Eddsworld Oneshots - Lovely Little Demons (Eddsworld X Abnormal! Reader)

Irish to the Bone (Sheriff Thompson X Irish! Reader)

Tom's POV

  The dirt road was dusty and overshadowed by the crisp dawn. Light bathes my face as my wavy hair poked out of my hat. I looked up towards the sky. An eagle soared by and I chuckled a silly thought to myself. It was stupid, but funny; 'Murica. That's when a sweet aroma hit my nose. I followed it, believing that someone was baking.

  That's when I saw someone. A woman with the most beautiful (h/c) hair in her kitchen.  Her window was left open as she sang happily. Her accent sounded foreign, and slightly familiar, and definitely lovely. I listened for a good half hour while she made what looked like sweet potato pie, mashed potatoes, and red wine. She finally looked up and squealed at the sight of me in her window.

  "H-how long have you been there?" she cried quietly. I blink and look down at her. Her face was more beautiful from the front. I smile light heartedly and sigh softly. That's when I trigger her temper. "What is your problem?"

  "I'm the sheriff of Spitbucket. I'm sorry for scaring you. I smelled something really good, and then I heard your singing. You have a beautiful voice. What accent is that, may I ask?" I let my charm sway her.

  Her face immediately calmed, but not quite cheery. Her eyes glittered like (e/c) jewels. I admired how expressive they were. I also noticed her long eye lashes. As well as her red tinted cheeks.

  "I'm Irish, sir," she answers. I nod and look down at the window sill. She notices my curiosity. She doesn't respond to it. I look back up at her with a weak smile. I can see that she was returning it.

  "May I come in?" I ask. She nods and goes to tend to her food. As I climb in through the window - what a gentleman, am I right? - I see a clover perched on the sweet potato pie. It was a dead give away to her Irish heritage. I smile and kick off my boots at the door and take off my hat and coat. I take a seat at her table and wait. She returns with some cheese and beer.

  "Why Spitbucket? You have gone anywhere in the world. And you chose Spitbucket," I chime. She looks up from her mug of beer. A woman after my own heart. I smile softly as she starts her explanation.

  "Well, my parents moved here before I was born. They raised me as Irish to the bone. I never objected, as I love my home country. Plus, it's easier to sell Irish meals in Spitbucket than in Ireland. Though, I've been thinking about getting a husband. I could use some help around the house. As well as he might protect the house better,"

  "Better?" I ask with a small chuckle.

  "My father taught me how to shoot. He would always tell me I had great accuracy. Too bad that thief did, too," she murmured. We went silent. I held her hand in mine. I hear her sigh but not resist my hand. It was clear to see the trouble. Her father was killed by a bandit that ransacked their home.

  "Poor gal. I want to cheer you up. Do you know how to ride a horse? I ask enthusiastically. She shakes her head. Her eyes were shining like jewels once more. It was more beautiful with the sun completely out.

  "Then I'll teach you. C'mon!" I grin. I slip on my boots and throw on my hat and coat. She follows, but now in men's clothes. They were a bit big on her. Her father's, I'm guessing.

Time Skip

  She was a natural. We were sitting side by side in the setting sun. The hills were a deep orange and purple. We rode horses all day. I even bought the woman her own horse. Imported from Ireland, they said. Well, I guess an Irish Sport horse would have to be.

  I watch her pet Clover - the horse. Her beautiful hair flew all over the place. I smile and chuckle softly. She looks up at me. Her eyes were narrowed.

  "What are you laughing at?"

  "The fact that you are a natural with horses. Yet you never learned to ride one before. That's the kind of talent with a horse you couldn't learn. What were your parents before you moved here?" I ask. I wondered if they were horse ranchers.

  "My mother was a doctor and my father was a farmer. He worked with horses. But he always said that they were too big for me. I'd get hurt," she answers. I nod and smile, getting to my feet to get closer to her. She turns to face me, and I kiss her.

  She blushes madly, but doesn't pull away. When I pull away instead, she smiles. It was the most unique smile I ever saw. One of awe, shock, and love. She must have returned my feelings.

  "You aren't too bad yourself, Sheriff," she giggles.