Fics like it's hard to make me nervous

Agatha’s only human, and her eyes start to rake without her consciously realizing it. Hot Butch is pretty much a walking cliché, but is somehow making it work for them. Dark green cargo pants, big stompy boots. Green carabiner hanging from their right belt loop, jingling cheerfully against what looks like a big roll of tape in their pocket. Stupidly saturated blue polo with the Lowe’s Home Improvement logo on the sleeve. Hot Butch angles her face in a way that Agatha can see it, and suddenly she’s frothing at the mouth even more than she was before. Round cheeks, big almond puppy-dog eyes, a nose with a slope Agatha can only describe as bitable. Hot Butch frowns vaguely and itches at a spot on their thigh; they then check their chunky analog watch and tap their foot as if the elderly man ordering a gyro in front of them is the most annoying thing they’ve encountered all day. Every inch of motion they make feels like it hits Agatha right between the thighs. She can’t tear her eyes away. She’s so entranced that she drops half her pretzel on the ground. or: self-identified mall rat agatha harkness moves home after college and meets her match (or her soulmate, whatever) at the food court

Fics like it's hard to make me nervous

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