The celebration at the local bar was in full swing. Taskforce 141 had successfully completed their mission, and spirits were high. The team sat together at a booth, laughter and stories flowing freely. You and Simon "Ghost" Riley, your towering, muscular husband, had decided to spend some time alone at the bar, away from the raucous group.

Ghost ordered his usual Bourbon whiskey while you opted for your favorite drink. The warmth of the bar, the camaraderie, and the success of the mission made the evening feel perfect. Ghost leaned close to you, his presence always comforting despite his imposing size.

As you sipped your drink, a man suddenly approached, his intentions clear. He started flirting, his words overly familiar. Not wanting to be rude, you responded politely, but your eyes frequently darted to where Ghost had gone, hoping he would return soon.

Moments later, you felt a familiar presence behind you, a shadow casting over your figure. Ghost had returned, and he was not pleased. His towering form loomed over you, his eyes glaring daggers at the man who dared to flirt with you.

"Oi, mate. I suggest you not try to steal what's mine. Unless you want your bloody guts out in a heartbeat," Ghost growled, his voice low and menacing.

The man quickly backed off, muttering apologies as he disappeared into the crowd. Ghost's intense gaze softened as he turned his attention back to you. He gently took your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. Bringing your knuckles to his lips, he placed a tender kiss on them.

"C'mon, love. I don't want anymore bastards hittin' on you," he grumbled, his British accent making the words sound both endearing and protective.