Jean Grey remained in bed.
The curtains had been drawn at some point during the day, though she could not remember doing it, and now the room existed in a perpetual twilight where time seemed to have ceased functioning properly. She had slept. She knew she had slept because she remembered waking up. Yet she could not have said whether she had slept for minutes or hours, nor could she remember when she had last eaten.
There was a tray resting untouched upon the dresser across the room. Someone had brought it for her. Ororo perhaps. Maybe Scott. She had thanked them, she thought. Or maybe she had only imagined thanking them. The details slipped away whenever she reached for them. The only things that remained clear were the tunnels and the screams and the fear. Those memories never faded.
They returned with a clarity so vivid that she often found herself forgetting which reality she occupied. Sometimes she would open her eyes and discover that she was still in her room. Sometimes she would close them and discover she was back underground, standing amidst blood and rubble while hundreds of terrified minds cried out around her.
She witnessed every death. No, that's not accurate. Witnessing it would have been merciful because it would have created distance, but as a telepath cursed with feeling what others felt, she had experienced it all firsthand. Through the psychic bond that had formed amidst panic and terror, she had touched dozens of minds at the moment of their destruction.
She remembered a mother searching frantically for her son as Marauders advanced through the darkness. She remembered the precise instant that panic transformed into despair when she realized she would never find him. Their fear and pain poured into her until it became impossible to tell where they ended and she began.
Sometimes the silence haunted her more than the screams. She would feel a consciousness beside her one moment and then nothing the next, as though a candle had been extinguished and left behind only darkness. Human beings were not supposed to know what death felt like from the victim's perspective. Human beings were not supposed to carry the final moments of dozens of strangers inside their own minds. Yet she did. She carried them all.
Sleep offered no refuge. Whenever exhaustion finally dragged her beneath consciousness, she found herself reliving fragments of the tunnels. Then she would awaken with her heart racing and tears on her face before she even understood why she was crying. Sometimes she wondered whether she was mourning for herself or for all the people whose emotions had become tangled within her own.
Professor Xavier had always taught her that thoughts were like leaves floating upon a river. One acknowledged them and allowed them to pass. One did not become them. But those thoughts refused to fade, sinking their hooks deep into her mind, nesting there, and growing heavier with every passing day.
The worst part was the noise. Even here, alone in her room, she could not fully shut it out. A stray thought from somewhere down the hall brushed against her awareness. Ordinarily such thoughts existed at the edge of perception, easy to ignore, easy to filter. Tonight they crashed against her mental defenses like waves against a crumbling wall.
She pressed her hands against her temples and tried to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. That was what the Professor had taught her, establish boundaries and build walls. A telepath who failed to govern her mind would eventually be governed by it instead. Jean repeated the lessons silently.
She imagined the rooms of her consciousness and imagined doors closing. But even as she attempted to regain control she continued hearing fragments from all across the mansion. Scott worrying about her. Storm mourning the dead. Then other thoughts began to emerge, quieter yet somehow more embarrassing, fragments of herself she had spent most of her life suppressing - anger, frustration, desire, resentment, and fear.
Jean Grey was always expected to remain in control because everyone knew what could happen if she lost control. She knew it better than anyone. Sometimes she envied ordinary people. Ordinary people could become angry without fearing that their emotions might manifest through powers capable of devastating entire rooms.
Jean had spent years carefully pruning pieces of herself, trimming away anything she considered dangerous. Tonight those buried pieces clawed their way closer to the surface. She found herself thinking thoughts she normally would have rejected immediately.
And then there was Adonai. Against all reason her mind kept returning to him. Perhaps because he was one of the few people who seemed entirely unburdened by fear of himself. Jean knew she should have been disturbed by what he had done to Sabretooth and part of her was. But every time she remembered the emotions she had felt in those tunnels, every time she remembered children dying while the Marauders laughed, another thought surfaced from somewhere deep and dark within her.
They deserved worse. The thought shocked her, and though she tried to push it away, it only returned stronger than before. They hunted children. They slaughtered innocents. They would have done it again. She squeezed her eyes shut. The Professor would be disappointed if he knew she was entertaining such thoughts.
