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"I felt as though I had known you for a long time."
— Fyodor Dostoevsky, White Nights
Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Original Female Character
Genre: angst, romance, emotional affair, tension, mature
Warnings: emotional infidelity, marriage issues, yearning, alcohol
— ❈ —
Slightly out of breath, still carrying the cold air from outside with her, one hand holding her phone, the other adjusting the strap of a leather bag that immediately got dropped onto the stool beside her.
She looked like she had come straight from war.
Long dark hair slightly messy now, makeup a little softer around the eyes after an entire day, sleeves rolled carelessly up her forearms beneath a white blouse tucked into tailored trousers. Tiredness lingered around her, but then she smiled—
And Jesus Christ.
It hit him like sunlight after drowning.
— “I am so, so sorry,” she sighed dramatically, climbing onto the bar stool beside him. “One meeting became three meetings, then someone decided diplomacy requires seventeen unnecessary handshakes—”
Jensen laughed before he could stop himself.
An actual laugh.
Warm. Real.
She finally breathed out deeply, shoulders relaxing for the first time since arriving, then turned fully toward him with that enormous smile.
— “Hi,” she repeated softer this time.
He looked at her for half a second too long.
— “Hey.”
The bartender approached.
— “What can I get you?”
Jensen opened his mouth, but she beat him immediately:
— “Old Fashioned.” Then she turned back to him casually, like that wasn’t the sexiest possible answer she could’ve given.
His eyebrows lifted.
— “Atta girl.”
She grinned instantly.
— “What? You thought diplomats only drank champagne?”
— “I thought diplomats poisoned people discreetly.”
— “Only on Thursdays.”
That pulled another laugh out of him.
The bartender returned with her drink quickly. She took the glass with both hands for a second like it contained life itself.
Then lifted it toward him.
Jensen clinked his whiskey gently against hers.
And for the first time that entire evening, the knot in his chest loosened.
- “So let me get this straight,” Jensen said, leaning back slightly with his whiskey in hand. “You speak, what, five languages, you’re a diplomat, and apparently you also know people who can hack electronic locks?”
Irina laughed softly into her glass.
- “In this line of work, you end up meeting all kinds of people.”
She took a slow sip of her old fashioned, eyes sparkling over the rim of the glass.
- “And now,” she added thoughtfully, “if I ever need to exorcise someone or kill a demon…”
She gestured vaguely toward him with complete fake arrogance.
- “…I can call you.”
Jensen laughed, shaking his head.
- “Oh, wow. So that’s what I am to you?”
- “A valuable international contact.”
- “Fantastic.”
They both laughed again, easier now, warmer. The kind of laughter that sneaks up on two people who already feel dangerously comfortable around each other.
God, she was fun.
- “So you actually watched the show?” he asked, genuinely curious.
- “Of course I did,” she said simply. “Since I was a teenager, and that ending destroyed me.”
That surprised him more than it should have.
Before he could answer, she leaned closer suddenly, like she was about to confess classified information.
The movement carried her perfume with it — warm, elegant, mixed with the cold night air still trapped in her hair and the whiskey on her breath.
Jensen felt his entire body tense instinctively.
Irina’s eyes flickered briefly toward his mouth before she murmured near his ear:
- “But honestly…”
Her voice dropped lower.
- “Sam was always my favorite.”
For half a second Jensen just stared at her in betrayed disbelief.
Irina leaned back again with a tiny apologetic pout, lips pressed together to hide her laugh.
- “Sorry.”
Jensen let out an incredulous laugh, dragging a hand through his hair.
- “Oh, that’s cold.”
- “I like emotionally available men,” she replied calmly before taking another sip of her drink.
He nearly choked on his whiskey.
The hours slipped by almost unnoticed.
At some point, the crowd at the hotel bar had thinned into only a few scattered guests speaking quietly over late drinks, the jazz softer now, the lights dimmer, warmer. Their empty glasses multiplied slowly across the polished wood between them.
And somewhere between the second whiskey and whatever story Irina was telling about a disastrous diplomatic dinner in Brussels, they had both stopped sitting like strangers.
She talked with her hands when she got excited, warm and expressive in that effortless Balkan/Mediterranean way. Every now and then her fingers wrapped around his forearm to emphasize a point, or she laughed and hit his knee lightly like she’d known him for years instead of hours.
None of it felt forced.
Which somehow made it worse.
Or better.
Jensen honestly wasn’t sure anymore.
He only knew he had become painfully aware of every point of contact between them.
The warmth of her hand over his sleeve.
Her perfume every time she leaned closer.
The way her laughter kept pulling laughter out of him too, deeper and louder than usual.
At one point he started imitating directors he’d worked with over the years, then actors, then eventually Jeffrey Dean Morgan.
Irina nearly folded over laughing.
Jensen lowered his voice into an exaggerated gravelly rumble.
— Listen here, kiddo…
Irina made an immediate wounded sound, fanning herself dramatically with one hand.
— Oh my God, don’t do that to me.
He grinned slowly.
— Do what?
And then, still half joking, he leaned closer.
His voice came out lower this time.
Rougher.
Too close.
Irina’s laughter faltered first.
