Sweats Nervously Novels & Stories

But as much as they might have tried, they could never match Fenrir's ferocity and cunning. I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me as my palms grew increasingly sweaty. Desperately, I frantically rubbed them on both sides of my dress, searching for any excuse. I could feel my heart racing in my chest. It was a familiar feeling, one that had plagued me for as long as I could remember. I took a deep breath and tried to focus on something, anything, but my mind remained a chaotic mess.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and turned to face her. He asked nervously, “Whew! Is it hot in here or is it just me?” and loosened his tie while moving his palm repeatedly in front of his face as though to blow air on himself. His heart was racing, and he could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He knew he had to keep his cool, but he couldn't help feeling overwhelmed by his desires. She glanced at him and gasped. “Oh my goodness, you're sweating. Are you okay?”

"Wh...at?" I stuttered, my lips flapping on each other nervously. My heart raced, thumping fast and hard in my chest. The sweat that had managed to dry up instantly found its way back, forming droplets on my face. This time around, the intensity of my anxiety was even worse than the first time.

I clasped my thighs together, sucke in deep breaths as I tried to calm my nerves. “Are you even listening?!” Penelope's voice jolted me from my reverie. Her brown eyes sank into mine in confusion. Her brow arched as she scanned my body. I gulped. My thighs pressed tighter as I was terrified she would sense my mood. “I am.” My voice went high and a nervous smile plastered my face. I gulped, shifting uncomfortably as I clenched my cunt to stop spewing juices. My fingers dug into the sheets beneath me to help me concentrate.

The waves of nervousness were gracing me with what felt like a confession of a secret sin. My heart was thumping in my chest; sweat was oozing down from my palms; my mind was jumbled with what I should say next. "Come on now, let me have my chance to sit down and then I will say something," I told him in the mildest tone, contradicting the spilled out words that were seeking to have his heart spilled in an unsuspecting ask.

“I’m nervous.” I call out to Arry, while trying to calm my hands from trembling, taking deep breaths. Standing in my room getting ready, while Arry is in the bathroom styling his hair. I feel sick again, ever since I got up it’s been bad, and the dizziness I’m having with it is knocking me off kilter. I know it’s nerves, but I can’t shake it.

ELIAN. My palms were sweaty and I could feel beads of sweat sliding down my forehead and disappearing into the collar of the coat I wore. But a part of me knew I wasn’t sweating because of what I wore. I was sweating because I was nervous. My armpits were damp, my throat dry and my stomach was in tight knots as I stood on the stone platform at the center of the ceremony ground, staring into the horizon like the sky might give me a sign.

"You know it's so funny how relaxed you are about this. It's almost like you want to stare in a Sherlock Holmes movie." I scoffed humorously. If only she knew how nervous I was with my sweaty palms and my heart racing like a death ride. Trying to be serious, I cleared my throat and wore a stern face. "You have no idea how worried I am. It's so scary that they keep calling me like I had a hand in anything."

My gaze remained fixed on the screen. “You’re sweating, Marcus,” she observed, her voice laced with a hint of amusement. “Strange, right? I sweat easily, even with the AC on...It’s just… I get sweaty easily, even with fans or AC,” I rambled on, desperately trying to mask the turmoil within. The words sounded unconvincing even to my own ears. “Yeah, I understand. I’m feeling sweaty too,” she said, extending her hand to show me her palm.

She stood up and walked down the long corridor. I sank into one of the plush waiting chairs, but I couldn't relax. I was sweating nervously. It wasn't just a slight dampness; it was a cold, gripping panic. You know that type of nervousness you feel when you're going on stage for the first time, staring out at a pitch-black crowd, knowing you might forget every single one of your lines? That is exactly what it felt like. Or maybe even worse. I was sweating profusely under my heavy wool coat, my palms slick, my heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird.