#kirean x gn!reader

[inkrabbit]

Kiss Goodnight - Kieran x GN!Reader (18+)

I told y’all, I couldn’t let this idea go. When I was working on a crossover/time travel story, I had wanted to do this. But since I’ve basically scrapped the story, I decided that I would use this idea for a sort of shipping story. If I ever rewrite that old fic, I’ll still use this.

WARNING: Major spoilers for the storyline, graphics descriptions of blood and gore, and swearing! If any of this makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read!

Summary: They did this to him, those bastards. The sweetest man you could meet, and he had been brutally attacked. You’re in no better shape yourself, but you’ll be damned if you’re leaving Kieran tied up in this disgusting basement. And with his sobbing pleads, how could you turn your back on him?

Word count: 2,400

“You are not going out there, and that is an order!”

“Someone’s gotta give a damn about him, Dutch! What if he’s hurt?”

“The boy’s fine! Now-”

“YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!”

  You had waited until the early morning, waiting for Bill to end his shift for guard duty and John to start his. You knew how slow they were, and when the coast was clear, you took your chance. Gathering everything you could, you mounted your horse and dug your spurs into the animal’s sides, starting down the path, eyes squinted to try and see through the thick fog. You had a rough idea of where you were headed, the stable boy having voiced his concerns with you some nights ago.

  Oh, Kieran. You knew you should’ve kept a closer eye on him that night. How he had stumbled into the woods as the party died down, a beer bottle in his hand. You felt guilty. You should’ve gone with him, and now his disappearance was eating at you. Mary-Beth’s questions didn’t help you feel any better, either. She had asked other members if they had seen Kieran, but she was met with the familiar shake of the head and low “no”.

  Then there was Dutch, nonchalant as ever. You had wanted to knock him upside the head when he rolled his eyes at you, sounding unconcerned as you suggested a search party for your missing member. It made your blood boil when he waved his hand and took a drag of his cigar, telling you Kieran would find his way back, as if he were some pup that had run off. The bastard.

  You couldn’t stop thinking of the night Kieran had finally told you of the O’Driscolls. His frightened face and paranoid attitude. He told you about the men he had seen close by the camp, and he confided in you with a hideout he had heard of when he still ran with the gang. You should’ve attached yourself to the man’s hip to make sure this wouldn’t happen, but you figured you were all hidden enough. You figured someone on guard duty would’ve noticed shuffling in the trees - would’ve noticed someone dragging your friend away. You at least wished someone else would’ve cared enough to go looking for him.

  It was a suicide run and you knew it. Going against a group of O’Driscolls all alone. You knew you weren’t as tough as Arthur, but you had something the man didn’t: stealth. And it was the only hope you could cling to as you heard voices up ahead. Your stomach dropped when you saw Branwen hitched to a nearby post, pawing anxiously at the ground and looking around. You moved your own horse to the side, hidden behind the thick bushes and tall trees. You removed the old bow Charles had gifted you, slinging your quiver over your shoulder and placing the arrows inside. You double checked to make sure your knife was in its sheath, having sharpened it earlier that night when you were seated in camp plotting. Moving your bandana up to cover your face, you make your way for the edge of the camp. No, you weren’t as tough as Arthur was, but you were going to do what that whole gang couldn’t be bothered to do: save one of your own.

  They’re not grouped together, much to your delight. You start with the ones on guard duty, readying your arrow and pulling back, aiming for their heads before you released. Once you heard them fall with a satisfying thud, you moved forward, going to retrieve the bloody arrow and ready yourself for another shot. You looked at these men as what they were; animals. You tried to pretend you were just hunting, and in some way, you were. Hunting down the animals that took away the sweetest man you had met, remembering all Charles had taught you whenever you two went hunting together. Keep low, watch your surroundings, and don’t shoot unless you’re absolutely sure. If you’re getting too flustered, take a deep breath in, hold it, and steady your aim. And that’s what you did when you felt your adrenaline pumping, rage coursing through your veins when soft sobbing made its way to your ears. It had to be him. It had to.

