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The hems of your sparkling gown swished gently around your feet as you spun away from your dance partner, the song coming to a quiet end. You curtsied to the boy, and he grinned as he bowed in turn, and then you both delved back into the crowd as it ebbed and flowed around you. Before you could get very far, another student grabbed you; the next song began, and he twirled you through the steps of the only waltz you knew. That was just how tonight had been— you’d lost track of the strangers you’d danced with, and there still seemed to be ever more waiting for your attention. Admittedly, your favorites had been the beastmen so far; they were large, and dangerous, and all held you like a treasure.
As you bowed yet again, though, there was a sudden tingling that raced from your ankle to your thigh— one you hadn’t felt since your mother got you into stockings as a child, but recognized all the same. The thin hosiery you’d put on for tonight had just torn all the way up. You had to bite back a curse— those things were expensive, and yet might as well be made of cobwebs.
Nervously, you gathered fistfuls of your fancy skirt in your hands as you dodged other dancers, taking small steps in the hopes that your stockings wouldn't get much worse; you hadn’t even known that there was a ballroom on campus before this event, but you probably shouldn’t have been surprised.
The room itself was enormous; the floors had been polished as if they were mirrors, your own distorted face blinking back up at you. The ceilings above were so vaulted that, even craning your neck, you couldn’t quite make out the designs painted across. In the center of the room, a single crystalline chandelier— magnificent and oh-so-threatening— dangled from a chain that you weren’t sure could hold all that glistening weight. The band, a group of melancholic men who hadn’t looked up from their instruments all night, didn’t seem disturbed by the gleaming nightmare above. Instead, they simply launched into yet another tune, swaying in time as if they’d gone and hypnotized themselves.
Candles— enchanted, of course— floated just above everyone’s heads, far enough out of reach that no poor unfortunate soul could reach up and grab them by hand. Their colored flames, shades of green and blue and purple, flickered back and forth, doing their best to distract partygoers from the thick darkness beyond the room that pressed against the tall windows and beckoned for lonely hearts. That encroaching threat did nothing to dampen anyone’s spirits, and the students continued to dance like shooting stars.
It reminded you of a fairytale— one where unlucky women vanished into the night and dissolved into moonbeams.
A bright flash of blues caught your eye as you pushed through the crowd, uncertain of your destination; Jade and Floyd, who towered over most of the people in attendance. They noticed you at the same time, Floyd’s eyes getting wide and his grin sharpening— you gave a shy wave and turned quickly, and ducked your head a bit as you hurried the other way. Floyd’s solution to your torn stockings would be to let him keep them. The advantage to being smaller than the twins, though— you could get lost when you didn’t want their attention.
When you were sure Floyd had lost interest in tailing you, you paused beside the staircase that engulfed one end of the room. Standing on the lowest step was Riddle, decked out in nothing less than his best, holding court with Heartslabyul students who were fighting back yawns. You had to wonder what he’d found to lecture them about on such a festive night.
He would probably have an idea on what to do about your stockings— but he’d also have your head for interrupting him. And tearing the fabric. And probably something about your outfit choices, knowing him.
Maybe you’d just find somewhere to sit. If you didn’t move for the rest of the evening, your stockings wouldn’t get any worse.
Thankfully, Crowley’s lack of regard for student safety continued tonight; when you reached one of the many imposing doors that lined the ballroom, you gently tested the knob in your hands, and it twisted silently. The rest of the building wasn’t locked.
Whatever room you’d just wandered into, it was dusty; there were chairs stacked along the sides of the room, and unused tables strewn through the place, all covered in layers of grime. As you moved to shut the door behind you, you couldn’t stifle a round of sneezes.
From farther in the dark, something scoffed.
You froze immediately, your hand fumbling for the brass doorknob behind you. The door hadn’t closed entirely yet, so a single beam of golden light pierced its way through the oppressive dark— at the edge of the room, something shuffled, rising off one of the old chairs and making its way towards you.
You sneezed again.
“Can you not shut up?” Ruggie yawned loudly as he stepped into the thin stream of light, and it reflected off his sharpest teeth. He was in a dress shirt and pants, the matching jacket curled up and used as a pillow wherever he’d been laying. “Some of us’re trying to sleep here—” He paused when he realized it was you, blinking against the glow and leaning forward to watch.
You let out a heavy sigh, and a wave of dust on the floor surged forward. “You startled me!” Now that you knew who it was, you could laugh a bit. “I just wanted a place to rest, is all. You?”
Ruggie just shrugged and didn’t answer properly, although as you stepped closer, he snatched a chair off the nearest stack and set it on the floor for you. You flashed another smile and practically collapsed on the metal seat, so visibly relieved of tension that the hyena snickered.
“Not having fun?” He teased. “I thought you’d be all int’a this, since you’re poor.” Never mind the fact that he fit the same criteria.
You chuckled politely but shook your head. “It’s been nice so far; it’s just that—” Without warning, you leaned down to gather the hem of your gown. You dragged it up a few inches, but had barely made it past your ankles before Ruggie yelped out a “whoa!” and covered his eyes, although the wagging of his tail betrayed him a bit.
“I’m not going that far,” you snickered, and Ruggie’s hands found their way to his hips instead. You pointed your toes, the fancy heels you’d been gifted for this dance still managing to be bright in the dark room. The run in your hosiery was obvious; the thin fabric strained against your legs, held together by a few lingering strands like a bridge across a canyon. “My stockings tore while I was dancing,” you said sadly, “and I didn’t want them to get any worse, so,” With a shrug, you dropped your dress. “I was having fun, too.” You admitted quietly.
