#mad sweeney imagine

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Since you were a little girl, you’ve always believed in the otherworldly. But then your mother gets sick and you have other things to worry about. Many years later, your eyes and mind are reopened.

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Words: 4.5K
Author’s Note: First time ever writing Mad Sweeney. He won’t be quite so mad in this, though I’m positive he’ll be OOC. I have no idea how to write an Irish accent, so apologies in advance. As for the reader, she will be given a birth name, but the only one to use it will be Sweeney. She will still go by YN with everyone else.
TRIGGER WARNING for mild violence.

Ever since you were a little girl and learned how to read, you were obsessed with fairytales. But while most little girls were drawn to princes and princesses, you were drawn to fairies, pixies, elves and leprechauns all because of the name you were given at birth. Being named Fela made you believe you were lucky and had some sort of connection to the leprechauns. This was a notion your parents never dissuaded you from and, in fact, your mother encouraged.

So to feel like you had some form of connection with your favorite otherworldly beings, once a month your mother would bake a fresh loaf of sweet bread and you would put a piece of it along with a bottle of sweet cream on the kitchen windowsill. The following morning, the plate would be empty and the sweet cream gone. You always believed a leprechaun had taken it, but once or twice you caught your parents questioning where the food went since neither of them touched it.

The tradition of giving offerings lasted for a few years before your mother became ill. Her mental stability started to dwindle, you spent less and less time with her, and then she was admitted to the hospital for full time observation. You and your twin Stiles spent more and more time with Melissa McCall and her son Scott, and it wasn’t long before your mother succumbed to her illness.

It wasn’t until after you buried your mother and your father took to the liquor bottle did you remember your tradition. You had no one to bake with, so you asked Mrs. McCall to get you some sweet bread and sweet cream from the store. She thought it was an odd request, but bought it nonetheless. Then one night, after your father had more than a little too much to drink and passed out on the living room couch, you took the bread and sweet cream to your room.

The bread and sweet cream found its way to your windowsill, and you climbed into bed while praying to whoever and whatever was listening that things would get better. Then sometime in the middle of the night, the sound of your window being pushed upward woke you. You sat up, rubbing at your eyes and watched as a hand reached in for the bread.

Blegh. What is this shit?!” You frown at the heavily accented voice, watching as the hand reaches in again, grabbing the bottle of sweet cream.

Crawling towards the bottom of your bed, you fold your knees beneath you and sit on your legs. You should be scared of the stranger right outside your bedroom window, but you’re not. Oddly enough, you feel as if this person is someone you know though you can’t place the voice. “Sorry it’s not fresh,” you say. “Mrs. McCall isn’t a baker and she had to buy it from the store.”

All movement outside your window ceases and then a moment later, a head of shocking reddish orange hair cut into a mohawk peers in. “What was that, little lamb?”

You smile at the strange man, the smile falling seconds later. “Mom died. This was the best I could do.”

The man blinks at you and then suddenly he’s folding himself in half just to climb into your room. Your eyes widen at how enormous he is. “Sorry, lass. I had no idea.”

“Are you really a leprechaun or are you some homeless guy eating up my leprechaun’s offerings?”

His lips twitch. “Your leprechaun, huh?”

“Mhm.” You nod. “Daddy’s the sheriff. If you’re some hobo, he’ll shoot you.”

The redhead chuckles. “I’ve had many names and many shapes, little lamb, but alas I’ve been cursed into who and what I am now. Name’s Sweeney. Mad Sweeney.”

“Mad is a weird name.”

“Yeah? And what’s yours?” He sneers, a bit affronted.

“Fela, but you can call me YN.”

“Fela,” he murmurs, his entire being softening. “‘Ya know yer name means lucky, right?”

“Mhm. And Mieczyslaw means bear, but he don’t like it. He likes to be called Stiles now.”

“Mieczyslaw?” Mr. Sweeney grimaces. “Which poor lad got saddled with tha’ name?”

“My twin. He’s sleeping.”

“Aye. As should you, little lass.”

As if his words triggered something in you, you yawn and nod in agreement. “Will I ever see you again?” You ask while crawling back to the top of your bed.

As you tuck yourself back under your covers and stare up at Mr. Sweeney towering over your bed, he grins and crouches. He raises his right hand, wiggling his fingers at you before bending his fingers and moving his hand in a precise manner before a gold appears out of thin air. Your eyes widen and he smirks as he tosses the gold coin atop your stomach. “For havin’ faith in me and leavin’ offerin’s, have a bit 'ol luck.”

