#seeing!marcone

Slap, slap… Zayn fell backwards, cheeks stinging, the lipstick he had had in his small hand smashed on the floor by a foot wearing formal shoes. He toppled over something and landed on the dirt-covered porch tiles, gasping for air, stunned and scared. “I told you to take that god awful thing off your lips!” a male voice thundered in his head, making him cover his five year old ears and screw shut his great big hazel eyes. “But, abuelo, mama uses lipstick too- OUCH! Please, abuelo, let go, it hurts!!” Zayn yelped and screamed as the strong, old man pulled him up by a handful of his neck length waves and shook him, sending him back to the dusty tiles with a violent thrust. “I told you NOT to call me abuelo, your Spanish accent is awful, I can’t stand it! And you’re a man!! You’re disrespecting your father and I by wearing that, and take off that jewelry, too!” the man barked, raising his hand to slap the child again. “B-but, grandpa… I’m not a man…” Zayn whimpered, feeling tears starting to bud in his eyes. He brushed them off quickly, knowing what his grandfather thought of him crying. “You- Not a man?! Then what are you if not a man?!” the old man laughed derisively. 

“I… don’t know. I’m Zay? Just… Zay…” he whispered. “I don’t want to be a man, I want to be pretty like mama-” But as soon as the words fell from his smudged, childish lips the old man lost it. With a powerful whack from a cane the small child was thrown against a bench, falling back onto the floor, crying openly now. Zayn curled up into a ball and attempted to turn his sobs into whimpers, covering his head to stop the old man from hitting his face again; it already hurt bad enough from the first slaps, he much preferred to be to be spanked or hit with the cane. “G-grandpa… Please… I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry… I’m sorry, abuelo!” he sobbed, looking up at the man just as the cane came flying down towards him. “AH!!” Zayn screamed as he sat up, panting, extending his arms forwards to protect himself from a nonexistent assailant. Tears were rolling down his cheeks as his adult body trembled with terror. He didn’t recognise where he was or the two strangers in bed with him. He hugged his white bunny stuffed animal, his body unable to stop trembling. “My moon?” a gruff voice said and Zayn flinched at the sound, scooting away from it, bumping into the woman to his right and yelping like an injured puppy. “Zayn? Hey, it’s me, darling, it’s ok. I won’t hurt you! Kore? I think Zayn had a nightmare.” Marcone had sat up the moment he saw the dancer flinch and fumbled for the light as the gray-haired woman turned from the wall towards them waking up in a second. “Zayn? Amor, it’s us. Don’t worry, you’re home and you’re safe,” Kore’s voice said from behind the riot of chestnut hair. Zayn turned violently behind him and then in front. He felt Kore’s hands on his arms, though, and that helped start to ground him. He recognised the texture of her soft hands, the sixth finger, her witch-like nails, the softness and coldness of her skin. He looked in front of him again and Marcone’s face became visible in the soft yellow light of Tiffany table light. “Where did you get it, it’s perfect!” he had told the man when he had brought it home, swaddled like a newborn… His aquamarine eyes glowed and Zayn recognised them too. He had always loved that feature in Marcone’s face, that and his scar... It took him several more moments to fully recognise where he was, but finally he realised he was in their room, sandwiched between Marcone and Kore-Sídhe like every night, surrounded by the things they all loved. Irin, Jawahir, and Danae peering at them from their sleeping places, Danae whining softly. “It’s ok, girl, he’ll be just fine…” Marcone said, patting her great, fluffy head as she tried to climb onto the bed to flop on top of the dancer. “No, no, we’ll take care of this, you big goof.” The dog huffed at him, gave Zayn a sniff, an affectionate lick on the hand he offered her and went back to her plush bed, curling up in there but still attentive. “Are you here with us now, love?” Marcone said softly, keeping his contact to a minimum. Over the years, he had learned that sometimes gruffness could trigger a bigger episode in the shorter individual he called spouse for three years now. His big hands had spooked Zayn several times before when waking up from a trauma-induced nightmare, and it hurt him to see his beloved like that. The dancer looked at the tall man before him and nodded, his eyes still a bit hazy, but now sure he knew where he was. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to scare you…” he whispered, hugging Snowdrop and hiding his face in the bunny’s head. Marcone sighed and smiled and finally scooted closer as Kore motioned for him to do. The woman had rounded Zayn gently with her arms, kissing the top of his head. “It’s quite alright, love. You didn’t scare us. You didn’t know if you were here or not, but you’re here and you’re with us, and everything is fine, see?” she said, offering him her left hand, which Zayn took and pressed to his dark cheek, as if to reaffirm her words. Marcone offered his big, a little rough, hand to him and the dancer smiled softly, taking it too, pressing it to his other cheek. “It was about lipstick…” he whispered, unprompted. “My abuelo had slapped me because I was wearing a lipstick mama had given me… I was little and… and he had his cane with him that day. I woke up the next day bandaged up, lying in mama’s bed, she was bandaged up too, with a busted lip and had no makeup. I didn’t… I didn’t like it when she had no makeup on… She looked sad when that happened…”

