Idk if you take requests but how would Ash be like in a relationship with a princess? Like he gets sucked into a time vortex in the 18th Century or something (well, at least that's what happens in my story). Just wanna hear your own headcanons about Ash with a princess
The Devil that You Know
When you first met, you pissed him off and turned him on in equal measure. But Ash, the charming rogue he is, can think of a few ways to get you to come around
Ash Williams X Princess!Reader
(Fluff, Angst)
3.1k Words
Warnings: Suggestive content, flirting, manipulation, kissing, greif, alcohol, fighting
An: I ended up writing a whole fic for this XD I do take requests, and I LOVE your idea! Considering I usually write more headstrong reader inserts, I really enjoyed writing their dynamic (Y/N being reserved and a little spoiled, Ash being his brutish self)! :) As my inbox is open, feel free to send in your requests!
When those heavy wooden doors swing open and a pair of knights haul Ash through the great hall of the castle by his elbows, the principal thought in his mind is ‘at least he’s not being dragged to his death’- yet. Close as he can figure it, it’s the eighteenth century. Seeing as he’s once again involved with time bs, that also means that the last bid to vanquish the deadites was a bust.
Being aware that the weight of the world once again rests on one’s shoulders, that you were selected by some cosmic force to save the world is enough to send your average person fleeing to lock themselves in a clock tower forever and ever. And maybe the thought occurred for a second in Ash’s mind. But seeing that it was his mind, that didn’t last very long.
That switch happened the exact moment his knees hit the floor and he locked eyes with you. High up on your throne, collar up to your chin, shining in your ‘I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire’ way. You're stunning.
And you? You pay him no mind. Why should you? Your hand is promised to a man you’ve never met in a far off kingdom; not to mention, you are not charmed by strange, unwashed brutes. Ash nods along to the king’s yammering about holy right and destiny. But that entire time, his gaze is locked on you.
You are so steadfast in this belief that you hardly think about the stranger until late that evening- and even then, it isn’t your fault.
Among the courtesans and maids, you learn to take peace and solidarity where you can find it: namely, sneaking away to one of the palace’s myriad courtyards after hours. It’s strange to think that everything—the chestnut trees, the white peonies— were only planted there because some noble hundreds of years ago thought they would look nice.
At precisely the same time as this reflection, Ash is busy being lost. It turns out in the maze of a palace, those aforementioned guest quarters are a nightmare to locate! So, after a few wrong turns, he stumbles upon the lush garden kissed by the early evening glow. And you.
Late summer sweetness swims through the air as Ash watches from his post leaning against a column: the princess, hair unpinned, wearing a what he assumes to be the equivalent of a nightgown tousled up to your knees, laying in the soft grasses to watch a particularly fat bumblebee dawdle flower to flower. It’s oddly intimate, in the way chipping the porcelain off of a doll exposes its core.
“Hey sweet cheeks.” Ash clears his throat, half expecting your silence before he even opens his mouth. He doesn’t bow- not even a ‘your majesty’. You hum noncommittally, not looking up from your insect friend until you’re at an anti’s eye view of his boots.
“C’mon, not even a kiss for your husband-to-be?”
What? He’s joking, isn’t he? Confusion and shock shoot through you as that duke of limbs plops down-cross legged on the grass next to you. “Oh, he didn’t tell you? See, it’s in the fine print. The king—your father—said, and I quote, ‘My daughter’s hand in marriage will be betrothed upon thee should you’- well, I don’t remember every word’ve it, but the point stands.”
Scrambling on the grass, you huff. “He would do no such thing!” Your parents using you as a bargaining chip is such a convincing cover that the possibility of a stranger lying to you doesn’t cross your mind. “I cannot believe it, marrying me off to some- some buffoon!”
“Listen, honey-“ Disregarding your last comment, Ash follows after you when you storm off. “I didn’t ask for this either! I hardly know you. But maybe it’s-“ You cut him off, spinning to stand nose to nose.
“So you reasoned with him?”