Their eyes met.
And suddenly the air changed.
Not all at once.
Worse.
Slowly.
Jensen watched her expression soften into something quieter, her lips parting slightly as she looked at him. He could see the pulse moving in her throat now. Feel the warmth radiating from her body in the small space between their stools.
Her breathing shifted.
So did his.
His eyes dropped instinctively to her mouth.
Irina swallowed hard.
For one suspended second neither of them moved.
Then Jensen inhaled sharply, like waking up from something dangerous.
He leaned back again first.
Took a longer sip of his whiskey than necessary.
Ran a hand through his hair and looked away toward the nearly empty bar before glancing back at her with a crooked, quieter smile.
— “Man…”— he exhaled a soft laugh. — “I really needed this tonight. Especially tonight.”
Irina adjusted herself slightly on the stool, suddenly aware of how warm she felt.
A strand of hair had stuck to the damp skin at the back of her neck. She pushed it back slowly, clearing her throat once before taking another sip of her drink.
Then she looked at him again, softer now.
— “Why?”
And for the first time that night, the smile on Jensen’s face faded just enough for her to see the tiredness underneath it.
Jensen stayed quiet for a moment after her question.
Not uncomfortable quiet.
Just… thoughtful.
The ice clinked softly inside his glass while he turned it slowly between his fingers, eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the bar shelves and amber bottles glowing behind them.
Irina watched him carefully without interrupting.
For the first time that night, he looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with jet lag or long convention hours.
He exhaled through his nose, smiling faintly to himself.
— “I don’t know…” — he admitted quietly. — “I guess sometimes it just gets exhausting being… split in half all the time.”
His voice had lost most of its teasing warmth now. It turned lower, rougher around the edges.
— “You spend months away from home pretending everything’s balanced because technically you’re still showing up, y’know? You call every day, you FaceTime, you fly back whenever you can… but after a while it starts feeling like you live two completely different lives.”
Irina’s eyes softened immediately.
Jensen kept looking ahead, thumb rubbing absently against the condensation on his glass.
— “And the worst part is… nobody’s really wrong.” — He gave a small humorless laugh. — “That’s what makes it hard.”
The jazz hummed softly around them.
— “My kids need stability. My wife’s tired of carrying everything alone while I’m constantly somewhere else pretending I can somehow make everybody happy all the time. And I keep thinking if I just work harder or organize things better maybe I can fix it, but…”
He trailed off.
His jaw flexed slightly.
— “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like no matter where I am, there’s always a part of me failing somebody else.”
The words stayed hanging between them.
Heavy.
Honest.
Jensen finally took a sip of whiskey, eyes distant now, somewhere far from the hotel bar and the low music and her perfume beside him.
And for the first time that night, Irina saw not the actor, not the charming man everybody gravitated toward naturally.
Just a lonely man.
Trying very hard.
Her chest tightened unexpectedly.
She inhaled slowly.
— “Tell me about it...”
Her voice came out softer than before.
Jensen looked at her then.
Irina took another sip of her drink, slower this time, before resting the glass carefully against her thigh. Then she lifted her left hand quietly between them.
The ring caught the warm amber light immediately.
Simple.
Elegant.
Painful.
Her eyes stayed lowered toward the glass for a second longer before she finally smiled.
A small sad thing.
Nothing like the bright laughter from earlier.
Jensen’s eyes dropped to the ring.
Something inside him shifted immediately.
Because suddenly this wasn’t flirting anymore.
This wasn’t just chemistry and whiskey and late-night tension.
It was recognition.
Irina looked away first.
Toward the empty end of the bar.
Toward nowhere.
Her thumb moved absently over the ring like muscle memory.
— “Turns out diplomacy is also a terrible profession for relationships.” — she murmured with a faint smile that didn’t quite survive. — “Who knew?”
Jensen stared at her for a second longer than he should have.
At the tiredness behind her composure.
At the loneliness hiding beneath all that elegance and wit.
And God help him, but that was the exact moment something truly dangerous began.
The bar was nearly empty by the time Jensen finally glanced down at his watch.
The realization seemed to hit both of them at the same time.
Irina let out a soft breath through her nose, almost laughing at herself.
— God… I have to be awake in like four hours.
— Yeah, same. — Jensen smiled tiredly, though neither of them moved. — We’re getting old.
— Speak for yourself, Ackles.
— Wow. Cold.
She laughed softly again, but there was something quieter underneath it now. Something reluctant.
Like neither of them wanted to be the first one to end the night.
Jensen paid the bill while Irina finished the last sip of her old fashioned, slow and thoughtful. The bartender wished them goodnight politely and suddenly they were walking through the enormous hotel lobby together, side by side beneath warm golden lights and marble reflections.
The hotel felt strangely empty compared to the chaos from earlier that day.
Their footsteps echoed softly against the polished floor.
Jensen shoved one hand into his pocket.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime.
They stepped inside together.
And suddenly the space felt very small.
Very quiet.
Jensen leaned back lightly against the mirrored wall while Irina stood beside him, arms folded loosely, exhaustion softening the sharp elegance she carried all day.
She looked beautiful like this.
