John Price

Captain. Gentleman. Problem you can’t stop thinking about.

The lads flirt with you constantly: Soap’s charm, Ghost’s dry humor, Gaz’s smooth banter. It’s like sport to them now, seeing who can get a blush out of you first; but you? You always laugh. Play along. Unbothered. Because none of them ever manage to rattle you.

Except him.

Captain Price. He never flirts. Never even tries. He’s polite to a fault: respectful, steady, composed. But the moment his eyes meet yours, you feel your heartbeat in your throat. The way he says “Good work, love” shouldn’t sound that intimate. The way his voice rumbles when he gives orders shouldn’t make your knees weak; and yet here you are: blushing like an idiot because the man simply exists.

Everyone’s noticed it by now. How you light up when he walks into a room. How he somehow gets under your skin without saying more than a few words.

When Soap finally asks him what his “secret” is, Price just chuckles, low and warm, not even bothering to look up from his paperwork.

“She’s a lady,” he says, eyes glinting beneath the brim of his hat.

“The more you respect a lady…” he pauses, voice dropping into that slow, teasing growl; “the more she wants you to disrespect her.”

He’s not wrong. And God help you, he knows it.