it. I have no self-control.”

He should take it; it’s a simple, friendly gesture. But his hands feel like lead weights. He stares at the brownie, then at your face. That gentle smile is back.

And for a moment, that smile is all that exists in the universe for him.

His hand moves before his brain can stop it. It’s a slow, hesitant motion, betraying the frantic panic inside him. He reaches out, and instead of taking the brownie, his thumb brushes against the corner of your lips. The touch is feather-light, barely there, wiping away the small smudge of chocolate.

The world seems to stop spinning.

Your eyes widen, just a fraction. Your breath hitches, a tiny, audible sound in the sudden quiet. The playful ease between you dissolves, replaced by something charged and fragile. You don’t pull away. You just watch him, your expression unreadable.

Leo’s own heart slams against his ribs so hard he’s sure you can hear it. Idiot. Moron. What are you doing? You can’t just touch her face! He yanks his hand back as if burned.

“Uh,” he says, his voice cracking. He feels a hot flush creep up his neck. Desperate for a distraction, he grabs the offered brownie from your hand, his fingers brushing yours. It’s another jolt, a spark of electricity that travels right up his arm. “Thanks.”

He shoves a large bite into his mouth, mostly to give himself an excuse not to speak. It’s delicious, of course; Mikey’s a savant in the kitchen. But Leo barely tastes it, chewing mechanically as he avoids your gaze. He’s done it; he’s messed it up. He’d finally tried something that wasn’t a joke, and it had been clumsy and weird, and he’s probably made you incredibly uncomfortable.

You touch the corner of your mouth where his thumb had been, a dazed look on your face. “Oh. Uh, yeah. You’re welcome.” Your voice is softer now.

The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on.

“You looked … far away,” you finally say. “Everything okay?”

There it is. The opening. The moment to be honest, like Donnie said. But Leo can feel his signature smirk trying to take over his face, a defense mechanism he can’t control. “Peachy keen, jellybean,” he says, and immediately wants to throw himself into a portal.

You smile at the quip, but it’s smaller now. Uncertain. Like you’re trying to decide if he’s pushing you away or pulling you closer.

Leo hates how good you are at seeing through him—and how bad he is at letting you in.

“I, uh … should let you get back to Mikey,” he adds quickly, motioning vaguely toward the kitchen. His voice doesn’t sound like his own. It’s thin, frayed at the edges. Like a string pulled too tight.

You glance toward the kitchen, then back at Leo. “He’ll live,” you say. “You, on the other hand, look like you’re about two seconds from teleporting to another dimension.”

He huffs a breath and leans back against the wall, eyes flicking up to the ceiling. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea I’ve had today.”

He expects you to laugh. You don’t.

Instead, you ask, “Why do you always do that?”

His gaze drops instantly. “Do what?”

“Deflect. You’re always five steps ahead of a genuine answer.” You tilt your head again, curious, not accusatory. “Even now. You don’t have to be on all the time.”

He swallows, hard. He doesn’t have an answer that won’t sound like an excuse. So he shrugs, which is the coward’s answer.

“I saw you watching us earlier,” you say softly.

Leo’s breath catches. A warning siren blares in his brain.

This, he thinks, is when everything is about to spiral. Where you tell him he’s being weird, or invasive, or jealous. Where he loses what little ground he still has with you. But your voice doesn’t sound judgmental; if anything, it sounds nervous.

“I don’t think Mikey realized,” you go on, voice gentle, “but I did.”

His pulse pounds. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Didn’t mean to be creepy or anything. I just …” He trails off.

You shift on your feet. There’s a flicker of hesitation before you say, “I wasn’t upset. I just wondered why you didn’t come join us.”

“You noticed I wasn’t there?” he asks, surprised.

“I always notice when you’re not where I thought you’d be.”

Something flickers in his chest—warm, then sharp. He wants to ask what that means, but he’s terrified of what he might hear.

You step a little closer, barely a foot away now. You’re looking up at him with that same soft expression, the one you gave him across the room. “I enjoy being around you, Leo,” you say, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “Even when you’re quiet. Even when you’re just … just watching.”

The words hang in the air between you, and Leo’s entire defense system crashes. He flinches, bracing for the accusation. Watching like a creep. Watching like a jealous loser.

A small, almost shy smile touches your lips. “I’m not mad about it,” you clarify. “It’s just sometimes, when I’m laughing really hard with Mikey, I’ll look over. To see if you’re laughing, too.”

And there it is—the final, fatal blow to his armor.

You were looking for him. While he was torturing himself, thinking he was invisible, you were looking for him. The thought is so overwhelming, so contrary to the narrative he’s been spinning in his head for months, that the words just spill out.

“But that’s the problem,” he chokes out, the sound rough. He gestures helplessly between the kitchen and himself. “You laugh with Mikey. It’s easy. It’s natural. With me, it’s … it’s a tightrope walk. I’m so afraid of saying the wrong thing that I end up saying a million stupid things instead.”

The confession is a torrent now, and he can’t stop it.