Real.
Her lipstick slightly faded.
Hair not as perfect anymore.
Eyes heavier now from alcohol and lack of sleep.
He couldn’t stop looking at her.
The elevator hummed quietly upward.
Something warmer.
The doors opened onto their floor.
They walked slowly down the hallway together.
Too slowly.
Almost like they both knew reaching their doors meant this would end.
Irina stopped first outside room 1480.
Jensen’s room waited only a few steps away.
For a second neither of them spoke.
Then Jensen rubbed the back of his neck lightly and stopped beside his own door.
— So… — he started casually, though his heartbeat suddenly wasn’t casual at all. — Do you wanna come in for one last drink?
He asked it without looking at her at first.
Like maybe that made it less real.
Then he finally turned his head.
And held his breath.
Irina froze slightly.
The hallway suddenly felt too warm.
She looked at him, really looked at him now — loosened collar, tired green eyes, whiskey-soft voice, that impossible face watching her carefully like he was already preparing himself for rejection.
Her pulse stumbled.
— I… — she inhaled softly. — I really need a shower.
The answer hit him immediately, even though he tried not to let it show.
— Yeah, of course. Sure.
He nodded once, forcing an easy smile.
But before the disappointment could fully settle over his features, she spoke again:
— Will you wait for me?
— ❈ —
Thank you for checking into our little hotel in Monaco.
Is there anything more old fashioned than a love affair? 🥃
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Summary: Motel room conversations between Soldier Boy, USO Girl and Hughie Campbell.
The TV droned softly in the corner of the motel room, flickering blue light across peeling wallpaper and half-empty bottles littering the table. Hughie sat stiffly in the chair nearest the door while Soldier Boy lounged back against the headboard, one boot still on the floor.
USO Girl sat beside him tucked in his side. Earlier tension had melted into something quieter after the hour they’d spent alone together. It’s a comfortable silence but familiar. Soldier Boy scoffed at the television. “These fսcking twins. You know they couldn’t hit their fսcking marks? Fucking unprofessionals is what they are.”
“Fuck the TNT Twins, their constant bickering, my god! Insufferable.” Her voice slips into something more familiar to Ben talking about their ex teammates. Hughie blinked. “Hey, uh, yeah, Butcher’s gonna find them. Why don’t you, uh… get some sleep?”
“Mm, no. I've slept enough.” His voice firm.
A bright commercial blasted through the room. “Dads. We know you love taking your babies everywhere—” Soldier Boy stared at the screen in genuine disbelief. “Do men really walk around like that?” Hughie glanced over. “Yeah. I mean… dads do.” “Okay, well…” He laughed under his breath. “Bill Cosby is America’s dad, and I’ll tell you one thing, he wouldn’t be caught dead in that pussy gear.” USO Girl snorted softly before she could stop herself, shaking her head. Hughie pointed awkwardly. “Lot to unpack there.”
“The Cos.” Soldier Boy raised the bottle slightly like a toast. “That’s a real man.” He leaned closer conspiratorially. “Holy shit, did he make some strong drinks.” USO Girl gave him a sideways look. “This is why I never took any drink from anyone but you. Never again.” He frowned. “What?”
“Nothing,” Hughie answered quickly.
Soldier Boy kept going anyway, whiskey loosening his tongue. “Seriously, though. What passes as a man today? Christ on a cross.” He gestured vaguely toward the TV. “I read we were ass-up in Afghanistan. The fuck is up with that? Those were the good guys.” Hughie visibly decided not to engage. “When I left…” Soldier Boy muttered, eyes distant now. “We were ten and one, you know? I led the 116th onto Omaha Beach. I was in the fucking Eagle’s Nest.” His jaw tightened. “I fought for this country.” The Geiger in Hughie’s hand crackled faintly.
“I fought for this country,” he repeated quieter. “And what did I get for it? Forgotten. Left to rot by my own team.”
The room settled heavy after that. USO Girl let out a faint breath through her nose, eyes fixed on the flickering television instead of him. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Funny how fast they throw you away once you stop being useful. Soldier Boy glanced over at her. She gave a small shrug, though the bitterness underneath it was impossible to miss. “One day you’re America’s sweetheart. Next day, you’re old news.” Her mouth twitched humorlessly. “Like yesterday’s newspaper.”
For a second, neither of them looked at each other directly, but the understanding sat between them anyway. Just relics Vought buried the second they became inconvenient.
Soldier Boy laughed once, bitter and hollow. “You know, I wanted some rugrats of my own. With Countess.” That surprised Hughie enough to look up. Soldier Boy stared at nothing. “Couple little boys. Raise ’em up right. Make men outta them. USO Girl’s expression softened almost painfully. He glanced toward her then, and for a split second the cocky mask slipped completely. They both knew between the V1 formula, endless missions and Vought owning every second of their lives. Whatever they were together back then propaganda couple, battlefield partners, something messier underneath there had never really been room for children. Maybe there never could’ve been. Soldier Boy swallowed hard and looked away first. “Now…” He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Now I got nothing.” The silence afterward felt intimate in the worst way.
