Disney really was like, "Oh y'all are excited for the new Bond and Wonder Woman trailers this coming week? Guess we better drop Black Widow and Mulan because we can't not be the center of attention for five minutes."
Summary – You have been having these terrible recurring nightmares that you just can’t shake away. After confiding in your boyfriend, Maxwell Lord, he swears he will protect you and make sure the nightmares leave you alone for good.
Pairing – Gender neutral reader x Maxwell Lord (No Y/N)
Warnings – depictions of nightmares, mentions of blood
Word count – 1.7k
A/N: Let me know what you think! xx
You woke up in a frenzy, heaving and panting, kicking the sheets and blankets off the bed. You rolled over, hoping to see your boyfriend still sleeping next to you, but his side of the bed was empty. You let out a frustrated moan. He had probably went off to get an early start at the office. He was a busy man, and you understood that, but still, you wished you could spend more one on one time with him. When he was away, you missed him. The sunlight beamed through the curtains and hit your naked skin which made you realise you were still exposed from the night before. You sat upright, legs shaking, and reached down, picking up Maxwell’s pinstripe button up shirt that he had worn the day before. You lazily buttoned it up, not caring if it was uneven, and stumbled to your feet. Wearing his shirts when he wasn’t around made you feel less alone, like a part of him was always with you. You admired the way the expensive fabric felt on your skin and took a glance at yourself in the full length mirror – noting the way the shirt loosely fitted you. You had been wearing his shirts more recently than ever, especially since the bad dreams. They brought you comfort.
You left the master bedroom and dragged your heels to the modern styled kitchen of your boyfriend’s penthouse, eyes squinting as you looked over the city through the enormous glass windows behind the breakfast bar. Another day. You rubbed your eyes, trying to shake your headache, when your boyfriend greeted you. “Good morning sweetheart,” he sung, and your eyes focused on him. He was sat at the breakfast bar drinking his morning black coffee and reading the newspaper. He was all ready and dressed for work, in his white shirt and purple tie but minus the suit jacket, his dark blonde hair combed and styled perfectly. His tan skin gleamed under the amber morning sun.
“Morning Max,” you grumbled, shuffling your feet towards the refrigerator, taking a glass and pouring out some iced water. You found some painkillers left out by the fruit bowl from the previous morning when you had awoken from the same damned headache. Maxwell watched you with concern as you swallowed the pills and downed the glass of water, before tilting your head back and pinching the bridge of your nose. He put his cup of coffee down on the bar and stood up, cautiously walking over to you. He swung his arms around your waist and pulled you into his chest. You hummed in delight and he pressed a kiss into your cheek.
“What is it baby?” he asked gently.
“Bad dreams,” you replied softly, closing your eyes. You didn’t want to remember.
“Again?” Max cooed and you simply nodded; your hair tickling his neck. He held you even tighter. “You want to talk about it?”
You ripped yourself from his grip in a panic. “No!” You told him, horrified, and your reaction only made him grow more concerned. You crossed your arms over your chest, almost defensively, as flashes of the recurring nightmare you’d been having replayed in your head. You backed away from Max, wishing the thoughts that haunted you would stop. As anxiety filled you, you burst into tears, and Max hurried towards you, guiding you to the sofa where he pulled you onto his lap and began to hush you. “Max…” you sobbed, breathing out his name shakily. “I just want it to stop.” You whimpered and he nodded understandably.
He remembered the reoccurring nightmare he had when he was younger. It was the memory of his father’s passing, replayed over and over again. It got so bad, he even went to therapy for it during his adolescence. After recommending therapy to you, you found it only stressed you out even more. You felt trapped and you wondered what on earth you had done to deserve such bad dreams. Your tears dripped into Max’s clean and freshly pressed work shirt, staining it only slightly, but he didn’t care. Your hands met his and he began to rub comforting circles into your skin. Your breathing steadied and you found yourself playing with the rings on his fingers, something you loved to do. It helped you relax and concentrate on something else. Your gaze moved down to his gold Rolex wristwatch. You gasped, reading the time. “Max, you’re going to be late for work.”
