What if…? A Rewritten Devotion
Pairing: queen!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader
Summary: Side Story* of Boundless Devotion Series. MedievalAU. What if your past was different? What if certain events didn't occur like they did? What if you didn’t grow up in the Romanov Kingdom?
*contains spoilers for series (pls read main story first)*
Warnings: fluff
Words: 4287
Your hand pauses mid-flip, the smooth texture of the parchment brushing your fingertips as a scarlet petal drifts down from above and lands perfectly in the center of the page. For a moment, you stare at it, struck by the vivid color, bright, bold, and too early in the season to be here at all.
Its name eludes you, but you’re familiar with its kind. Rare, stubborn flowers that usually wait for the harsh winter to bloom. But this one must’ve grown impatient. You smile faintly at the thought—impatience and stubbornness, you can relate to.
Before you can wonder how it ended up shedding petals all the way into your secluded pavilion, a soft clearing of the throat echoes off one of the marble pillars.
“Jarvis,” you sigh, trying and failing to sound surprised, “what can I do for you?”
Jarvis bows with the perfection of someone who had served your family long before you were born. His silver-threaded hair doesn’t shift out of place, nor does his expression, though his eyes carry that familiar glimmer of I-know-exactly-why-you’re-hiding.
“Your brother is requesting your presence in the parlour, Your Highness.”
You narrow your eyes. The parlour. Not the dining hall, not his study. The parlour meant guests. The parlour meant trouble.
“And did he happen to mention why?” you ask pointedly.
Jarvis presses a hand behind his back, posture immaculate.
“His exact phrasing was that ‘a surprise is waiting for you.’”
A groan escapes before you can stop it. Another surprise. In other words, another forced introduction to some noble Tony found ‘respectable,’ which apparently meant ‘boring,’ ‘self-absorbed,’ or ‘someone who talks at you for hours about something excruciatingly uninteresting.’
You eye the lone red petal for a moment before shutting your book with a soft thump.
“Jarvis,” you begin, leaning forward with all the seriousness you rarely used on him, “you’ve been taking care of us since our parents died. But we both know you adore me more.” Jarvis exhales as if you’ve stabbed him with the truth. “So be honest: what surprise does my dear brother have waiting for me?”
The man’s perfect composure slips just enough for a tiny twitch of an amused smile.
“Well, if rumors are to be believed, I may have seen the coachman of one of His Majesty’s more…shameless companions arrive early this morning.”
Your shoulders slump.
“Another setup,” you mutter. “Gods, does he think if he sends enough suitors, one will magically become appealing?”
Jarvis says nothing, and that in itself is the answer.
You clasp your hands dramatically and give him your best pleading expression.
“Please…please pretend you never found me. I will owe you for the rest of my life.”
Jarvis hesitates just long enough to pretend he’s considering your request really hard. Then he gives a polite bow.
“My apologies. It seems I was mistaken. The princess left the castle earlier and will be spending her day in town.”
A victorious smile breaks across your face.
“I appreciate you, Jarvis.”
He inclines his head, which in Jarvis-language is basically shouting you’re welcome, and walks off as if he never saw you.
You sink back onto the cushioned bench of your hidden pavilion, surrounded by roses and carved stone archways, blessedly alone again. Opening your book, you turn to your place and gently lift the scarlet petal that was pressed inside.
But another gust of wind swirls through the garden, tugging the petal from your grasp. It spirals upward, dancing through a shaft of sunlight before disappearing somewhere above the pavilion roof.
You sigh, return to your reading, only to freeze when a soft grunt drifts down from the tree branches overhead. Then another.
Petals suddenly rain down in front of your face, an entire flurry of them.
You look up sharply.
Instead of a bird or a squirrel, you see a human form wedged awkwardly between the leaves, balancing on a thick branch. Cloaked, hooded, and absolutely not supposed to be here.
“Hey!” you shout before you can think.
The figure jerks violently at the sound of your voice, one foot slipping off the edge. Their hand shoots out to grab a nearby branch, but it’s thin and snaps instantly. The entire body comes crashing down, bouncing off the pavilion roof with a thud before rolling ungracefully onto the ground.
“Oh my gods—are you alright?!” You drop to your knees beside the fallen stranger.
A low groan answers you as the cloaked figure clutches their side. You hover your hands over them, instinctively wanting to help, until reality strikes you.
You’re in the royal garden. Behind multiple layers of guards. Behind secured walls.
Which means whoever this is, they’re still an intruder.
You jerk back, scrambling toward the garden path.
“Jarv—!”