Marcone and Kore were respectfully silent, holding the chestnut haired witch between them, humming or nodding for him to know they were listening. After a long pause, Kore looked up and rested her forehead on his temple. Marcone kissed Zayn’s knuckles. “What hap-?” he started, but Kore looked up, tears in her eyes. “He caned him…” she whispered, hugging Zayn tightly to her. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, amor… I really am…” Marcone gasped, horrified, and hugged both of his spouses, enveloping them in his big arms and pressing the to his chest. “Next time I see that old fool I’m gonna…” “Marc, please…” Kore said softly but with a smile, acknowledging they were of the same mind. “I don’t care what happens to him, just don’t make him hurt you…” Zayn said, muffled by the group hug as he snuggled into it. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to make you sad…” Marcone barked a small laugh and nuzzled him. “You didn’t do it, dear. And we’re not sad, as much as…” he sighed and nuzzled him again. “We just want you to know that you’re loved and safe here, Zayn, and you can wear any shade of lipstick you damn well please!”

“In fact, we’ll take you to the store tomorrow, you’re running low on your favourite shade and I have it on good word that it’s back in stock, how does that sound??” Kore said, pulling away a bit and winking at him. “I need translucent powder, as well, so we can make this a makeup hunting trip, what do you say??” Marcone nodded. “I do need help with picking out the covering base for my scar… I was asked to help at the children’s festival in the library, and I don’t want to scare anyone there…” “You? Scare a child? You’re such a cinnamon bun!” Zayn laughed. “Your scar gives you character, too…” “You could be a witcher!” Kore exclaimed, caressing the man’s scar with love. “A witcher…? When was the last time you spent an evening with small children??” Marcone laughed loudly, hugging them again. “When I was a small child myself…?” Zayn said, raising an eyebrow. “I eat small children for breakfast, but I pick them off the streets when they annoy me…” Kore casually commented, yawning and stretching. Both of her spouses looked at her in surprise, and she went “What?? I’m kidding!” making both of them laughed. “Let’s go back to bed, then…?” Marcone offered, laying on his back and patting his side for Zayn to settle in. The dancer blushed and nodded, pulling the woman with him, pressing his back onto Marcone, who turned to spoon the shorty, who in turn spooned Kore. “If I punch someone in the face tonight, don’t blame me… You know I don’t spoon well,” Kore warned, making the others laugh again. “I don’t mind waking up with a black eye if it’s from my wife,” Marcone joked, kissing the back of her head. “Shush and go to sleep…” Zayn groaned, snuggling more into them. “Thank you… really…” Both of his loves reassured him he was safe again, holding his hand or kissing his temple. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve them, but he hoped he would continue to do it… They were angels and he was grateful for them. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Depressed and anxious so I wrote angst, but it’s got a bit of fluff too! Tell me what shade of lipstick matches Zayn, please, I’m curious to know what you think he would look good in. ^_^ Marcone is property of @finally-romancable-npc, and Kore-Sïdhe is property of @kobresias. I just borrow them to maltreat them a bit. (sorry. ^_~ XPP)