It’s fucking unreal how fast a character that hits my “Oh this is a bastard asshole and I hope he gets the shit kicked out of him” button gets turned into “Where is my blorbo? Bring my Blorbo back. It’s been so long since I’ve seen their stupid face.”
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.
Words: 5.2K Author’s Note: I left this open-ended because I’m terrible at feelings lmao. I hope you still enjoy it.
When you wake up the following morning, you have absolutely no shame to find yourself half on top of Sweeney. He’s warm and surprisingly comfortable, and you let yourself drift off to sleep for a little bit longer. The second time you wake up, you’re in a little bit more pain than you were earlier and know you need to get up and eat something so you can take a painkiller.
You attempt to roll off of Sweeney, only to have his hand pull you back as he groans about you not going anywhere just yet.
Chuckling, you try to push off again. “I’m in pain, a mhuirnín. I need food and a pill.”
He inhales sharply. “‘Ya know Irish?”
“Tá. Well, only a little,” you muse. “I might have forgotten all the important bits concerning you, but I was still drawn to mythology and the Irish language growing up. I just didn’t study too much into the language because by then I got dragged into the world of the supernatural.”
Sweeney groans. “Luv, 'ya can’t tell me that and expect me to let 'ya leave this bed.”
“I can and you will.” You laugh some more before groaning when pain zings through your rib area. “As much as I’m diggin’ this vibe between us, I’m healing. When you and I decide to have a go at it, I don’t want gentle.” He groans again, but doesn’t try to pull you back when you roll away. “Now please go attempt to make breakfast or take my car and go buy something.”
As you go about collecting clothes and some toiletries for the bathroom, Sweeney grumbles as he gets out of bed and starts dressing himself. You disappear into the bathroom, slowly undressing and peeling off your bandages. You then proceed to get the water as hot as you can take it and then step into the spray.
You take your time washing up, groaning softly as all your body’s aches can now be felt. The worst is your face and rib area, and you’re just grateful that nothing was broken. After you’re done, you dry off and put antibacterial ointment on all the cuts you have before rebandaging them. The cut on your forehead and cheek receive the same treatment, but unfortunately there’s nothing to be done for your split lip.
You pull on a black bralette and a pair of black leggings, and then pull on a plaid button-up which you leave unbuttoned. When you walk back into the bedroom, you pull on a pair of ankle socks before continuing on to the front room. There isn’t any noise, so you’re surprised to find Sweeney sitting at the island counter with McDonald’s bags spread out in front of him. And standing on the opposite side of the counter, arms crossed and gaze set on Sweeney is none other than Lydia Martin.
“Yours?” She deadpans, nose wrinkling as Sweeney burps something awful.
You chuckle softly and continue your way into the kitchen. “Mine.”
“Since when?”
“Since I was ten and mom passed away.” That gets Lydia’s attention and you continue your way to her until you’re close enough to hug. “He’s very rough around the edges, but still very much mine.”
She takes a moment to gauge your expression before smiling softly and hugging you. “I’m glad you’re okay.” She pulls back from the hug, and you can see her gaze tracing the cuts and bruises dotting your face. She frowns. “I hope they got what was coming to them.”
“Well Sweeney is the one who took care of it.” You gesture towards the man in question, smiling at his cheeks puffed out with food as he winks. “Charming,” you deadpan. Lydia snorts a laugh and then you introduce them. “Lydia, meet Mad Sweeney. Ex king and ex god, now currently cursed as a leprechaun. Sweeney, meet Lydia Martin. Current pack member and banshee. Please don’t piss each other off.”
Sweeney perks up. “Banshee, 'ya say?” Lydia purses her lips but nods nonetheless. “Pleasure to meet 'ya, little red.”
“Well I guess I can say the same since you rescued YN here.”
“Great.” You clap your hands and walk back around the island counter to take a seat next to Sweeney. “You hungry? Have something to eat while we wait for the rest of the pack.”
From the corner of your eye, you catch Sweeney staring at your outfit. You huff a laugh and close the plaid shirt in front of you, shaking your head in amusement as he smirks. Lydia picks through the breakfast sandwiches and hash browns, taking one each for herself, along with a coffee.
“So where are 'ya from, lass?” Sweeney asks, the question directed at Lydia. “How’d a banshee wind up in Beacon Hills, California?”