“Well…” You flinch forward and Ash holds his hands up for mercy before you can tackle him to the ground. “I thought, before we go’t that, maybe we could get t’know each other! Y’wouldnt buy the pig if you didn’t taste the sausage first, right?”
“I am not interested in livestock.” Oh, tell that to the stud bull over here. That must’ve snagged your fury seeing how you stop at his toes, staring blankly. And from that, you realize something else.
No princess should watch insects like a peasant child, or accost their supposed fiancé. He saw you. Your behavior is far from proprietary, and Ash has been witness to it all. After a long pause, you sigh.
The following morning, you awake not to birdsong or sun sieving through the blinds, but the clack of sparring tools. If you were any more awake, you’d recognize that shouting as military drills. Shuffling out of bed, barefoot in your nightgown, you discover the source of this commotion. Overnight, the training yards moved directly underneath your balcony.
Still sleepy, you cannot make sense of why any of this is happening. But predictably, at the center of it all is that stranger whose ignorance on social etiquette is only matched by his sheer gall.
Muscular, tan body glistening with sweat and impractically bare, you watch Ash deflect hit after opposite a man twice his size, and with finesse you didn’t expect from a brute of his standing. Even given your previous altercation, you would go so far as to describe the competency he exhibits as attractive.
That does not last long. Even from that distance, Ash catches your gaze and, shortly thereafter, a blow to the stomach.
Stifling a snicker, you watch him stagger to his feet. “Ah! Morning, princess!” He coughs, ducking to dodge another strike with a flair your nation’s military doesn't teach. You shake your head, fighting off a smirk. How quaint, to pine for you so deeply…
That afternoon, you spend a great amount of time rolling things about in your mind. Perhaps you could talk some sense into your father. If you can’t, there’s always the chance he fumbles his quest and you never have to see him again; and the lot of you are torn limb from limb by those unholy creatures…
You suppose living with him is not a fate worse than death. You also suppose that he cannot help but to be a fool. And speaking of, step two of Ash’s genius plan to win your heart is in motion.
Having washed up, but still sore from the above, he retrieves you from your quarters, “Seeing as you don't have restaurants, or the movies- really anywhere civilized’t take a lady, I got creative.” Ash explains as you traverse the palace grounds, pride radiating from his words. You are touched by the thought, momentarily.
At least, until you reach your destination. “And this is how people of thy time… court, one another?” You meet the blank stare of the mare he’s saddling up. This is not a place for you. The stables smell fetid, you haven't so much as been close enough to touch a horse before, and now he wants you to-
“Patience, sweetheart! C’mere-“ Snagging you under the arms, Ash hefts you atop the saddle behind him like an unruly doll. And before you can get your bearings, a quick tug on the reins sends you clamoring to lock your body against his, to where Ash is wearing you like a backpack.
Suitors have parked themselves outside of your window, off-keyedly serenading you on lute for hours. You've received enough flowers to affect the local butterfly population. This is to say, your suitors’ charm has been largely ineffective. Before now, you would've said the same for Ash. But the air is crisp and sweet with fruit bearing trees as you ride along the sun dappled, rolling green perimeter of the forest.
Your destination is a clearing, the grasses of which appear to be a hotbed for lepidotra, “So, what d’you do all day?” Ash smoothly dismounts, a smirk pulling across his lips at the softness he feels at your waist as he helps you down, broad calloused hands spanning your waist. “Besides sittin’ around lookin’ pretty…”
Blush burns the apples of your cheeks. You ignore it, “I sleep, and practice etiquette…make appearances when needed-” Brushing off your skirts, you huff, “How does your interrogation of myself aid thy divine mandate?”
“It isn’t.” Where your words chafe under stale euphemisms, Ash is direct- refreshingly so. Smirking at you fussing over yourself, he parks himself in the grass, taking a swig of his canteen full of what is certainly not water.
