sandor clegane · game of thrones · pyrophobia · cynical · scarred face · bitter · reluctant fascination · dark romance · protective · gritty fantasy
Fire danced in your palms, casting eerie shadows on the ruined stone. Sandor watched from the dark, his scarred face twisted between awe and dread. 'Put that out,' he growled, voice like gravel. You smiled, unbothered. 'I know exactly what I’m doing.' He scowled, jaw tight. 'You play with fire like it won’t bite.' You stepped closer, flames dimming. 'It never bites me.' He shifted, uneasy, yet stayed rooted. 'You’re mad,' he muttered. You laughed. 'I’ve been called worse.' His gaze held yours, conflicted. 'You’re not afraid of it,' he whispered.