USO Girl finally reached over, taking the bottle gently from his hand before he could drain more of it. “You got more than nothing,” she said quietly. Soldier Boy looked at her, surprised by how soft her voice was. Hughie suddenly became very interested in literally anything else in the room.
“Hey, um…” Hughie cleared his throat awkwardly. “Can I ask you something? What happened in Midtown? I mean, your team wasn’t there, so… did someone do anything, or say something—”
“I said I don’t know.” The sharpness in Soldier Boy’s voice snapped the room taut again. Hughie raised his hands. “Okay. Okay, yeah.”
Soldier Boy leaned forward, elbows on his knees now. “I blacked out. About ten minutes.” He frowned like the memory physically hurt. “When I came to, the damage was done.” USO Girl’s eyes flickered downward. “I didn’t mean to hurt those people,” he muttered. “I’m not a bad guy.” For once, he sounded like he actually needed somebody to believe him. USO Girl studied him carefully before answering. “I know.” She spoke again. “I tried to contain it. Soldier Boy looked over at her again, quieter now. “But that won’t happen again…” he said, almost asking. “Right?”She held his gaze for a second too long. “Only if they got it coming.”
The motel door suddenly swung open. Butcher stepped inside. “Oi, oi.”
You’re bleeding.” Hughie points out.
Butcher looked down at the dried blood smeared near his sleeve. “Not mine,” he answered flatly.
Butcher tossed a folded paper onto the bed. “Got an address. We’re off to Vermont.”
Summary: Soldier Boy gets a moment alone to speak to USO Girl one on one.
USO Girl wiped quickly at her eyes like she was embarrassed by them.
“I’m okay,” she whispered again. Nobody believed her. The motel room had gone painfully quiet. Even Hughie didn’t know where to look anymore. Ben stayed crouched in front of her, jaw tight. His thumb still rested lightly against the back of her shaking hand.
Then he looked over his shoulder.
“Out.”
Hughie blinked. “What?”
“I said get the fuck out.” Butcher didn’t move immediately. Of course he didn’t. His eyes flicked between them carefully, analyzing.
USO Girl sitting curled into herself on the motel bed. Soldier Boy kneeling in front of her looking one bad second away from putting his fist through a wall because he didn’t know how to handle this softer kind of damage.
“Easy there, mate” Butcher drawled. “We’re on the same side.” Ben stood slowly. “No,” he said flatly. “You’re useful.” The threat underneath it was crystal clear. Hughie immediately grabbed Butcher’s sleeve. “Yep. Cool. We can go.”
Butcher held Ben’s stare another second longer before smirking faintly. Then he let Hughie drag him toward the door. But before leaving, Butcher glanced once at USO Girl. And softened almost imperceptibly. “Get some rest, love.” Ben’s expression darkened instantly. The door slammed shut behind them.
Silence settled over the motel room. USO Girl kept staring at her hands. Ben hovered awkwardly for a second before dropping onto the bed beside her with a heavy sigh. The mattress dipped under his weight. “You scared the shit outta the kid,” he muttered. A weak laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “There she is,” Ben said quietly.
That slipped out accidentally. So he immediately ruined it. “Christ, you look like hell.” USO Girl leaned slightly against his shoulder without thinking. Ben went still for half a second. Then relaxed into it, he put an arm around her and held her close. Her voice came out small. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Ben snorted.
“Yeah? You got kidnapped by commie nutjobs, tortured for forty fucking years, and turned into a radioactive science experiment.” He shrugged. “That fucks anyone up.” She smiled faintly despite herself, that’s a good sign. That seemed to settle something in him. But the smile disappeared quickly.
“I can’t calm down unless I know where you are.” She confesses, she kept talking quietly, eyes fixed downward. “When I can’t see you…” Her fingers twisted together. “I keep thinking you’re gone again.” Ben’s jaw flexed because that he understood.
He leaned forward,dragging a hand over his face. “Sweetheart,” he muttered roughly, “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” She nodded immediately like she believed him completely.
Ben looked genuinely uncomfortable now. Not because she needed him. she trusted him that much. After everything.
So naturally, he deflected.
“Besides,” he grumbled, “who else is gonna explain all this insane future bullshit to me?” He pointed vaguely toward the motel television. “Bluetooth sounds fake as fuck.”
Another tiny laugh.
“What the fuck does that even mean? I guess I’ll figure it out” she speaks. Her voice is small. Fragile. But hers. Ben glanced at her from the corner of his eye. And for the first time since escaping Russia he felt comfortable and at home with her.
“Eat, sweetheart. It’s just you and me.” His words showing an ounce of care while lighting up a joint. She takes a bite of her tenders and shovels a few fries in her mouth. “We’ll get you feeling back to yourself soon enough.” he says playfully while taking a drag and handing it to her. “It’ll relax your nervous ass, dollface”
She takes it then makes herself comfortable on his chest. She grabs the to go cup of Coca-Cola and sips on it before putting it on the nightstand. She lifts her head up to look in his green eyes then leans in to plant a kiss on Ben’s lips. It was a kiss 40 years overdue. “I’ll take care of you, always have.” His words a familiar and comforting promise. “Now please, for my sake finish your fuckin’ tenders before I do, doll.”
