Work Text:
It's rare that Marcus actually gets off work on time.
When he'd texted you today to let you know he'd be done by five, asking if you'd meet him at one of his favourite little hole-in-the-wall bars in downtown DC that he's so good at finding, you'd easily agreed, having just enough time to stop at home and change after your own shift had ended. You'd caught up with him shortly after, already sitting at a booth at the bar, waiting for you.
Your heart swells the moment your eyes meet his. He's so handsome, dressed in his suit and tie, ID badge still pinned to his jacket; he’s clearly come straight from work. His warm, brown eyes and boyish smile light up the whole damn place. And it's all for you.
"Hey, babe," he says sweetly, rising as you approach to place a chaste hello kiss to your lips. "How was work?"
"Thankfully, over," you gripe lightly as you take your seat and Marcus retakes his own across from you.
He smiles knowingly. "Yeah, long day for us too," he sighs, holding your hands in his across the table, a familiar tether.
"You haven't been waiting long, have you?"
He shakes his head. "No, no. Just long enough to order you your favourite."
He says it with a cheeky smile and your brows furrow curiously. Have you told him your favourite drink before? You can't seem to recall.
That's when the server appears.
"I've got the IPA," she says and Marcus pulls his hands from yours to raise one palm, indicating the beer's for him. You're already suspiciously eyeing the other drink she has on her tray, glancing in Marcus's direction to find his grin widening.
"And the porn star martini?" she smiles at you, placing the glass decorated with a slice of dried passionfruit in front of you.
Now, the memory comes flooding back - a date night a couple weeks ago when you'd sipped on beers at a local brewery, picking apart the flavour notes of each one, at one point drunkenly admitting you'd rather be sipping a porn star martini than yet another below-average lager. You never would have guessed he'd actually remember that.
But that's just Marcus.
You bite your lip, cheeks burning as Marcus thanks the server and she flits off.
You look up at him over the glass, eyebrows raised.
"That's your favourite, right?" he smirks, visibly holding back laughter.
You roll your eyes but you can't fight your own responding smile now; he's clearly proud of himself. You finally crack, because to be honest -
"It actually kind of is," you shrug and his grin turns to a full-on toothy smile as you tip your glass to him and he touches his pint to it. You take a sip and let the cool, sweet liquid melt away some of the stress of your day.
"I'm trying to imagine you actually saying the words, 'porn star'," you admit.
"Would 'adult actor martini' be more polite?"
You take another sip. "There is nothing polite about this drink."
You share another throaty laugh, one of your favourite things to share with Marcus. It's been almost a year since you started dating officially and you can honestly say you've never been happier. So sweet and loving, he softens all your hardest edges, makes every day brighter just by be being him. Sometimes it feels like your heart could burst at any moment just at the chance to call him yours.
But your playful joking is abruptly cut off when you take in the sight of a figure across the bar. Your eyes widen and you quickly drop your gaze.
Fuck, you hope he didn't see you.
"Shit," you curse and Marcus instantly stiffens, noting the shift in your demeanor. "Shit shit shit."
"What?" he asks, peering over his shoulder to try to see what you see before turning back to you with concern in his eyes. "What's wrong, are you okay?"
Your eyes dart back towards the figure. He's not looking at you. Not yet. You sink lower in your seat, as if that could somehow conceal you.
"My ex," you tell Marcus in a whisper as realization washes over his features.
"Oh, shit."
You can hear his boisterous voice carrying over the bar din with ease, badgering the bartender about his drink order taking too long.
"We should leave," you mutter.
At that, Marcus bristles indignantly.
"What?" he demands. "No, we don't have to do that, come on - "
He makes to reach across the table and take your hand, but that's the moment your ex catches your eye and -
"He's coming over here, fuck - shit - "
You pull your hands back and hold them protectively in your lap, inexplicably afraid of what your ex's reaction will be when he sees you holding hands with another man.
"Hey," Marcus coos softly, palms still open the table. "Relax, baby, what's his name?"
You stare at the coster under his pint as your ex gets closer - maybe he won't recognize you. It's been three years, for fuck's sake.
"Ben," you tell Marcus quietly and you catch him nod as he finally slides his hands back to grip his drink instead of your hands.
"Well, look who it is," a familiar voice cuts in then. So much for not recognizing you.
Fuck. Ben is standing right beside your booth now, arms outstretched as he looks you up and down, cowering in your seat. You stare back at him cautiously, while Marcus keeps his eyes fixed on you.
"Hi, Ben," you say tightly, sitting up a bit.
"Thought you were too good for this place?" he says belligerently, clearly having already had a few. And immediately coming in hot with the accusations. Goddamnit. He hasn't changed at all. "Or were you just too embarrassed to be seen here with me?"
You shake your head, something about his mere presence sparking a flash of rage through you, a rage you haven't felt in years. Certainly a rage you haven't felt since you'd met Marcus.
"Well, when you used to get wasted like you are right now - yeah, I was embarrassed to be seen with you, asshole."
Marcus's eyebrows shoot up his forehead, seeming both impressed and surprised at your tone. He's never seen this side of you. You'd hoped he never would.
"Oh, you wanna do name calling, huh, bi -"
"Whoa, okay," Marcus finally pulls his eyes from you to redirect his attention to Ben. "I'm gonna stop you right there, Ben. How 'bout you just go ahead and walk away."
His voice is firm, quietly authoritative. Almost like he's switching into agent-mode, which he probably is.
