my love, my life, my everything

eyeliner

This is an Mallie original written by divineone on ff also known as devylish on AO3 and LJ converted into Zatima. Feel free to read the original if you like. Like, comment and leave prompts. (I'm trying to force myself out of this writer's block drought and I'm hoping these conversions help because I do actually miss writing). Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Three hundred sixty-five days ago, Fatima Wilson bailed him out of jail. She bailed him out wearing a yellow dress that showed a it of cleavage, a black belt that cinched her waist and a bob that barely brushed her shoulders. When he was finally released she was outside waiting for him parked on a bench. Invading her space he flung his arms around her and embraced her full of gratitude. Swatting him away with her clutch she indirectly asked him out under the guise of wanting something to eat.

At least that's what he told himself. She was straight forward but very much old fashion. She believed in gender roles: the man takes out the trash and holds the door and walks on the outer side of the sidewalk, but she'd been single for so long she was both the woman and the man in her household. There was nothing a man could do for her that she couldn't do for herself. He could tell all of that just within the few days they'd known each other. So as they sat across from one another at the table in the restaurant he knew this was a date.

The next time they went out it was he who asked her.

A real: you and me testing the waters to see if there could be an us, date.

And he hadn't regretted a moment – not a second – of the 365 days that had passed since then.

It had been a year of growth... and pleasure... and heat... and friendship... and love. At least, it had a been a year of love for him.

As he flipped the small velvet box over and over inside his pants pocket he wondered if one year had been long enough to make Fatima know he was the one.

He was sitting on their living room couch, waiting for Fatima to finish putting on her make-up so that they could go over to Preston and Danni's and his fingers just kept fumbling with the box; nervously trying to add up all of the pluses and the minuses of the thing that was: Zatima. Zac and Fatima. Fatima and Zac. And while his mind told him the pluses way outweighed the minuses; told him that Fatima loved him ... was IN love with him... his fingers were still trying to do the math of: one year of dating + 350 nights of mind blowing sex (minus the two weeks of his being on sex lock-down because they knew each other's triggers and would often enough say things, do things the other wouldn't approve of resulting in Zac sleeping on the couch) + waking up next to the person who was his best friend. Ever.

His damn beautiful, out of this world, best friend.

He blew out a deep puff of air. "Fatima!"

"Hold your horses! I'm workin' on it!"

"What's taking so long...?"

"Look, eyeliner is an art and a science... one wrong move and I have to start it all over, so, Zac, if you want to leave any time in the next five minutes, shut it and let me make myself beautiful."

Zac pulled his hand out of his pocket and ran the warm slightly moist palm along the cloth of his slacks. Fuck it! His plan had been to head over to Danni's and Preston's, hang out with them and Andi and Robin, and then... at the end of the night. On the way home... he'd planned to stop off at that little Italian restaurant with the tiramisu that she liked... loved. And then... over dessert...

... but he couldn't wait anymore. He just...

Pushing in to the bathroom, he was surrounded by her scent... a little hairspray, the body lotion he'd bought her a couple of months ago, and that Guilty by Gucci cologne that he swore he was going to buy stock in. Fatima was leaning in towards the bathroom mirror, eyeliner pencil poised at her eye, her blonde hair mixed with highlights and lowlights waving down her shoulders, her cleavage – per usual – enticing him. "Fatima?"

"Zac! I told you I'd be just a -"

Her voice trailed off as she looked at his figure reflected in the mirror behind her. His hand was extended and in it rested what looked like a jewelry box. A small jewelry box. The kind that held earrings, or pendant necklaces... or... or...

A "Holy shit...!" slipped past her rouged lips.

"I had a small plan that involved getting you tipsy on alcohol at the King-Horace house, getting you happy on tiramisu, and dropping down on one knee in front of a bunch of people so that you would feel compelled to say yes... but..." he offered a nervous grin, "I'm an immediate gratification kind of guy."

Fatima was still staring back at him through the mirror, her eyes wide. "Zachary Luther Taylor... Are you...? Is that...?" She turned around, her hand still braced against her cheek, eyeliner at the edge of her eyelid.

He flipped the box open.

Her legs wobbled and she reached for the edge of the bathroom counter trying to steady herself. Her eyes moved from the ring... the brilliant, beautiful, 'this woman is taken' ring... up to Zac's face.

"After 365 days, I only want more," he moved into the bathroom and stopped right in front of Fatima. Putting the ring on the counter behind her, he lifted his hand to her chin, tilting her head up. "Fatima Wilson, will you marry me and spend the next..." he did some quick math, "21900 days of your life with me?"

Her eyes welled up and a smile slowly stretched across her face... she was happy. He gave a silent sigh of relief, only flinching slightly when Fatima bunched up her fist and lightly hit him on the chest. "In the bathroom Zac? You ask me in the bathroom?"

"I couldn't wait anymore; maybe if someone had moved a little faster getting ready?"

Her fisted hand smoothed against the cloth of his shirt, soothing the non-existent pain she had inflicted.

"So..., you haven't actually said yes... or no... yet."

She closed her eyes for just a second then opened them, stood on her tip toes, brushed her lips against his and whispered, "Yes. Yes. Yes. Ye-".

Zac pulled Fatima closer, tasting the rest of her 'yeses' in a kiss.