A hand slaps over your mouth. Your back hits the grass as another hand pins your wrist. You turn your head and meet—
Eyes. Green. Startlingly soft despite the situation. They widen at your panic, framed by wisps of red hair that have escaped the dark hood. Her breathing is quick from the fall, her lips parted slightly in focus, and—
You forget how to breathe for a second.
“Wait!” she hisses, voice hushed and desperate. “Let me explain!”
Why is even her whisper that pretty?
She leans in slightly, ensuring only you can hear.
“My name is Natasha Romanov. I’m the queen of the Romanov kingdom.”
You blink.
…She’s also insane.
You blindly reach behind you, fingers brushing the spine of your discarded book. In one swift motion, you grab it and smack her arm.
“Hey!” she yelps, voice raised in indignation.
Her grip on your wrist stays strong, though she shifts her other hand from your mouth to block your book strikes with surprisingly quick reflexes.
“Stop hitting me!”
“You let me go first!”
To your surprise, she does. She instantly releases your wrist, raises both hands in surrender, and sits back on her knees to give you space.
“There. Free. Happy?” she says, breathing a little heavier from the fall and the brief scuffle.
You glare, sputtering, offended that she’s implying you’re the unreasonable one.
Before you can respond, rapid footsteps echo through the garden. Jarvis rounds the corner with three guards, eyes honing in on you first, then the cloaked woman surrounded by petals like some chaotic painting.
“Your Highness!” he says, rushing to help you up and immediately positioning himself between you and the intruder.
The guards draw weapons, surrounding her in a tight formation. She doesn’t flinch. If anything, she seems…tired. And annoyingly composed.
“Are you hurt?” Jarvis asks you.
You shake your head, pointing at the tree.
“She fell out of the branches.”
The woman snorts.
“I wouldn’t have fallen if you hadn’t startled me.”
Jarvis’s arm shoots out across your front just as you attempt to step forward in indignation.
“Well, forgive me for being surprised someone was lurking in the trees!” you snap.
The woman lifts her chin, a subtle smirk tugging at her lips, as if she’s far too amused by you.
“Desperate times,” she says lightly. “And I told you… I’m Queen Natasha Romanov.” Slowly, she lowers her hood, revealing all of her fire-red hair, sharp cheekbones, and calm certainty. “I’m here to request a meeting with your king, who’s been avoiding me.”
The garden seems to be still around her. Even the guards hesitate.
Natasha raises a brow at you, awaiting your response, and your heart, traitorous thing that it is, skips. Twice.
~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~
You keep your eyes locked to the stone path ahead, refusing to so much as glance at the woman walking beside you. Somehow, after Jarvis confirmed her identity and the guards stepped down, the responsibility of escorting Queen Natasha Romanov to your brother fell on your shoulders.
Of course it did. Tony always had impeccable timing when it came to making your life difficult.
You inhale slowly. Then exhale sharply.
A queen. A whole actual queen. In your tree. And falling out of it.
What sort of queen climbs trees anyway?
You’re so deep in this very dignified mental rant that you don’t notice Natasha leaning forward sideways towards your face until the very last moment when your peripheral vision catches a blur of red hair. You jerk back so abruptly you nearly trip over your own feet.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” you squeak, raising a hand to cover your mouth. Only belatedly do you realize that you are shielding the very lips that almost collided with her face.
Her eyes sparkle mischievously as she takes in your flustered state. The corner of her mouth lifts in an unhurried, knowing smile.
“I was trying to see what had you so focused,” she says lightly, gaze sliding downward. “And I knew that looked familiar. You’re holding my mother’s book.”
You freeze, clutching the leather-bound volume tighter to your chest as if you might shield it from her sight.
“So?” you snap, lifting your chin in challenge.
Natasha’s gaze doesn’t waver. If anything, her smirk deepens as she studies you like something intriguing, like something she hadn’t expected to find in this kingdom but is thoroughly delighted to observe.
“I always wondered,” she muses, “why your brother insisted on acquiring copies of her works every time he visited Romanov lands. Now I understand who he was really bringing them home for.”
Heat floods your face. You glare because glaring is much safer than acknowledging the truth she’s just effortlessly exposed.
“Are you making fun of me?”
She blinks in honest surprise before laughing softly, the sound warm and low.
“No. Actually, I think it’s…sweet. Very different from the impression I had of the Stark king.”
Your surprise and curiosity get the better of you.
“And what impression was that?”
She lifts her hand and counts off on her fingers.
“Narcissistic. Egotistical. Reckless. Frustrating. Annoying.”
A laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it because she’s right. The sound escapes you in a small, unguarded bubble of amusement, and you immediately press your fingers over your lips to hide your smile.
But not before Natasha sees it.
