Ameiyah

“Are they acting or…”

“Nah, that’s real chemistry.”

You scrolled through them one night on the tour bus, cheeks warm, only for Malachi to lean over the seat behind you, chin propped on his hand.

“Whatcha watching?” His curls tickled your shoulder.

“Just… stuff,” you muttered, quickly locking your phone.

He smirked knowingly. “Rumors again?”

“Maybe.”

He laughed, low and warm, before sliding into the seat beside you. “Guess they’re not wrong about the chemistry, huh?”

Your pulse spiked, but you bit your lip and said nothing.

By the middle of tour, it was undeniable.

During “Fired Up,” his hand always found yours. In “One for All,” his voice softened when he sang the lines to you, like the rest of the arena didn’t exist. Backstage, the cast teased endlessly.

“Malachi, don’t forget to wink at your girlfriend!” Chandler called one night, earning laughs from everyone.

Malachi just rolled his eyes, but when he glanced at you, his cheeks were pink.

The final night of tour came faster than you wanted. The energy backstage was electric—everyone hyped, hearts racing.

Malachi found you just minutes before curtain call. His voice was quiet, barely audible over the crowd outside.

“Hey,” he said, eyes locked on yours, “let’s make tonight count.”You nodded, trying to ignore how your heart hammered.

The show was pure adrenaline.

Every time Malachi looked at you, it felt different—charged, heavier, like the whole arena could feel it too.

Fans screamed when he spun you into a dip during “BAMM,” and when he wrapped his arm around your shoulders during the encore, the crowd went wild.

And then, too quickly, it was over.

The lights dimmed. The final notes faded. The cast ran offstage, sweaty and laughing. You turned to grab water, but Malachi caught your wrist.

“Wait.”

The urgency in his tone froze you. You looked up, breathless.

He stepped closer, the roar of the crowd muffled by the curtain. His hand slid to your waist, grounding you.

“Before this whole thing ends, before we go back to pretending…”

His voice cracked just slightly. “I like you. More than I should. And if I don’t do this now, I’ll regret it.”

Your heart skipped. “Malachi—”

But he didn’t wait. He kissed you—soft, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay until you leaned into him.

The world seemed to fall away, the noise replaced by the warmth of his lips.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you grinning like fools.

“So…” he whispered, breathless, “I guess the rumors were right after all.”

And you couldn’t help but laugh, happiness bubbling in your chest.

It was real.

TAGLIST:

@imnotjadaddy

@alexisunknownhere

@laylayschipzz

@lovinashlin

@ssp33dyy

@classiccherryblossomfan

@casey1-2007

@mischivana

@hppercyjacksonlover

“Sure, sure,” he said, but his eyes dropped lower—lingering too long. “You definitely… show a lot of confidence in those outfits. Was that the plan? To grab attention?”

Your throat went dry. You tried to brush it off with another smile. “Um—I just wear what makes me feel good.”

Freya shifted uncomfortably. Malachi’s jaw tightened.

But the interviewer didn’t stop. “Right, but like—you’re growing up on screen. Audiences are noticing. Do you worry about being seen as more than just—” his pause was loaded, his smirk obvious, “—an actress?

Your fingers twisted together in your lap. You laughed softly, too polite, too scared to make it worse. “Um—I don’t really think about it that way. I focus on my work.”

And that’s when Malachi leaned forward.

“Okay, no,” he cut in sharply, his voice calm but edged like steel. “She’s here to talk about the movie. Not her body. Not her clothes. The movie. So maybe we stick to that?”

The room went still.

The interviewer blinked, stammering, “I was just—”

“Just being inappropriate,” Malachi finished, his eyes locked on the man with an intensity you’d never seen in an interview before. “You wouldn’t ask me those questions. You wouldn’t ask Freya. Don’t ask her. Next. And let me make this clear—I would rock your shit if you had asked me or any of my coworkers that.”

The man shifted in his seat, clearly flustered, but Malachi wasn’t finished. His voice dropped low, dangerous.

“You’re a grown ass man asking an eighteen-year-old about her body,” Malachi said, venom sharp in every syllable. “You should have shame for even thinking about it. That is so fucking disgusting. How would you feel if some guy came up to your daughter and started asking her about her body? Would you feel good about that? No. You make me sick. You’re a fucking disgusting piece of shit.”

The interviewer’s mouth opened, closed, and for once he had nothing to say.

Malachi didn’t break eye contact until the man looked away, shuffling his cards with shaking hands, mumbling something about the storyline.

You exhaled slowly, relief flooding you, though your hands still trembled in your lap. Malachi noticed. Without breaking stride, he reached under the table, threading his pinky through yours, grounding you

You smiled—small, grateful, real this time.

After the cameras cut, you turned to him, voice low. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” he said simply, his expression softening as his thumb brushed over your knuckle. “You were uncomfortable. And if you won’t say something, I will. Always.”

Freya chimed in, glaring at the interviewer across the room. “Honestly, good. Someone had to shut that down.”

You leaned against Malachi’s shoulder for a moment, the knot in your chest finally easing. He leaned closer, his words just for you.

“Don’t ever be scared to shut it down, Y/N. But if you are—I’ve got you. Always.”

And somehow, that promise meant more than anything you’d said on camera that day.

The interview went up online the next day. Within minutes, clips of Malachi shutting down the interviewer spread across Twitter, TikTok, and Instagram. Fans flooded the comments:

“YES, Malachi. Clock it, Malachi.” “We love a man who defends and protects women. ” “Not all heroes wear capes, some wear Disney name tags.” “The way he snapped for her?? Husband behavior.” “Respect to Malachi. He handled that shit like a king.”

For once, the internet wasn’t just watching—you felt them standing behind you. And Malachi? He didn’t care about the video. He only cared that you were safe.

TAGLIST:

@alexisunknownhere

@angstandkisses

@blushnboba

@casey1-2007

@classiccherryblossomfan

@elleyaps

@hppercyjacksonlover

@imnotjadaddy

@isabela-eulalia

@laylayschipzz

@lovinashlin

@lov3lylxvender

@luckylzclerc

@lilshawtys-stuff

@mischivana

@maylayisa-exe

@prettygalleria

@ssp33dyy

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