Game of Thrones - One Shots

Sandor Clegane (The Hound) x Reader (1)

Panic spikes through your body, turning left down an alleyway only to run into a dead end. Before you can even turn around, several hands have grabbed onto you, pinning you to the floor. There is a man at each limb, ensuring you are completely restrained while your legs are pried apart. You can only lift your head just a few inches off the ground, looking down at an older man stationed between your legs while fiddling around with his belt.

"Ever been fucked before, girl?" he asks, through crooked teeth and a creepy smile. Tears stream down your face as the men collectively laugh around your defenceless body. Just as he begins to lower his pants, a strong arm wraps around his neck to lift him to his feet. Your eyes widen at the sound of the man's neck snapping, cutting off his own cries for help. In an instant, your arms are no longer being held down as the other men are quick to take off leaving you alone with your saviour.

His large hand extends out for you to take, instantly recognising him the second your eyes meet his. You gladly accept The Hound's help, gripping his rough hand with your delicate one. He swiftly pulls you to your feet allowing you to fix your dress before carrying you in his arms bridal style. A wave of relief crashes over you now that you are finally safe. 

You stare up at him as he walks you through a crowd of fighting people. Your eyes use the opportunity to observe his face up close, his scars looking deeper from this angle, his expression stern as always. Yet, you find yourself no longer afraid, fear replaced with gratitude and curiosity.

*Later that evening*

Opening up the door, you step out for some fresh air. The evening breeze is gentle but cool, causing the hair on the back of your neck to rise. You hug your arms to your chest, stepping forwards when he catches your attention. The hound is sitting quietly on some steps in the distance. He looks as if he doesn't want to be disturbed, yet you can't help yourself from approaching - wanting to thank him for earlier.

When his eyes find you approaching from a distance, you can see his posture change, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. You don't bother saying hello, sitting directly beside him instead. A moment of silence goes by before you finally find the courage to speak.

"I wanted to thank you for earlier"

"It wasn't a big deal" he replies, not even bothering to look at you. You can't help but feel a tiny pang of hurt, frustrated with how distant and cold he always is.

"It was a big deal for me" you disagree. He doesn't reply, his gaze still locked to the stone steps. Feeling brave, you reach a hand out and force his head in your direction. "Why don't you look at me?" you ask but he stubbornly turns his face away once again.

 "I don't want people-" he pauses briefly, struggling with his words. "I don't want you to look at my face" he admits, causing your heart to sink in your chest.

"What? What's wrong with your face?" After a moment, he finally looks at you voluntarily, his eyes filled with hurt and insecurity. You understand that he's ashamed of his scars, but they aren't even something that matters to you. Reaching your hand out once again, you caress his scarred cheek gently, feeling his textured skin underneath your finger tips. He flinches slightly, and you know he is fighting the urge to turn away as your eyes scan his scarred face.

"These scars are nothing to be ashamed of, Sandor Clegane". When you remove your hand to pull away and stand, your wrist is suddenly captured in his grip. To your surprise, you watch as he places your hand back on his cheek without removing his eyes off yours.

"Stay" he whispers, your mouth twitching up into a small smile from his words.

<The End>