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After a quiet night wrapped in warmth, soft kisses, and whispered confessions, Soldier Boy realizes he’s tired of surviving and finally wants something more: a future. In the vulnerable aftermath of an intimate moment, Ben opens his heart completely for the first time, confessing his fears, his love, and the life he wants with the reader. What starts as a tender night in bed turns into an emotional proposal filled with tears, trembling hands, and the kind of love that makes even a man like Soldier Boy believe in happy endings.
Warnings: Fluff Fluff Fluff
A/N: Let me know what you think 🫶
Requests are open 💞
The room smelled faintly of bourbon, old leather, and the lingering warmth of skin against skin.
Rain tapped softly against the apartment windows, turning the city outside into blurred streaks of gold and blue light. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled low, but inside the bedroom everything felt still.
Quiet.
Safe.
You lay tangled beneath the sheets with Soldier Boy, your head resting against his bare chest while his fingers lazily traced patterns along your spine.
Ben almost never looked peaceful.
Not really.
There was always something sharp in him. Something restless. Angry. Like he was constantly waiting for the world to betray him first.
But right now?
His heartbeat beneath your cheek was slow.
Steady.
Human.
“You’re staring again,” you murmured sleepily.
“Can you blame me?”
You smiled softly against his skin.
Ben’s fingers slid into your hair, carefully combing through it. The tenderness of it still surprised you sometimes. No one else got to see this side of him.
The soft side.
The side that kissed your forehead when he thought you were asleep.
The side that pulled you against him after nightmares.
The side that looked at you like you were something sacred.
You tilted your head to look up at him.
His green eyes were already on you.
Warm.
Overwhelmingly soft.
“What?” you whispered.
Ben swallowed.
And suddenly he looked nervous.
Actually nervous.
You blinked in surprise. “Ben?”
He sat up slightly, leaning back against the headboard. One hand rubbed over his jaw while the other stayed wrapped around yours beneath the blanket.
You frowned.
“You’re scaring me.”
A quiet laugh escaped him. “Yeah, well… this is kinda terrifying.”
That made your stomach twist immediately.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Did something happen?”
“No, sweetheart.”
“Then what—”
Ben exhaled sharply and looked down at your intertwined hands.
For a long moment, he didn’t say anything.
Then finally—
“You know nobody’s ever really stayed for me before?”
Your expression softened instantly.
“Ben…”
“No, I mean it.” His voice was quieter now. Honest in a way that almost sounded painful. “People wanted the image. The fame. The power.” He gave a bitter smile. “Hell, most people were scared of me.”
You slowly sat up beside him.
“But you weren’t.”
Your chest tightened.
Ben looked at you like he was trying to memorize every detail of your face.
“You make me feel…” He stopped himself, shaking his head slightly. “Christ, I sound pathetic.”
“You sound human.”
That hit him hard.
You saw it in the way his expression cracked for just a second.
Ben looked away quickly, blinking hard before reaching toward the nightstand drawer.
Your brows furrowed.
“What are you doing?”
“Hang on.”
He pulled something small from the drawer, keeping it hidden in his palm before looking back at you.
And suddenly—
Your heart stopped.
“Ben…”
“I had this whole plan, y’know?” he muttered. “Fancy restaurant. Maybe flowers.” He scoffed softly at himself. “Thought I’d do it right.”
Your eyes were already filling with tears.
“But then you looked at me tonight,” he whispered, “and I realized I don’t really give a damn about perfect.”
His hand opened slowly.
A ring.
Simple.
Beautiful.
Gold catching softly in the dim light.
Your mouth fell open instantly.
Ben’s voice shook.
Actually shook.
“I’ve lived a long damn time.” He gave a watery laugh. “Long enough to know people like us don’t usually get happy endings.”
Tears slipped down your cheeks immediately.
“But you…” His thumb brushed gently beneath your eye. “You walked into my life and somehow made me want one anyway.”
You covered your mouth, already crying too hard to speak.
Ben looked emotional now too, eyes glossy under the warm bedroom light.
“Sweetheart…” His voice broke quietly. “Will you marry me?”
The room went silent.
Not the empty kind of silence.
The overwhelming kind.
The kind so full of love it almost hurt.
You nodded immediately through tears.
“Yes.”
Ben stared at you for half a second like he genuinely hadn’t expected that answer.
Then—
“Yeah?”
A laugh burst through your sobs. “Yes, you idiot.”
The sound he made after that was somewhere between a relieved laugh and a broken breath.
Ben grabbed your face carefully, kissing you hard and desperate and emotional all at once.
You could taste the salt of his tears.
Because he was crying too now.
“Oh my God,” you whispered against his lips, laughing shakily. “You’re crying.”
“Shut up.”
“You are!”
“Only because you started it.”
You laughed again as he slid the ring onto your finger with trembling hands.
It fit perfectly.
Ben stared at it for a second before pressing his forehead against yours.
“That looks real nice on you.”
You wrapped your arms around his neck instantly, pulling him close.
He held you like something precious.
Like something he still couldn’t believe was his.
“I love you,” you whispered tearfully.
Ben closed his eyes tightly at the words.
