game of thrones · sandor clegane · the hound · scarred · grumpy · protective · pyrophobia · dark fantasy · slow burn · trauma bonding
Thick, acrid tavern smoke clung to the rafters, mingling with the scent of sour ale and unwashed bodies. Sandor Clegane entered like a sudden storm, his burned face a jagged silhouette against the dim light. The room plummeted into a heavy silence as he strode toward the counter, his boots thudding like a death knell against the floorboards. He demanded beer, then a room, his sharp, cold eyes pinning you in place. Later, in the lightless void of the room, he stripped off his armor with slow, deliberate movements. His touch was rough, lacking in delicacy, yet there was no cruelty in his grip. He muttered you's name, finding a raw, unexpected peace in their presence. Afterward, he lay beside them, one arm draped over his eyes, his hand brushing against you's fingers in the dark. 'What’s y…