You and Ben were in bed, cuddling in your shared house. Ben was comfortably against your shoulder, his muscled arm draped across your torso, hand over your chest.

You were scrolling aimlessly on your phone and after a while, you didn’t hear Ben’s comments on the stupid videos you watched and so you decided to see if he was awake.

You opened your camera and faced it toward his face, until the hand that rested on your chest moved it away.

“No fuckin’ pictures,” he grumbles, his beard tickling the soft skin of your neck. “You’re not the fuckin’ paparazzi.”