“As far as I know, I’m from here,” Lydia says. “I didn’t know I was something supernatural until after I was attacked. The attack triggered my powers, though I didn’t know what it was then, and it took about another year before our school teacher tried to kill me and I screamed. She called me the wailing woman.”
“You were attacked?”
“Mhm. Peter Hale.”
Sweeney freezes and you mentally groan. “That wolfy fuck had a reputation for attackin’ children, didn’t he?”
“Ohh. I like you,” Lydia muses.
This time, your groan is aloud. “I’ve already mentioned Peter was unwell. Let’s move on.”
Sweeney grumbles, but he’s still interested to learn more about Lydia and her roots. “So 'ya know nothin’ 'bout banshee origins or yer powers?”
She shakes her head. “Just what YN and Stiles were able to find on the internet for me. And by trying to listen to my own self as my powers grew.”
The leprechaun hums. “I might have some books in the hoard that 'ya can borrow if yer interested. Just need to be extra careful with 'em since they’re hundreds of years old.”
Lydia’s mouth drops open just a bit in awe. “Are you serious?”
“'Course. No matter how distant, yer from the homeland. And I look after those that come from home.”
“I- yes. Thank you.”
He nods. “Just let me know when 'ya want them an’ I’ll get 'em to 'ya.”
The rest of breakfast is eaten in peace, you pop a pain killer, and then Sweeney and Lydia follow you to the sofas. Lydia takes one of the sofa chairs and she grins as Sweeney pulls you with him on the sofa, tucking you into his side.
“When should everyone else be here?” You ask around a yawn. “I haven’t been checking my phone.”
“Couple more hours,” Lydia says. You hum and she grins at you as you try to stay awake. “You just got really lucky that you got kidnapped a few days before we were all set to come home for Spring Break. We told our professors and bosses we had a family emergency, and they surprisingly let us go early.”
Sweeney chuckles. “Yer welcome.”
You giggle and Lydia shakes her head. “Grab a nap, YN. I’ll wake you before Stiles gets here.”
“Okay.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
You wake up to fingers in your hair, scratching at your scalp. When your eyes flutter open, you realize you’re laying down, head in Sweeney’s lap.
“Time to wake up, luv. Your brother’s nearly here.”
“Fuck,” you groan. As you sit up, you yawn and stretch before pushing yourself to stand. Sweeney gets up as well, heading for the hallway that you know leads to the bathroom. “How far out are they?” You ask Lydia while buttoning up your plaid shirt halfway.
“They should actually be here by now.”
You grumble inaudibly, barely realizing that Lydia has a giant tome in her lap as you head for the kitchen. “Take Sweeney up on his offer?”
“Yes. There’s a ton of banshee lore in here that we’ve never heard about. This leprechaun of yours is probably one of my new favorite people.”
“That’s high praise from Lydia Martin.” Cracking open a bottle of water, you grin at her before taking a sip of your drink. “And Sweeney is something else, isn’t he? Is it bad that I’m really into his asshole attitude?”
She snorts. “You mean he wasn’t this crude when you were little?”
“Nope.” You reclaim your seat on the sofa. “He kept all that rudeness bottled up. And then apparently he got mixed up in a war between the Old and New gods, and he made me drink something to forget all about him so I would be safe. But it wasn’t potent enough or something because every time you asked about this,” you say while pulling on your necklace so Lydia can see the gold coin dangling from it, “I got an excruciating headache when I tried to remember where I got it from.”
“So how did you remember?”
“Another drink,” you muse. “When he saved me from the encroaching pack, I heard his voice and took one look at him, and I blacked out from the headache I got from my memories trying to resurface.”
Lydia is kept from replying as the apartment door is opened, the rest of your pack filing in. You stand, smiling at your twin as he makes a beeline for you.
“Holy shit, YN. Look at your face!”
Stiles wraps you in a hug, an embrace which you return with amusement. “You should see the other guys.”
As you pull free, you hug Scott and Malia one right after the other. Derek brings up the rear and you nod at him, and then sigh when you see your brother, Scott and Malia took up the entire sofa. Derek drags a stool closer to the group and you eye the only other sofa chair, only to have Stiles’ words stop you short.
“Uh, who’s the giant?”
