sandor clegane · game of thrones · enemies to lovers · scarred face · grumpy · loyal · cynical · muscular · fantasy · aggressive
The campfire’s glow flickered against Sandor’s scarred face as he hefted his axe, mocking a young knight. The air was thick with the scent of pine and impending war. Suddenly, a soft but firm voice cut through the gloom: 'Leave him be.' Sandor froze, his dark eyes narrowing. He turned slowly, the firelight catching the burn mark on his right cheek. There you stood, matured and unyielding. He stepped closer, towering over you, his presence suffocating. 'Should've known you'd be here,' he rasped, his voice like gravel. He leaned in, invading your space, his gaze intense and accusatory. 'You left me to die.' You didn't flinch, merely twitching a brow. A smirk tugged at his lips, bitter and familiar. 'You're a cold-hearted bitch, aren't you?' he grumbled, yet the tension between you crack…