Marceline Outfits 소설 & 이야기

" Well since you're finally here you should do the right thing for once and get them inside, our guests have been waiting, and that's not nice." Marcellina reprimanded him before heading back inside and the four people followed her in with Penelope hanging on Marshall's arms and Phineas Who had his little hands wrapped around both his father's and his uncle's own. As usual, he preferred not to be carried especially not by his dad. When they got into the room where the so-called visitors were waiting, it was packed with four people, two who were trying to setup up an elevated platform and the other two were discussing while pointing at a tablet and that's when Marcelo noticed her. she was dre

Ophelia stood, her face blank, as she stared at the flowing stream. Ophelia nodded, "Yes, you are correct, I discussed it with Michela yesterday," she said as she took a deep breath. Turning around, she backed away from the stream and stared at Marcel. For a moment, she wondered why he was always wearing a black overall. It made him stand out, and he wasn't meant to stand out in the pack or else he would get noticed, but she knew too well that Marcel hates when he is told about how he dressed. "And what was their conclusion?" Marcel asked, glaring at Ophelia.

Marcel hesitated a moment as if he was trying to remember something, "And tell Victor I'm leaving without him if he continues to spend time dressing up like a lady," "Aye, boss," Samuel said, speaking instructions in lowered tone into the wired comms in his ear. He was dressed in a suit just as the other soldiers that would be coming with him on this journey. Marcel abandoned the suit and chose to wear a charcoal black fitted turtleneck top with its corresponding pants, finalizing his look with a burgundy red coat since the weather was cold today. With his blonde hair gelled back, Marcel looked particularly classy - and of course warm- with the coat giving a minimalistic look with the button

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?

But morning brought clarity, or at least the illusion of it. Work. That's what she needed. Structure. Purpose. Something to focus on that wasn't the catastrophic mess her personal life had become. She pushed herself out of bed. The shower was brisk. Efficient. Marcelline stood in her closet, selecting her armor for the day—a tailored navy suit that screamed CEO, paired with heels sharp enough to be weapons. She pulled her hair back into a sleek bun leaving a few chosen strands loose to fall over her eyes, softening her gaze and giving her look a quiet, intentional allure, applied minimal makeup with precision, and studied her reflection.

Marceline’s POV I walked straight to the closet as soon as I entered the bedroom. Without wasting time, I changed out of the clothes I was wearing into something far more fashionable. Today, I had plans...shopping for outfits and jewelry. There was this new brand in town that Celesta had been raving about. So I decided to check it out...typically the kind of thing a wealthy housewife would do. I paused before the standing mirror, admiring myself. Gorgeous, I whispered, smiling at my reflection. I grabbed my bag, slid in my payment cards, and picked up my car key.

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.

I chose to go with a light brown shade of lipstick, and let my hair down in it’s natural waves. I exit the bathroom, and find Marcel sitting on the bumped out window seat reading that Stephen King book with his glasses on. He looks ridiculously good in glasses, it still makes me grin a little that my imagination was completely spot on. “I need to get dressed.” “There is a dress laying on the bed,” he says without looking up. I look down at a short blue sparkly dress. “Um okay, well can you leave so I can get dressed?”

We were invincible, formidable. When Mari emerged from her room, to the stairs and into the Great Room, it was almost like she was a completely different person. She always dressed to kill that I personally find it pleasing watching her play dress up. Personally, I think she's presentable even with just a loose shirt on. Black, I noticed, and white were her power colors. It made her look confident, powerful, like she could conquer the world with pantsuits and heels. She could if she tried. But her clothes today were different. Bright. Like a doll.

Sighing, I take off my shirt and set my gym towel on the edge of the treadmill when I catch sight of her. She hasn't exactly noticed me since I didn't bother turning on the lights to the gym. But the lights from the house are bright and I can see her clear as day. I watch as Marcella stands at the shallow end of the pool, observing the water. Then she looks around a bit as if trying to make sure no one is watching. In slow, cautious, and precise movements, she takes off her white silk robe. Fuck. Is she wearing a....swimsuit?