“I thought leprechauns didn’t like to part with their gold,” you murmur in awe.

“We don’t like when it’s taken,” he corrects you. “If it’s willfully given, well then that’s fine.”

You squeeze the coin, feeling the warmth it gives off. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” His voice rumbles and you smile sleepily at him, squeezing the coin in your tiny fist and letting your eyelids flutter shut. “Until next time, little lamb.”

Mad Sweeney, the largest leprechaun to probably ever exist, visits you every month up until you’re fourteen. He sits and talks with you every visit, listening to your teenage woes and grinning every time you fidget with the coin you had fashioned into a necklace.

At the end of one particular visit, however, he turned rather solemn as he sat you down and told you he was going away for a while. A long while. He wouldn’t explain anything else, not really, but he promised you’d always have a bit of leprechaun luck on your side. You had a bit of a panic attack at the thought of not seeing your friend, that you thought nothing of the special tea he just so happened to have on him. He said it would calm you down and get you to sleep, but he never mentioned anything about making you forget.

As you got older and your group of friends got larger, someone always brought up just how lucky you were. You never got in trouble when Stiles or Scott did even though you were part of their plans. When Scott got attacked in the woods that started his supernatural journey, you tripped on a root and went down just as the creature sailed over you and bit Scott instead. Your injuries were never severe, the kanima took very little interest in you, and your skin was absolutely flawless.

Every time someone mentioned what it was that you could have done to earn such luck, you chuckled softly while fidgeting with the gold coin hanging around your neck. Allison had taken interest in it one time, but when she started asking questions about it and you thought about your answer, it always ended in a splitting headache. All you could remember was that it was gifted to you after your mother had passed.

As the years passed and problem after problem mounted up on your plates, you and your twin became the human researchers for the pack. A lot of it was new, but some of it seemed familiar. However when you tried to remember why it was familiar, the headaches came back and you let it go.

You gain even more new friends, lose a couple, and even gain some scars and really cool stories. Unfortunately, you can’t tell anyone the stories unless you want them to think you’re crazy.

By the time you’ve graduated, you’ve been to hell and back with all the supernatural creatures your hometown attracted. Everyone has a career path they really want to see through, but in doing so it would take them outside of Beacon Hills. And since you weren’t too concerned about what you were going to do, you decided to work at the station with your dad and keep an eye on the town alongside Derek and Peter. Stiles, Scott, Malia and Lydia all left Beacon Hills but promised to be back should you need them.

You, Derek and Peter made quite the team- the two of them being the muscle while you remained the brains. Your dad and Melissa McCall got involved here and there, but they always let the Hales take care of any issue and just hid the evidence afterward to continue keeping their secret.

Everything is fine and dandy until a new werewolf pack is looking for territory, and sets their sights on Beacon Hills since it was alpha-less. One minute you were leaving Derek’s building with a list of names to dig up some dirt on, and the next pain was exploding at the back of your head and causing everything to go dark.

The next time you have enough consciousness to open your eyes, your head is killing you. You pick up your head which sets off pain in your neck and try to move, only to realize you’re bound to a wooden chair.

“Well fuck,” you mumble.

“Oh good. You’re alive.” You glance in the direction of the voice, noticing it came from a darkened corner. You snort when you see red eyes suddenly glow as if they’re trying to intimidate you. “I was afraid my second in command hit you a little too hard.”

“Well if you couldn’t hear my heartbeat to tell you I was alive, then you must be a shit alpha.” Someone slaps you upside the head and you groan, slowly glancing over your shoulder. “Yeah, fuck you too, buddy.”

“It’s a wonder that that mouth of yours hasn’t gotten you killed, human.” A more feminine voice says.

“I’ve had loads of close calls, but I like to count myself lucky.”

As you face forward once more, you see the male alpha step out of the shadows. But really, he’s more of a boy. Scott looks older than him. “Your luck runs out today if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before.” You sigh. “You want answers, I don’t give 'em, and you beat me until I break. Unfortunately for you, you’re on claimed territory, so Peter and Derek Hale will be here soon and rip you apart. With their teeth,” you say.

“Where is alpha McCall and how many are in his pack?” The alpha crouches in front of you, waiting expectantly.

“Fuck off.”

Claws dig into the back of your neck and you gasp, struggling in your seat to move away from the werewolf’s grasp.