“Darling,” Maxwell chuckled, running his fingers through your hair as you looked up at him, doe-eyed. “I’m not leaving you today.”
“But you have the conference call with Paris,” you groaned, curling into your boyfriend’s chest. You didn’t want him to leave for work. And if he was seriously implying that he’d stay home for you… that would be perfect.
“Paris can wait.” he laughed and you couldn’t help but smile. You loved him. He was a ruthless businessman, the CEO of Lord Technologies and intimidated by many. He was so successful; powerful, and highly respected internationally, that he could make the capital of France wait for him. He was all these things, but to you, he was your boyfriend. You often wondered how you ever got so lucky, ending up with a man like him. Little did you know that his power went beyond his charm and that smart mouth of his.
Whatever Maxwell Lord wanted, he got. There was no question about it. No one dared to refuse him – except you of course. You remembered your first date. He took you to one of the most expensive restaurants in the city, asked you to pass a bread roll, and looked mortified when you rolled your eyes and told him to get it himself. It was one of your favourite memories with him.
“Maxie,” you whispered, your sore, cried-out eyes fluttering shut. He hummed in response as you adjusted your head to a more comfortable position in his chest. “I’m tired.”
“So sleep, my dear, I’ll keep you safe from any bad dreams.” He said, and there was something in his voice that filled you with trust. You had no idea how he’d do it, but you were certain, in that moment, in his arms, you’d be safe.
“Promise?” you mumbled, already drifting off.
“I promise.”
With one arm wrapped around you, Maxwell held your sleeping body close to him, and with his free hand, he was reading one of his favourite fiction novels. He got distracted from the literature when he noticed you began to stir in your sleep, murmuring incoherent words. He watched you for a moment, and watched as your unconsciousness seemingly became more distressed. He hated it. You were in pain. He had sworn he would never use his powers on you; you were the love of his life, but he couldn’t watch you suffer like this. He could put a stop to it. He knew that on a technicality, he could help you. He pondered it for a moment. If you knew about his powers, you’d want him to help; he thought. He put the book down on the sofa beside him and placed his free hand on your head, carefully pushing any stray hairs away from your beautiful face. Your eyebrows were knotted together and your hands had made fists. Maxwell closed his eyes and summoned his mind control powers.
He felt your pain, it was like he had been transported to your nightmare. He could see you, dream you, screaming and crying. He looked closer, discovering that your recurring nightmare had been about losing him. All this time, you were afraid of losing him. He had gotten himself so worked up, he felt shooting pains in his head. Maxwell hissed, but kept going. He needed to stay calm, but it was so hard. He watched as your dream began to fizzle away and he felt you soften up in his arms. It was working, he was removing the bad dream from your head, but hurting himself in the process. He didn’t care, however. He had saw for days how this recurring nightmare had been haunting you and if helping you meant he got a migraine for a few hours, so be it.
You woke up with a startle as your nightmare ended and Max opened his eyes too, letting out a long pained groan. You bolted upright and looked at your boyfriend, eyes widening as you saw his nose bleeding “Max!” you cried out, and he looked at you giving a tired smile, his brown eyes hazy. You wiped some of the blood way from his nose but it was still bleeding. You showed him his blood on your hand.
“Oh…” he mumbled, gently pushing you off him and standing up. He walked to the bathroom and you quickly scurried after him.
“Are you okay?” you asked your boyfriend.
“Of course,” he reassured you. “Just a little nose bleed.” He informed you, wiping his nose with tissue paper and proceeding to crumple it up and put it in the bin. He took a wet flannel from the sink and washed away his blood that was beginning to dry up on your fingers. “How did you sleep, darling?”
“I- I…” you stumbled upon your words, trying to remember. “Fine. I think. I- I don’t remember.” You were confused. Every single time you had slept this week you had the same nightmare and now suddenly, as your boyfriend Maxwell told you he’d keep you safe from the bad dreams, the nightmare had stopped. Just like that.
“So no nightmare?” Max asked you, his lips curving into a hopeful smile.
“No nightmare.” You insisted, wrapping your arms around him. “You are my protector.” You told him.
“I won’t ever let anyone or anything hurt you, my love.” He swore, pressing a kiss into your forehead.
