#jamack x reader

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The mirror before you was still filthy, covered in dirt and grime that managed to settle on the otherwise glossy surface over the many years it hung abandoned in the depths of the shopping mall. There was a slightly less foggy oval in the centre - an area that you tried your best to wipe clean with spare rainwater and some old cloth you managed to retrieve from the surrounding stores - and it seemed to do the trick as the reflection it provided was enough to view the last eight outfits you had tried on in that store alone.

You were barely in the shop for half an hour, and yet you were already wearing thin on possible clothes you could take back home with you. Clothes that you could alter and feel like yourself in.

Many of the shirts and trousers you wanted and hoped would fit had irreparable damages that you couldn't fix, ranging from large holes to unsettling smells. Many jackets you adored the appearance of were two sizes too small, and none of the shoes and boots in the shop fit you.

Dressing into the final outfit before calling it quits, you glanced over and into the mirror.

You could see yourself, your complexion appearing miss-coloured because of the muck that didn't want to be scraped off, and the image was blurry which caused certain shapes and colours to fuse into awkward forms. But, you could still make out how the colours of the patterned shirt you now adorned danced with the hue of your skin, and how the unicoloured vest worked well with the rest of the colour scheme. All that was left were the trousers.

It wasn't much of a debate, really. The pile of trousers was thinned down to just two pairs. A beautiful cream that reminded you of the clouds just before the time reached the golden hour, and a pair of onyx dress pants that looked like the fangs of a Deathstalker but were just the wrong shade of black to match the warm touch of the top half of the outfit. You wanted to take the cream ones however, knowing that in practice they were not suited for the dystopian environment you called home, you reached and put on the black pair of trousers.

It wasn't a bad combination, you knew that. The warms of the top half, the shirt and the dark vest, were comforting to the eyes. The material of the fabric was safe to the touch and it wasn't too thick nor was it too thin. The vest was the perfect size, allowing you to move freely without it restricting or tugging at your body, and you knew that you were going to be taking the two sets of clothes home. However, the black trousers made you doubt yourself.

"Jamack," you called out, pulling the torn curtain of the changing room aside. Jamack had been standing just outside, a little to the left, with his arms folded and leaning against the wall of the shop. You paid little attention to his face as you spun in a little circle.

"I was thinking about keeping these as a set, but I'm not sure. I think the dress pants ruin it," you spoke truthfully. You looked at yourself in the mirror again, debating what you should do.

Hearing pure silence from Jamack, you turned back around quickly to face him, "Love, are you all-"

His face had turned a darker shade of green, your sudden attention on him causing the frog to let out a small peep. His pupils seemed bigger and brighter as he stared at you, pink eyes scanning your body from the base of your shoes all the way to the top of your head. You could see the corner of his lips twitch as he attempted to keep his mouth closed, and he swallowed awkwardly. As the two of you just stared at each other, a knowing smile lighting up your face, his hands managed to find themselves around his tie. He straightened it as his eyes met yours and another peep escaped his throat.

"So, what do you think?" You asked expectantly, flattening out the vest and then striking a small pose.

You heard him croak, masking it with a small cough, "You look stunning, Lovebug." His skin only got darker as his hand twitched to cover his face. You could just about make out the twinge of a small smile from past his fingers. His poker face was crumbling.

“Thank you, Love,” you answered. The pet name brought a smile to your face as you felt your ears burn. You were glad that he thought your choice of clothes was good, and that he particularly liked the outfit, although… "I'm not sure about the pants,” you said again, looking back around and into the mirror, “they fit me fine, it’s just that the colour seems off.”

You felt Jamack’s hand wrap around yours, making you turn to look at him as he brought it to his lips and placed a loving kiss on top of it. “Trust me when I say this,” you felt his breath on your skin run smoothly against it, “I have never seen anything that could match your beauty. You make the sun pale in comparison and I would give anything to see that smile of yours for all eternity. If the only thing I could ever see was your body, I would welcome it with open arms. Lovebug, you make anything you wear look just as glorious as you yourself are, please do not doubt your style.”

A moment of silence passed as you grinned, heat flaming your cheeks and burning your ears as Jamack’s poetic words ricocheted around your brain.

“That, and the dark trousers are more practical.”

“Yeah, I thought so too.”

The two of you laughed and you wrapped your arms around him, snuggling into his chest. From the positioning of your head, you could just about hear the thumping of his heart, beating fast.

“I think this is enough ‘shopping’ for today,” you said, leaning back and placing a kiss on his cheek, “thank you Jamack.”

You walked back inside the changing room stall and took off the clothes, getting changed back into your functional outfit before pushing the three garments into the plastic bag you brought with you for the trip. All in all, you deemed this as a successful outing, with the image of your blushing partner being the most delightful cherry on top.

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A soft clink signified your success.

“Jamack! Jamack, I did it!” You called out into the room, your voice filled with utter joy as you looked at the metal contraption on the worktable before you. After having found an old book about radios and mechanics, your last two weeks have been spent finding old parts and fixing up an Old World cassette player.

A certain set of wires have been giving you an issue for the past few days, causing you to have to disassemble and remake the small machine too many times to count, but now that the wires were insulated properly and clicked into place smoothly, the cassette player was going to - or at least should - work correctly.

“Look Jamack!” You exclaimed again when you heard his heeled shoes clack towards you from the living room. You picked up the player, careful as to not jossle anything loose, and spun to present it to him. With a wide grin on your face, you stared at the tired frog expectantly.