Jean herself should have been horrified. Yet another part of her, a part swollen and inflamed by grief, whispered that Adonai's fire had accomplished something prison cells never could.
Perhaps monsters deserve monster's deaths. If Adonai had burned all of them alive, would the world not be safer? Nobody will ever hear Sabretooth laughing while he murders another child.
She hated that some small, wounded corner of her mind found comfort in it. That was not who she wanted to be. That was not the person she had spent her entire life trying to become. But grief was changing something inside her, making emotions feel larger than they should have been, anger burned hotter, and sadness cut deeper.
It was as though every feeling had been amplified beyond normal human limits. She could sense herself drifting toward emotional extremes she had never experienced before, and that realization terrified her.
She rolled onto her back and stared once more at the darkness above her bed. Slowly she began reciting the Professor's exercises from memory. She forced herself to name the objects around her: the desk, the lamp, the dresser, and the window. She focused on their shapes and textures. She anchored herself to the present. The technique helped, if only slightly. The screams gradually faded into the background and her breathing steadied, though tears continued to slide down her cheeks.
She heard a light knock on her door and instinctively reached out with her telepathy to see who it was, only to be met with emptiness. That absence told her everything she needed to know.
"Jean, it's me," Adonai's characteristically cheerful voice echoed through the room.
"Come in," she heard herself say, though she made no move to rise from the bed.
The door swung open, revealing Adonai Ezra in all his glory. He wore a simple dark tracksuit, a grey shirt, and a pair of flip-flops. He looked better now, she noted almost immediately. Ever since that day, the boundless cheerfulness that had once defined him had seemed dimmer somehow. His beautiful emerald eyes shimmered beneath the light, but they no longer carried their usual warmth. Even as he attempted the familiar grin she had seen countless times, she could tell his heart was not truly in it.
"Let me just say this," Adonai declared with surprising seriousness. "I absolutely hate it when couples tell me they've been trying for a baby. Like, a relative will sit me down and go, 'Adonai, Diana and I have been trying for a baby for the last few months.'... Okay? Is this like a flex or something? What exactly am I supposed to do with that information? Smile and say, 'Congratulations on the frequent and consistent sex'? Am I expected to applaud? Do I salute? And then everyone else nods like that's a perfectly normal thing to announce over dinner. Nobody reacts appropriately. Nobody says, 'Thank you, Uncle Steve, for telling us that you've been banging your wife.' We all just sit there pretending this is fine."
Whatever Jean had expected Adonai to say upon entering her room, it certainly had not been that. In a million years she never would have predicted the direction his thoughts would take. She liked that about him. For someone like her, who could often tell what people were going to say before they even thought it themselves, Adonai was endlessly refreshing. His mind seemed to leap from one impossible subject to another with no warning and no regard for logic.
"I think a simple 'good luck' would suffice," She said giggling, all too used to it to be shocked by his ramblings.
"A simple good luck?!" Adonai repeated, horrified. "Absolutely not! What if they actually succeed? Then suddenly I'm partially responsible. They'll introduce me to the child someday and say, 'This is Adonai. He wished us luck.' The kid will spend eighteen years thinking I was involved somehow."
She laughed properly then, the sound surprising even herself. It felt unfamiliar, as though she had discovered some old object hidden beneath layers of dust. Adonai immediately pointed at her.
"There it is."
Her smile faltered slightly. "what?"
"The smile. I've been looking everywhere for it. Thought maybe somebody stole it."
"Nobody stole it."
"Hmm." He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You sure? Because it's been missing for days. We may need to file a report."
She rolled her eyes. "You came here just to annoy me, didn't you?"
"Nay, my lady, I am afraid I have been entrusted with a sacred duty worthy of a knight of my stature, for I have come here to rescue you."
"From what?"
"Yourself."
She groaned. "Terrible answer. Don't you cringe at yourself when you say such cheesy lines? Try again."
"Fine!" He leaned back dramatically. "I came because your room has become haunted. And I've identified the ghost already."
"Oh?"
"Yes. A most dangerous ghost, unimaginably powerful and known to feed exclusively on blankets, silence, and sad thoughts. A nasty creature."