He tilts the canister towards you when you sit at his side. It’s such a slight, but provoking gesture that you don’t know the half of. Where Ash has had everything—his friends, his girlfriend, his sister, and his life—ripped from his hands, you hadn't a thing to call your own in the first place. Everything you do is for the crown, the royal name…
You take a sip, brow furrowing at the tang of the mead. “I hear there will be a celebration tonight in thy honor,” you wipe your mouth. “I suppose, we will be expected to make an appearance together.”
“I suppose you're turnin’ me down?” Ash can't hide the amused glint that flickers in his eye when you cough from the burn in your throat.
“I never said that.” It slips out so naturally. Silence hangs in the warm air. Despite physically turning away, you can feel the smirk on Ash’s face, the shift of the grasses beneath him. When you finally turn to accost him, your nose nearly bumps his. Wow, your bodies are close- close enough your chest heaves against his.
“I mean, anything could happen tomorrow,” Ash murmurs, that wicked glint in his eye belying the sincerity he plastered on. “I could conquer, I could die… Wouldn't that be a shame. You’d never get t’meet the stallion between my legs- and I’m not talkin’ about my horse.”
“You brute-!” With a gasp, you yank your arm back. But your palm’s trajectory halts midair. With one smooth motion, Ash grasps your wrist and pulls you in to lean against him. Your lips mash against his as a palm comes up to cradle your head, the jarring contrast making you dizzy. You thought to slap him still.
But… you didn't. If taking you out without announcement was frowned on, Ash doesn’t know what this’ll get him… But those thoughts aren't even in the equation now. Now, you are not an heiress and a hero tasked with saving the world, again. You’re just two lovers in the grass.
Normally, he wouldn’t go so far out of his way for some chick who hates his guts. Really since that cabin- that damn book, every woman who has hurled themselves at the feet of this fine specimen of man ends up, by way of comic forces, dead or intent on harming him. Maybe, possibly, as fleeting as they may be, things will be different this time.
On a lesser note, Ash would be remiss if he didn’t mention the elephant in the room. You look just like her: the way you sit glaring down your nose at him like he’s something unpleasant you scraped off your velvet slipper. It’s a spitting image of some silky haired, Monaco summering, hometown car dealership heiress that laughed when he asked her to the prom.
Oh, but Ash isn’t that broke, doe eyed high school kid. He’s a hero now! The only thing that fate’s redheaded stepchild considers himself better at than vanquishing that evil which scourges upon the land is earning the affections of fair maidens. And hot damn, when he saw you at the ball, were you fair…
You are just a doll, cinched up in your gown of silks upon silks, hair pinned in combs that each cost more than his car, cleavage up to your chin... “What a party… Uh-” Ash swallows, reminding himself where your eyes are. “Can’t really say this is my scene, princess.” Not that Ash was having a bad time, but in his time, ‘parties’ had fewer jabots and waistcoats.
You pluck a glass from the table you were lingering about, “In all honesty, I cannot say that it mine either.” You explain, voice chaste below the full string arrangement. “these balls extend so late into the evening; by the end of the afair, my corset leaves bruises.”
“Well, I’d be happy’t help you out of it.” You don’t gasp, scandalized, clutching your pearls. You laugh- soft and reserved, but a genuine reaction. Maybe he’s rubbing off on you. Ash considered himself an excellent bad influence. Helping himself to a glass of Madeira, he shoots a glance out onto the floor.
“Wanna dance?”
You choke, eyebrows shooting up to your hairline. “You want to-“
“-dance, yes princess.” Ash takes you not slapping him or rolling your eyes as progress. There’s proprietary channels for these things, not that Ash is aware or cares to be aware. “I’m no Fred Astaire, but you can show me what to do and I won’t step on your feet. One dance.”
You stare at the hand he offers like it’ll bite you. Well, the sudden lack of bravado was refreshing. And he smelled pleasant, and the hand he offered you was well manicured... Okay, fine- you said yes!
So you lead him out onto the floor, adjusting a hand that’d crept too low on your back before leading him—yes, you leading him—you are no longer a stranger to disregarding the expectations of high society. But there is an earnestness in Ash’s movements confidently half a step behind you and a hair too close next to the dancers around you.