His lips looked lopsided as he stared at it for a second, confused. “You did what?” He asked with a light head tilt, the weight of his body resting on his left leg as he crossed his arms in thought. The last time he saw what you were working on was a week ago when the cassette player had been fully disassembled for the first time. And then he remembered, “Oh… Oh!”

There was a slight hop as his excitement carried him forward, pink eyes trained on the machine being presented to him. “You did it - you fixed it! Does it work? We can play the tapes on it now,” His gaze turned to you, childish delite making his eyes shine brightly. His hands moved fast, settling on your shoulders in some form of distant hug as the cassette player that was held in your outstretched arms blocked the space between you. You could feel him squeeze them reassuringly, his toothy grin hopeful.

You couldn’t stop the heat of embarrassment from rising to your cheeks, your smile goofy as you averted eye contact, “Well… I…” you started, pulling the machine close to your chest.

There was a beat of silence before Jamack chuckled lightly yet eagerly, squeezing your shoulders again, “You haven’t tested it yet, huh?”

Your eyes widened slightly at the slight teasing behind his tone, “I-I was going to,” you cleared your throat, “I was going to test it, but it just clicked into place now. The wires are all connected and taped over and secured and everything is screwed in so-”

“So let’s test it,” Jamack interrupted you, grinning wide whilst letting go of your shoulders. He straightened out his black suit and turned to one of the woven boxes on the uneven shelf that held the scavenged, seemingly functional cassette tapes, pulling one out. You could see it was the one that used to have old writing done in permanent marker titling it, however over the two hundred years of weathering it has been scraped off the yellowed plastic sticker, a trail of pale discoloration marking its long lost presence.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Your voice was a little quieter than before as you placed the player back onto the worktable. You reached for a cardboard box that held some recently found, Old World batteries.

“But what if it does, Lovebug?” He countered. Walking back towards you, he placed the free hand on the small of your back and handed you the cassette with the other. Gingerly, you took it from his hands, muttering a thank you. You wouldn’t lie, the excitement from the chance that this project would finally come to fruition made your insides seem fuzzy and made your hands shake as you inserted the tape into its allocated slot.

Remembering the instructions, you pressed the correct corresponding buttons, and stared at the machine as it made a few unsettling clicks before finally, to your and Jamack’s wholehearted exuberance, it started playing a slightly glitchy swing song.

“Oh my Goat it works!” You sprung up, jumping and pulling Jamack into a hug. You felt his arms wrap around you, his head resting on top of yours for a short moment. You pulled away, quickly looking up into his eyes, “I mean, of course it works. I totally never doubted myself.”

You felt him chuckle, his arms pulling you back into himself as he kissed your forehead, “well if it means anything, I never doubted you Lovebug.”

Struggling to force the smile down, you just nodded, “It means everything. Thank you Jamack-”

Inhaling sharply in surprise, you were stunned when Jamack suddenly pulled you to the centre of the room. He had created some distance between the two of you, clicking his fingers to the beat of the song, stalking closer.

"Oh no, oh no, no, no," you protested, but the giddy smile would not leave your face no matter how hard you tried. The spark in his eyes said it all as he swiftly grabbed you by the wrists, moving his hands to place them on top of yours. He spun you around a couple of times.

“What on Earth are you doing?” You laughed, letting the frog pull you around. The sight of him moving his hips to the melody of the swing song was something you would cherish forever. His feet shuffled across the wooden floor, and his eyes prompted you to let loose as he let go, stepping back and doing a wacky sort of solo dance.

“Come on, little surface human, it doesn’t work if you’re so tense,” Jamack said, this time not even trying to mask the teasing pitch of his voice. He spun around, his back to you as he hummed to match the melody of the clarinet solo.

“Little? Is that arrogance or a trap?” You raised your brow at the very clear challenge.

“Oh you do know how much I love my traps.”

And you did know, and yet you still fell. Doing your best to match Jamack’s clearly very practised dance moves, you jump towards him. His pace was fast, faster when he noticed you trying to copy him. He jumped away and then back again as if dancing on an Old World DDR machine, yet his movements still possessed that suave quality. With each hop and with each arrangement of his feet on the floor, you noted that it was almost like a story in itself.

Grabbing his hands, you pulled him towards yourself, bending your knees to use your body weight to spin him around on his heel. You jumped back in a starfish pose before spinning back around, grinning wildly as you jumped around like a child to the rhythm of the song.

“See, it would be such a waste if we didn’t dance,” he explained as he matched your movements with ease.

“But jazz isn’t the most danceable of music genres,” you argued as you tried to keep your breaths even. You already started to feel the heat rush to your cheeks as the temperature in the rest of your body rose.

“Danceable? Lovebug, are you telling me you are not enjoying yourself?” He teased.

“I- You have a point.”

“There’s no rules to swing dance. Just lighten up and get funky."

The two of you danced for a long while after, taking a break once or twice for a drink of water and some cooked food. You danced with Jamack until you felt the rays of the golden hour glide through the gaps in the window blinds of the work room, and until you felt their warmth disappear behind a curtain of dusk.

At the end of it all, you two had managed to go through the majority of your collected cassette tapes, and after giving them your own custom names and titles, marking the variety of musical genres they all possessed, the two of you decided to stop. The next day would most definitely leave behind sore muscles and aching joints, but for now the two of you just laughed and giggled, teasing each other as you cleaned up for the night.

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