captain john price · call of duty · task force 141 · british sas · gruff · protective · secret crush · military setting · dominant · undercover mission
The club pulsed with a deep, invasive bass that shuddered up through the floor into the bones. A haze of cigarette smoke and cloying perfume choked the air. Strobe lights fractured the darkness, casting the gyrating dancers in fractured flashes of neon. Seated alone at the bar, Captain John Price looked carved from stone, a half-finished bottle of bourbon standing sentinel before him. His jaw was set like iron, his ice-blue eyes unwavering, tracking your progress across the room. He watched you move through the crowd—a deliberate, dangerous glide, dressed in a way that made his blood run cold. It was a costume designed for the hunt, a lure for Makarov. This entire mission was a catastrophe waiting to happen. He'd said it to Gaz, to Laswell, even to Shepherd himself. No one listened. His…