Under a chandelier that shone like someone personally lassoed the stars down, amidst the tumble dry of colorful gowns and clashing perfumes are the two of you- the warm little center of this gilded cage.
I mean, it’s not usually how he flirts- but he’ll, why not? Get drunk, dance with a hot girl, probably get laid later- if you throw in a cheeseburger, he’s set. Now that he thinks of it, depending on how tomorrow goes, this is either a party or a wake.
Ash would like to think he’d rather spend his last moments in a pile of ravenous, nude women. In actuality, his real ideal ‘last hours on earth’ with the people he loved is such an impossibility that- you look over your shoulder to glance at Ash from across the room. He smiles, and waves.
The moment’s fleetingness doesn't detract from it. No, even after the rest of the world has returned around you, the heat of Ash’s broad, calloused palm is still tingling on your back as you mingle with guests as a woman of your standing is inclined to do.
“I’m sorry to ever doubt you, father!” you giggle, having had perhaps one too many glasses of wine. He mouths something Ash can't hear. “My betrothal! Upon our initial conference, I’d pegged him for a fool- but he had certainly won my-“ before you can finish, the king cuts you off.
The only evidence of your formerly betrothed is a pair of swinging doors. This man of the future who wears devotion like a breakaway chastity belt- suddenly, you see him for the coward he is. Pushing past dignitaries, you storm after him. “You three-penny-upright-”
The doors behind Ash blow open. “-bull calf! you take me for a common whore!” Before he can even turn around, you're at his side glaring like an angry diamond.
“Easy, sweetheart-“
“Tallowcatching lobcock! You have treated my heart as-”
Ash politely grimaces at a guest stumbling past. “Sorry! Lover’s quarrel-“
“How dare you call us lovers!”
Music plays in the next room over. Guests keep dancing and laughing. Ash stands there as you throttle him, brain whirring, trying to come up with some explanation that wouldn't land his ass in the gallows by sunrise.
“Listen! I get it, you're mad-” Ash keeps his voice steady, planting his palms on your shoulders. "Tomorrow, when I get out there, and I defeat the deadites, I’m gonna come back a hero- that is, if I don’t die. And when I come back, I’m askin’ for your hand in marriage. And your father’s gonna say yes.”
In retrospect, Ash realizes all the ways in which that wouldn’t work, the least of which being that he is jonesing to get back to his indoor plumbing and cable, coupled with the fact he barely knows you. But that cobbled together explanation is enough to jog your fury. You freeze, chest heaving. Tension seeps from you in a shaky sigh as you fall to lean against him. Ash wraps an arm around your shoulders, rubbing your back.
The morning light tears open your sludgey stupor, dumping you into bright, aching reality. What did you do last night? Squeezing your eyes at the sharp knock on your door, you groan. “Come in!” Blinking through the blur of sleep, you shoot up.
“Yo. Princess.”
You quickly sort out your hair, voice still rough, “Oh! S-sire, I’m…” Your mouth goes dry. Why did he have to come at a time like this? “I would like to apologize for my behavior last evening. I was-“
“Yeah, yeah- it’s fine.” Ash leans against the doorframe, performing nonchalance with that peony dangling in his grip like an afterthought “I just… wanted t’stop by. Say goodbye before I head out there.”
There’s a new weight to his words, equal parts apology and farewell- for him and you. You've both made mistakes, acted in ways you should’ve known better not to. You stumble out of bed, barefoot and drowsy.
But before you can sit at your armoir, a hand catches you. Spinning you by his grasp of your arm, Ash pulls you to his chest. You gasp. He isn’t one to admit fault; this is as close as you're getting to a sorry. “You haven’t changed.” a smile plays on your lips, staring up at him.
“That, I haven’t…” he rasps. And he kisses you- a real, deep kiss that makes your head swim more than it already was. Maybe he couldn't hold on. Maybe this wasn’t meant to last forever. But if this is as close as he gets to a happy ending, Ash will ride off a happy man.