“Where is alpha McCall and how many are in his pack?” The alpha asks again.

“Eat me.”

The claws dig in deeper and you cry out, but then the claws are quickly extracted before a blow is delivered to the side of your face.

“Listen, sweetheart, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

You right your head, licking the blood that’s coating your teeth as you stare the alpha in the eyes. “Promises, promises.”

The werewolf behind you chuckles darkly as their hands settle on your shoulders, squeezing. “I was hoping you’d be a pain in the ass. This is going to be fun.”

You don’t get a warning before the binds tying you to the chair are cut loose. There’s a split second of confusion before a hand is in your hair, gripping and tugging you to your feet before blow after blow is being delivered. You fall to your hands and knees way too quickly, only to receive kick after kick. Then when you’re on your back, spitting out blood and praying for a rescue, the telltale sounds of a door being broken down reach your ears.

The werewolf giving you a beatdown snarls at the interruption and you chuckle, smiling with blood stained lips. “Uh oh. The cavalry’s here.”

Where’s the lass, 'ya mangy cunts!

The voice gives you pause, but the wolves in the room with you are put on edge. There’s snarling and growling from the other room, as well as sounds of furniture being broken while the newcomer curses up a storm.

You find amusement in this new pack already seeing its downfall, but that amusement is cut short as a boot meets your face. Your vision starts to darken right before the door to the room you’re in is kicked open and the tallest man you’ve ever laid eyes on stomps in. His red mohawk and red beard strikes a chord within you, but you pay more attention to the gashes and blood adorning his body as he glances down at you. His eyes flare gold and you think he’s a werewolf, but he’s not healing as one should.

“You cunts are fuckin’ dead for takin’ the little lamb.”

The Irish accent practically splits your head open with the worst headache you’ve ever experienced, and you black out just as both wolves lunge at the newcomer.

                    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When your consciousness slips back in and makes you alert once more, you feel something warm and wet being dragged against your cheek. You flinch and turn away from the presence you can feel sitting next to your left hip, and then flinch even more when a hand grasps your arm.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s Derek. You’re safe.”

It takes a moment to realize you’re not being hit and then another moment for the words to register in your brain. You unclench your muscles and slowly turn back around, frowning. “Der?”

“Yeah. You’re back at my loft.”

“How- how did you find me?” You try to sit up then, whining at all the pain that registers all over your body.

Derek gives you a hand, letting you sit up on the edge of the bed so your feet are touching the ground. “We didn’t. Some guy who keeps calling himself a leprechaun did. He says you know him.”

“A leprechaun?” A headache starts to blossom, but you squeeze your eyes shut against it. “Yeah. Yeah, I think- it’s all jumbled though,” you say. You press your palms to your eyes, rubbing your temples a moment later. “Sweeney, right? His name is Sweeney.”

“Yes! Thank you, little lamb.” You turn around, grimacing at the sudden movement, only to find Peter standing over the man in question who’s sitting in a chair. He smirks at you, split lip and all, before he looks up at Peter and sneers. “Told 'ya mangy fucks that the little lass knew me.” You frown at him before standing from the bed, swatting at Derek’s hands that are trying to keep you in bed or keep you away from the enormous leprechaun. As you stumble closer to where he’s sitting, he looks to you and raises an eyebrow before looking you up and down. Slowly, he smirks. “Not such a little lamb anymore, are 'ya Fela?”

“Fela?” Peter wonders.

“Birth name,” you mumble. As your knees hit Sweeney’s knees, you stop and stare at him as your headache gets worse. Your hands clench into fists at your sides and you frown. “I.. I don’t-” You shake your head, trying to make sense of how you know this man. “I’m so confused. I feel happy to see you, but I also feel angry. Why.. why would I feel..” And then you remember. You flinch at the headache, but you remember. And in remembering, you reach down and slap Sweeney across the face.

“Oi!” He cries out. “That hurt.”

“You.. you left me!”

“I had to! This old cunt of a god was gettin’ suspicious,” he says. “Couldn’t have 'im lookin’ in on me one day and findin’ 'ya, could I?”

Your eyes fill with tears, both in pain from the beating you took and because you want to fully remember this man in front of you, but you can’t. “I can’t.. why can’t I-”

Sweeney reaches into his jean jacket, scoffing at Peter’s warning snarl, and pulls out a flask that he holds out to you. “It’s time to remember now, little lamb.”

