Descendants 2 Mal Hair Novels & Stories

Ares sighs, “I wouldn’t count on it.” A gentle wind blows and the sound of leaves rustling reaches my ears. The inherent calmness of this scene knocks all the anger out of me. It saps my shoulders of their rigidity, and i feel some of the fear return to my eyes as i agree, “Me too.” That image of Malachi with dark hair and dark eyebrows keeps coming back to me and i don’t know why, but it scares me. He’s never messed with his hair. I used to imagine he’d chop the hands off any barber that gave him a bad haircut. But he cut his hair and dyed his eyebrows just to get into a room i was in.

Those two eight year olds were the scourge of the earth. Dalia and Malia had sandy white blonde hair and freckles on their faces. They were very pretty. On the outside, they looked like two beautiful angels that anyone would admire to have. Dalia was a bit taller than her sister and had a small scar on the back of her hand. That was how I was able to tell them apart.

For now, she would separate herself from the promise of starting over, at least until the space beside her felt a little smaller. She pushed back her hair and sighed deeply. She had loved fiercely and been loved in return. She had avenged her parents and given the world a second chance - a chance to change for the better. Humans knew about descendants now. They had helped in the fight. Whatever came as a result was yet to be determined but it would be something new, something that would change the way they had lived until now.

The month-long image she'd conjured in her head was shattered with one mere glance. Malik's mother wasn't the little old lady with grey hair and rosy cheeks that she'd imagined. She was 6'0" tall, obviously a wielder of herculian strength by the look of those sculpted muscles. Golden skin overlayed with faint scars, toned arms and a cinched waist flow into hips that can anchor a bear hug - or shatter a shield. Her long hair, ash-blonde and thick as rope, fell past her shoulders in loose waves. Icy-blue eyes glitter with fierce pride. A silver torque circling her neck and matching spirals on her calves. She looked like tribal royalty.

Since then she has been living with us and she was very hardworking. "Yes ma'am". "Please clean this up", I said as she nod and I left the kitchen. Its been three years since Malakai was born and he's already a little trouble maker. But I loved him and so did Daryl. They had the same color eyes and their hair was the same color. The only thing I would say he got from me was the personality and our noses are similar.

she spat, but her hands moved to her shirt, peeling it off. Her small, perky tits bounced free, nipples hardening in the cool air. She shimmied out of her skirt and panties, exposing her shaved pussy. "This what you want, daddy? You're practically begging mom to leave you," the sick bitch giggled while she unzipped his pants, pulling out his massive cock. Ben was definitely a black stereotype down there. Ten inches of black cock lay in Malia's hands, semi hard. Malia's eyes widened. "Fucking big dick. You're going to use it on me, daddy?" she mocked him, her hands stroking it lightly as she marvelled at the feel of his heavy, fat dick.

“If I walk into an office looking like a rainbow unicorn, they’ll kick me out before I even finish saying ‘good morning.’” “Ugh, you’re no fun,” Malik pouted. But he set to work, parting and brushing the wig until it looked sleek and natural. Then came the glasses. Oversized frames that swallowed half my face. “Instant disguise,” he declared. While he dabbed foundation on my cheeks and muttered about my “ungrateful pores,” his phone buzzed. He hit video call without asking. Within seconds, Zendaya’s bright face appeared on-screen, followed by Denise chewing on what looked like chips.

Malia She was filthy—her blond hair caked with dirt, her blue eyes glassy and unfocused. Her skin was pale, lips cracked, her limbs thin and shaking. But there was no denying it: she looked exactly like Lia Yewell. The real one. My heart plummeted. She blinked at me as though I were a ghost. She swayed on her feet and clutched the wall for support. “What…” I whispered, turning slowly to Rhedd. “What is this?”

Those intense, dark eyes that had always seen too much, understood too much. And right now, they were fixed on me with an expression that made my heart race. "Zendaya," he said, and I hated how my name sounded on his lips. Hated how it made me feel things I had no business feeling, not now, not after everything with Derek. "Malachi," I managed to respond, my voice barely above a whisper. Adrian looked between us, a slight frown creasing his forehead. "Oh, I forgot to mention—Mal's back from Europe. He finished his business degree at Cambridge and now he's taking over his father's company."

Mine to wield. Footsteps crunched outside, heavy and deliberate. The flap lifted, and Malachi ducked inside, his massive frame filling the space. Towering over her at nearly seven feet, his body was a map of scars and sinew, black hair tied back to reveal sharp cheekbones and eyes like polished obsidian. He wore only loose pants of hide, his bare chest gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat from whatever predawn exertions he'd been about. In his hand, he held a strip of dried meat and a waterskin.