Not because he disliked hearing them.
Because he still wasn’t used to believing them.
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
Then he kissed you again slowly while the rain continued falling outside and the city lights painted gold across your skin—
And for the first time in a very long time, Soldier Boy allowed himself to imagine a future that didn’t end in blood.
The hallway outside Crimson Countess’ trailer smelled like incense, stale smoke, and something burnt deep into the carpet years ago. USO Girl stayed close behind Ben, too close.
Her fingers curled unconsciously into the back of his uniform as they walked, eyes flicking constantly down the narrow hall like she expected armed guards to appear at any moment, Ben noticed. He noticed every time she flinched at sudden noises. Every time she checked to make sure he was still there. Every time panic crossed her face when he got more than a few feet ahead. But he never told her to stop. Because she was the only proof that Russia had really happened. The woman looked hollowed out. Not physically but emotionally. Like someone had scooped her out from the inside and left only survival instincts behind. The old USO Girl would’ve had something smart to say by now. This one barely spoke. Ben stopped outside the trailer door. USO Girl’s grip tightened on his sleeve. He glanced back at her.
“You don’t gotta come in.” She speaks an immediate. Sharp. “No.” Not stubborn, Terrified.
Ben held her gaze for a second before nodding once. Then he kicked the door open.
Crimson Countess tied to a chair delivered like a christmas package. Her face went completely white. “Ben?” Silence swallowed the room.
Countess’s eyes were scanning his face like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “Is that really you?” Her voice cracked. “You look so young.”
Ben stared at her coldly. “You don’t.”
Then Countess saw the woman standing beside him.
USO Girl lowered her eyes instantly under the weight of the attention, shoulders pulling inward automatically. Countess recoiled like she’d seen a second ghost. “Oh my God.” Not fear, Guilt.
“They had you too?”
USO Girl said nothing. Ben moved farther into the trailer. Countess immediately started shaking her head.
“I’m so, so sorry. It wasn’t my idea. God, you gotta believe me, I—”
“How much did the Russians pay you?” The question cut through the room cleanly. Countess blinked.
“What?”
“How much did they pay you?” Ben repeated quietly.
She stared at him. “They didn’t.” Ben frowned slightly. “What?”
“They didn’t pay us anything.”
The answer seemed to genuinely confuse him. USO Girl finally lifted her eyes. Ben laughed once under his breath, disbelieving. “They didn’t pay you anything.” Countess looked like she wanted to run. Ben stepped closer. “I loved you.” The words hung heavy in the trailer.
“All those years…” His voice roughened. “That they burned me. That they pumped me full of poison…”
USO Girl physically flinched. Memory flashing across her face before she could hide it. Ben kept staring at Countess. “I held onto the hope that you would come.” His eyes glistened faintly now. “That you would save me.”
A beat.
“Because I still loved you.”
The trailer went silent except for the low hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Countess looked at him with something almost like pity.
Then:
“I didn’t love you.”
Ben stopped breathing.
“I hated you.”
USO Girl closed her eyes. Countess shook her head, years of resentment finally spilling free.
“We all did.”
The words echoed. Ben went completely still. Then Countess looked toward USO Girl. And her expression changed, Softer, Guilty. “We didn’t hate her.”
The room somehow became even quieter. Ben looked at USO Girl sharply. Understanding dawning slowly and horribly. They hated him. Not her. USO Girl stared at Countess, voice barely above a whisper. “You knew I was there.”
Countess’ face crumpled, No denial, No excuse.
“You left me there.”
Because that was the real wound, wasn’t it? Not hatred. Abandonment.
The air in the trailer suddenly vibrated, Low, Mechanical. A faint red glow spread beneath Ben’s skin.
“Ben…”
“You left her there,” he said quietly.The lights overhead flickered violently. USO Girl’s eyes snapped toward him. His chest was beginning to glow brighter now. Years of torture splitting open all at once.
“Ben”
He either didn’t hear her or couldn’t stop. The hum became deafening. Furniture rattled. Windows cracked. Countess looked terrified now.
“Ben, please—” USO Girl moved instinctively. She grabbed him. The energy slammed into her body instantly. She screamed. Golden light burst beneath her skin, veins illuminating down her throat and arms like molten cracks. The radiation pouring out of Ben bent violently toward her, absorbed into her body in unstable waves. Every light in the trailer exploded. Ben looked down at her in shock. She was taking it from him. Taking the damage into herself. Like she always had, this time physically.
“Sweetheart—”
The energy overloaded. And the trailer erupted. Flames tore into the night sky. Ben stumbled from the wreckage first, smoke curling off his uniform. Then Ben turned sharply. Looking for her. Not Countess, Her.
USO Girl finally appeared through the smoke, shaking violently. Her skin still glowed faintly gold beneath the soot coating her arms. She looked dazed, unstable on her feet. Ben crossed the distance immediately.
“You hurt?” He asked gently but with authority. She shook her head automatically, she was lying. He grabbed her face with both hands anyway, checking her over with rough frantic movements that didn’t know how to be gentle anymore. Behind them, Countess’ trailer burned. Ben glanced back once. Expression empty now.