“I see you two, and it’s like this perfect, easy harmony. And I’m just standing on the outside, trying to figure out the chords. I’m not … I’m not him. I don’t know how to just be.” He finally looks at you, his walls shattered, revealing the pining mess underneath. “I want to be the reason you smile like that. And I have no idea how. So I just watch. And I hate myself for it.”

Your brows draw together, soft and pained. “Leo, why do you think you have to be Mikey for me to like you?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Because isn’t it obvious? The way you shine when you’re with Mikey? The way you gravitate toward him? Leo’s spent months studying every glance you throw his way and convincing himself they’re nothing, that he’s nothing. That the cool guy routine is all he’s got—and even that doesn’t work on you.

But you’re looking at him now like he’s just said the saddest thing in the world.

“I don’t want Mikey,” you say gently, stepping in so close now he can feel your warmth. “I mean, I adore him, don’t get me wrong. But not like that. It’s just easy because there’s nothing at stake.”

Leo’s heart skips a beat.

You continue, your voice steady. “With you? It’s harder because I care more. And when something really matters to me, I get weird. Shy. I wait for you to make a move because I’m scared I’ll misread it and mess it up.”

His mind is racing. Spinning. Crashing. “I thought I was the only one feeling this,” he admits, raw and wrecked. “And it’s been killing me.”

You reach up and gently—slowly—place your hand on his plastron, right over his racing heart. “You weren’t the only one.”

He lets out a shaky laugh, half relief, half disbelief. “You’re gonna have to say that again; I think my brain just malfunctioned.”

Your smile crinkles your eyes. “You don’t have to say the right thing with me. You don’t have to be funny or charming. You just have to be you. And you? You already make me smile. More than anyone.”

Leo swears his soul just left his body. And for the first time in weeks—months, maybe—his chest doesn’t ache. The weight that’s been crushing him, all that lonely longing and self-doubt, eases just enough for him to breathe.

He glances down at the brownie still in his hand and chuckles. “You know, I didn’t even want a brownie.”

“I figured not,” you say, grinning now. “But I wanted a reason to walk over here.”

He bites his lip, then takes a small step forward. Closer than close. Testing the waters. “Can I try something dumb and probably very overdue?”

You smile, warm and a little breathless, and nod. He leans in, slow and unsure for once, and presses his forehead gently to yours. You don’t pull away. Then he shuts his eyes and finally, finally, lets himself close the remaining distance.

It’s not the dramatic, world-stopping kiss he’s replayed in his head a thousand times. It’s hesitant, a question asked without words as his lips gently meet yours. For a single, terrifying second, he thinks he’s miscalculated again, that he’s screwed things up for good.

But then you sigh into the kiss, a soft breath that feels like pure relief. Your hand slides from his plastron up to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the ties of his mask. You kiss him back. Not with desperation or heat, but with a gentle certainty that unravels every knot of anxiety in his chest.

It’s the feeling of coming home after being lost for a very long time. It’s simple, and it’s real, and it’s a hundred times better than anything he could have ever imagined.

When Leo pulls back, it’s only by an inch. His eyes open, and you’re still there, looking at him with an expression so soft it could undo him all over again. Your eyes are a little wider, your lips slightly parted, and there’s a new, dazzling smile playing on them. The one he was so desperate for.

And it’s just for him.

“Okay,” he breathes out. “So … that wasn’t a dumb idea after all.”

A happy laugh escapes you. “No, Leo. It was the smartest idea you’ve ever had.” You reach up with your free hand and trace the line of his jaw, your touch sending a fresh wave of shivers down his spine. “I was starting to think I was going to have to tackle you to get you to stop overthinking and just do it.”

He lets out an actual laugh, the ever-present weight on his shoulders lifted. And before he can say anything witty or otherwise, you lean in and kiss him again. He’s so lost in it, in the feeling of your hand in his and your lips on his, that he doesn’t hear someone approach.

“Hey, did you guys want more—WHOA!”

You both jump apart, heads whipping toward the sound. Mikey stands there, a plate of brownies in his hands, his eyes wide as dinner plates. The silence stretches for a beat—before a huge grin spreads across his face.

“OHMIGOSH!” He points a finger at the two of you, vibrating with excitement. “It’s happening! Donnie! Raph! It’s finally happening!”

Leo blushes furiously. He glances at you, expecting you to be mortified. But you’re just covering your mouth, trying and failing to stifle a fit of laughter.

Raph comes thundering out of the dojo, looking ready for a fight. “What?! Is someone hurt?!” He skids to a halt, taking in the scene: Mikey doing a victory dance, Leo and you standing close together, both bright red. His features soften. “Oh! Oh, it’s about time.”

Donnie makes his appearance last, not looking the least bit surprised. “And … timeline back on schedule. My projections were only off by a week. The variable, as always, was Nardo’s spectacular density.”

“Hey!” Leo protests, before he looks back at you.

You’re watching his brothers’ chaotic celebration, your face alight with that same beautiful, unrestrained joy he’d envied from afar. You lace your fingers through his, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. He realizes, with a clarity that cuts through all the noise, that he doesn’t need to be the one to make you laugh.

He just needs to be the one standing next to you when you do.

#awwwwwww this was so cute #pining leo is the best leo as always #not my fic #tmnt #rise

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