You glance at the opening of the hallway where Sweeney is stepping out of and you sigh. “Might as well get this over with,” you mumble. Sweeney smirks as he walks closer, stepping around you and plopping himself down into the sofa chair. “Uh, guys, this is Mad Sweeney. Ex god, ex king, and current leprechaun.”
Malia snorts, and Scott and Stiles don’t bother hiding their amusement at your words.
“Aren’t leprechauns like three feet tall?” The werecoyote asks.
“Yeah, like really small?” Stiles presses on.
“There’s nothing small about me, Mieczyslaw. Just ask yer sister.”
Stiles gapes as Malia outright laughs and Scott’s eyes widen. But instead of asking about the obvious, Stiles asks, “How do you know my name?”
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Stiles, remember when mom and I would place bread and sweet cream on the window sill?”
“Yeah. You were obsessed with fairy tales and mythology ever since you were a kid. Always said you were leaving offerings for the fae or whatever.”
“Leprechauns, dear brother. I was leaving offerings for leprechauns and it just so happened that this leprechaun,” you say while pointing to Sweeney, “was feeding off those offerings.”
Stiles’ mouth opens and closes as he tries to recall your childhood. He must remember something because suddenly he perks up in his seat. “Wait a minute. Sweeney? Wasn’t that the name of your imaginary friend?”
“Not so imaginary, lad.”
“Holy shit. You mean you’re actually real?! And.. and built?”
Derek snorts and you shake your head in amusement at your twin’s awe. “He is. Sweeney, you obviously know who Stiles is. Next to him is Malia, our very own werecoyote. And then we have Scott McCall, alpha to our little ragtag pack.”
“I’m so confused,” Scott says as he warily waves at Sweeney. “I have a feeling there’s a story here and I think I speak for Stiles and Malia when I say we want to hear it.”
You rub a hand over your face, not bothering to fight Sweeney when he grabs your wrist and pulls you down onto his lap. Once you get comfortable, much to Lydia and Malia’s amusement, you retell the story of how you and Sweeney knew each other. You tell them how he made sure to check in on you after your mom died, and then made you forget everything you knew about him to protect you when a problem of his own came up.
Sweeney picks up then, admitting that his own problem just recently sort of resolved and when he felt that your life was in danger thanks to a gold coin he’d given you long ago, he followed the pull to Beacon Hills. Then when asked why he hadn’t shown up before, because your life had been in danger plenty before, Sweeney tells them about the Old gods and the New, and how it wasn’t safe to go to you. One Old god in particular had kept a close eye on him and he’d be damned if you were pulled into that mess.
The pack is a little stunned to hear all about the gods, their war, and Sweeney’s short death, and by the end of it Stiles is grateful that he’d made you forget. Then once everyone gets over their shock and awe, it’s Derek who notices the tome in Lydia’s lap. She tells them that Sweeney has all sorts of books in his leprechaun hoard and that he’s granted her permission to go through them as long as he’s around. Stiles and Derek are immediately interested, and you grin as the two of them pull up stools so they can peer over her shoulder.
By the time evening has rolled around and Derek supplied everyone with takeout, Lydia starts looking for a place to stay. Everyone else has a room to go back to, but Lydia’s mother had sold their house as soon as Lydia had left for college. Derek had a spare room, but Lydia didn’t like that Peter could freely roam the apartment and the other apartments on the floor you were staying on were not furnished. She was contemplating a motel room, but you offered up your room at the Stilinski household. You all had a terrible experience in a motel once and you weren’t too keen to have a repeat performance of it ever again.
Then before everyone went home, you made everyone promise to not mention Sweeney to either your dad or Melissa. Stiles had laughed, making fun that you were an adult who was afraid to have your dad know about your current- whatever Sweeney was to you- and you shut him up by telling him you’ll have Sweeney kick his ass if he let it slip.
The pack was grateful you were okay and promised to be back the next day, already thinking of plans to keep them busy over spring break since Sweeney had taken care of the enemy pack.
Over the next few days, you heal up quite nicely. You use less and less pain pills, letting Scott and Malia siphon any lingering pain, and drop the remaining pills back off with Melissa so she can properly dispose of them. She checks you over and is amazed how quickly you healed, making you laugh by assuming luckwas your superpower since she never saw you down and out for long.
