can I request a Jaafar Jackson x fiancée!reader where she is at the premirere of Michael and there are a lot of fangirls that are saying stuff like "I wish I was her" "I wanna be here" "Jaafar is too good for her". And she gets really upset and as they are taking pictures, Jaafar makes sures she's okay and puts his hand around her hip or waist to protect her and make her feel better? tyyyyy. i love your fics btw
𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ Only My Fiancée
fiancée!reader x Jaafar Jackson
˙⋆✮ ˙ summary: You are with your fiancée, Jaafar, at the premiere of Michael, but it didn't turn out what you expected
˙⋆✮ ˙ warning: fluff, small angst, jealousy from other "fans", none really
˙⋆✮ ˙ a/n: Yesss, I love these Jaafar fics. PLEASE PROTECT HIM & MADDIE AT ALL COST (IYKYK). I will say right now, he is so fine in this pic. Anyways, tysm, I am so glad you love my fics. Enjoy!!
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
The premiere was everything you had expected.
Bright lights.
Red carpets.
Photographers calling names from every direction.
And hundreds of fans gathered behind the barricades.
You were incredibly proud of Jaafar.
Tonight was huge for him.
Years of work had led to this moment.
Which was exactly why you wanted to be there.
At first, everything seemed perfect.
You walked beside Jaafar, smiling as cameras flashed around you.
Then you started hearing comments from the crowd.
Most were harmless.
Some were sweet.
Others...
Not so much.
"I wish I was her!"
"She's so lucky!"
"I want to be in her place!"
You tried to ignore them.
Then another voice carried through the crowd.
"Jaafar's way too good for her!"
A few people laughed.
Your smile faltered.
You kept walking.
Pretending you hadn't heard.
But then more comments followed.
"I should be standing next to him."
"How did she get him?"
"I wish that was me."
The words weren't necessarily meant to hurt.
But after hearing them over and over again, they started getting to you.
By the time you reached the photo area, your confidence had taken a hit.
You found yourself looking down more often.
Smiling a little less.
Trying not to let it show.
Unfortunately for you, Jaafar noticed everything.
The moment you stepped onto the carpet, he glanced over.
His smile softened.
"You okay?"
You immediately nodded.
"Of course."
He wasn't convinced.
You could tell by the look he gave you.
The photographers began calling for pictures.
"Jaafar!"
"This way!"
"Over here!"
As you moved beside him, Jaafar's hand settled firmly against your waist.
Not for the cameras.
Not for appearances.
For you.
His thumb brushed gently against your side.
A silent reminder that he was there.
That you weren't alone.
You looked up at him.
His attention remained on the photographers, but he squeezed your waist slightly.
The gesture was enough to make your chest tighten.
A few moments later, while cameras flashed around you, he leaned down just enough for only you to hear.
"Don't listen to them."
Your eyes widened.
So he had heard.
Jaafar gave your waist another reassuring squeeze.
"I mean it."
You swallowed.
"They were just saying—"
"I know what they were saying."
His voice stayed calm.
Steady.
"But they're wrong."
Your heart skipped.
The photographers continued shouting directions.
Neither of you paid attention.
Jaafar turned slightly toward you.
"If I wanted someone else standing here, someone else would be standing here."
Your eyes immediately filled with emotion.
"Jaafar..."
"I'm serious."
The smile he gave you was warm and genuine.
"I asked you to marry me."
His hand slid from your waist to your hip, holding you a little closer.
"You."
Not anyone else.
Not the fans.
Not the people making comments.
You.
The knot in your chest finally began to loosen.
A laugh escaped you despite yourself.
"There she is."
"What?"
"That smile."
His grin widened.
"I was wondering where it went."
You rolled your eyes affectionately.
The photographers absolutely loved the interaction.
More cameras flashed.
More people called his name.
But suddenly, none of it mattered.
Because Jaafar never once let go of your waist.
Not while taking pictures.
Not while talking to reporters.
Not while walking down the carpet.
Every small touch seemed to say the same thing.
I'm proud you're here.
I'm proud you're with me.
And by the end of the night, those voices from the crowd had faded away completely.
The only one that mattered was the man holding your hand.
