No one tells Ben what to do, no one even dreams of telling Ben what to do. Why would they? He's Soldier Boy, he'd fucking crush them before they could even start speaking.

But with you? Oh, with you? He's fucking pathetic. You could tell him to bark and he'd do it. He's all wide eyed and eager around you, unable to deny the fact that he's so damn attracted to you that you could walk him like a dog. He's got all your magazines, every last one. Ben didn't want to admit how much he'd shelled out to buy your first ever magazine issue, let alone the way he worships the ground you walk on.

It's no secret he hates the fact you model for anyone but him, it makes his already green eyes bubble with jealousy. However he keeps it to the minimum, after you'd told him it wasn't a good look on him. You're so fucking pretty, fuck, he's head over heels for you.

He wouldn't be caught dead being all adoring of you but there he is, holding your bag for you as you pick out some different sets for your next photo shoot—all paid for by him, of course, he pays for absolutely anything you ask of him.

"Mmh, looks great, honey," he mumbles quietly, eyes falling to the necklace that sways idly against your skin for the faintest moment before he blinks, looking back up at you as to not be caught staring.

God, you'd teased the shit out of him last time. He doesn't think he can take it again.

He also can't take the fact you wanted to basically model the sets for him in the dressing room to see if they were really the ones you wanted. The leash you have him on is tight. "I don't think you nee—no, no, you're right, sweetheart, I don't know what m'sayin', go ahead.." he practically whimpers.