Your lips twitch. “I thought I wasn’t so little now?” You have no idea where the sudden urge to tease the man comes from, but you can’t help it. He’s quite handsome.

Sweeney slowly smirks at you and someone mutters a jesus christ under their breath. Your eyes fall back onto the flask he’s offering and another headache pulses when you remember him offering you tea- a tea that gave you many blank spots in your memory. And if Sweeney is telling you it’s now time to remember while offering a flask, well then you want to remember. So before Derek or Peter can talk you out of it, you take the flask from his hand, open it, and drink.

“YN, don’t!” Derek tries to warn you, but he’s too late.

You swallow three mouthfuls before you stop, and seconds later you cry out at suddenly being overwhelmed with everything you’ve forgotten. Derek is there to catch you as you stumble back and you assure him you’re fine. You just need a moment.

When you remember everything, you look at the expecting leprechaun. “Mad Sweeney, oh how I’ve missed you.” And surprising all three men in the room, you walk forward until you’re placing yourself on Sweeney’s lap sideways, curling into him.

Slowly but surely, Sweeney wraps his arms around you. “There, there. I’ve got 'ya.”

“I wanna know everything. Tell me.”

“I will. And then you’re gonna tell me how 'ya ended up with the mutts.”

Someone growls and you pinch Sweeney’s side. “I will so long as you play nice. They’re my pack.”

“I was yours first,” he grumbles.

You smile at Sweeney’s words, but don’t bother saying anything after that. You want to know everything he’s been up to and what exactly led to him leaving you, but Derek reminds you that you’re covered in blood and need to clean up. You realize he’s right and as you make your way towards the bathroom; he also tells you he called the pack back to Beacon Hills. He and Peter had no clue how to find you since your scent was nowhere to be found, but they could smell the other werewolves and put two and two together. When not even your dad knew where you were, Derek decided to call the pack back home.

“And when you’re done, sweetheart,” Peter calls out before you could reach the bathroom. “We want the full story on Lucky Charms here.”

Sweeney glares up at Peter and you can’t help but grin at the elder werewolf. “Call him Lucky Charms again, Peter, and you’ll see firsthand how a leprechaun holds up against a werewolf.”

Not wanting to drag Sweeney back to your house and explain the leprechaun story all over again to your father, you ask Derek to use one of the renovated apartments on the floor below his own. He agrees but tells you that you still need to contact your father and let him know you are fine. So, after cleaning up and bandaging the cuts on your face and body, you let Peter drive you to your house since your dad is currently home. Normally you wouldn’t be caught dead alone with the older werewolf, but you knew he and Sweeney would kill each other if they were left alone together.

Your dad is a bit of a mess to see how beaten you are and calls Melissa over to check you over. You assure him you’re fine as the nurse prods and re-bandages your wounds, and you explain all about the pack who wanted information on Beacon Hills’ very own pack. You refused them, which is why you were beaten, but that Derek and Peter had found you just in time. The werewolf snorts and you glare at him, trying to send a message with your eyes to remind him to go along with whatever you said as you had previously planned so you didn’t have to explain Sweeney’s presence.

Your dad ends up giving you the week off so you can heal and then you went on to explain that you’d be staying at Derek’s for the duration since the pack was coming home. Then when your dad lets you leave and Melissa promises to have a bottle of painkillers for you later that night, you toss a bunch of outfits into a duffel bag before you have Peter take you grocery shopping so you can stock the refrigerator at the apartment.

Peter begrudgingly helps you carry your grocery bags to the apartment and promptly leaves when every bag is on the counter. You slowly start putting everything away, pausing when you hear footsteps.

Turning around, you’re faced with the sight of Sweeney in nothing but flannel pajama pants and his hair dripping water down his neck and chest. You gulp, letting your eyes trail over his chest and the claw marks littering his flesh. “Do you, uh, do you need help bandaging those?”

“No.” He smirks and then gestures to all the groceries lying about. “You plannin’ to cook?”

You scoff. “Hell no. I picked us up some cheeseburgers and curly fries. It’s in the oven if you wanna do me a solid and get them out.” You watch as Sweeney saunters over to the oven, taking the food out and appreciating the way the muscles in his back move. “Beers in the fridge if you don’t want your soda.”

You divide up the food when Sweeney sets it down before making a trip to the fridge- one burger and a carton of curly fries for you, and two burgers and a carton of curly fries for him. When he sits on the stool next to you, he asks, “So how did a lass like you end up with these rabid cunts?”

