GOT ➨ Game of Thrones One Shots

{S2} The Hound x Reader | Dogfight

A/N: This is part one of two parts I'm uploading here of a Hound x Reader- I took both bits from a longer fic I'm working on and just wanted to see how people felt about it! Because it's snippets from a potential bigger work it's less full-on right away but I live for the love-hate relationship so had to add it in. If you like it and you'd be interested in the full thing then do lemme know! Also lemme know if you are interested if you'd prefer for it to be written in the 2nd person [Reader x Hound] or if you'd be more interested in it being 3rd person [OC x Hound] because I have a character I created that I yeeted all the back story bits from I can dump in if that's the case. kk that's all, enjoy <3

"Do you think I'm scared of a woman?"

As you lowered your hood and revealed yourself to your new opponent, you tutted at this typical remark. Nodding your head towards a table of three men all beaten, bruised and bleeding, you calmly replied, "Doubt it. But, ah... you should be, Clegane." The bitter younger brother of the infamous duo scowled at the soft dig that you had hoped might stir him a bit; the laissez-faire reminder of his family name; of family full stop. He took a step away from you, turned on his feet and began treading for the bar, murmuring, "It wouldn't be a fair fight anyway." Not getting away that easily, Clegane- I'll take an opportunity to beat down a man of Joffrey any day. You let out a snort, adjusting the cuffs on your loose grey shirt and watching him slow as you prepared yourself for what you were quite confident would be a verbal and physical spar to come, "Ouch... those men would disagree I'm sure."
"Wouldn't call them men-"
"Wouldn't call you a man either, if we're basing it on the name you go by- you even smell like a wet dog! You should take a seat by the fire with your tail between your legs to dry off- oh, wait... you're a little too familiar with the hearth for that, aren't you?" You snapped your response back with no hesitation, eyes alight with mischief and excited to see if you'd won yourself another fight (and another sack of crowns) for the night.

Oh, you had- your comment made him turn right back round on his heels- and you cracked your knuckles and leered with satisfaction, "No hard feelings, Hound- I was just really looking forward to a fight, and if money isn't appeal enough then hurting someone's feelings tends to get the blood flowi-" You barely had time to duck low as a fist came hurtling towards your face, far quicker than you expected the tall, stocky man to be capable of- perhaps you'd underestimated this one.

As you moved with the duck and strafed left under his arm, you spun round and darted a quick kick to the back of his knee, noting as he buckled ever so slightly from the attack on the pressure point  but covered it up by turning on the same leg and leaping out to grapple you- you hopped back, heart pulsing as your adrenaline levels once again shot up- Gods, that was the best part of this job. Circling each other slowly, you landed a couple of light punches to his sides but he didn't flinch once, only saying after the sixth one, "That all you got?"

You tilted your head playfully, smile never dropping once, as a snicker and murmur rose in your ever-pleasant audience of drunkards. This was your infamous approach that had lead you on an ego-filling victory streak so far, and everyone but The Hound seemed to know it: keep your attacks light, and your feet lighter; a few hundred blows to a man and he'll start aching, puffing out of breath while you haven't been hit once and have reserved your energy to beat them while they're down. Eyes narrow and h/c hair is blown from your face as you reply, "Mmh. Ask me that again when I've hit you for the 100th time, and you've not touched a hair on my head-" You had perhaps gotten a little ahead of yourself with that comment, as you were delayed in reacting to his next swing, and winced as his fist skimmed your hip- he hit like a ton of bricks, you'd have to be a lot more cautious with this one.

For the next five minutes your exchange of blows went in a similar fashion, and it seemed to those watching you were beginning to get the upper hand. After he had managed to catch you off guard that once you remained silent as you ducked, weaved, spun around his attempts to hurtle you to the ground and hit you square-on. Your own punches were tests to find his most tender parts, and though you knew his stance was far from the best, it seemed more than anything he was awfully protective of his face. You knew if you could land a hit there you'd be a few blows away from victory, yet every time you saw an opportunity a pang of guilt flooded your stomach and you went for a different one instead- anyone who knew of The Hound knew the story between him and his cunt of a brother, and though you never opposed fighting dirty it felt wrong to prod at such a tender wound-