You've Done Enough - Leona Kingscholar

Version 1

The noise on campus had been grating on Leona’s ears all afternoon, but the sound of your footsteps was what actually made his ear twitch.

Slow. Dragging. Uneven.

He didn't even have to open his eyes to know it was you. You walked like someone carrying the weight of the entire twisted mountain on your shoulders—which, frankly, wasn't far from the truth. Riddle’s frenzy, his own Overblot, Azul’s sea-warlock breakdown, Jamil’s mind games... one after another, the dorms kept snapping, and every single time, the magicless Prefect was expected to throw themselves into the middle of the crossfire to fix it.

Leona shifted on his side under the shade of the grand oak tree in the Savanaclaw woods, resting his head on his arm. Through half-lidded, emerald eyes, he watched as you stumbled into the clearing.

You looked terrible.

Your skin was pale, deep dark circles bruised the undersides of your eyes, and your hands were faintly trembling. Every breath you took seemed forced, heavy with the phantom ache of blunt-force magic strikes and emotional burnout. You were holding a stack of papers Crowley had undoubtedly dumped on you, trying to reach Ramshackle without collapsing mid-stride.

"Oi."

His voice was low, rough from sleep, but it cut straight through the quiet rustle of the leaves.

You stopped, flinching slightly at the sudden sound. You blinked, bleary-eyed, looking around until your gaze finally landed on him sprawled in the grass. "Leona...?"

"Where do you think you're crawling off to, herbivore?" Leona grunted, pushing himself up onto one elbow. He frowned, his sharp gaze taking in the tight line of your shoulders and the way you were barely leaning your weight onto your left leg. "You look like something Ruggie dragged out of the trash."

"Just... heading back," you mumbled, your voice raw. You tried to smile, but your lips barely twitched before slipping back into a grimace. "Got to turn these in... then review the budget... then—"

"Shut up."

Leona sat upright, the cool breeze catching his braided hair. He didn't look angry—just thoroughly, deeply annoyed. But the irritation wasn't directed at you; it was directed at the absolute absurdity of the situation.

"Drop the trash," he ordered, gesturing toward the papers in your hands.

"I can't. Crowley said—"

Before you could finish the sentence, Leona was on his feet. In two long, lazy strides, he closed the distance between you. Without asking, his large, clawed hand snatched the stack of papers right out of your grip and tossed them carelessly into the dirt nearby.

"Hey!" you gasped, reaching for them out of sheer instinct, but your knees gave out the second you shifted your weight.

You braced yourself for the impact with the hard earth, but it never came.

Strong arms caught you easily around the waist, pulling your trembling frame against his chest. The warmth radiating off him was immediate, thick with the scent of dried grass, cedar, and the faint metallic sting of his unique magic.

"Look at you," Leona growled near your ear, his voice dropping into a heavy, resonant rumble. "Can't even stand on your own two feet, and you're still worrying about that bird-brain's paperwork."

"Leona, please... I'm just tired," you whispered. The moment your body touched his, the wall of adrenaline holding you together completely shattered. Tears of absolute exhaustion pricked at the corners of your eyes. The physical pain from bruises you hadn't let heal, combined with the suffocating weight of holding everyone else together, hit you all at once. "I'm just... so tired."

Leona went still for a fraction of a second as your body sagged completely against him, your forehead resting weak against his collarbone.

He let out a long, heavy sigh.

"Yeah. I know," he grumbled, his tone softening just a fraction—the absolute closest thing to gentleness you’d ever hear from him.

Without giving you a chance to protest, he scooped you up into his arms, carrying you back over to his shaded spot under the tree. He sat down, pulling you into his lap so you were entirely leaned against his chest, wrapped in his arms. He reached over with one hand, pulled off his heavy leather yellow coat, and draped it over your shivering shoulders.

"Leona, I have to—"

"You're not doing a damn thing," he interrupted, wrapping an arm firmly around your waist to lock you in place. "If that crow comes looking for you, I'll turn his precious documents into dust. You're staying right here."

"I can't just sleep..."

"You can, and you will." Leona rested his chin lightly atop your head, his deep breathing creating a rhythmic, calming rise and fall against your back. A low, barely audible vibration started in his chest—a instinctual lion’s purr he’d never admit to making aloud, meant to soothe a distressed member of his territory. "No more Overblots. No more clean-ups. The rest of those idiots can handle their own messes for once."

The heavy scent of his jacket, the shading leaves blocking the harsh sun, and the solid, immovable warmth of his body began to pull you under. For the first time in months, your mind went quiet. The pain in your limbs felt distant, anchored by the heavy hand resting possessively on your waist.

"Sleep, herbivore," Leona murmured lazily, his eyes already drifting shut again as he settled back against the trunk. "I'm not letting anyone wake you up."

Version 2

The heavy wooden doors of the Savanaclaw dorm usually thudded shut with a weight that kept the rest of Night Raven College at bay. Today, even that dull sound felt like a hammer striking directly against the back of your skull.

Every joint in your body throbbed with a deep, dull ache. Your muscles felt like wet lead, and the skin across your ribs and shoulders was a map of dark, tender bruises—compliments of yet another explosive Overblot incident. You hadn't slept more than three consecutive hours in weeks. Between dodging dark magic, acting as the school’s impromptu therapist, cleaning up devastated dorm grounds, and fielding Headmage Crowley’s endless demands, you were running on absolute zero.