Her expression softens subtly as though she’s pleased to have earned that reaction from you. For a heartbeat, her face is gentle in a way that feels vulnerable. Then she replaces it with another smirk, the mischievous teasing back in full force.
“Of course,” she adds airily, “with a little sister who blushes so easily from a simple gesture, it’s no wonder he spoils you.”
You gape at her, scandalized, eyes wide and cheeks burning hotter than fire as she turns to continue on the path. You grip your book, fully prepared to commit assault-by-literature and launch it at her knowing face.
But it’s plucked cleanly from your hands.
“My lady,” Jarvis says, voice impeccably stern as he holds the book high out of your reach until your hands drop back to your sides. He returns it only once you stop vibrating with indignation. “She is still the Queen of another kingdom here for diplomatic reasons. Please refrain from rash actions.”
You snatch the book back with a huff, primarily because Jarvis is right and secondarily because Natasha is watching you with the most insufferably pleased expression you’ve ever seen in your life.
She glances over her shoulder at you, eyebrow raised in silent provocation.
Are you going to keep up?
Your pride prickles. You close the distance immediately, matching her stride with determined purpose. But the moment she subtly leans forward again to catch your expression, you whip your head in the opposite direction with a sharp, indignant huff.
Her laugh is short, warm, and impossible to ignore. The sound follows the two of you down the corridor.
The carved double doors of the parlour finally come into view, gleaming beneath the afternoon light. You halt abruptly and jab a finger toward them, refusing to look directly at the woman beside you.
“He’s in there,” you announce crisply. You pivot on your heel and stride toward the adjoining corridor before Natasha can say anything else that might fluster you.
“Hey! Wait,” she calls, footsteps quick behind you. “Where are you going?”
You stop and turn just enough to raise an eyebrow.
“Anywhere but here.”
For the first time since she fell out of your tree, an uncertain expression flickers across her face. She glances between you and the parlour door as though debating which direction is the correct choice.
You, however, don’t hesitate. If you stay anywhere near Tony and his “surprise,” you’ll be trapped in another painfully curated date before you can blink. You’re halfway down the hallway when—
“Hold on—”
“There you are!”
You close your eyes and sigh. Tony’s voice bounces down the corridor like the world’s most obnoxious herald.
You turn slowly, already bracing yourself, and spot him marching toward you with a look of theatrical disappointment etched across his face. But what catches your attention first is that Natasha is not by the parlour doors anymore.
Instead, she’s only a few steps behind you, as if she chose to follow you.
Tony points a finger at you, shaking his head.
“Unbelievable. And here I was preparing a surprise for you.”
“You can keep it for yourself,” you deadpan, arms crossing.
He opens his mouth to retort, but then notices Natasha. He gestures toward her without even looking.
“And who is this?”
The shift in Natasha is immediate and striking. The teasing glimmer fades, replaced by sharp composure, the kind only someone trained to wear a crown could muster. She steps forward, shoulders straight, chin high.
“Queen Natasha of the Romanov Kingdom,” she says. “I have been requesting an audience with you for weeks to finalize the trade negotiations between our kingdoms.”
Tony squints, tapping his chin as if trying to recall what a ‘trade negotiation’ even is. Then, predictably, he turns to Jarvis.
“Jarvis, I believe I’m fully booked for the rest of the day, aren’t I?”
Jarvis exhales through his nose, the refined equivalent of a frustrated sigh from one who knows what sort of response that he’s expecting.
“It would seem so, Your Majesty.”
Tony claps once, satisfied.
“There we have it. So, perhaps another time, Your Grace.”
He waves her off like a bothersome merchant. Meanwhile, Jarvis immediately steps forward, bowing apologetically yet ushering her away with a diplomat’s trained subtlety.
Natasha stiffens, her hands curling into fists at her sides. The tension radiates off her filled with anger, humiliation, and the weary frustration of a queen who crossed borders only to be dismissed like an errand girl.
Your chest tightens with sympathy, figuring she’s only trying to accomplish her duties. Before you can dwell on it, he rounds on you.
“And you,” he huffs. “Judging by your attitude, I take it Jarvis spoiled the surprise. Fine. No build-up. But you’ll like this one, I swear.”
You drag a hand down your face. He has said that exact line every single time. And every single time, the suitor has been worse. This will probably never end unless—
A thought sparks in your mind.
“I can’t,” you blurt, brushing past him before you can talk yourself out of it. You stride straight to Natasha, slip your arm through hers, and tug her close. “Because I already have someone.”
Natasha freezes for half a second, then looks at you with raised brows, puzzled but not displeased at the thought of being yours. She doesn’t pull away. If anything, she shifts closer, body angled toward yours.
