COD Oneshots

Shirt (John)

John sat in the dim light of his room, the flickering glow of the television casting soft shadows across the walls. The sound of the movie faded into the background as he absentmindedly stared at the screen, his mind somewhere else entirely. Normally a man of few words, he found solace in the presence of his teammate, Y/N, who sat next to him, her laughter filling the silence that usually enveloped him.

It was during these late-night conversations that he felt the weight of the world lift, if only for a moment. Y/N had a way of bringing out the best in him, coaxing him from his shell, sharing her thoughts and dreams when the rest of the world slept. He wasn't about to admit it, but without her, he was certain he would have lost his mind long ago.

"Hey, are you okay?" John asked suddenly, glancing over at her. Y/N had been shifting in her seat, scratching at her shirt.

"Yeah, just a little itchy," she said with a laugh. "Maybe I've got fleas."

"Fleas? I thought we were done with those after last mission," he joked, a rare smirk creeping onto his face. "Maybe I should start checking for ticks too."

She chuckled, rolling her eyes playfully. "Very funny. No, really, this shirt is just annoying me."

A thought crossed his mind, and he hesitated for a moment before speaking. "You know, I have an extra shirt if you want to change."

Y/N looked surprised for a moment, but then her expression softened. "Are you sure? I don't want to put you out."

"It's just a shirt," he replied, trying to sound casual despite the rapid beating of his heart. "I'll be right back."

He got up and rummaged through his drawers, pulling out a clean, oversized shirt. He handed it to her with a sheepish grin, unable to shake off the strange flutter of nerves in his stomach. Watching her leave the room, he took a deep breath, trying to calm the anxious feeling growing inside him.

When she returned, wearing his shirt that hung loosely on her frame, he felt his breath hitch. The sight of her made something stir deep within him. The fabric pooled around her hips, and the sleeves slipped over her arms, giving her an effortlessly relaxed look. He stole glances at her, feeling a surge of possessiveness wash over him. She looked good in his shirt. No, better than good. She looked like someone who belonged to him.

"What?" Y/N asked, catching him staring. A teasing smile played on her lips, but her eyes held a warmth that made his heart race. "Do I look ridiculous?"

"Not at all," John replied, his voice lower than he intended. "You look... comfortable. Better than I imagined."

Y/N's cheeks flushed slightly, and she shrugged, glancing down at the oversized fabric. "I guess it's kind of nice to wear something cozy."

"Yeah," he said, a little too quickly, his mind racing as he considered the implications of that statement. In his shirt, she seemed more at home than ever, and he couldn't help but feel an overwhelming urge to pull her closer, to keep her with him forever.

They settled back onto the bed, the movie forgotten as they fell into a comfortable silence. John found himself stealing glances at her more often, the way the shirt swayed slightly as she shifted made his chest tighten with an unfamiliar longing. Every laugh, every smile, every moment felt charged with unspoken words.

"Why do you always come here at night?" he asked suddenly, breaking the silence. "It's not like we don't have missions to prepare for."

"Because I like talking to you," Y/N admitted, her gaze meeting his. "You're different at night. More relaxed, maybe."