  You let yourself indulge in a kill, sneaking up behind a man that was crouched beside the scout fire. You reached out, wrapping your hand over his mouth, using your other to bring your knife around and cut along his neck. It was disgusting, hearing him gag on his own blood as he dropped to the ground, but it helped calm you. With every O’Driscoll you took down, you found yourself closer to your goal - closer to bringing Kieran home and making sure he was safe. And when your arrow shot through the last guard’s throat, you allowed yourself to finally calm down. This was it. You were going to go get him, bring him home, chastise the holy hell out of Dutch, and maybe even run off with Kieran. It was wishful thinking, but it wasn’t a secret you had been sweet on the man.

“Kieran?” You tried to keep your voice hushed as you grabbed the metal handles that led to the cellar, pulling them open with a grunt. You knew it was him when he started yelling, voice muffled and shuffling coming from inside. You allowed yourself to fall into a false sense of security, hurrying down to free him. His screaming only increased when you were thrown to the ground. It had all gone so quick, your mouth opening as your back slammed into the ground, the wind being knocked out of you as you felt a sharp pain enter your side. No. No, this isn’t how it was supposed to go.

  You’re on autopilot at this point, not even registering your own knife in your hand until it’s embedded deep in the O’Driscoll’s temple. The blood drips onto your face and the adrenaline kicks back in, dulling the pain when the man’s body falls limp, pressing the knife deeper into your side. You huff as you rip your knife out of his skull, shoving his body off of yours and laying there. Kieran’s sobs are replaced with white noise as you gaze up at the dusty ceiling, trying to comprehend everything happening. You slowly reach up, grasping the handle of the hunting knife and pulling, ripping it out of your side. A gasp escapes you, filling your lungs and bringing you back to reality. It hurt. It hurt so bad, but you couldn’t lay here. No, you weren’t going to just die here in front of the man you just spent the night looking for. You wouldn’t traumatize him anymore than he already was.

  When you force yourself up, that’s when you see it. A lump forms in your throat as you stagger upright, tears falling from your eyes. Kieran was hanging before you, his wrists tied together by old rope and looking close to bleeding. A dirty cloth had acted as a gag, muffling his sobs and soft pleads, but it’s his eyes that do it for you. His once sweet, green colored eyes were replaced with empty sockets, bloody and stained with tears.

“K-Kieran,” you choke out, scurrying forward to take his face in your hands. He flinches at first, but finally allows himself to nuzzle against your gentle touch, his chest heaving as he continues to wails. Fresh tears are rolling down his cheeks, and it’s enough to get you to join him, bringing his head forward to hold it against your chest. You couldn’t understand how they could do this to such a sweet man. It wasn’t fair. You stroked your hand through his dirty and knotted hair, trying your best to shush him through shaky breaths.

“I’m gonna get you out of here,” you promise as you pull his face back, stroking his cheeks as your voice cracks. He nods frantically, breathing heavily as he tries to control himself. The first thing you do is take hold of your knife, cutting him free of his binds and having to catch him when his knees buckle beneath him. He’s wobbly but finally stands, holding onto you for dear life as you remove the gag from his mouth, letting it hang loosely around his neck. He’s thanking you softly, stuttering more than you’ve ever heard before. You remove your bandana, folding it up before going to wrap it around his eyes, acting as a blindfold. You didn’t want any more gunk getting inside the sockets, and god forbid someone from camp saw you two return, you didn’t want them to see Kieran in this state.

  He allows you to wrap his eyes up, holding your hand and squeezing tightly as you slowly lead him out of the cellar. You’re limping, free hand holding onto the wound you’ve recently gotten. You can feel the blood seeping out, but you force yourself to stay strong. You whistle for your horse, making sure you two were alone as you led him over to Branwen. You keep your voice soft and calm as you guide him over, handing him the reins and doing your best to help him up and onto the saddle. Your own horse has to lower itself to the ground when it notices you struggling, letting you mount up a lot easier than pulling yourself up. Once you’re both ready to go, you reach out to take Branwen’s rein in one hand, guiding the horse as you start for Shady Belle.

