Malachi Barton Imagines pt.2

The backyard was buzzing with noise—your parents grilling, relatives laughing, kids running around with popsicles dripping down their hands. It was the kind of family BBQ where everyone was distracted enough that no one noticed when you slipped away.

Or at least, that's what you thought.

"Come on," you whispered, tugging Malachi's sleeve toward the side of the house where it was quieter. He smirked, following without protest, carrying two sodas he'd swiped from the cooler.

"You're such a bad influence," he teased, handing you one.

"Please," you shot back, cracking it open. "You were the one who said you 'couldn't survive another round of Dad's work stories.'"

Malachi laughed, the sound soft and private compared to the chaos a few yards away. You leaned against the wall, brushing his hand with yours until his fingers intertwined with yours like second nature.

"You know," he said, lowering his voice, "we're gonna get caught one of these days sneaking off like this."

Before you could reply, he leaned down and kissed you—quick, but enough to send your heart racing. You grinned against his lips.

And then—

"AHA!"

You both jumped apart like you'd been caught by a spotlight. Standing a few feet away was your younger sibling, grinning wickedly with a half-melted popsicle in hand.

"Oh my god," they gasped dramatically. "Wait 'til Mom hears about this."

Your stomach dropped, but Malachi froze, eyes wide. "We can explain—"

Your sibling smirked, licking their popsicle slowly. "Actually... maybe I won't tell. Depends."

You narrowed your eyes. "Depends on what?"

They shrugged casually. "Depends on what I get out of it."

Malachi groaned under his breath, already realizing what was happening. "We're being blackmailed by an eleven-year-old, aren't we?"