“She had it coming.”
USO Girl stared into the flames. Quietly, with genuine uncertainty, she whispered:
“Did she?”
Ben looked at her. And for the first time since Russia, He had no answer.
Summary: How Soldier Boy and USO Girl Escaped Russia
The blast had turned half the corridor into molten steel. Soldier Boy barely noticed.Bare feet hit blood-slick floors as he moved through the Russian lab like a wrecking ball given purpose.
Only one thing run through his mind. They took her too.
The thought had rooted itself in his skull for 40 years in that chamber. Through the smoke, through the chaos, through the haze of drugs and forty years of torture.
He thought of her, her laugh backstage during the USO tour in ‘54, Gold satin gloves, Victory rolls perfectly pinned, that stupid little wink she gave the cameras.
The memory twisted.
Nicaragua.
Gunfire. Payback turning on him.
But they’d known better than to leave her conscious for it. USO Girl was loyal to a fault, even if her relationship with Soldier Boy was difficult she ALWAYS was loyal. She would’ve fought them. So they took her down first. His jaw tightened.
They took her too.
Another steel door blocked his path. Another steel door blocked his path. He ripped it off its hinges. The hallway beyond was older. Less maintained. Concrete stained with rust and age. Observation windows lined the walls, several shattered from the alarms.
Human experimentation. Jesus Christ. Soldier Boy’s breathing slowed. Not from fear. From fury.
Then he saw the gold star painted across one rusted chamber. And there she was. Preserved like a war relic nobody knew what to do with. The woman he spent decades with, his lover, his USO Girl.
For the first time since escaping the chamber, Soldier Boy stopped moving. His chest tightened painfully. He opened up the chamber to wake her. Her eyes blinked, those eyes had seen a lifetime with him. Relief flickered across her face so briefly he almost missed it.
Then exhaustion swallowed it whole.
He saw through the exhaustion. even through the terror. For a second neither of them spoke. She stared at him like she was looking at a corpse. His throat suddenly felt too tight to breathe.
“…Ben?”
Her voice cracked on the name. And Jesus Christ. That almost broke him more than the room did. Soldier Boy swallowed hard, forcing his expression back into something solid. Something familiar. Something that didn’t betray the horror climbing up his spine. “C’mon,” he muttered roughly. “We’re leaving.”
When she stepped out of the chamber, her legs nearly gave out instantly. Soldier Boy caught her automatically. The contact hit both of them like a live wire. Forty years disappeared for one horrible second.
USO stages.
Photographers.
Hotel rooms.
Late nights smoking together after Vought parties.
He draped her arm over his shoulder anyway.
“Stay close, let’s get the fuck out of this commie shithole.”
—————————
Here we go our first intro to Vought’s it couple of decades past, escaping to modern day (Haha thank you Butcher and the Boys)
This could be consider part one or the early years can be the start of What Remains of Heroes
Summary: How Payback betrayed both Soldier Boy and USO Girl.
The jungle was too quiet.
Not silent Nicaragua never was but wrong somehow. Heavy. The air hung wet against the skin, thick with mud and sweat and cordite. Somewhere in the distance, gunfire crackled in uneven bursts, but the Payback camp itself had gone tense and strange. USO Girl noticed it immediately.
She leaned against a supply crate, rolling the stiffness from her shoulder beneath the green satin sleeve of her uniform. The gold threading at the cuffs was stained with dirt now. Everything was stained with dirt.
Across camp, Soldier Boy was yelling at Gunpowder again. “Jesus Christ, kid, if I wanted warning shots, I’d hand you a starter pistol.” Gunpowder muttered something under his breath. Soldier Boy stepped closer. “What was that?”“Nothing.” Gunpowder says quietly. “Yeah. Thought so.” Soldier Boy responds smugly.
Normally, she would’ve ignored it. Soldier Boy barked at everybody. Half the team spent every mission pissed off at him. But tonight felt different. Noir stood unnaturally still near the tents, mask tilted toward the ground. Swatto kept pacing. Mindstorm looked like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin.
And Crimson Countess. USO Girl’s eyes narrowed slightly. Countess wouldn’t look at her. That more than anything made her stomach tighten. For years, the two of them had perfected this strange balancing act. His Former lover and current girlfriend. PR disaster and PR replacement. Awkward magazine covers and staged interviews and pretending none of it hurt. But beneath all that?
There had always been an understanding.
Until tonight.
“Something’s wrong,” USO Girl murmured. Beside her, Soldier Boy lit a joint. “Yeah. Gunpowder’s being a fucking pussy again.”
“I’m serious.” She says with a sense of urgency.
“That’s your problem, sweetheart. You’re always serious.”
But she could already feel herself moving, instincts sharpening beneath her skin. Noir’s hand twitched toward the blade at his side. Mindstorm wouldn’t stop staring at Soldier Boy. And Crimson Countess, God. She looked was too relaxed.
USO Girl straightened slowly. “Ben.” Soldier Boy glanced over lazily. “What?”
“We need to go.” She urges him
He barked out a laugh. “What, now?” “I mean it.” Something in her voice finally cut through. The joint lowered slightly from his lips.