“Y-you ca-ame for me,” Kieran chokes out, his voice still shaky as his body trembles. You don’t want to imagine all he’s been through. “You...”

“Wasn’t gonna leave you,” you tell him, going to take his hand in your own and stroke his knuckles. His bottom lip trembles, threatening to have him break down again. You go back to softly shushing him. “I’m gonna get you home, and I’m gonna fix you up.”

“W-where... w-where are the o-others?” he asks, “Is-is a-anyone e-else with ya?”

“It’s just me,” You can’t stop the bitter tone that laces your words, but you feel Kieran give your hand a squeeze.

“T-thank you. Thank you,” He’s almost breathless, but you can hear him softly start crying again. You mimic the squeeze, continuing to stroke his knuckles.

  By the time the two of you get back to the mansion, you’re feeling woozy and weak. You noticed the color had drained from your hands, but you try not to think about it. Slow and deep breaths, keep your eyes open. You don’t go to the normal hitching area. Instead, you both take a different route, avoiding John and keeping yourselves hidden. You almost fall trying to dismount, and you have to reassure Kieran that you’re fine. He holds you close when you help him down from Branwen, and you lie when he asks about the wet spot on your shirt, telling him it belonged to an O’Driscoll. It wasn’t entirely a lie, but you knew a good majority of it was yours.

  You grunt as you push the doors open, leading Kieran inside and setting him down on a chair. You stumble slightly as you go to retrieve the old canteen on the dining table, hearing the water slosh around inside. An old cloth had fallen to the floor, probably from one of the girls when they were cleaning. You pick it up, gritting your teeth and trying to suppress a painful groan as you bend over. You open the canteen, pouring some water out and onto the cloth before reaching for Kieran. You wipe away the dirt and dried blood from his face, focusing on the way his pale skin slowly looks like it’s coming back to life.

  You’re not prepared when he hesitantly brings his hands up, reaching out and fumbling to gently grasp your neck. You freeze, allowing him to slide his hands up to your face, cupping and stroking your cheeks. A soft sigh escapes your lips and you reach a hand of your own up to place it over one of his.

“I was scared,” you confess to him softly, tears filling your eyes once more. “Thought I... thought I’d never see you again...”

“I wish I could see you,” he whimpers, and you feel him tighten just that little bit. You tilt your head, going to press a soft kiss to his palm before nuzzling into it.

“Never should’ve... left you alone,” you sigh. It’s getting harder to keep your eyes open, but you’re hellbent on saying all the things you didn’t before. “You mean a lot... to me, Kieran. So much.”

  You don’t hear what he says in response, but you sniffle as you feel a tear escape your eye. You continue to speak to him, even if it’s getting harder. You tell him how thankful you were to have met him, and how you wished you would’ve found him sooner. You express your hatred for Dutch and not sending someone to go looking for him earlier, and you break down when you tell him the worst you had feared. When your feelings for him slip out, he stops your rambling by tugging at your face. You let him bring you closer, his chapped lips awkwardly finding their way to yours. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to melt into his gentle touch and bask in this. You hate feeling him pull away, and his concerned voice seems to be getting farther and farther. You feel so weak, breathing heavier. Not yet, please. Just some more time.

  Hosea’s yelling is the only thing that properly comes through, and even then it’s muffled. You fall back into the old man’s arms, staring up at him through half lidded eyes as he calls out for help. His hand grabs yours, squeezing harshly as he barks at you to stay awake, desperately smacking your cheek in an attempt to get your attention. You feel a smile tug at your lips.

“I got him back,” you tell him softly. You can see Dutch, Arthur and Miss Grimshaw crowd around you, worried looks on their faces as Dutch falls to his knees to cover the wound on your side. “I got him back...”