Skyrim One-Shots

Ancano x Reader ~Spells of Old (2)~

You'd taken Ancano back to your room, which thankfully you'd installed a door on. 

Was it easy carrying the man there? Absolutely not, you were gasping and panting for breath by the time you got there, but at least you'd done it successfully.

And now, with him deposited on the bed, you took a small 5-minute rest eating some of your stashed snacks littered around the room before starting to feel anxious- guilty, more so.

You gently rested a hand on his forehead, just to make sure everything was fine, and what greeted you was a boiling temperature that made you curse.

With a bite of your lip and a hesitant decision made seconds later, you unbuttoned the top of his flashy robes, sweat glistening on his skin and dampening his thin undertunic.

Shit.

A quiet sigh left your lips, yet you continued to remove the over-layers of his robe, finding that with each piece of clothing removed his current state was worse and worse.

After Ancano was left to the cold air (you had to remove his undertunic, but you wouldn't go as far as his trousers) he started to perspire a bit less, but you still grabbed a healing potion and carefully emptied it into his mouth, the bitter liquid traveling down his throat with little hassle.

Hours. You sat by him for hours, a worried mess, casting frost spells here and there to keep him cool.

Slowly, you started to notice faint lines appear all along his chest and wrapping around his arms, like tattoos of some sort. An after effect of the spell?

The lines darkened into words written in Aldmeri, and though you could tell it was the High Elf's home language, you didn't know it yourself.

 He mumbled and huffed in his sleep every now and then, even tossing around a bit before finally finding a comfortable spot.

You bit your lip.

It must have been dawn by now, no doubt.

What would you say to him once he woke up? What could you even say to him?

Gods above, you were a damn monster.

You stood, starting to pace around the small room.

"I feel terrible," came a quiet mutter from a smooth, male voice, and you jumped, but none the less watched as the Altmer slowly pushed himself up from the bed, rubbing his face.

He settled his back against the backboard of the bed, blinking hard to clear off the fog morning gave him before you silently moved to sit at the end of the bed.

The man glanced at his biceps and pectorals, seeing the wordings on them and frowning.

He inspected further.

"Well," he scoffed, attempting to rub the blackness off and turning out fruitless, "it seems like you have some things to explain, ____, because I am undressed and I do not remember my-"

You flushed, "I didn't- ugh, you were running a fever and your armor wasn't helping, okay?"

He looked at you, narrowed eyes and all.

Ancano crossed his ankle over the other. "You have not slept."

"I haven't."

"You look disgusting," he muttered.

You dryly chuckled. "Tell me about it. You have a headache?"

He scowled. "Why should I tell you?"