WHADDUP 🙈 as someone with a fattie I flaunt it whenever I can, so could I request a fic where Malachi takes any chance to cover readers butt or to touch it? And for context on cover it, when you both make tiktoks and reader has to twerk or sum he stands in front of her, puh-lease!
A/N: WASSUP LOVEEEE. How you doing? :) Please enjoy!
Mine to Cover
It had started as a joke — or at least, that’s what you told yourself the first time it happened.
You were standing in the kitchen one lazy Saturday morning, scrolling through TikTok and laughing at a dance trend your best friend had tagged you in. You’d just finished your coffee, still wearing Malachi’s oversized hoodie and a pair of tiny pajama shorts, when you decided to film it.
It was one of those dances that ended with a quick twerk — nothing wild, nothing crazy — but you’d barely started the recording before you felt him.
Two big hands, warm and steady, covered your hips and guided you out of frame.
“What—” you laughed, but Malachi was already stepping into the camera’s view, standing squarely between you and the phone.
“You’re not posting that,” he said casually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to block your entire body. “Especially not in those shorts.”
You rolled your eyes. “Mal, it’s literally just—”
“I know what it is,” he interrupted, smirking like he already knew exactly how to win this argument. “But your butt is my business. Not TikTok’s.”
From there, it became a pattern.
Whenever you two filmed videos together, Malachi somehow always managed to position himself just right — a “coincidental” step forward, an “accidental” arm stretch, or the classic trick: standing directly behind you so that if you turned, your back would hit his chest.
You started calling him your human butt shield.
He didn’t even deny it.
One afternoon, you were filming a GRWM (get ready with me) video in the mirror. You’d picked a fitted skirt, and Malachi had wandered into the room halfway through your lipstick application.
“Cute,” he said, walking past you… only to immediately double back and plant himself behind you in the reflection. His hands came down firmly on your hips, and you felt the faintest squeeze on your ass.
“Babe,” you laughed. “You’re literally in the shot.”
“Good,” he murmured near your ear, eyes locked on the camera. “Let them know you’re taken.”
The funniest part was when he didn’t even try to hide it anymore.
At a friend’s birthday party, someone pulled out their phone to record everyone dancing. The moment the music switched to something with a beat, Malachi appeared at your side like clockwork, his palm smoothing over the curve of your backside before resting possessively on your hip.
“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered.
“I’m prepared,” he replied, lips quirking.
Sure enough, when the song ended and you watched the replay, there he was — hands all over you, shielding you like you were some VIP asset he was hired to protect.
It all came to a head during one of your joint TikTok lives. The chat was begging for a trending couple’s dance.
“It’s the one where I twerk for, like, two seconds,” you explained, already pulling up the sound.
Malachi groaned dramatically. “Oh, that one.”
“Yes, that one,” you said with a playful glare.
The live started rolling, music blasting, and you got through the first half fine… but right before the twerk part, Malachi made his move.
He stepped right in front of you, body blocking the camera, and turned the move into a cheesy slow dance instead. Chat exploded with laughing emojis and comments like “Malachi is the real MVP” and “protective king”.
When the song ended, you swatted his arm. “You’re impossible.”
He leaned down, voice low so only you could hear. “No. I’m yours.” His hand squeezed your butt just enough to make you choke on a laugh. “And you’re mine. End of story.”
Later that night, as you were scrolling through the comments and laughing about everyone calling him “overprotective boyfriend of the year,” he slid in behind you on the couch, hands predictably finding their favorite place to rest.
“You love it,” he said smugly, kissing the side of your head.
“Maybe a little,” you admitted.
“Good,” he murmured, fingers drumming idly against you. “Because I’m never stopping.”
And somehow, you knew he meant it.
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https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-BLpv0xQYd1bTlaP7l1gAg8AgCyLE_yvrtljpCzlJhY/edit?usp=sharing