“Easy,” you murmur. “These men are part of my pack.” Sweeney scoffs and takes a bite out of his burger, and you do the same before answering him. “When I was fifteen, Stiles heard a call over my dad’s police scanner about a dead body in the woods. So as the curious and troublemaking teens we were, we went to investigate.”

“Bloody morons.”

Your lips twitch in amusement. “If only there was a six foot something tall leprechaun to steer us in the right direction.” He grunts and you chuckle before eating a bit more. “Anyway, my friend Scott and I got separated from Stiles after we found half a body. We got turned around somehow and, whether I was living up to my name or that bit o'leprechaun luck rubbed off on me, I tripped on a root and the alpha that had been hunting us bit Scott instead of me.”

Sweeney freezes. “The alpha was trying to bite 'ya?”

“Yep. Apparently, Peter thought I’d make a good wolf.” Your leprechaun is a little too quiet and you glance over at him, eyes widening at the anger in his expression. “Hey, none of that.” You reach over and lay a hand just above his knee to squeeze. “I’m still human and Peter’s not as psycho as he once was. We’re good here.”

“Still don’t like the cunt.”

You snort before taking your hand back. “You and everyone else, but he is Derek’s uncle and he is pack. Unfortunately.” You eat a bit more, watching Sweeney from the corner of your eye and are amazed at how much he can eat. He’s just as bad as the wolves. “So is my memory failing me and you’ve always been this raging asshole or..?”

Sweeney barks out a laugh as he finishes his last bite of burger. “Well I couldn’t curse like I wanted to. You were just a wee lass.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You’ve barely finished your burger, sitting back with a grimace and taking a sip of your soda. “So what’s the bedroom situation look like?”

“One bed fit for a king, luv. You okay with that?”

You glance at him and wiggle your eyebrows. “I’m not a child, Sweeney. I can handle sharing a bed.” Collecting the trash, you toss it in the bin and wipe down the island counter you had eaten on. “I just need to wait for Melissa because she’s bringing me painkillers.”

Almost as if your words had summoned her, Melissa texts you that she’s on her way up. You have Sweeney hide and then thank your best friend’s mother for getting you a prescription on such short notice. You take one pill after she leaves and then head to the bathroom for your usual routine before bed.

When you walk into the bedroom, Sweeney wasn’t joking about the bed. It’s a king sized bed and has more than enough room for you and the 6'5 leprechaun.

As you slide under the covers, you sigh in contentment. “So what have you been doing, Lucky Charms?”

“I’m gonna let that slide because I like 'ya.” You giggle and scoot a bit closer to the middle of the bed, laying on your side and curling one arm under the pillow. “And it’s like I said, I was caught up in a war between the Old gods and the New. Even died for a few months-”

“WHAT?!”

“-but Shadow’s cunt of a dead wife did the right thing an’ brought me back. Even got me lucky coin back.”

“Jesus Christ,” you mumble. “Seems like we both got caught up in some crazy shit.”

“Mmm.” Sweeney turns on his side, shoving one arm under his pillow as he grins at you. “So what’s your craziest story?”

“Uhh.. well the kanima fiasco was pretty gnarly,” you tell him. “But the worst was probably the nogitsune. It possessed my twin and the Oni came in to check us. In fact, I’m pretty sure I still have the scar behind my ear when they checked me.” You reach up behind your right ear, feeling the raised skin of the mark that meant self. “The nogitsune took control over the Oni and they killed one of our pack, plus an ally of the pack. It was bad,” you say.

“How did 'ya get rid of it?”

“We managed to get Stiles to take control of himself again, but by then the nogitsune was pretty powerful. It took the form of Stiles, but since the nogitsune is a fox, we realized he couldn’t be both fox and wolf. So we hand an alpha bite him. When it abandoned its form, we trapped it in a jar.”

“Sounds like I missed one hell of a fight.”

“Mhm. You should have been here a few years back.” You yawn and don’t fight it when Sweeney grabs your arm and drags you closer to him. You snuggle into his chest and leave your eyes closed. “A fear demon came to town and turned the humans against all supernatural creatures, plus those helping the supernatural. I got into more fights that year than I’d like to admit.”

Sweeney chuckles. “Get some sleep, luv. That Hale lad said everyone should be here tomorrow.”

“Ugh. I’m so not looking forward to those lectures.”

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