Sweeney had been in and out, no doubt causing trouble, but nothing that ever came back to him since you never heard your father bring up anything pertaining to a six foot tall menace. Then one evening you get the itch to go dancing, and Lydia and Malia agree. A club well outside of Beacon Hills was chosen, and Derek immediately opted out of the pack bonding night when Stiles enthusiastically agreed.
After Sweeny was kicked out of the apartment, Malia and Lydia came over with numerous outfits to choose from. Lydia did your makeup to hide what little bruising you had left, and then you dressed in your chosen clubbing outfit. Both girls approved of the white lace bralette beneath a loose, unbuttoned plaid shirt and high waisted leather shorts. You had trouble picking out shoes and Malia happily dropped knee-high, high heeled boots in your lap.
The boys had gotten back before you were ready, so Lydia and Malia were ready for you to shock Sweeney with this new look. Your hair was lightly curled and left to fall over your shoulders, and Lydia told you to situate the plaid shirt so it was just barely hanging off your shoulders. Then when they were ready themselves, they had you walk out last so they could see Sweeney’s reaction for themselves. And disappointed they were not when Sweeney’s gaze went smoldering and he licked his bottom lip as his gaze slid up and down your form.
“Gross,” Scott mumbles, nose wrinkling. “Can we go now?”
You laugh, forgetting for a moment that he and Malia could smell exactly what your look was doing for Sweeney and what Sweeney’s heated gaze was doing to you.
Outside, you split up three and three. Stiles, Scott and Malia take the jeep Stiles had gifted Scott whereas Sweeney and Lydia leave with you. The chosen club is about an hour’s drive away because given your job with the local police department, no one wanted to be too close to home in case something happened.
On the drive to the club, you keep Sweeney and Lydia entertained by singing along to your favorite songs and dancing in your seat. You and Lydia also share some stories about your teenage years in Beacon Hills, and Sweeney shares stories about his past. And by the time you get to the club, the moon is high in the sky and there’s a line wrapped around the front of the building.
“We’re gonna spend an hour in line, aren’t we?” Malia frowns. “I really need to pee.”
“Well worry not, lass. Yer with me tonight, the luckiest arsehole in the state.”
You slowly smirk at Sweeney, watching as he confidently stalks towards the bouncer. You wistfully sigh as you watch him go, eyes then narrowing when you see more than one head swivel towards the intimidating redhead as he gets closer.
“Oh no,” Scott mumbles. “I know that look. That’s your ima 'bout to fight someonelook.”
“Scott, shush. Let’s go.” You watch as Sweeney talks to the bouncer, the bouncer grins, and then Sweeney’s turning around with a triumphant smile as you near. “I take it you got us in?”
“Did 'ya doubt me, luv?” Sweeney reaches for your hand and you can practically hear the women at the front of the line swoon at his accent.
Someone who works for the club ends up leading your group towards the back of the club where various cushioned couches line the wall up on a bit of a dais. There are tables that are knee-high and ottomans on the opposite side of the table so there’s plenty of space for people to sit and enjoy their drinks. Luckily there’s more than enough space for you all, and the worker leaves you alone after taking an order of drinks from Sweeney.
Plopping on the couch, Sweeney lays his arms along the back of the couch and proceeds to manspread with a smirk. You shake your head at him, sitting close to him but not quite tucked into his side. Lydia and Malia take up Sweeney’s other side, and Stiles and Scott claim an ottoman each.
“Who’s gonna dance with me?” You ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping music.
“After drinks,” Lydia says.
You nod, grinning. Scott and Stiles get caught up in their own conversation, as do Lydia and Malia. Sweeney nudges your shoulder and you fall into his side, crossing one knee over the other. “Are you okay here?” You ask him. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t your usual hangout, but-”
“Luv, as long as there is alcohol an’ good company, I don’t care.”
“Mhm.”
A club waitress with a tray of shots and empty glasses walks up onto the part of the dais where your group is seated, followed by another waitress who’s gripping two bottles in hand. The tray of shots is placed on the table, followed by the bottles, and then one of the waitresses is explaining how the bottles were on the house courtesy of the owner.
“Oh my god. Can Sweeney come with us every time we go out?” Stiles asks, leaning forward and grabbing himself a shot.
“Hey! Hands off the leprechaun. Get your own.”
“What?” You smirk at your brother as you reach for your own shot. “You can’t claim dibs.”
