#jack!reader

Unsaved Number

Part 2

Jack O’connell!Reader

You went clubbing the night before, got a little to drunk. An older guy you vaguely remember kept flirting and asking for your number. Maybe too much to drink or just wanted to get on with dancing you gave it to him.

Your head is pounding like someone decided to set up a full drum kit right behind your eyes and go to town. The room is too bright offensively, personally bright and your mouth tastes like regret, cheap vodka, and something that might have been a kebab. The memories from last night are drifting back in blurry, useless snapshots, like a slideshow run by someone who hates you. Club lights strobing hot and purple. Sweaty bodies pressing in from every side. Laughing way too loud with your mates over music you could feel in your chest. Dancing like a complete and total idiot and not caring even a little bit.

At some point there was a shot that was definitely someone's bad idea. At some point someone said let's stay for one more. Classic.

You groan a long, suffering soundand reach blindly for your phone on the nightstand, nearly knocking it off before your fingers close around it. You squint at the screen, holding it at arm's length like it's attacked you before. 11:47 a.m. Three missed calls from the friend you went to the club with last night. A voice note from someone in the group chat titled, ominously, "you need to see this."

And a text from an unsaved number

Unknown: morning gorgeous. hope the hangover isn’t kicking your arse too hard after last night 😂 you were proper buzzing when i left

You stare at it, brain still buffering. Who the hell…?

You: who is this?

Three dots appear almost immediately.

Unknown: jack. the “old guy” who wouldn’t leave you alone at the bar 😉 told you my name like three times love. you really don’t remember any of it?

A faint flash comes back, cutting through the fog. Tall bloke, broad-shouldered, with that kind of light brown hair that falls just a little too long and somehow looks better for it. The stubble sitting easy on his jaw not groomed, not neglected, just there, like he'd simply never felt the need to think too hard about it. And the accent thick Midlands, warm and unhurried, somehow cutting clean through the bass and the crowd noise like it had no business doing. Older. Mid-thirties, maybe. Definitely not your usual type.

Your usual type is early-twenties chaos. Someone whose hair is a disaster because they forgot to brush it, not because it falls that way naturally. Someone whose life is just as much of a work-in-progress as yours. This bloke had looked like he owned things. Paid bills on time. Had a favourite pub he'd been going to for ten years and knew everyone's name.

He'd been leaning against the bar like he'd been put there specifically to be annoying about it all easy posture and pale eyes and that slow smile, the kind that said I know exactly what I'm doing and so do you. Asked for your number while you'd been half a drink deep and very much trying to get back to your friends.

You'd been iffy as hell. Older guys weren't your scene. Too settled. Too sure of themselves in that quiet way that somehow took up more space than loudness ever could.

But he'd been annoyingly charming in this low-effort, unbothered way that somehow made it worse, and you'd had places to be dancing to do, drinks to finish, mates to be an idiot with and he was just there, warm and persistent and faintly amused by you. So you'd punched in the digits. Half the alcohol loosening your better judgment, half just wanting to get back to your night without turning it into a whole thing.

You hadn't thought much of it after that.

You: vaguely. i remember some guy flirting pretty hard and me giving him my number just to get him off my back lol. that was you?

Jack: ouch. straight for the ego 😂 yeah that was me. you were laughing at my shit jokes though, so i thought i was in with a chance. you really don’t remember telling me you liked my accent and that i had “nice arms for an old man”?

Your face heats up. Jesus. You said that?

You: oh my god. i was drunk

Jack: you were having fun. proper lively. cute as hell when you get cheeky. sent you a couple selfies last night but i reckon they went straight to the black hole of drunk you. want me to resend?

Jack: Sorry about the first pic i sent last night love i was proper pissed myself so it came out blurry as hell. made one of the lads take the second one when i could actually hold the phone straight. wanna see the evidence?

Before you can answer, two photos pop up.

Attachment:

Attachment:

Jack: there. proof i’m not some random creep. you said i could text you today. so here i am. no pressure darlin, just wanted to make sure you got home safe and see if that smile’s still as dangerous in daylight.

You bite your lip, scrolling back through the photos. He is stupidly attractive. And the way he texts easy, teasing, not pushy is doing things to your stomach that have nothing to do with the hangover.

You: i remember now. you were persistent as hell

Jack: guilty. but you gave me the number, so part of you must’ve wanted me to use it. or was that just the vodka talking?

