Oh, To Be The Lady's - [A Lady Dimitrescu/Female Reader-Insert Story]

Chapter Eighty: To Be Bathed [Part 2]

SUMMARY: A continuation/part two of the wonderful prompt by @Me when aliens: I got a request, what if the reader ends up having a panic attack and goes nonverbal and is unable to talk to Alcina, and Alicia ends up giving reader a bath and they go to bed together??

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A/N: Hi y'all, happy Monday! 🥰 I hope everyone had a very wonderful week and that you enjoy Part 2 of this prompt! It was such a blast to write honestly and thank you, as always, for your incredible love and support! 💙💚💜 Please don't hesitate to let me know what you think, I love hearing from you all! 👀

**TRIGGER WARNING: panic attacks, talk of past attempted-abduction/assualt**

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Standing in the bathroom now, it's a little bit more difficult to convince yourself to settle into the tub.

Talking with Alcina was one thing — trying to put on a brave face for your wife so she could take some phone calls was miles easier than actually undressing and taking a bath alone. Swallowing, you shift against the bathroom tiles, shrugging before pouring more lavender-scented soap into the water, watching as the suds rise. The smell is wonderful, floral and comforting and you force yourself to take a deep breath, drawing your robe further across your chest as your eyes flicker upwards, toward the window to your right.

It's been fixed, of course. The glass repaired, reinforced and the floor under it cleared of any dangers, the beautiful Romanian countryside — green and fresh in the heat of early-summer — rising behind. You study the puffy clouds, taking a couple more deep, grounding breaths before turning back toward the bathtub.

"It's just a bath." You mutter to yourself, clenching your jaw as you remove your robe, crossing your arms across your bare chest instead. "It's just a stupid bath. It'll be alright. Alcina's — she's right down the hall, it's not — it's okay. Just a bath. "

With a harsh sigh, you twist to step over the rim and into the water, the warmth welcoming in the chill of the bathroom. Lowering yourself, you clear a bit of the soap suds from around your face, resting your back against the tub with only a moment of hesitation. Leaning backwards, the back of your head against the rim, you let out a low, soothing groan, bringing your damp hands upwards to rub at your face.

And it — it feels nice. It feels good. Your confidence rising, you sink deeper into the water with another pleased groan, stretching your legs out in-front of you. Your gaze lifted toward the ceiling, you squint, watching as the golden sunlight from the windows dances across the wood, relaxing without Alcina's protective arms wrapped around you for the first time in nearly three-weeks.

The warm water sloshes a little as you sit up slightly, poking a finger in the little wall of lavender-scented bubbles around you, popping a few. Gathering a breath, you dip your head under the water for a moment, getting your hair wet before reaching for Alcina's fancy, expensive glass shampoo bottle, craving the familiar rose-scent of your Lady.

You've barely leaned over the bathtub's rim, a few droplets of water falling from your damp hands, your fingers wrapped around the bottle's neck, before it slips from your grip.

"Fuck—!"

A gasp leaves you as it drops for a split-second, twisting in the air, before landing against the marble flooring and shattering. The red glass, shimmering in the sunlight, spreads around the shampoo as it splatters, the smell of roses filling the air.

You don't see this, however, not truly. Your mind rushes, a shuddering whine leaving you as the sound of the shattering glass echoes in the bathroom. The men, the busted window, had sounded the same, the looters who'd tried to touch you and take you — that had dragged your naked and shivering form all the way to the castle roof.