“I can and I will. Just like you called dibs on Lydia when we were in junior high.” Lydia snorts, having heard the argument of Stiles calling dibs on her when you both had crushes on the redhead when you were younger. “You’ve had your own redhead. This one’s mine.”
Stiles makes a strangled, offended noise as everyone else gathers up their shot.
“To a good and stress-free night,” Scott says, raising his shot glass.
“Hell no,” Malia muses. “To the twins getting so wasted that we have some good drama.”
“To me having a good night before I have to put some skanks in their place,” you say, gaze following a couple of females as they pass by, smiling and waving at Sweeney.
“To staying out of jail then,” Lydia toasts.
“Cheers!” Stiles raises his shot glass before throwing it back, the rest of you following.
You and Stiles make identical grimaces, shaking your head in slight disgust at the vodka while Sweeney laughs at the both of you. Malia is quick to stand, grabbing Lydia’s hand who reaches over and grabs yours.
“See you boys later!” You call out over your shoulder. “Be back soon!”
As you follow Lydia and Malia out onto the dance floor, Stiles and Scott remain with Sweeney. Sweeney grabs one of the liquor bottles for himself, twisting off the cap and drinking straight from it. Scott chuckles as he grabs the other one, pouring a bit for himself and Stiles into the spare glass tumblers.
Song after song, you and the girls dance the night away. Every now and then you return to the boys, shooing off the girls who hoped to get to know the boys better. The unknown girls were quick to leave Scott and Stiles under the intimidating stares of Malia and Lydia, but those hoping to get closer to Sweeney were a little more reluctant.
At one point, you end up resorting to climbing onto the back of the couch directly behind Sweeney, putting him directly between your spread knees. And when all that did was get you sneers in response, you raised your right leg and draped it over Sweeney’s shoulder which prompted him to raise his hand and run it up and down your leg.
Stiles immediately loses it, laughing at your show of possessiveness as the girls finally give up and walk away. “Why don’t you just pee on him while you’re at it.”
“Don’t tempt me,” you grumble.
Sweeney chuckles as his fingers continue to trail up and down your leg, turning his head so his lips just brush on the inside of your knee. “I quite like this side of 'ya.”
“Oh fuck off.” You flick his ear and move out from behind him, slipping into the free spot on his side. “Now are you gonna dance with me or am I gonna have to stomp back over here for the next batch of girls that come sniffing around as soon as I leave?”
“Aye. One dance.”
You squeal and jump up, pulling on Sweeney’s hand until he follows you to the dance floor. He isn’t really a dancer, but you have fun grinding on him and making it a point to all those watching that he was off limits.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Several hours later, Scott calls it a night. Everyone, with the exception of himself and Malia, are feeling the effects of the alcohol as they stumble out of the club and towards the emptying parking lot.
Your head’s a little fuzzy from all the alcohol so you’re not really paying attention to what is going on or being said around you, but the shove to your shoulder is not friendly. All you can really remember is one moment someone is calling you a slut and being pissed for ruining their friend’s chance at a rebound with the tall redhead, and the next Stiles is yelling, “Yeah, sis, beat her ass!”
Sweeney watches as his little spitfire of a human screams at a couple of females who initiated the argument with her, a smile spreading across his face as the first punch is thrown. Stiles is drunkenly cheering his twin on, Malia is watching with a grin from the sidelines, and Scott is failing miserably at trying to break up the fight. But it isn’t until one of the females turns her ire to Scott that things really become serious. Malia’s amusement vanishes and her eyes briefly flare blue, and Lydia is screaming for Malia to not get involved.
Malia gets involved.
The werecoyote is aware of her own strength, so she only manages to get in one headbutt as the female she took on goes down.
One of the club’s bouncers starts making their way to the fight and Sweeney cheers. “Now it’s a fight!” The suspenders fall off his shoulders right before Sweeney meets the bouncer head on.
It’s absolute chaos.
The fight seems to last forever, but in reality it’s only a handful of minutes.
Somehow you end up being shoved into your own car with Malia behind the wheel and Scott behind the wheel of the jeep, and then driven to a diner to be sobered up. Then once everyone’s had an early morning breakfast and more than a few coffees, you’re on your way home.
Only ten minutes into the drive, however, the jeep craps out.
