Markiplier: Once Upon A Time

Markiplier:Reader~~ Wild West

You know the old western show, Gunsmoke? I used that as reference. It's an amazing show. Watch it. 

This chapter is dedicated to @jakelover7670, whom I must deeply thank for this idea. 

Let's begin. 

The sunset was visible from the balcony you were on, the crimson sky and glowing orb silhouetting the sandy scrub-land outside your tiny town. The moment was beautiful, watching the sunset from your house above the saloon, and you wouldn't have traded it for anything. Except, perhaps, the lone man on a palomino horse riding into town on the dusty beaten road that snaked into oblivion. 

He caught your eye immediately. You took careful note of the tan shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His black hair peeking out from the brimmed hat he wore. The dust coated pants and the dark brown vest. You especially noticed his worn out boots and holstered gun. His strong arms gripped the reigns as he began scanning the town for life. But at an hour like this, all the life would be in the saloon beneath you. 

The new cowboy hopped swiftly off his horse and began tying the reigns to the railing of the porch that snaked around the outside of the saloon. You watched him the whole time. For a moment, you could have sworn he looked at you. The stubble on his face was as captivating as those magnificent forearms. 

Being the owner of the Arrowhead Saloon, and seeing as you were a beautiful woman, you tried to avoid going into the saloon at later hours such as this. But when you saw the stranger enter, you decided to pay him a visit. 

You re-dressed, seeing as you didn't necessarily need to wear all those floofy dresses. You slipped you dress back on. The stays were built in on the peach pink one you chose to wear. "What the modern age has done for the comfort of dress is less than impressive," you muttered to yourself, tightening the dress. You wished you didn't have to wear the stays, but it was less than proper for a lady not to. 

You thanked God that your dress, as uncomfortable and impractical as it was, was long enough for you to get away with not wearing garters. You looked at yourself in the full length mirror, smiling. Your hair was still up in curls from earlier, your makeup still applied. With no further preparations to be made, you slipped your boots on and began your decent down the stairs and into the loud, rowdy saloon. 

Many men in the saloon watched you as you entered. Some laughed and punched at their buddies, making comments about you that you ignored successfully. Your full attention was on the new stranger who was seated at the bar. Oddly enough, you saw he wasn't drinking. This made you curious. 

"Hello, Bubba," you said, smiling at the bartender. The tall man scratched his beard.

"Hello, Miss (Y/N)," he replied with a smile. You stood next to the stranger, leaning on the bar. 

"I saw you come into our town," you mentioned to him. He looked down at you. "What brings you down to Merryville?"

"Just wandering, Miss." He nodded, taking his hat off. His hair was coal black and messier than a birds nest. You could now see him better, so you smiled. His eyes were chocolate brown. This color was one you hadn't seen on a man like him before. 

"It's (Y/N), right?" He inquired. You nodded. "What a lovely name."

"Why thank you, Mr...?" 

"Mark. And I hardly deserve a 'Mr' in front of my name."

"Simple formalities, Mark."

His accent was more northern than yours. You noticed this right away and made a note that he mustn't have been from the south. You wanted to ask what brought him south, but figured it would be a rude question.