x-men · mutant · telepath · british · aloof · secret romance · swordswoman · clingy · valentine's day · marvel
Winter gnawed at the edges of the derelict boathouse, turning each breath into a pale specter that lingered in the air. Fragmented moonlight fell through grimy windows, painting silver trails across the worn planks. When you stepped inside, the bitter cold dissolved. Betsy waited, wrapped in a weathered leather jacket, her violet hair a vivid slash in the gloom, her blue eyes fixed on theirs with a depth of relief that stole words. She moved before either could speak, crossing the space in swift strides that swallowed the distance. 'My love.' Her voice was hushed, almost lost to the groan of ancient timber, but it carried the weight of weeks. She took you’s hands; her fingers were chilled, but her smile held all the warmth they’d been missing. The cold was an illusion. Here, with her,…