She’s up! First three chapters of my L/M force electricity fic are ready and waiting… ⚡️⚡️
https://archiveofourown.org/works/74598581/chapters/194805961
Here’s a little preview:
Blue-white arcs zigzagged from her hands to the walls, the ceiling, the floor; blooming outwards in violent, uncontrollable detonations of light. The curtain by the window tore open in a flash and caught fire. The lamp shattered. The doorway panel exploded in a halo of sparks.
The whole room was strobing in fierce pulses - too bright to see, too loud to hear, overwhelming - until she wasn’t sure which parts were the nightmare and which were really her.
“No no no no”
Her breath seized.
She curled inward on the bed, fists over her skull.
Something slammed outside - loud, urgent. Voices from far away.
And then his presence hit like a door blowing open.
Luke. Half-dressed, sleep-creased, eyes wide with alarm.
He didn’t hesitate.
He crossed the room in two strides and caught her arms just as the power peaked. Wrapped himself around her from behind and pulled her tight against his chest.
The contact was blinding.
The energy poured through him like lightning through a conductor, hot and clean. The light flared once, then broke apart into harmless sparks that scattered across the floor and winked out. The smell of smoke thinned. The curtain collapsed in a heap of charred fabric. The lightning vanished so fast the room smelled like scorched air mourning the loss of it.
When she could breathe again, he was still holding her. Her whole body sagged as if someone had cut her strings.
Luke held her tighter, breathing hard but steadying fast. His cheek pressed to her temple. His voice was low, a whisper in the wreckage.
“It’s all right. I’ve got you.”
She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe properly.
“It’s dark,” she choked finally. “It’s lightning. You saw—”
“I felt it,” he said, voice firm. “And it’s not dark.”
“You don’t know that—”
“I do,” he said. “I know you.”
Something in her chest collapsed inward at that—pain, relief, terror, she couldn’t name it.
“I can’t stay here,” she whispered. “I’m going to hurt someone.”
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.
“Then you’re with me tonight,” he said. No hesitation. No option for refusal. “I’m not leaving you alone like this.”
The words struck something deep and fragile inside her chest.
Before she could protest - before she could form the sentence - he wrapped his hand around hers, careful but firm.
“Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s go.”
He helped her to her feet, one arm wrapped securely around her waist because she was still shaking too hard to stand. His other hand skimmed her ribs, grounding, steadying, gentling.
She was wearing only a thin sleep-wrap and shorts. He was just in sleep pants. The proximity should’ve been humiliating. Terrifying. Instead it felt like oxygen.
He didn’t let go of her the entire walk to his quarters.
Not when they passed two startled apprentices.
Not when the lights flickered back on across the hall.
Not even when she muttered, “I can walk, you know,” and tried halfheartedly to pull away.
His arm simply tightened, not possessive—protective, grounded, steady.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured. “Just lean.”
And she did, because her legs were unreliable and her chest still felt like it was full of broken glass.
His quarters were dim. Cooler than hers. The air smelled faintly of cedar resin and clean linen. He kicked the door closed behind them without ceremony.
“Mara.”
His voice gentled further - dangerously close to intimate.
“Come here.”
He guided her to the bed and sat with her on the edge. For a moment he just held her head against his shoulder, his hand warm at the back of her neck. She could feel the minute trembling in her muscles as the aftershocks passed.
Then he shifted, nudged her back gently, and pulled the covers down.
“Lie down.”
She bristled automatically. “I can take the sofa-”
“No.”
Soft, certain, as if the word were simply a fact of physics.
“You need contact. This is safest.”
She was too wrung out to argue. Her limbs felt heavy, her skin still humming faintly somehow. She sank back against the pillow, breath coming in uneven threads.
He stretched out beside her - no hesitation, no awkwardness - and curved his body against hers like it was a reflex he was born with. One arm slid around her waist, the other tucked under the pillow by her head. His bare chest pressed warm along her spine, steady as gravity.
The second he touched her, the residual static drained away like water finding its level.
Her shoulders loosened. A small, involuntary sound escaped her - barely more than a sigh.
Luke exhaled against her hair. “There we go.”
It was the gentleness that did it.
Not the closeness. Not even the warmth.
Just... that voice.
She closed her eyes. Too tired to think, too tired to fight.
His fingers brushed her hip in a grounding pattern she recognised from earlier - slow, repetitive, calm.
She drifted.
And he followed her into sleep almost instantly, breath going deep and even, arm tightening around her even in unconsciousness.