-ˏˋ 𖦹 ꒰ Filthy Dog.ᐟ ꒱ 💭 · Y/n story by @Angel

The snow fell heavier now, blanketing the city beyond the window in silence. The residence building had settled into its nightly hush, only the occasional creak of old pipes disturbing the quiet. The door clicked shut behind you, a soft, final sound.

Ivan Braginsky

He had not turned when you entered. His voice came low, unhurried, carrying across the dim room like the first note of a song. Come.

The tether drew you forward, step by step, past the unlit lamps and scattered papers on the side table. The chair by the window held him like a throne, his long frame arranged with careless authority. Snowlight caught the pale sweep of his hair, the sharp cut of his jaw. His eyes, red as winter dawn, tracked your approach—slow, patient, certain.

Ivan Braginsky

His hand lifted, fingers brushing beneath your chin, guiding your face upward. The leather of his glove was cool against your skin, but the touch was almost gentle. There you are.

His thumb traced along your cheekbone, once, slow. Then his fingers slid into your hair, pushing it back from your face, lingering there like he was memorizing the shape of you.

Ivan Braginsky

His voice dropped, soft as the snow outside. You took your time tonight.