You were meant to be delivering a stack of dorm reports to Leona, but halfway across the lounge, your knees simply gave out.

The papers didn't fly everywhere; you didn't even have the momentum for that. You just slumped forward, dropping to your knees with a soft, hollow thud against the rug.

A low, irritated sigh echoed from the lounge couch.

"Hey. Herbivore."

Leona didn't even open his eyes at first. He was sprawled across the cushions, one arm thrown over his face to block out the sunlight. "If you're coming in here to throw more paperwork at me, leave it on the table and beat it. I'm taking a nap."

You tried to answer, but your throat was too dry to push out a word. You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning your forehead against the cool edge of a low wooden table. The sheer physical pain was one thing, but the suffocating weight in your chest—the raw, overwhelming realization that nobody had checked if you were okay after saving the dorm—finally cracked through your composure. A sharp, shaky breath hitched in your chest.

The air in the room shifted instantly.

The sound of rustling fabric cut through the quiet. Tail flicking with sudden, sharp annoyance, Leona sat up. His green eyes slitted open, locking onto your small, crumpled form on the floor.

He didn't move with his usual sluggish laziness. In three long, silent strides, he was across the room, dropping down on one knee right in front of you.

"Hey," he said, his voice dropping an octave, losing its usual mockery. "What's wrong with you?"

When you lifted your head, the state of your face said everything. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath your eyes, your lips were chapped, and your eyes were glassy with sheer, unadulterated burnout.

Leona’s brow furrowed. He reached out, his broad, calloused hand gripping your shoulder—only for you to hiss softly in pain at the light pressure on your bruised collarbone.

Leona pulled his hand back as if burned, his ears twitching backward. His eyes narrowed as he scanned you properly, taking in the subtle tremor in your hands and the shallow way you were breathing to avoid straining your sore ribs.

"Dammit," he muttered, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "You look like something the cat dragged in. Worse, actually."

"I... I brought the reports," you managed to whisper, your voice cracking. "Crowley said..."

"Screw Crowley," Leona snapped, cutting you off sharply.

Before you could protest, he slid one arm behind your back and the other beneath your knees, hauling you effortlessly up into his arms. The sudden movement made the room spin, and you instinctively buried your face into the crook of his neck, grabbing onto his leather vest just to hold on.

He smelled like dry savanna grass, leather, and warm sunshine.

"Leona, wait, I have to—"

"Shut up," he growled softly, carrying you past the lounge and straight down the hallway toward his private room. "You've been dragging yourself around this campus like a corpse for a month. Everyone else goes crazy, wrecks the place, gets their little emotional breakdown out of the way, and then rests up in the infirmary. And who gets stuck fixing everything? You."

He kicked his bedroom door open and marched straight over to his massive, plush bed. He didn't just dump you onto it; he lowered you down with surprising care, settling you against the mound of heavy velvet pillows.

You tried to sit up, standard panic rising in your chest. "I really shouldn't be slacking off, if the Headmage finds out—"

Leona placed a large, warm palm squarely over your forehead, gently but firmly shoving you back down into the mattress.

"I said shut up," Leona repeated, sitting on the edge of the mattress. His gaze was heavy, intense, and completely devoid of his usual playful indifference. "Crowley isn't stepping foot in Savanaclaw unless he wants to be turned to sand. And if any of those other housewardens come looking for their precious little mediator, Ruggie will throw them out."

He reached over, pulling a thick, heavy faux-fur blanket up over your shoulders, tucking it in around you until you were completely swaddled. The warmth hit your aching muscles almost instantly, making your body tremble as the built-up tension finally started to fracture.

"You're in pain," Leona stated flatly, his thumb brushing over the side of your jaw, surprisingly gentle for someone who spent his days picking fights. "Your body is screaming at you, and your brain is fried. You think you're helping anyone by collapsing in the middle of the hallway?"

A tear finally escaped, slipping down your cheek and soaking into his thumb. "I'm just... I'm so tired, Leona. I haven't slept. Everything hurts."

Leona’s expression softened into something rare and quiet. He sighed, a long, deep exhale, and swung his legs up onto the bed, sliding in beside you on top of the covers. He pulled you against his chest, wrapping one heavy arm around your waist, shielding you from the rest of the world like a predator guarding its stash.

"Then stop," Leona murmured into your hair, his chin resting lightly on top of your head. His chest rumbled beneath your cheek as he spoke, a slow, rhythmic sound that acted like an anchor to your fraying nerves. "You saved everyone. You did your job. Now it's my turn to make sure nobody bothers you."

"You're going to let me sleep?" you whispered, your eyelids suddenly feeling like lead weights as the exhaustion officially claimed you.

"I'm forcing you to sleep," Leona corrected, his tail curling around your ankles under the blanket. "And if you try to get up before tomorrow afternoon, I'm pinning you down. Close your eyes, herbivore. I've got you."

Safe in the quiet dark of his room, wrapped in warmth and protected by the laziest, most dangerous prince in the academy, you finally let go—and fell into the deepest, dreamless sleep you had known in months.