Warning: Profanity.

A/N: It's late at night. I realize I haven't published anything since July of last year (yikes), but I'm going to deliver in 2018. I will. No promises though, because—if you're familiar with my work—then you know how sporadically my ass publishes stories, but I'm going to deliver. Bet on that shit.

Anyways, here's the one-shot I wrote. :)

"Do you think of me as beautiful?"

It was a question Nikki had been holding back for a while. She had known Jonesy forever—long enough for him to see her undergo puberty, long enough for her to see him start dating. He had seen the kind of woman she'd become, and she had seen the type of girls he liked. She knew she did not fit that mold.

Jonesy blinked several times, grasping the question she asked him. "What?"

It struck him as random for her to ask this. He thought they were simply watching a movie.

But, for her, it was more than a mere movie in his living room. The leading character was the quintessential sex symbol: a white, model-esque bombshell with flowing blonde hair. She stood tall and walked with an air of fierceness. Her waist mimicked an hourglass. She radiated the glamour of Gigi Hadid, Scarlett Johansson, Marilyn Monroe, and other women like her.

Nikki was the antithesis of such a woman. She was a short Asian teen with purple hair that barely came to her shoulders. She sometimes slouched and dragged her sneaker-clad feet when she walked. She was on the chubbier side of the body-type spectrum. She couldn't compare herself to any actresses, seeing that she didn't care about Hollywood (and seeing that few celebrities aligned with her racial identity).

Thus, it wasn't a random inquiry. It meant something to her, given the kind of woman Jonesy considered to be a "babe." He called her "babe" out of affection, but figured she didn't fit the other meaning of the term. She wasn't the conventional girl.

"I want to know," she clarified. "Do you find me attractive?"

"Of course I do, babe. Why do you think I'm dating you?"

She shrugged. "I just know I don't fit the mold of girls you normally date. You like girls with long hair and fat asses and narrow waists and—if you haven't noticed—I lack those attributes. I'm not really feminine, I'm not petite, and I don't wear tight clothes."

She named these things about herself not out of self-hatred, but out of self-awareness. When it came to his preferences in women, she was the obvious outlier. It only made sense to bring this to his own awareness. She wanted to make him think about why he was drawn to her.

Once she brought it to his attention, he racked his brain for the right answer to her question. She was right—he did have a thing for girls with the attributes she listed. He loved girls with big butts, though he loved Nikki's small, rounded one because—in his words—"cupcakes were still cakes." He loved girls with big breasts (something he knew she did not lack because he stared often enough). He loved long hair—admittedly falling for Nikki back when her hair was long and black—but he adored her choppy, purple bob all the same.

Her hair was a reflection of her: short, blunt, and bold.

"I mean, you're right," he offered after careful consideration. "You're not the type of girl I always chase after, but that doesn't mean I haven't grown to love the hell out of you, babe."

She offered him both a soft smile and a hard question. "So, do you think you'd date me if we weren't friends first?"

His throat constricted. He thought the question was a trap.

But she already knew the answer would be no. Given how different she was from the girls he preferred and how different they were in personality, he wouldn't give her the time of day in another life. (Though, if she had to judge him based upon his demeanor, she wouldn't give him the time of day either.)

Though he remained sure that the question was a trap, he decided to answer truthfully. "Okay, I wouldn't, but don't kill me." He winced, hoping she wouldn't hit him upside the head for his remark.

"Jonesy, it's fine," she reassured, ghosting her palm over his thigh. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"…Really?"

"Yes, really. I figured that's what you would say."

"Oh." He calmed down. "I know it's shallow that I said that out loud, isn't it?"

"It is. But, if it makes you feel better, I wouldn't have dated you either if I didn't already know you."

"You wouldn't?" He didn't know whether to be offended or not.

She shook her head. She was shallow, too. She obviously had a type herself. She loved guys with brown skin and mocha eyes and nice hair. Hunter and Stone were further evidence of that. She wasn't exempt from being into physical appearance. "I mean, you're handsome as shit, but if I had to judge your personality just from seeing you, I would have assumed that you're an arrogant player."

"Hey!"

She snorted. "Can't help judging a book by its cover."

"Don't think you're the only one who can judge someone," he said. "If I didn't know you, I would've assumed you were mean as hell."

"Touché."

Given her statement about how she wouldn't have dated him in another life, he grew curious. "So what makes me worth dating?"

Her expression softened. She anticipated a question like this, and she already knew what to say. "You're hilarious; sometimes you make me laugh until my ribs are so damn sore and I'm trying to catch my breath. You really excite me. And you have a smile that's so nice it makes me wanna turn into a puddle. You purr really obnoxiously, but somehow it still manages to turn me on. And—your eyes… they're one of your best features. They're this really nice shade of brown that I can get lost in if I'm not careful… And even though you get fired every other day, you've got so much potential that I want to see you live up to."

He smiled at her in the boyish way she adored, causing her cheeks to flush. She wanted to melt in the way she'd described to him. "Dammit, Garcia, you make me feel so special."

She climbed into his lap, throwing her arms over his shoulders as she gave him a kiss on those tender lips of his. (His kisses sent jolts of electricity through her—another aspect of him that she loved. He brought her to life.)

He was enamored by her way with words, enamored by how she made him feel like the king of the world. That was one quality that set her apart from the other girls he'd dated or been interested in. Her passion electrified him.

When he parted from her lips, he confessed, "You are special, Nik."

"Hmm?" she asked, confusion appearing on her face.

"You said I make you feel special, but you are, baby. You are." He looked at her and a lovestruck grin tugged at his lips. "I wanna tell you how much you mean to me, but I feel like it's not gonna be as good as what you said about me."

"I'd rather you say something than nothing at all."

More encouraged, he confessed, "I think you're beautiful because I know you in ways I can't see. Like, you're so fucking smart; you do so well in school and you're gonna do so well in life and it's mind-blowing. You make me think in ways a girl's never made me think before. Plus, you're funny as hell. And when you laugh, you snort in this really dorky way that's actually really cute." He placed his hands on her hips. "And you're so confident in yourself that it's hard not to be attracted to you. It's so sexy that you're so sure of everything you do… I'm just— I'm crazy about you, baby."

Though she'd felt their relationship approach the end of the honeymoon phase—having been dating for almost a year now—he awoke the dormant butterflies in her stomach. She felt a fluttering sensation in her abdomen. His words made her feel so comfortable in her own skin, made her love him more than she already did.

She pressed appreciative kisses against his soft lips, expressing the love she amassed for him in the way her lips moved.

When they parted, he couldn't help gazing at her. He realized that being with her changed what he perceived to be beautiful.

He moved a stray lock of hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear.

"You're gorgeous."