She folded her arms. "And where exactly is this ghost?"
Adonai slowly lifted a finger and pointed directly at her. For a moment she stared at him before throwing a pillow in his direction. He caught it effortlessly and grinned triumphantly.
"Violence," he declared as he settled onto the edge of the bed. "The cornerstone of any civilized interaction. Excellent! We're making tremendous progress."
"I was doing fine before you came in," she replied, though the weakness of her own protest was immediately obvious to her and judging by the amused curve of Adonai's mouth, they sounded equally unconvincing to him.
"Ah yes," Adonai said with a soft chuckle. "The story of my life. Everywhere I go, people are doing perfectly well until I arrive and make everything significantly more complicated."
His voice was light, playful as always, yet there was something else beneath it that made her attention sharpen despite herself. Then his eyes lifted fully to hers, and for a moment she forgot whatever she had been about to say.
"Did anyone ever tell you that you have a beautiful smile," he asked casually, as though commenting on the weather, "and very sensual lips?"
How could he possibly say something like that so casually?
The question practically screamed through her mind even as she fought to maintain a calm and composed expression, though she didn't know if she succeeded in that. Suddenly she had become far too aware of herself, of the possibility that every tiny reaction might be visible to him. She didn't want him to think she was inexperienced enough to be rattled by a simple compliment, but the moment that thought surfaced another followed close behind, forcing her to confront an even more embarrassing question: why did she care what he thought in the first place?
It wasn't as though Adonai meant half the outrageous things that came out of his mouth. Flirting was simply part of his nature, as effortless and unconscious as breathing. The man possessed a supernatural inability to stop being ridiculous. And yet, despite the countless examples proving that his words should not be taken seriously, she could not shake the feeling that something about today was different.
Usually his attention moved constantly, his gaze wandering from one thing to another as though the entire world competed for his interest at every moment, but now there was none of that restless energy. He simply looked at her. His emerald eyes held hers with an unwavering steadiness that made the passage of seconds feel strangely significant, and before long she became acutely aware of the simple act of maintaining eye contact.
It was ridiculous how intimate something so ordinary could suddenly feel…
The room seemed quieter than before, the space between them smaller somehow, and every passing moment only deepened her awareness of the fact that neither of them had looked away. There was no obvious attempt to make her uncomfortable in his expression, which somehow made it worse. It felt as though he were truly seeing her, giving her his complete and undivided attention in a way he rarely gave anyone, and the realization sent an unwelcome warmth rushing into her cheeks.
She held his gaze for another second, then another, stubbornly refusing to be the first to break, until eventually the intensity of it became impossible to ignore and she found herself looking away toward the far side of the room, retreating from those eyes before they could unravel whatever remained of her composure.
Desperate to escape the increasingly dangerous direction of her own thoughts, she grasped for the first subject that came to mind.
"So you're leaving?" she asked, the question came out considerably lamer than it had in her imagination.
"I see someone has been using her powers for voyeurism." Adonai grinned. "I didn't know you were into that sort of thing."
"I-It's n-not like that at all!" Why was she stuttering? She never stuttered. "It's just that my telepathy has been volatile lately. I accidentally overheard your conversation with the teachers. I wasn't trying to spy on you. I am sorry."
"You don't have to be so defensive about it, voyeurism is a legitimate kink. And who can blame you? I know how irresistible I am. And for the record, I don't mind when hot redheads spy on me."
Oh, God!
Her heart gave another traitorous leap. This was absurd. She was not normally this easy to fluster. She refused to believe she was. The emotional instability she had been wrestling with lately was clearly affecting her judgment. That had to be the explanation. There was simply no other reason she would be reacting so strongly to what was objectively terrible flirting.
At least that was what she kept telling herself.
Unfortunately, the explanation became harder to believe with every passing second. She suddenly felt painfully aware of how close he was. There remained a perfectly respectable distance between them, but her attention kept returning to that small stretch of empty space as though it possessed its own gravity. The awareness of it was maddening. She found herself wondering how little distance would remain if either of them leaned forward even slightly, and the fact that her mind had chosen to wander in that direction at all made her immediately angry with herself.