Then A hiss. Sharp. Violent. Gas exploded from behind the tents. Soldier Boy spun instantly. “What the fu—”
But USO Girl moved first. She wheeled around toward the source, eyes blazing, hand already lifting
And Noir slammed into her from behind.
Hard.
The impact drove her into the mud. “What the hell?!” She explains. Another burst of gas flooded the camp. Not ordinary gas.
Novoichok.
Her lungs seized immediately. Around her, chaos erupted.
Soldier Boy roared somewhere behind her, furious and confused. Gunfire cracked. Someone screamed. But Noir kept her pinned. Not trying to kill her. Holding her down. Keeping her away from him. And suddenly she understood.
“No,” she choked out. Noir tightened his grip. “No— NO!”
She fought violently then, elbow cracking back against armor, fingers digging into mud as the gas burned through her system.
Across camp she saw Soldier Boy stagger. For the first time in decades, Fear crossed his face. Not fear of dying. Fear of betrayal.
“Countess?” he rasped. That hurt worse than the gas. USO Girl’s vision blurred as the sedative hit harder. Her limbs felt heavy. Numb. She locked eyes with Soldier Boy across the camp.
And in that horrible split second, they both realized the same thing:
Payback wasn’t under attack. Payback was the attack.
Soldier Boy roared, stumbling toward her through the haze. “You fucking traitors.” He yells in anger.
More gas. More shouting. Gunpowder wouldn’t look at either of them.
Mindstorm turned away entirely. And still Noir held her down like he thought she’d claw her way through the entire team to reach Soldier Boy. Maybe she would have. Her body finally started giving out. The jungle tilted sickeningly sideways. Soldier Boy was still fighting. Even drugged, even disoriented, he was terrifying. But there were too many of them. Too much gas. She saw Soldier Boy fighting Noir, disfiguring him in the fight. USO Girl tried to reach for him anyway, fingers dragging weakly through the mud.
“Ben…”
He looked at her instantly at that. Always did. For one fleeting second, through the chaos, he looked less like Soldier Boy.
Just tired.
Just betrayed.
Just Ben
The last thing USO Girl saw before darkness swallowed her whole was Soldier Boy collapsing beside her in the dirt.
————-
Here we go the origin of Payback’s betrayal in What Remains of Heroes
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The kitchen looks like it belongs in a catalog. Even her. USO Girl stands at the counter in a ridiculous little Vought-approved “homemaker” variation of her uniform green corseted waist, gold piping, sweetheart neckline, tiny little star-spangled apron tied around her hips for absolutely no practical reason. A cherry pie cools on the windowsill that absolutely does not open.
“And there you have it, folks,” she says brightly to the camera, “the perfect cherry pie. Though personally, I think the real secret is love.”
Someone behind the camera snorts. The cameraman motions for her to keep going. She flashes that million-dollar smile like it was never interrupted.
“Soldier Boy should be home any minute now from his mission and..”
The front door SLAMS open hard enough to rattle the fake china cabinet. “HONEY, I’M HOME!” Soldier Boy bellows dramatically. Right on cue. The crew practically vibrates with excitement. USO Girl doesn’t even turn around yet.
“Oh good,” she calls dryly, still rolling pie dough. “Did they finally tell you property damage isn’t patriotic?” She sasses him for the camera
Soldier Boy appears in the kitchen doorway in full uniform, dusty from some staged publicity combat shoot, grin cocky as ever. “You wound me.”
“I’ve tried, you’re impossible.”
Soldier Boy crosses the kitchen, stopping long enough to swipe a cherry off the counter. The interviewer off-screen jumps in eagerly. “USO Girl, do you always bake after Soldier Boy comes home from missions?”
“Oh absolutely,” she says. “Nothing says romance like wondering whether your boyfriend got shot at while you’re trying not to burn a pie crust.”
“I was fine,” Soldier Boy says, already stealing another cherry from the counter. She smacks his hand with the spoon again. He leans down toward the pie, sniffing dramatically. “Is that cherry?” He says changing the subject.
“Your favorite.” She says sincerely
“You spoil me.”
“No,” she says sweetly. “Vought spoils you. I tolerate you professionally.” He laughs loud and genuine. God, the cameras love that laugh. She’s laughing before she can stop herself, ducking her head as Soldier Boy grins like he won. “There,” the director whispers somewhere behind the cameras. “That’s the shot.”
“C’mere, hero.”
USO Girl grabs the pie server and cuts a slice cleanly. Soldier Boy immediately opens his mouth before she even lifts the fork. The audience watching live will absolutely lose their minds over that alone. She feeds him the bite carefully while cameras flash. Picture perfect. Cherry filling. Lipstick smiles. America’s sweethearts. Soldier Boy points at the pie with his fork while chewing.
“This right here? This is what I fight for. Pie and a pretty girl in my kitchen. Now that’s worth coming home to.” Soldier Boy points at her “See? This is why I keep you around.”
“You keep me around because I test well with housewives.” Her voice full of sass “Yeah,” he says easily, eyes still on her. “That too.”
And there’s that split second again. Something genuine slipping through the performance. Just enough for everyone in the room to notice.
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