Tony’s jaw drops. “But she’s—”
“A queen,” you interrupt, letting smugness drip from every syllable. “I highly doubt whichever lord you dug up could possibly compete with that.”
Tony narrows his eyes in suspicion.
“You’re lying. When would you two even meet?”
You don’t blink.
“In town. While you were ignoring her requests for meetings.”
You lean your head against Natasha’s shoulder, hand resting lightly atop her arm.
Natasha glances down at you, and something warm flashes in her eyes. To your surprise, she slides her arm from yours only to wrap it around your waist, pulling you flush against her side.
Your heart slams itself against your ribs in betrayal.
She faces Tony with regal composure.
“She was reading my mother’s book when we met,” she says. “And after our first encounter, I wanted to know her better.”
It’s stunning how smoothly she lies while also speaking the truth.
Tony opens his mouth, then stops. You can see the moment he realizes he may have inadvertently orchestrated this entire situation by constantly ignoring the Romanov’s request to meet.
He shakes his head violently.
“No. No, absolutely not. I don’t buy it. You’re bluffing.”
Your patience snaps, frustrated at how long he wants to prolong this discussion, just to catch you in your lie.
“If we were faking it,” you say sharply, “would I do this?”
Before anyone can think, you turn, cup the back of Natasha’s neck, and pull her toward you.
Your lips meet hers.
It’s meant to be quick—a simple demonstration. But the moment you touch, Natasha exhales, soft and startled, and her hand tightens at your waist. Suddenly, she leans in, returning the kiss with an intensity that steals the air from your lungs. You feel heat bloom across your skin as her lips press more firmly to yours, warm and sure and—
You pull back in a rush, breath unsteady, face inches from hers. The world feels strangely quiet. Too quiet.
Natasha’s eyes flutter open, pupils wide, her expression dazed…and something else. Something that makes your pulse stutter.
“Jarvis! Do something!” Tony’s voice cracks like a whip through the charged air.
You step back, clearing your throat violently, forcing your composure to materialize from thin air. You turn to Tony with an arched brow.
“Well. Since you don’t have time for her,” you say coolly, “I suppose I’ll just have her to myself.”
And before he can regain his voice, you seize Natasha’s hand and march down the corridor.
She follows without resistance. Without a word. But when you risk a quick glance over your shoulder, you catch it.
A soft flush dusts her cheeks. Her eyes dart away the second you meet them.
A slow, triumphant smile curves your lips.
Serves her right, you think, savoring it. It seems the Romanov queen can be flustered too.
~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~
You close your bedroom door with a gentle thud, the sound muffled by the heavy velvet drapes lining your walls. You remain facing it for a moment, hand still on the handle, breath caught in your throat.
You can’t believe you brought her here. The Romanov queen. The woman you just kissed. Into your private space.
Gods, what were you thinking?
You close your eyes, inhale deeply, and school your expression before turning around to face the consequences of your impulsiveness.
Only to find Natasha already wandering your room.
She stands before your bookshelf, fingertips gliding across the spines of your neatly arranged collection, her curiosity unrestrained and entirely regal at once. The soft rustle of her cloak as she shifts to pull a volume from the shelf snaps you out of your daze.
You lunge forward, placing your hand over hers before she can tug the book out.
“What do you think you’re doing?” you demand, far too quickly, far too defensively.
Natasha blinks, then lifts an eyebrow. She says nothing. Instead, she glances meaningfully down at where your hand covers hers.
Heat floods your face. You snatch your hand away as if burned and hastily slide the book back into place.
Natasha lets out a single soft breath, a half laugh, as she gestures around your shelves.
“You and my mother would get along well,” she muses, “judging by all these books you have.” Her gaze flicks to you, lips curling mischievously. “Probably not as close as how you treat me, though.”
Your cheeks flare instantly. Of course, she brings that up.
You bite down a retort, inhale deeply, and force yourself to meet her eyes.
“I apologize,” you say stiffly. “For kissing you so suddenly.”
Natasha tilts her head, considering you as though the apology is unexpected or not where she planned this conversation to go at all.
Not wanting her to have a chance to fluster you again, you take a step into her space, boldly or foolishly, you aren’t sure, and her eyes widen ever so slightly.
“However,” you challenge, “why did you kiss me back?”
Her lips quirk upward.
“You mean: why did I play along with your lie, so you wouldn’t have to endure another suitor?”
You nod, feeling absurdly anxious for her answer.
Natasha shrugs, utterly unapologetic.
“Your brother’s been wasting my time for weeks. Bothering him a little felt…deserved.”