Fortunately (or unfortunately) Adonai chose that moment to rescue her from her own thoughts.
"But yes," he said, the humor fading slightly from his voice, "I'll be leaving. It's time for me to go on some grand self-discovery journey and figure out what to do with my life and all that jizz. It has recently come to my attention that endlessly drifting through existence like a cloud may not actually qualify as a long-term plan."
"Now that's surprising," she said. "Adonai Ezra voluntarily engaging in self-reflection is such an unbelievable concept that you may as well tell me the world is ending next week. I would honestly find that explanation easier to accept."
His laugh came immediately. "See? This is exactly the kind of support I need during my personal growth arc."
Every now and then his smile arrived a second too late, and she found herself wondering whether anyone else noticed. It was so like him to hide everything behind layers of jokes and shameless flirting, keeping them focused on the clown while the man beneath remained unseen. Looking back now, she realized she had not known what to make of him when they first met. At first glance he had seemed hopelessly immature, completely insane, and, if she were being painfully honest with herself, incredibly hot.
And then there had been that moment with the Marauders, the moment he had calmly contemplated burning them alive. For the first time she had glimpsed something beneath the endless humor and carelessness, something darker, infinitely more dangerous than the cheerful fool he pretended to be. It had felt as though she had caught sight of a crack in a mask he normally wore so well that even telepaths struggled to see beyond it.
The strange thing was that the more she came to know him, the less certain she became of what existed beneath that mask. Adonai Ezra often struck her as someone walking a narrow tightrope stretched over an impossible abyss, a person possessing the capacity to become either something genuinely extraordinary or something utterly terrifying depending on which direction life pushed him.
There was an immense kindness in him, one so natural and instinctive that he seemed incapable of passing by suffering without trying to alleviate it, but there was also a frightening disregard for restraint that made it easy to imagine how someone else, under different circumstances, might have become a monster with those same qualities. Perhaps that was why the thought of him leaving worried her so deeply. Some selfish part of her wanted him to stay here, wanted him surrounded by people who cared about him, wanted him somewhere safe where the burden of becoming someone darker would never have to rest solely on his shoulders.
"Do you really have to leave the X-Men?" she asked at last, breaking the silence that had settled between them, though by now she already knew what his answer would be.
"There is no obligation for me to do so," he replied with a casual shrug. "But I choose to do it anyway. Although I'll admit I hate leaving a beauty like you behind for some boring task."
"Then stay!"
The words escaped before she could stop them. For a brief moment she simply stared at him, startled by her own boldness, but there was no taking them back now.
"I mean," she added quickly, attempting to soften the statement without entirely retracting it, "we would all be happy if you stayed with us."
"Oh, please don't tempt me, you sly serpent," he said, grinning. "This is the first time in my life where I actually feel compelled to devote myself to something other than pure pleasure. I'm grateful for my time with all of you, and I'll never forget it, but I won't stay."
She had expected that answer. But it still hurt. Why did she care this much? When exactly had she become so attached to him?
By every rational metric, Adonai should have been exhausting. He was reckless, chaotic, infuriatingly unserious, and possessed an almost supernatural ability to ignore social norms whenever they inconvenienced him. But despite all that, or perhaps because of it, people gravitated toward him. She had seen it happen over and over again. Kurt laughed more when Adonai was around. Rogue seemed lighter somehow. Even people who initially found him irritating eventually found themselves seeking out his company.
After thinking about it for weeks, Jean believed she finally understood why. Being a mutant forced people into... a certain way of living. Every member of the X-Men carried invisible burdens that shaped their decisions and their identities. They worried about whether the world would see them as people or threats. Their mutations had become lenses through which they viewed every aspect of their lives.
Then Adonai arrived and casually ignored every rule they had built around themselves. He never seemed to define himself through his mutation or care whether others accepted him because of it. It was objectively, completely and utterly insane. And yet there was something deeply appealing about watching someone live that way.