Sweeney is absolutely appalled at what he finds underneath the hood, and you can’t stop giggling when Stiles calls roadside assistance, only to be told it’d be an hour before a driver meets them. Your twin complains about Sweeney not being as lucky as he thought, and you shoot off a text to Derek to let him know the situation as Sweeney starts bantering with your twatof a brother.
With the jeep pulled off to the side and its flashers blinking, Malia drives your car so the front end is directly in front of the jeep. She turns the flashers on, on your car, and then everyone finds a seat on the hoods of the vehicles as you wait. And in no time at all, Malia gets everyone talking about the fight, laughing at how it all started over Sweeney and YN’s tendencies to not let things go.
As the sky starts to lighten with the impending sunrise, everyone groans about how you haven’t pulled all-nighters since high school and you were facing down monsters every other month.
Sweeney mentions something about a smoke break and you watch him walk off, plopping down on the side of the road before he lights up.
A moment later and Stiles is grabbing your arm. “Alright, twin, let’s go. We need to have a chat.”
“About?”
He drags you into the field, stomping through weeds and flowers until he puts enough space between the two of you and everyone else.
Sighing, you plop down into the field next to him. “So, what’s this about?”
“You know what this is about.”
“I really don’t,” you mumble. Stiles says nothing, so you take a moment to pull at blades of grass before noticing the small cuts along your knuckles. You frown, licking your thumb to get rid of the blood.
“You really like this one, don’t you?” He asks.
“Like who?”
“Sweeney.” You freeze and glance up at your twin. “I’ve never seen you like this with anyone,” he confesses.
You frown. “Like what?”
“In love.” A strangled noise leaves your mouth and Stiles chuckles before pressing on. “I mean you dated Isaac that one time and had that thing with Derek for a little bit, but with this Sweeney guy? It’s different.” You gape at your twin, unsure of what to say. “You become more alive around him. I.. I really kind of like seeing you like this.”
You continue gaping until you eventually huff a laugh, shaking your head. “So what? Nothing will ever transpire between us. He’s a traveler. He won’t stick around.”
“Then why don’t you go with him?” Your amusement instantly vanishes at the serious expression your brother is sporting. “You can’t stay in Beacon Hills forever.”
Back by the vehicles, Sweeney is leaning against the jeep as he watches the twins chat in the middle of the field.
When YN laughs at something her twin says and punches his arm, he slowly grins as her twin punches back which then results in a slap fight between the two.
“You really like her, don’t you?”
“What?” The words startle him and he glances down at his fellow redhead who’s grinning up at him.
“YN. Ever since I’ve met you, you’ve only had eyes for her. It’s cute.” He scoffs, turning his attention back to the girl in question as Lydia’s grin turns soft and fond. “YN has dated a couple of guys, none that I cared for,” she admits. “But you? If you pursue this, you have my approval. Stiles’ too.”
“Yeah?” Sweeney pulls another cigarette from behind his ear, sparking it up. “I’ll keep that’ in mind.”
Stiles is frowning, rubbing his arm. “Will you stop slapping me?”
“You started it.”
You and Stiles glare at one another before the two of you crack, giggling.
After you calm down, you ask, “What am I going to do, Mieczyslaw?”
“Whatever you want, Fela.” He reaches forward, squeezing your hand. “You didn’t have to stay behind, but you did. For dad and for Beacon Hills, but dad is okay. He’s healthy. And Peter and Derek are more than capable of taking care of the town without you.”
“But how do I even know if Sweeney likes me back?” You ask, voice low and the most vulnerable Stiles has ever heard.
Stiles smiles, his hand leaving yours and reaching up to tug the necklace out of your shirt. “Do you really think a leprechaun gives their gold so freely? Especially a leprechaun like Mad Sweeney?”
You blink in surprise at your twin before looking towards the leprechaun in question, all your doubt vanishing when you catch him already staring back. He smirks as he flicks the butt of his cigarette away and something unfurls in your chest while looking at him.
Stiles is right. You really do like this asshole of a leprechaun. So if he feels even a sliver of what you feel for him, you have a strong feeling that it won’t take much for Sweeney to convince you to travel with him. “I’m so screwed.”
“Yeah you are. Now come on, let’s practice how you’re gonna break it to dad that you’re eloping with a legit leprechaun.”
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.
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.”
