BOMBSHELL. ❪ Steve Rogers ❫ ✓

one

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Ophelia Odindottir was curious about Midgard, and even through her many centuries of living, she had yet to visit.

Her brothers were protective of her, and seeing as how her mere presence entranced men into a flurry of attraction and women into a flurry of jealously, they refused to let her visit. Naturally, she convinced her father, who allowed Heimdall to send her down. She was elated at that, and even dressed accordingly to where she chose to land, based on what Heimdall could see.

The fluffy, Midgardian dress fit her comfortably and loosely at the same time. It was a beautiful shade of red that could easily be seen from afar. If her brothers had seen it, they would have thrown a cloak over her with a lock so that she couldn't take it off.

Ophelia looked around curiously from the empty alleyway she landed gracefully in. She kissed the necklace around her neck before tucking it away.

"Thank you, Heimdall."

She walked out, peering through both sides. There was barely anyone in the streets. A chilly breeze brushed through her hair, and she shivered slightly, goosebumps rising on her bare arms.

"Hey, pretty thing, what are you doing alone?"

She turned around on her heel and faced a large man, who was clearly not drunk.

"Sightseeing," she answered, eyeing his outfit.

He approached her. "I can give you a pretty sight to see."

She had strength and hearing beyond that of a Midgardian man, but she did not want to cause a scene within mere minutes of being sent to Midgard.

"You do not want to do that," she advised.

"Aren't you looking for a good time? I know I am."

She scrunched her nose up in distaste. Asgardian men were always respectful toward her, and she was beginning to not like Midgard.

"Hey, leave the gal alone!"

The man turned around and was faced with a tiny and frail figure. "What are you gonna do about it?"

The small man rushed forward, fists blazing at the much larger man. Within seconds, a fight broke out, but it was mainly the smaller man getting injured. Ophelia, who did not tolerate unfair battles, chose to step in, grabbing the large man by the collar and throwing him back into the alley.

"Oh - gee, you're strong," said the small man.

She offered him a soft smile and grabbed his hand. "I suggest we run."

He nodded. "Good idea."

The two began to run away, hand in hand. It had been many minutes of the two running before they decided to stop running. Ophelia continued to hold onto the small man's hand, even through a busy street where people could easily see them.

"Uh - you can - you can let go of my hand now," he murmured.

"Oh, my apologies. I did not realize you were uncomfortable," she said, letting go of his hand.

"Well, I wouldn't say that," he muttered. "People were looking. That's all."

"You do not like when people stare?" she asked.

"Not really."

He looked at her as she looked around their surroundings in awe. To say she was beautiful was an understatement. Her perfume - which really wasn't perfume but instead her natural scent - was sweet and alluring, her eyes glittered when light hit it, and her hair moved in soft waves and never tangled.

"You are staring," she whispered, eyes looking into his.

"Sorry," he whispered, turning away.

"It's all right. It was nice," she reassured.

And it was because she thrived on the attention and affections of others. She could sense false love from a mile away, but the man who saved her had a heart of gold.

"You're not from here, are you?" he asked.

"No, I'm afraid I am not. Although, it's very lovely here. I've never seen anything like it."

He shrugged. "Brooklyn is my home. I like it here too, even with all the bullies."

She smiled. "My brothers can be bullies. If they caught me with a man, they'd throw a fit. I suppose me spending time with you must be kept a secret, yes?"

"Ah, I don't think they have anything to worry about. Barely a man, ma'am."

She sensed guilt creeping into him. "Ophelia Odindottir, God - " She stopped herself short. "My name is Ophelia."

"Steven Grant Rogers, ma'am, but I go by Steve."

"Pleased to meet you, Steve. You may call me Ophelia, and I think you are plenty a man. Much more than that oaf."

Steve cracked a smile. "Well, that's not very polite."

"I never did say I was a polite woman, now did I?"

"Guess you didn't. Where am I escorting you to?" he questioned.

"Pardon?"

"You know, an apartment?" He added more once he saw the blank look on her face. "A house, a place to live? A...husband?"

Ophelia snorted. "You are a funny man, Steven." He opened his mouth to correct her, but she ignored him. "A husband? Me? That's ridiculous. I do not have a place of living, as I am only visiting."

"But it's dangerous in Brooklyn at night!"

She shrugged. "I can handle myself."

"Well, that won't do. You can come with me. My ma will be fine with it if she knows your situation."

"Oh, Steven, that is very kind of you, but - "

"I can't leave you in the streets dressed like that!" he exclaimed.

"Is there a problem with the way I am dressed?" she questioned, pouting as she looked down at her dress.

"No, it's just - You have very valuable items on you and folks will try to loot from you."

"Loot?"

"Steal, take. Where did you say you're from?" he asked.

"I did not say," she answered. "Now, where is your apartment? Did I use that term correctly?"

He sighed. "Yeah, you did."