Note: ALL images are owned by itwasjustanaccidentt I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP and I have the artist permission! Oki tysm

POV: you are Garreth Reyes (my oc)

The common room buzzed with the kind of noise only 141 could produce when downtime hit. Soap had his boots up on the arm of the couch, flicking a pen cap at Gaz, who retaliated by tossing a balled-up sock that landed squarely in Soap’s hair. Price sat at the table with his tea, trying very hard to look like he wasn’t watching his unit regress into schoolboys.

“Oi, Thompson,” Soap called across the room, “tell me—how’re ye survivin’ sharin’ a bunk with Ghost? Bloke probably snores like a bloody chainsaw.”

The whole room chuckled. Garry looked up from the deck of cards he was fiddling with, smiling faintly. “He doesn’t snore.” His tone was too casual, too quick—like a slip.

Soap smirked. “Aye? That so?” He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Bet he sleeps with the mask on too, eh? Proper terrifying.”

Garry rolled his eyes, but there was a nervous twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Not your business, MacTavish.”

That earned a laugh from Gaz. “Sounds like someone’s hiding something.”

Price raised his mug in warning. “Enough, lads.” His voice was calm, but there was that steel under it—the tone that shut them up quick. Still, the grin on Soap’s face said he wasn’t done poking fun later.

Simon hadn’t said a word through all of it, sitting solid and quiet on the armchair. Only his eyes flickered toward Garry once, subtle, the kind of glance no one else would catch unless they were looking.

When the chatter turned toward football, Garry cleared his throat and stood. “We’re turning in early,” he said, jerking his chin subtly toward Simon. “Long drills tomorrow.”

Soap made an obnoxious kissing noise. “Oh, aye, early night, the two of ye.”

Price didn’t even look up from his tea. “MacTavish.” One word, low, sharp. Soap grinned sheepishly but shut up.

Simon rose from the chair with that quiet weight of his presence. No words, no explanations. Just a shadow moving alongside Garry out of the common room.

—

Their bunk room was dim and hushed compared to the noise outside. Simon closed the door softly behind them. He peeled off his tac vest, set it on the chair, then reached up. Fingers brushed over the hem of his balaclava before tugging it off.

The mask fell away, revealing blond hair damp from the shower, sharp jaw, and those piercing brown eyes that softened only here, in private. Garry caught his breath like he always did, no matter how many times he’d seen Simon’s face.

“Y’know,” Garry said softly, tossing his cards onto the desk, “I think Soap’s onto us.”

Simon huffed, almost a laugh. “He’s always onto somethin’.”

Their eyes met. Silence stretched, warm, heavy with the kind of anticipation that made Garry’s pulse trip. Simon’s hand brushed over his arm, firm but careful, like always. Then he leaned down, mouth ghosting against Garry’s ear.

“Still want to try that thing you talked about?” Simon murmured.

Garry’s throat went dry. He nodded before words could fail him.

That was how, minutes later, Simon Riley—Ghost, the most feared operator in the Task Force—was seated in the chair with only his black boxers, wrists tied, blindfold snug over his eyes, a strip of black duct tape pressed firmly over his mouth. Muscles flexed under the rope, but he didn’t fight it. Instead, approving grunts rumbled in his chest whenever Garry’s hands lingered, urging him on.

Simon sat back in the chair, broad chest bare, only his black boxers clinging to his frame. The ropes wound firm around his wrists, arms secured to the chair’s rests. His breathing was steady but heavy, the rise and fall of his chest betraying the tension that wasn’t fear but anticipation. The blindfold hid his eyes, and the duct tape sealed his mouth, but Garry could read the faintest curve at the corner of Simon’s lips beneath it.

“God...” Garry muttered under his breath, cheeks hot. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to look anywhere except directly at the man tied up in front of him. “If Soap ever knew...”

Simon gave a low grunt—approving, reassuring. The sound went straight through Garry, a mix of nerves and thrill curling in his gut. He shifted closer, fingertips ghosting over Simon’s shoulder before trailing down the slope of his chest. The big soldier tensed briefly under the touch, then relaxed, letting Garry take the lead.

“You’re really letting me... do this to you,” Garry whispered, a mixture of awe and disbelief.

Another grunt, deeper this time, almost smug.

Garry huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.” He leaned in, pressed a light kiss to Simon’s jaw where stubble brushed his lips, and Simon rumbled low in his chest, tape muffling what might have been a chuckle.

And then—

The door opened.

“Routine check,” Price’s voice came low and even, halfway through the sentence before he properly stepped into the room. The dim light caught him first—the shadow of the cap, the glint of his eyes. Then his gaze landed on the scene: Ghost, his deadliest man, stripped down and tied in a chair, blindfolded, duct tape sealing his mouth. And Garry—red-faced, standing frozen like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

For a moment, the silence was absolute. Simon shifted against the ropes, making a muffled grunt that might have been, bloody hell.

Price’s mustache twitched. He exhaled slowly through his nose, his usual hard mask of indifference firmly in place, though there was something sharp in the corner of his eyes—a battle between stern Captain and exasperated father.

“Son,” he said finally, in that deceptively calm tone directed at Garry, “why’s Riley tied half-naked to a chair in my barracks?”

“I—uh—I can explain—” Garry stammered, ears scarlet. He held up his hands as if he’d been caught red-handed stealing state secrets. “It’s not—well, I mean, it is, but—”

Simon let out a muffled groan behind the tape, and Price’s brow arched.

“Don’t start,” Price said dryly, cutting Simon off. “You put yourself in the chair, didn’t you?”

Simon made a pointed grunt.

Price sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Christ above. Of all the things... tied up like some bloody hostage.” He glanced at Garry again, voice dropping into that weary-but-deadly tone only a commanding officer could manage. “You better pray MacTavish or Garrick don’t walk in behind me, son. You’ll never live it down.”

Garry wished the floor would swallow him whole. “...Yes, Captain.”

Price let the silence hang, heavy but not cruel. Then, with a mutter under his breath, he backed out of the room, pulling the door closed again.

A long beat of quiet followed before Garry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His knees nearly gave way. He pressed his palms to his face.

“Oh my god. He’s never gonna look at us the same again.”

Simon, muffled behind the tape, gave a low grunt that unmistakably sounded like a laugh.

Simon on the beach. Picture taken by his boyfriend Garry (Garrett Thompson)

Credits to the artist/owner of the art: itwasjustanaccidentt

Garry and Simon Because Ghost (Simon) Googling how to install mods on Stardew valley at 3:00 am.

Credits to the artist/owner of the art: itwasjustanaccidentt

so I was just scrollin on tiktok and saw this BEAUTIFUL piece of art that an artist by the name of itwasjustanaccidentt who drew Simon Riley/Ghost tied, gagged, and blindfolded.... Anywaysss Check out theyre channel omgg Its sooo good 10/10 would highly recommend! Hope yall have fun💙