Marceline Outfit Novels & Stories

Racheal replied. "Alright." Marcel said then hung up, placing his phone back into his trouser's jacket. True to her word, Rachael walked out of her house fully dressed in a black mini skirt and blue crop top that shows off her flat tummy. Marcel took a good look at her, he didn't know why but at that moment he compared Rachael to Abigail. Abigail had always looked good in whatever she wore, and she wore mostly covered clothes. Racheal climbs on top of the bike, her hands holding onto him tightly, "Ready?" Marcel asked her.

However, you ought to buy her some new clothes," Chris said, assuming Marcelyn was still donning the same outfit he had last seen her in. "She's not going to keep wearing this, is she?". She was wearing a different shirt because Darell had instructed her to throw away her old ones because they were blood-stained. Inquiring as to how she would appear in new clothing, Marcelyn pulled on the shirt she was wearing. Because they were comfortable, she kind of liked wearing the shirt as shorts.

Greta gave a nod before heading out of the room. The wardrobe change had served as a silent signal of another journey orchestrated by Marcelo. Georgina wasted no time in putting on the clothes provided, a simple yet sophisticated ensemble that bore the unmistakable mark of him. She couldn't escape the irony that even her attire in this dark narrative was a reminder of Marcelo's control over her life.

Marcelo’s wardrobe comprised two full cabinets of suits, predominantly similar in style and color, luxurious and refined. “Today is different." Marcelo leaned in and brushed a kiss against the corner of her lips. “Today, I am there as your husband," he declared, emphasizing the need to coordinate with her attire. Renee glanced at Marcelo, her eyes twinkling with a smile she could barely hide. She nodded. "Alright then!" Rising to her feet, she gathered her dress and ventured into the walk-in closet, selecting a charcoal grey haute couture suit for Marcelo.

That night I can barely sleep, tomorrow is Friday so I just have to wait one more day till I find out what Carlos has in store for me. The next day drags on, my thoughts are too preoccupied to sketch and Marcels babbling rampage of thoughts and historical facts seem to be in full action all day long make the day feel even more long. When 8pm hits Marcel claps his hands together "I know, let's go get you something nice to wear for tomorrow" I cross my arms and frown at his words "I don't even know where I'm going or what I'm doing, how will I know what to wear?!" I proclaim "well there's no harm in showing up looking your best" he says and quickens his pace ahead towards a bundle of clothing

"Go get ready." *** Mariana found the perfect nightclub attire which was a backless bodycon, short mini dress with sequins glitter sparkle deep V-neckline. The dress accentuated her breasts, and shapely round her ass, giving her a sultry and attractive appearance. She paired the dress with her black heels that were still laid inside the box. She was getting out of the room, when Marcello came out from his. Her blood thrummed at seeing him in a black suit with a solemn expression . He was just too handsome. Too strong and rough.

Marcel with a twisted expression and a crease between his brows covered the doorway with his body. He wore grey sweatpants and a towel hung carelessly down his neck. Lazy drops of water fell from his dirty blonde hair and his eyes held that similar dangerous glint. The Marcel at the doorway had no freckles at all. His body was exactly the same with the freckled one. What in heaven's name was happening?! What sort of sorcery was this?! Lyra turned towards the Marcel in black pants who had halted whatever song was playing and back to the Marcel in sweatpants who looked like a dragon about to breathe out fire with the way anger burned in his eyes.

She looked like a GenZ baddie. Since they were going to have fun, it wouldn't be wise for her to go with a gown hence the change. Her hair was brushed and made into a cornrow by Izabelle and after a few minutes, she was good to go. “Do I look pretty, Mommy?” “You look extra pretty. See how lovely your face is.” “Thank you.” “Are you both done?” Marcel walked into the room in a casual dress. He was wearing black free pants and a turtle-neck white shirt and his hair was combed backward. Izabelle coughed. He looked really hot.

What now? Couldn’t I get one moment of peace to myself? But the irritation disappeared the second I saw who it was. Marceline swept through the door dressed to perfection, not even a single wrinkle in her outfit. Her hair was pinned into that signature matronly updo she always wore when she wanted to look dignified. Her makeup was flawless, and highlighted her eyes in a way that made her look younger than she was. A sharp angry pain flared in my chest like bile. God. Was I really this far gone? Was I really feeling jealous of Marceline, that old hag? If I could envy her, then what was next? Florence and her dull plain face?

The ever-aloof devil she was now legally bound to. The maids had already vanished, like ghosts slipping through the walls, leaving behind a steaming tray of breakfast on the table—far too extravagant for one person. Marceline padded across the room, her bare feet brushing against the marble floor, cold and indifferent like everything in this mansion. She walked to the wardrobe and pulled out a short, lilac chiffon dress that barely brushed her thighs. She turned, clutching the dress to her chest, intending to return to the bathroom. That’s when his voice sliced through the silence.