COD Oneshots

His Person (John)

John had always been used to the silence after a mission. The adrenaline of battle, the camaraderie with his squad, and the high-stakes intensity were all part of the job. But once the mission was over, and the gear was packed away, the solitude of his quiet home would greet him. Sometimes, he would invite his team over for a BBQ or a cold beer in the garden—those were the moments when he could still feel that connection, that sense of belonging, even off the battlefield. But they were always fleeting. After a few drinks, the team would head home, and John would be alone again.

That all changed the day Y/N moved in next door.

Y/N was the newest member of their team, fresh out of training but with enough grit to earn everyone's respect right off the bat. They hadn't really clicked during missions yet—work was work, and John wasn't exactly the chatty type in the field—but one day, as he was tending to his garden, Y/N appeared at the shared fence, offering a smile and a casual, "Need a hand?"

At first, the conversations were short. Small talk about the weather or the next mission. But little by little, those quick exchanges turned into longer chats about life, about how strange it was to come home after a job and not know what to do with all that quiet. Soon enough, Y/N was a regular fixture at John's place, and he'd find himself wandering over to hers, a beer in hand, as they shared stories by the fence.

Somewhere along the way, things shifted. It became more than just casual conversations at the fence. One day, Y/N tossed him her house key with a grin. "Just in case you need it."

John wasn't sure when he gave her his in return. It just sort of... happened. It wasn't even a conscious decision, just something that felt natural. Before either of them knew it, they had become fixtures in each other's homes. It wasn't unusual for one of them to come home and find the other lounging on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, flipping through the channels. No one knocked anymore. They just walked in.

They shared everything: meals, beers, the occasional bad movie, or an inside joke about their latest mission. It was easy, comfortable, like they had known each other their whole lives. And though there was an undeniable bond between them, neither of them ever felt the need to push it further. There was no tension, no "what if" hanging in the air. Their relationship was perfect just the way it was—two people who couldn't imagine their lives without the other but were content with things staying exactly as they were.

John was even there the day Y/N was getting ready for her first date. She was pacing around her living room, nervous as hell, and John, with his usual calmness, just leaned against the doorframe, offering advice in his no-nonsense way. "Relax, it's just a date," he said, even though he knew it meant more to her than that.

He didn't know it at the time, but that guy would end up being the man she was going to marry. And John? He was right there, helping her pick out the perfect shoes for her wedding day, laughing at the irony of it all. It was funny—life had a way of throwing unexpected things his way, and he had learned to roll with it.

When Y/N eventually introduced him to her friend, he had shrugged it off at first. But after a couple of casual hangouts and a few drinks, something clicked. Slowly, John found himself in a relationship of his own, one he hadn't seen coming but welcomed all the same.

They had grown inseparable over the years, sharing everything from bad jokes to quiet moments of comfort. It wasn't romantic, but it was something deep, something that only the two of them seemed to understand. So, it came as no surprise to John that Y/N knocked on his door one evening, her eyes bright with excitement, and said, "I'm engaged."

John didn't say much in response—he wasn't one for big reactions—but the way his face softened, the way he gave her that small, genuine smile, said enough. He was happy for her. They sat in his living room that night, a couple of beers between them, talking about her plans for the future, her dreams, and how strange it all felt now that it was real. She told him that night before anyone else, before even her family. John was her person, the one constant she trusted with everything.

Months later, when Y/N found out she was pregnant, he was again the first person she told. She showed up at his place unannounced, as usual, but this time with tears in her eyes and a shaky laugh. John had never been one for hugs, but in that moment, he pulled her in, holding her tightly because he knew how much it meant to her. She was going to be a mom, and John? He couldn't have been prouder.

But life had a way of throwing curveballs. When Y/N lost the baby, John was there. He was in the hospital waiting room, his heart heavy with worry. He wasn't the type to cry, but the pain he felt for her was palpable. When she came out, her face pale, her hands trembling, John was there to catch her. He didn't need to say anything—his presence was enough. He sat with her through the silence, through the tears, just being there, steady as ever.

Two years later, Y/N found herself pregnant again, and this time, it was different. The fear was still there, lingering in the back of her mind, but there was hope too. And John was with her every step of the way. When she finally gave birth to her daughter, John was one of the first people she called. He was in the hospital waiting room, the same place where he had waited with her through heartbreak, but this time, the air was lighter, filled with anticipation.

When Y/N's daughter was born, John was named godparent, a role that he accepted without hesitation. It felt right. He had been there for everything, and now he had the privilege of being part of this new life in a way that mattered more than words could express. After Y/N and her husband had their first moments with their daughter, John was one of the first people to hold her. He stood there, cradling the tiny bundle in his arms, his rough hands suddenly gentle, and for the first time in a long while, he felt something deep, something warm—a sense of family.

All of this, this whole journey, had started with a casual conversation over a fence. Neither of them could have known how much they would come to mean to each other, how their lives would become so intertwined in ways that went beyond friendship. But now, as John stood in Y/N's living room, watching her daughter giggle and play, he knew that he wouldn't trade any of it for the world.

They had shared so much—joy, pain, love, loss—and through it all, they had each other. That's all that mattered in the end. The bond they had was unbreakable, forged through years of simply being there, of walking through each other's doors unannounced, of knowing that no matter what, they would never be alone.

In eachother they had found their Person.