Jean sometimes found herself comparing him to the rebellious protagonists from those ridiculous Hollywood high school movies she secretly enjoyed, the impossibly confident teenagers who ignored every social expectation, delivered absurd one-liners, and somehow emerged victorious despite making objectively terrible decisions. And perhaps that was why he fascinated people so much. Like children watching heroes in adventure films and imagining themselves in their place, they could not help but be drawn to him.
"You're staring," he said with amusement, his emerald eyes glinting with familiar mischief.
The words should have embarrassed her enough to look away, but somehow they had the opposite effect. She felt warmth immediately rise into her cheeks, but she stubbornly maintained eye contact, refusing to retreat this time.
Ever since he had entered the room her entire attention had become fixed upon him with an intensity she found difficult to explain. The constant noise that usually existed at the edges of her consciousness had faded so completely into the background that she had not even noticed their absence until now. For perhaps the first time in two weeks, there was only one person occupying her thoughts.
And perhaps that was what finally pushed her over the edge.
Jean Grey was the girl people jokingly called Ms. Perfect, the one who always thought before she acted, who worried endlessly about what might happen if she made the wrong decision. But as she sat there looking at him, knowing there was a very real chance she might never have another moment like this again, she found herself growing tired of watching opportunities pass by because she was too afraid of what might happen afterward.
For once, she wanted to be brave. Before she could overthink it, before anxiety could regain control and bury the impulse beneath a thousand doubts, she leaned forward and kissed him.
For a brief moment he froze in obvious surprise, as though even Adonai Ezra had not anticipated this particular turn of events. Then the shock vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. His hand found her cheek, and he returned the kiss with a warmth and certainty that made her heart race. Jean closed her eyes, losing herself in the closeness she had secretly wanted ever since realizing he intended to leave. She was hardly experienced when it came to things like this, and she knew it, but somehow that only made the moment feel more real.
Time seemed to become both impossibly long and far too short, and when they finally separated they remained close enough to feel each other's breath, both noticeably breathless, though Jean suspected she was far more affected than he was.
"Well," Adonai said after a moment, looking genuinely entertained. "Now that, I didn't expect."
"Since I can't change your mind about leaving," she replied, surprised by how steady her voice sounded despite the furious beating of her heart, "I decided I want to be the last thing you think about when you go… I want you to remember what you're leaving behind."
For a second he simply stared at her. Then he laughed. There was something infectious that made it impossible not to respond and Jean found herself smiling despite everything.
"How devious," he said, shaking his head with obvious admiration. "I definitely didn't expect that from you."
"I am tired of being the sensible one for once," she said, surprising even herself.
Adonai's expression shifted from amusement to something hungrier. His fingers tightened in her hair as he yanked her back against him, their lips crashing together again. This time, the kiss was no gentle exploration. Jean moaned into his mouth, her nails scraping against his chest as she arched into him. She could feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing against her thigh, and the knowledge that he wanted her sent a rush of wet heat between her legs.
Adonai broke the kiss only long enough to tug her sweater over her head, his hands immediately cupping her breasts through the lace of her bra. "Fuck," he growled, his thumbs circling her nipples until they pebbled beneath the fabric. "You're so goddamn perfect."
Jean whimpered, her head falling back as he leaned down to capture one taut peak in his mouth through the lace. His teeth grazed her sensitive flesh, and she cried out, her hips jerking involuntarily. "Adonai–"
He didn't let her finish. His hands slid down to the waistband of her pants, fingers deftly undoing the button before yanking the denim down her hips. The cool air hit her damp panties, and she bit her lip as he hooked his fingers into the fabric, dragging them down her thighs.
Jean kicked the pants away, leaving her in nothing but her bra and panties. Adonai's gaze raked over her with approval. "Are you sure about this?" he asked with a grin as though he knew what her answer would be.
"I've never been sure with anything more," she gasped.
That was all the invitation he needed. In one smooth motion, he stood, shucking his own sweatpants and boxers until he stood before her completely naked. Jean's eyes widened at the sight of him - thick, long, and already glistening at the tip. She bit her lip, suddenly nervous.
Adonai noticed. His smirk returned as he crawled onto the bed, caging her beneath him. "You nervous, sweetheart?"
She swallowed. "A little."
He chuckled before kissing her again, this time slower, deeper. His hands slid down her body, fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties.
