A/N I've been suffering from anxiety lately. And anyone who knows what that feels like knows it can be incredibly exhausting. Being who I am, I simply wanted to explore and see what would happen if the Reader experienced that same anxiety, and how Sylus would handle it.
Sylus & Reader/you | Word count: 1k
Your hands are trembling—or so you believe. Your legs are shaking—or so you think you feel. Your entire body vibrates, and every hair on your skin stands on end. The frantic pace of your heartbeat, the way your pupils dart from corner to corner, and the endless stream of thoughts racing through your head stand in stark contrast to the rigid posture you’ve been holding for the last five longest minutes of your life.
"Breathe…" you remind yourself. You drag yourself through the supermarket aisles, your feet feeling like lead; you plant your steps firmly to feel the ground beneath you—though mostly out of the sheer fear that you might bolt at any moment, dropping your shopping basket right where you stand.
Breathe.
You have to get out of here. But the exit feels so far away and besides, you still need to put things in your basket. You wanted to make dinner for yourself, and for Sylus. What were you planning to eat?
I don't remember.
You wander aimlessly through the aisles. You glance into your basket, then come to a halt in front of the cereal section. Did you need any of this? You pull out your phone; perhaps you were prudent enough to write a shopping list. Why had you started feeling this way so suddenly? You stare at your phone, but your gaze loses focus, drifting into the abyss of apps on your screen and unread notifications.
The sense of unease intensifies as you realize you’ve completely forgotten why you even picked up your phone in the first place.
Breathe.
It doesn't matter, you decide; whatever was missing from your list can't be that important anyway. Quicken your pace to reach the checkout, feeling as though "flight mode" has kicked in; you need to get home… before your teary eyes start to cry for real, before fear envelops you in its cloak and drags you into that darkness you know so well.
You try to hide your haste and your mounting anxiety—before what you imagine to be the intense stares of the other customers in line behind you, and before the cashier scanning your items. Before the woman reading her newspaper on the bench in front of the kiosk; a woman who remains oblivious to your very existence, so deeply immersed in her reading. Is that little boy two registers down watching you? Or will they notice that you’ve started to sweat?
You pay, and you leave with faster feet clutching your cloth bag full of who-knows-what. You give thanks for the fresh air, yet you don’t manage to get very far before crashing right into a wall. You bounce back, and in the same breath you were ready to apologize when you catch that familiar scent and your gaze meets those unmistakable red eyes.
"Are you in a hurry, kitten?" You hold your breath for a second. Sylus observes you for a moment and frowns. "What's wrong?" A lump in your throat keeps you from speaking, how inconvenient. "Are you alright?" You shake your head. Sylus, without saying much more, frees you from the cloth bag and takes your hand tightly. "Don't let go of me." You want to cry at that precise moment, but you hold it back, lowering your head.
Sylus guides you to his car, wastes no time, and takes you home immediately. During the drive, you become rigid again.
Breathe.
The procedure isn't much different when he parks near your house. He takes the bag, takes your hand, and unlocks your home with the key you gave him.
Home. Safe. The weight you felt back at the supermarket is slowly lifting, though with it, your rigidity and self-control begin to fade as well. Sylus knows about your anxiety attacks. He recognizes the way your eyes lose focus, drowning in a sea of intrusive thoughts. He knows that when you drift this far out, you need a lighthouse.
His fingers remain clasped firmly around yours; with a gentle tug, he guides you against his chest. You bury your face in the expensive fabric of his half-open jacket and inhale his scent.
"I'm here." Why do those few words make you weep so inconsolably against his chest? "Cry as much as you need to; I’m not going anywhere." he says softly against your ear. His hand comes to rest at the small of your back, pressing you closer. Staying there minutes longer to giving you a few time to adjust. His large hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair with tenderness when you stop crying.
"Look at me," you let out a shaky, broken exhale, your fingers clutching the lapels of his jacket as if you’re afraid the floor might turn to water the moment you let go. When your eyes mee his red-rimmed eyes, he leans down, pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. Then his lips ghosts over your eyelids, catching the salt of a stray tear on your cheek.
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I mean this when I say I quite literally do not deserve your kindness or attention. I appreciate you immensely, but I just don't deserve anything you give me.
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Can someone please explain to me why I found over THREE porn bots in the SpongeBob community??
This isn’t funny anymore… it’s just gross. I genuinely want to puke because now I can’t enjoy my favorite things without them being ruined for me, First wow wow wubbzy and now SpongeBob. I can’t have anything can I?