You hesitate, thumbs hovering. Then you type before you can talk yourself out of it.

You: maybe a bit of both. you’re not what i usually go for

Jack: good. i like being the exception. let me take you for a proper drink sometime one where you can actually remember my name afterwards 😉 no pressure. just say the word, love.

You stare at the screen, cheeks burning, a stupid little smile creeping onto your face despite the headache. He’s older. He’s trouble. And yet…

You: …maybe. give me a day to recover first, old man

Jack: haha there she is. take all the time you need gorgeous. i’ll be here when you’re ready.

You drop your phone on the pillow and bury your burning face in your hands, heart doing stupid flips.

Fuck. He’s good.

Unsaved Number part 3

Part1 Part2

⤷ ゛Jack O’connell!Reader ˎˊ˗

A few days after your first pub outing, Jack invites you to a weekend food market. You immediately insist it is not a date, but agree to go anyway.

A few days after the first pub night, Jack suggests something different.

Jack: fancy something a bit more casual this weekend? there’s a nice food market in the park on saturday. live music, good coffee, no pressure. you in, or are you still pretending you don’t like spending time with me?

You stare at the message, biting your lip. You are interested. But you’re not about to make it easy for him.

You: bold of you to assume i like spending time with old men. but fine. saturday works. still not calling it a date though

Jack: wouldn’t dream of it 😉

⋆.ೃ𐦍*:･⋆𐦍.ೃ࿔*:･

Saturday is bright and sunny. You spot Jack easily he’s leaning against a tree near the entrance, hands in his pockets, looking unfairly fit in a simple grey t-shirt and jeans. The second he sees you his whole face lights up with that wide, boyish grin that always catches you off guard. It’s the kind of smile that reaches his eyes, crinkling them deeply at the corners, and before you can stop yourself you’re smiling right back, big and helpless.

He runs a hand through his light brown hair, pushing it back as he pushes off the tree and walks toward you, still grinning.

“Gorgeous as always,” he says, eyes dragging over you appreciatively. “Trying to kill me before we even start walking?”

You roll your eyes, fighting a smile. “Flattery won’t work on me, old man.”

“Won’t it?” He steps closer, voice dropping playfully. “Because it felt like it worked pretty well the other night when you were going on about my arms, love.”

Your face heats up. “We agreed never to talk about that.”

Jack laughs, low and genuine, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I didn’t agree to anything. Come on let’s get you some coffee before you change your mind and leg it.”

He gently places a hand on your lower back as he guides you through the growing crowd toward the coffee stall. The warmth of his palm through your top makes your stomach flip. You try to play it cool, but the blush is already creeping up your neck.

The afternoon unfolds easily, full of flirty banter and the smell of street food. You wander between the stalls, live music drifting from a small stage nearby. Jack insists on buying you a coffee and a warm churro, waving off your attempt to pay.

“My treat,” he says, then leans in with that teasing smile. “Besides, I like spoiling you a bit. Makes it harder for you to pretend you’re not enjoying yourself, ay?”

You take a bite of the churro and raise an eyebrow. “It’s not working.”

“Liar,” he murmurs, eyes sparkling as he watches you lick sugar off your finger. “You’re smiling again, proper dangerous that smile is.”

As you move to the next stall, the crowd thickens. Jack reaches down and casually threads his fingers through yours, giving your hand a light squeeze. “Don’t wanna lose you in this mob, do I?” he says innocently, but that mischievous glint in his eye tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Your heart stutters. His hand is big, warm, and a bit calloused proper working lad hands. You’re suddenly very aware of how close he is, and the blush comes back full force.

“You’re sneaky,” you mutter, but you don’t pull away.

Jack chuckles, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Just being practical, love. Can’t have you disappearing on me.”

Later, while you’re looking at a stall, Jack disappears for a minute. When he comes back, he’s grinning like an idiot and holding up his phone.

“Found something I thought you’d appreciate.”

He shows you the photo he just took him grinning wide with that boyish smile, arm around a giant fluffy mascot

“Meet my new mate. he’s got better chat than most people i know. but he doesn’t smile as dangerous as you do”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my god. You look so proud of yourself right now.”

Jack steps closer, still grinning. Without warning, he slides his arm around your waist, pulling you lightly against his side as he shows you the picture again. “Is it working? Because I’ll find more mascots if it gets you to admit you’re having a good time, like.”

The sudden closeness the solid warmth of him, the way his hand rests comfortably on your waist makes your face burn. You feel flustered and giddy all at once.

You shake your head, still smiling even as you lightly shove at his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he says, voice dropping as he looks at you, not letting go just yet. “But you’re still here with me, aren’t you?”

He gives your waist a gentle squeeze before releasing you, but the feeling lingers.

After the mascot photo moment, Jack keeps his arm around your waist a little longer than necessary, walking with you like that through the crowd. The solid warmth of him pressed lightly against your side keeps you flustered the whole time.

“Alright, trouble,” he says, finally letting go but staying close, “live band’s on. Come on.”

He leads you toward the small stage where a folk-ish band is playing upbeat covers. You stand together near the front, swaying slightly to the music. Jack bumps your shoulder playfully, then slips his arm around your waist again when the crowd pushes in. This time he leaves it there, his fingers tapping lightly against your side in time with the music.

“You’ve got moves, I remember from the club,” he teases, leaning down so you can hear him over the music. “Fancy showing me some sober ones?”

You laugh, cheeks burning. “Not happening, I have a reputation to protect.”

“Reputation?” He grins, eyes crinkling. “You mean the one where you tell random lads they’ve got nice arms?”

“I hate you,” you groan, hiding your face against his shoulder for a second without thinking. He smells warm and faintly like cologne and fresh air.

Jack just laughs softly and gives your waist a gentle squeeze. “Nah, you don’t. You’re still here, aren’t you, duck?”

You stay like that for a few more songs laughing, teasing, occasionally catching each other’s eye and smiling like idiots. The easy chemistry between you feels stronger with every passing minute.

Eventually the music slows and you wander off again, grabbing fresh drinks before finding a quiet spot on the grass. Jack stretches out beside you, propped up on one elbow, still holding your hand and playing with your fingers absently while you talk.

“You know,” he says quietly, that self-deprecating tone creeping in, “I wasn’t sure you’d actually keep saying yes.”

You glance over at him. “Why?”

He shrugs, running a hand through his hair. “Figured you’d get bored of the old guy eventually. Me, just some lad from Derby who got lucky with a few jobs.”

You nudge his leg with your foot, grinning. “You’re not that old.”

“High praise,” he replies, laughing softly as he squeezes your hand. “I’ll take it. Especially coming from someone who keeps agreeing to hang out with me.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “It’s just a joke, you know. I don’t actually think you’re old. You’re… well, you’re you. And it’s annoyingly charming.”

Jack’s grin softens into something warmer, his eyes crinkling deeply at the corners. “Yeah? Careful, love. Keep saying things like that and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

“Maybe I do,” you say lightly, bumping his shoulder. “A little bit. Don’t let it go to your head, though.”

“Too late,” he teases, voice low and playful, still holding your hand. “Head’s already massive. But I’ll try to keep it under control… for you.”

The easy banter continues until the park starts emptying out. Jack sits up and looks at you, warm and soft.

“Getting a bit late, duck. Fancy letting me walk you home? Proper gentlemanly of me, innit?”

You hesitate for half a second before nodding. “Yeah… okay.”

The walk back is slower, comfortable. Jack keeps finding excuses to touch you — brushing his fingers against yours, then properly taking your hand again, swinging it lightly between you. Every so often he bumps your shoulder with his, making you laugh.

When you finally reach your front door, he stops and turns to face you, hands in his pockets like he’s trying to behave.

“Had a really good day with you,” he says, that boyish grin back in full force. “Even if you’re still refusing to call it a date.”

You laugh, cheeks warming. “It wasn’t a date.”

Jack raises an eyebrow, stepping a little closer with a playful smirk. “Oh aye? So me buying you food, holding your hand, walking you home… that’s just two mates hanging out then?” He tilts his head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Must be some pretty special mates, duck. I don’t hold hands with all my mates, you know.”

You bite your lip, trying (and failing) not to smile. “You’re pushing it, old man.”

He chuckles, low and warm. “Can’t blame a lad for trying. One of these days you’ll admit it was a date… and then I’ll get to take you on a proper one.”

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering against your cheek for a moment, making your heart race.

“Get inside safe,” he murmurs. “Text me when you’re settled.”

“I will,” you say softly.

He gives you one last warm, crinkly-eyed smile before turning to leave, glancing back once with that same flirty grin.