"Don't be," he murmured against her lips. "I'll take it very slowly and make sure you're ready."
Jean's breath hitched as he dragged the lace down her legs, leaving her completely bare beneath him. His fingers trailed down her inner thighs, teasing closer and closer to her slick folds. When he finally grazed her clit, she gasped, her hips bucking off the bed.
"Ata girl!" he crooned, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Don't try to muffle your lovely moans. Let me hear you."
Jean didn't hold back. A broken moan tore from her throat as he circled her clit with his thumb, his fingers dipping lower to tease her entrance. "Adonai–! Oh, God–"
He groaned before dropping his head to her chest. His tongue swirled around one nipple, while his fingers worked her pussy with maddening grace. Jean writhed beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure coiled tight in her core.
"Please," she begged, her voice hoarse. "I need you…I need you inside me!"
"Who am I to refuse?" he said with a grin, replacing his fingers with his mouth. He licked her from entrance to clit, his tongue firm and relentless. Jean's back arched off the bed as the first wave of her orgasm crashed over her, her thighs trembling around his head.
Adonai didn't stop. He lapped at her through her climax, drawing out every last shuddering moan until she was a trembling, boneless mess beneath him. Only then did he crawl back up her body, his cock pressing against her entrance. Jean's eyes flew open, her breath catching as he teased her with the tip.
"Look at me," he said, his voice playful.
She obeyed, meeting his gaze as he finally pushed inside her in one smooth thrust. Jean cried out, her nails raking down his back as he filled her completely. He was big, bigger than she'd expected, and the stretch burned, but the discomfort only made the pleasure more dazzling.
Adonai groaned, his forehead resting against hers. "Fuck, you feel incredible."
Jean whimpered, her hips lifting to meet his slow, deep thrusts. "More," she gasped. "Please, Adonai–"
He gave her what she wanted. His pace quickened, his cock pistoning in and out of her relentlessly. Jean's moans turned desperate, her legs wrapping around his waist as she met him thrust for thrust. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room, mingling with their ragged breaths and the slick, wet noises of their joined flesh.
"You like that?" he growled, his hips snapping harder. "You like my cock filling you up?"
Jean could only moan in response, her head thrashing against the pillow as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter. "Yes-yes, don't stop–!"
Adonai's hand slid between their bodies, his fingers finding her clit. "Come for me," he demanded. "Come all over my cock."
The command sent her over the edge. Jean screamed his name as her orgasm ripped through her, her walls clamping down around him as he pounded into her with wild abandon. Adonai groaned, his rhythm faltering as his own release crashed over him. He buried himself to the hilt with a guttural curse, his cock pulsing as he spilled himself deep inside her.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Jean's chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, her body still trembling from the force of her climax. Adonai pressed a kiss to her collarbone, his lips warm against her skin.
"Still thinkin'?" he teased, his voice rough with satisfaction.
Jean let out a shaky laugh, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Not even a little."
He grinned, nuzzling her neck before rolling onto his side, pulling her with him. Jean rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as it slowly returned to normal. Jean closed her eyes, savoring the warmth of his body against hers, the weight of his arm draped over her waist.
AN: Predictably, this story won the poll again, so here we are. After this, there will only be one more interlude before we move into a timeskip (This is turning into teh world's longest goodbye ever) Btw, two of the X-Men girls will decide to follow Adonai, though I'll leave the details for later.
Jean may come across as somewhat reckless and a little OOC in this chapter, but as you've probably noticed, the Phoenix Force, combined with the sheer strain and exhaustion caused by her telepathy, has left her emotional state somewhat compromised. That's always been a major aspect of her character, both in the comics and the films, where the Phoenix Force tends to amplify her emotions and make it harder for her to maintain control.
Also, I decided to write a smut scene. It's not something I particularly enjoy writing (I usually end up laughing while working on it) but I wanted to step outside my comfort zone and challenge myself by trying something different.
As always, advanced chapters are available on my Patreon. If you want to read ahead, vote on which story gets updated each week, or simply support my writing so I can focus more on it, you can check it out here: /abeltargaryen?