Based off of a tumblr prompt: you planned to bake your way into my pants but instead you baked your way into my heart and im not letting you or your lemon tarts go au.

Meant to be short, but it got out of hand. Whoops.

Breathing in the scent of fresh muffins and wiping flour from his palms onto the apron slung around his hips, Loki was pulled out of his mid-morning lull by the tinkling bell above the door at Ingrid's.

Loki was fairly used to his regular customer base, typical of the sleepy little neighborhood his 4 table bakery was tucked into, which included mainly elderly couples looking for a taste of their home country, and hipster 20-somethings who spent more time instagramming their food and struggling through their black coffees than maybe truly enjoying his offerings.

The woman who walked in from the crisp fall morning was definitely not a regular.

Clad in a maroon tank top with a silver scarf, her heavy black boots marched quickly towards the counter, a far cry from the regular young adults who slouched in over-sized sweater and giant glasses pretending to be blase about everything in front of them. Her bare arms were absolutely covered in tattoos, a splash of black and pops of color swirling around her skin. She was pale, contrasted by her dark hair and even darker leather leggings full of rips that showed glimpses of even more tattoos. And she was strikingly, undeniably attractive.

As if reading his thoughts, she threw him a withering look as she approached the counter he stood behind. Loki did his best to recover from being so caught off guard, and from getting caught staring, and flashed her a brief smile as she bent down to survey his case full of freshly baked products.

"Good morning," Loki called in a voice that seemed much too high, too chipper. Getting butterflies over a pretty girl was ridiculous. He cleared his throat and deliberately lowered his voice. "Let me know what I can get you."

"What the fuck," whispered the woman from her crouch. Not the response he was expecting.

"Pardon?" Loki asked lamely. Pardon? Who was he, his grandfather?

"What the fuck," she said louder, her voice a scratchy warm tone, "- is any of this? Are these labels even English? That doesn't look like any crumb cake I've ever seen."

Loki followed her pointing finger to gaze down into the glass case.

"That's krumkake," he said rather stupidly. Why did she have to be so beautiful.

"That's not crumb cake. That looks like a waffle cone." She raised her eyebrows at him, obviously questioning his literacy skills and possibly his sanity.

"Well yes, it is. Sort of," he stumbled, feeling flustered under her intense gaze. "It's Norwegian. This is a Scandinavian inspired bakery." He flicked his hand around the room, gesturing towards the painting of fjords on the walls and the large menu board above the counter. "Most of the labels have a description of the product under the name."

"Oh. Well do they drink coffee in Norway? I could really use a cup to help get me through today."

"Kokekaffe," Loki blurted, pointing to the menu board for "steeped coffee". He could feel his face turning red, wishing he could manage more than single words in this stranger's presence. "I'll, uh, put the kettle on. Please take a seat."

"A kettle?" She laughed, unwinding the scarf from around her neck, displaying even more ink creeping from below her collarbone, drawing his eyes inappropriately lower. He swallowed hard. "How old school."

"Traditional," he blurted. He turned quickly away from her puzzled face, walking quickly towards the stove. "It's tradition." Loki was going to bake a giant sheet cake this afternoon. And then he was going to eat it. Get it together, Odinson.

The woman plucked a napkin out of holder on the counter as she slid into one of the two high seats facing his workspace. Loki tried not to stare as she reached over the counter to fish a pen from his cup near the register and began to doodle on the flimsy paper.

He calmed himself, trying to regain his composure, in the ritual of the coffee steeping. Meticulously pouring the dark brew from his mother's old worn kettle into the cup without spilling a drop. He snagged a krumkake from the case and slid it onto the saucer before gingerly presenting the coffee before. His hands were definitely not shaking.

The woman lifted the cup to her lips, inhaling deeply before letting the liquid pass over her lips.

"Holy balls," looking up at him with a smile. "Now that's a cup of coffee. None of that pumpkin spice bullshit that is assaulting this country."

He barked a laugh out. "No, I suppose pumpkin spice wouldn't be considered traditional."

"Looks like I just found my new favorite place for a cup of joe. Mmm, god," she mumbled, biting into the crunchy dessert. "And pastries too. How have I never been here before?"

Loki tried to keep his grin from growing too large and shrugged. "Well most people who come in are from the neighborhood. Don't think word has spread much farther than 5 or 6 blocks."

"Sure but I'm right across the street." She hooked her thumb, flashing several small tattoos gracing her fingers (one looked like a diamond or maybe a shield shape), towards the large window of the bakery. "I own Valkyrie Tattoo."

Loki turned his gaze to the street, immediately recognizing the neon red sign of the small tattoo shop that lit the street most nights when he closed up shop.

"Oh," he said with surprise, and not a small sense of delight. "We're neighbors."

"Speaking of, I should probably get over there. Thanks for the coffee, gonna need it for the day I have ahead of me. How much for the cup and the treat?" She rummaged around in her pocket but Loki waved her off.

"It's on the house, one neighbor to another."

"Thanks." Her grin was more than worth the loss of a few bucks. "Hey, what time do you close? I'm always starving when I get off work."

"Usually around five or so," he began, watching her face fall and feeling his heart sink with it.

"Oh, too bad. I usually don't get done with my last client until well past six."

"I'll be here," he rushed. "Come by. I'm usually still here cleaning up and preparing some dough for the morning." He could feel heat warming his cheeks again, but she gave him a lopsided smile.

"Maybe I will, uh...?" She reached her hand over the counter.

"Loki." He took her hand, trying to ignore the way his heart leapt at the contact, her hand warm in his palm.

"Sif." She grabbed her scarf and stood from her seat, giving him a small wave before heading out the door.

"Sif" he repeated to himself, reaching to clear her saucer from the counter and noticing the napkin etched with thin black markings. He picked it up and studied her doodle; a sketchy outline of his worn old kettle with its steam billowing out to spell "coffee" in loopy, elegant letters. His stomach flipped pleasantly, noticing the "o" had been stylized as a heart and he tucked the napkin into his pocket.