According to Plan (A Loki x Reader Fanfic)

One More Time

When you awoke you were alone in the bed.

Judging by the light it was mid day, and the improbable events of the night before were all starting to come back. Was any of that real? Had it actually happened? You sat up and the soreness in your hips told you with complete assurance that at least part of it was true.

You tip-toed around the seemingly empty house just to confirm that John, if that was his real name, was nowhere to be found. That was it then. This whole saga would be an amazing story to tell one day... once the statute of limitations was up.

You found your phone - about a million missed calls and text messages - your shoes and your blazer. But when you went to retrieve the dress that you had left in a puddle by the picture window you found it wasn't there. Instead it was now folded into a neat square on the living room's minimalist coffee table under a note. The note was short, just a phone number and a brief message:

"Call Me"

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So you were definitely out of a job. The news of there being no charges laid against you did not spread quite like the wildfire of the news that you were hauled away from the party in the back of a cop car.

Luckily, damage control was something you were familiar with, and after many copy/pasted text messages, and a few detailed phone calls to key office gossips, you were pretty sure that your name was cleared socially at least. Still, there was no way you were heading into the office on Monday - there was no way that you were going to confront Elias. But you had savings, and a "Plan B". It would probably be for the best in the end.

As for the other matter that you needed to address...

You would definitely not call him. One night stands were meant to be just that - one night. Plus, your phone plan didn't have international minutes, and you doubted that he was still in the country after his blatant felony.

But you loved a good mystery, you rationalized, and "John" was the biggest (and most handsome) mystery you had ever encountered.

Maybe you would text.

You had already done an internet search deep-dive. You had googled his phone number, of course - no assigned information. You searched for every important Norwegian business family and notable person. No apparent matches, not that a first name was much to go on. You had even got so far as to search for "Norwegian mafia" and "Norwegian organized crime." Nothing.

What would you even text him?

You stared at your phone, his number already punched in, and dialogue box pulled up. You picked it up and took in a deep breath. You put it back down again. You stood up. You walked away. You paced. You sat back down. You picked up your phone again. You took another deep breath. You typed in the the letters for "hey" and then immediately deleted them.

You would text him in the morning. You would sleep on it. You would play it cool.

But your night was restless and you were hard-pressed to find purchase on sleep. It's not that you weren't tired. You were still exhausted from your night of crime, and from cleaning up the aftermath. It was more that you couldn't let the memory of that morning's passions escape your mind.

You could still feel his hot breath against your neck, and his lips against your ear, beckoning you towards temptation. Your skin prickled at the memory of your dress falling from your form, and you were still tender where his large, lean hands had grabbed and pushed on your thighs. More than anything you could remember how the heat slowly built and grew from your core until it exploded within you like fireworks.