Ruggie took a step closer, still standing far outside your reach, but he leaned so far forward that you almost thought he’d fall right off himself. His eyes glistened in the dark, shadows dancing as the flickering candles outside drifted past the still-open door. “What’s it matter? Just go out and have fun if you want to.”
“You said it yourself, Ruggie— I don’t exactly have money.” You watched him pace back and forth, and it made you wonder how he watched prey on the savannah. “I can’t afford another fancy pair like this, so I’ll have to work on patching ‘em up.” Not that you could do that yourself— and most students at this school were a bit too selfish to just do you that favor.
The hyena didn’t respond for a moment, and his slow pacing turned into him circling you in your little chair. Finally he halted in front of you, his back to the door, face hidden in the shadows. He fumbled his way through a few of his pockets before his hand closed around something— all he said then was “Stay still for a bit,” and then Ruggie was knelt on the floor in front of you.
His hands tugged at the hem of your dress, hesitantly lifting it up in the same way you’d done; where you’d stopped just above your ankles, though, he kept going, his eyes fixed on your face for any signs of discomfort as he pulled your skirt up to your thighs.
Far from uncomfortable, you gathered the bundle of fabric and captured it in your lap.
Ruggie let out a hum as he examined your stockings— and, you suspected, your legs too, because he seemed a bit more interested in your thighs than he should be. He leaned closer, and his fingertips landed on the run in your stockings, the two of you only separated by the struggling nylon as he drew his fingers up your leg.
The tear stopped midway up your thigh, and so did his hand.
“I can fix that,” he said casually. He was close enough that the warmth of his breath rolled across your thighs, and you pressed your legs together on instinct. He glanced up to meet your eyes and said it again. “I can fix it.”
The thing he’d pulled from his pocket moments ago came into the thin beam of light that harshly illuminated a streak into the room.
“A sewing kit?” You asked as he popped the tiny case open.
Ruggie nodded, and it made his ears bounce on his head. “Never know when you’ll need it,” was his only explanation. He snatched up a small needle and deftly threaded it; the shade of black on the spool didn’t exactly match your stockings, but it would be better than letting them shred themselves.
He peered up at you over the mountain of cloth you held out of his way. “Don’t kick, okay?” When you shyly nodded in promise, Ruggie ducked his head and set to work.
One of his hands came down to grab at your shoe, tugging your leg into a better position so he could see and sew freely; with obvious years of practice, he easily slipped the needle into the fabric you wore, the cold bite of metal dragging against your skin but not pricking you. The feel of the thread crossing your ankle nearly made you giggle, though, a ticklish sensation that almost did make you kick out, had Ruggie not already been holding you still.
He pouted as your muscles tensed in his hand. “Told’ja to sit still—”
“I’m trying!”
As he sewed, both of Ruggie’s hands moved their way up your leg; one, quite obviously because it held the needle, but the other to push and knead at you as he worked. His hands were warm against your chilled skin, and rougher than you’d expected, calluses evident through the nylon each time he pressed his palm to your thigh.
His gaze was a heavy one as he focused on his work, so absorbed that he didn’t catch himself leaning closer and closer; eventually he shifted his weight, and his head came to rest against your other thigh as he continued pulling the thread through your stocking. His hair was soft against your thigh, and with your dress so lifted, his ears reached even beyond the tops of your stockings, tickling your bare skin each time they twitched. And maybe it was just your imagination, but his skin felt awfully warm, and seemed to grow ruddy in the flickering light—
You couldn’t help yourself at that point. You squirmed in your seat. Unfortunately, that small movement dragged the run farther up your stocking.
“C’mon,” Ruggie whined in frustration. When he turned his face to pout up at you again, his breath ghosted across your core, and you shuddered. “I told you to stay still! If you make it much worse, then I can’t finish fixing it!”
At that moment, his head between your thighs and your skirt bunched up in your hands, it seemed Ruggie realized the position you were both in. His face flooded with embarrassment as his complaints died out, and he only muttered quietly as he resumed sewing. But, you noticed, he laid his head right back against your thigh.
The Savanaclaw student had never seemed the domestic type, at least not to you; your initial encounters with him had been unpleasant, and you’d convinced yourself that you would never see him as anything but an enemy. Now, though, he seemed almost dreamy pressed up against you like this, his eyes focused on his task, oddly determined to take care of you when you hadn’t asked for it.
Ruggie’s hands were steady up until he crested your thigh, stitching together the part that had torn when you squirmed underneath him. Knotting the thread securely, he glanced down at his strewn-open sewing kit for the tiny pair of scissors that rested within— only to find them definitely not there. His face went blank for a moment as he tried to recall where he could’ve left them; for all he knew, they’d gone and drowned in Savanaclaw’s manmade waterfalls.
Muttering again in more frustration, Ruggie turned back to your stockings, the sheer fabric reflecting the dim light and making your thighs look all the more tantalizing. He couldn’t just leave his sewing needle stuck to you like that; with a quiet sigh, Ruggie leaned closer than ever and bared his teeth. The black thread caught on one of his fangs and snapped.
“Done!” He huffed out, although he made no move to stand yet, seeming comfortable to be half-perched in your lap. With him sitting there, you couldn’t even put your skirt back down yet, so you just admired his handiwork; the stitching was nice and even, and despite clearly being out-of-place on your stockings, the new thread made a cute design anyways. Had he done that on purpose?
When you looked over your bundled dress to thank him, Ruggie was already grinning at you. His gaze flickered under your hems and his teeth were bared again as he snickered.
“Cute panties.”