The reason makes you laugh softly in surprise despite yourself, and Natasha smiles in return. The atmosphere in the room eases instantly, and for a moment, neither of you looks away.
Until you accidentally glance down at her lips. Just a flicker. Barely a second. But enough that your pulse stutters at the memory of her touch.
You immediately clear your throat and turn to the shelves, pretending to tidy a book that was perfectly aligned already.
“Well,” you say tightly, “I wouldn’t worry too much. Tony will probably rush to meet with you before the day ends just to remove you from my vicinity.”
Natasha hums thoughtfully, leaning her shoulder against the bookcase. Her eyes track you lazily, amusement softening her features.
“Was that your plan all along?” she asks.
“Yes,” you answer. “A mutually beneficial solution.”
“I’m impressed,” she admits. Then she tilts her head to catch your gaze before you can dart away again. “But am I really that bad of an option to be with?”
Your heart nearly stops. The immediate, instinctive answer—No, you’re not—rises too quickly. You swallow it down, refusing to let it escape.
“I didn’t say that,” you mutter instead.
Her eyes brighten. A small smile tugs at her lips, one softer than any she’s shown so far.
Silence settles between you. And yet the room doesn’t feel empty. Her presence fills the space in a way you can’t exactly define. Warm, magnetic, and quietly disarming all at once.
A knock breaks the peace.
“My lady,” Jarvis calls, voice muffled through the door. “The king requests the Romanov queen’s presence to complete the trade negotiations.”
You give Natasha a pointed look. Told you.
Opening the door, you catch Jarvis’s eye and ask, “The truth, Jarvis.”
A faint smile tugs at the corners of his mouth before he relents.
“His Majesty does not wish the two of you to spend too much time alone in your bedchamber.” He bows politely to Natasha. “No offense, Your Majesty.”
“None taken,” Natasha replies easily. “I should go and finish this. I was meant to head back home days ago.”
You frown at the reminder of how long Tony’s negligence delayed her work.
“I’m sorry again for my brother,” you say.
She shakes her head and waves off your apology.
“I should thank you. Without your help, I doubt I’d have secured a meeting at all.”
You scoff lightly. The woman overcame the castle’s security measures and climbed a tree just for the chance to complete her duties.
“Somehow, I doubt you’re incapable of achieving anything you want,” you tell her sincerely.
Natasha blinks, momentarily surprised at the trust in your words, before a grin spreads across her face, warm and genuine. You find yourself smiling back.
Jarvis politely clears his throat, and the spell breaks.
“Shall we go, Your Majesty?”
“Right.” Natasha takes a step forward but stops at your doorframe. Turning, she reaches into her cloak.
You freeze as her hand lifts toward your face. Gently, carefully, she tucks something into your hair.
“A little farewell gift,” she murmurs.
When she steps back, you brush your fingers through your hair and feel a soft petal. You turn to the vanity. The flower from the tree, scarlet, bright, and unmistakable, rests just above your ear.
A laugh slips from you.
“Now I wonder if you fell because of me…or because you were reaching for these flowers.”
Natasha’s expression softens into something tender. Something dangerously close to affection.
“Whichever reason,” she says quietly, “it was worth it.”
Your heart lurches. You open your mouth—maybe to ask her to stay for dinner, maybe to say something you’ll regret not telling her—but remember she must leave soon. So instead, you nod toward Jarvis.
“Take care of her. And try to keep Tony from tormenting her too much.”
Jarvis inclines his head. “Of course, my lady.”
Natasha steps out into the hall after Jarvis, but pauses with one hand resting lightly on your doorframe. She glances back at you, eyes warm.
“I noticed you don’t have any of my mother’s newer works,” she says. “When I return home, I’ll have fresh copies made and bring them with me the next time I visit.”
Your breath catches. Next time. She’s promising to meet with you next time. Not for diplomacy. Not out of royal obligations. But just to spend some time with you.
The realization sparks a quiet flutter in your chest, one you can’t quite hide. You manage a steady nod.
“I’ll look forward to it.”
Her smile blooms instantly, unguarded and radiant. She lingers there for a heartbeat longer, as if reluctant to leave, before finally turning to go.
You lean against the doorway, watching her retreat down the corridor until she disappears from sight. Only then do you pluck the flower from your hair and turn it slowly between your fingers.
It had all begun with a single drifting petal, a simple brush of red against your palm. And somehow, you can’t help feeling that moment is what led Natasha Romanov into your world.
~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~
a/n: thank you for reading!
This was finished long ago, and I decided to just post it now for some happiness in the midst of all the angst right now in the main story.
An alternate universe to my alternate universe, so that no matter which world, these two will somehow always find each other ♥️