Ben smirks dubiously, only giving Marcus a cursory glance, enough to take in the ID badge clipped to his jacket, before refocusing on you.
"Hah. So you're dating a fucking Fed now?"
"And what is it that you do for work, Ben?" Marcus presses him.
"Real estate," you and Ben both say at the same time, you with an eyeroll and a cross of your arms.
"Wow, a real American hero, huh?" Marcus says tauntingly. "Let me guess. Selling overpriced condos to corrupt politicians just so they can spend three days a week here? Is that it?"
Marcus shoots a grin your way but you just shrink into yourself further, knowing all too well that his words will only rile Ben up.
"Marcus..." you say warningly.
But Ben is barely giving Marcus the time of day, stepping closer towards you until Marcus finally rises from his seat to put a hand to Ben's chest, stopping him in his tracks.
"Easy, pal," he warns.
"Huh," Ben laughs without humour, eyes darting down to Marcus' big hand splayed out on his chest. He swipes it away with force and you flinch instinctively, fearful of the sudden aggression. "You really know how to fuckin' pick 'em, eh, sweetheart? This who you walked out on me for?"
"Fuck off, Ben," you snap, uncrossing your arms as if to make yourself seem bigger, somehow more intimidating. "I walked out on you because you're a piece of shit."
Marcus has to grab at Ben's arm now to stop him from getting too close, his wobbling form lurching towards you again - with what intent, you're not sure. You sit up defensively.
"Hey, man, do you need it hear it again? Fuck off," Marcus barks, gripping Ben's arm tighter in an attempt to hold him back.
"Hah, yeah, pretty boy?" Ben rips his arm from Marcus's grip and pushes him roughly with two hands against his chest. "Or maybe you wanna meet me outside."
Only Ben would have the fucking gall (or perhaps the lack of brains) to pick a fight with federal agent.
"Hey!" you attempt to interject, standing to put yourself between them as best you can. Marcus's gentle hand on your shoulder stops you in your place.
"It's fine, babe," he assures you.
But Ben is not deterred. He pushes Marcus again, harder this time and the agent stumbles back.
"Come on, Fed, let's fuckin' go."
Marcus holds up his hands, refusing to give in, refusing to escalate the situation as onlookers begin to murmur, their conversations stalling as they take in the scene.
"Ben, stop!" you exclaim.
"Hit me, bitch," he heckles Marcus again, shoving him harder till his back collides the solid wood of the booth. "I dare you."
"I'm not gonna do that, man."
Of course he won't. But you might.
"Don't fucking touch him!" you shout, grabbing at your boyfriend's arm to pull him out of Ben's reach, even as Ben continues to drunkenly throw hands in his direction.
"Hey, just back off, man, alright?" Marcus says, louder now, voice wavering just the slightest bit, a telltale sign that he's losing control of the situation; Ben won't give in.
You're caught between them, helpless as Ben throws a punch in Marcus's direction, missing spectacularly before preparing to charge at him instead, like he's planning to tackle Marcus to the ground. The thought alone is enough to make your blood boil and before you can stop to think it through, you round on Ben and punch him clear in the jaw.
Searing pain sprouts instantly in your hand but it's barely noticeable. The only thing you can focus on is Ben toppling backwards, clutching at his face while the bar's patrons gasp around you.
You stare blankly between Ben and your fist still clenched tightly, dazed until Marcus's voice cuts through your stupefaction.
"Oh my god."
His tone is somewhere between horrified and awed. You turn to him to find his expression is much the same.
"Fuck!" Ben is shouting then. "What the fuck! Are you fuckin' crazy?"
He's lunging towards you and Marcus again, but the bystanders have tuned in now; a bouncer is on Ben in an instant, gathering his arms behind his back and restraining him at last. You exhale for what feels like the first time in minutes, slowly unfurling your fingers and wincing as you do.
While the bouncer escorts Ben out, you suddenly become aware of Marcus at your side, frantic and deeply concerned.
"Jesus - are you okay?" he's saying worriedly, placing two hands on your face protectively and looking you over for damage, his jaw dropping when he looks down and sees your fist. "Oh my god, baby, your hand."
He takes in the sight of your knuckles, turning your hand over in his a few times. You see it now too, the blood that's started to sprout there, the throbbing of an incoming swell already burning under your skin.
"I'm fine," you assure both Marcus and yourself, snatching your hand out of his grip and shaking it as though to dislodge the growing pain. It doesn't help. "I'm fine, I'm sorry, I - "
Marcus's ragged sigh cuts you off. You think he seems a little mad at you and the thought makes you ache with guilt.
"Let's get you outta here," he murmurs.
He throws a stack of cash down on the table and wraps his suit jacket over your shoulders, keeping an arm around you as he guides you out into the evening.
-
It quickly becomes clear that Marcus isn't mad at you so much as he's...aggressively worried about you.
"Does it hurt? Jesus, honey, what were you thinking?"
It's approximately the sixth time he's asked you the same version of the same question, rambling away constantly as he walks you back to his place.
"I'm okay, Marcus," you insist, even as the sting in your hand starts to to properly set in. "I just couldn't stand watching him push you around like that."
Marcus tuts, pausing his strides and gripping your arm so you do the same.
"Let me see."
He takes your hand in both of his, holding it up under the glow of the fading sun to get a better look. His eyebrows furrow together, concern painting his features as he gently caresses your fingers with his own.
"Can you make a fist? Move your fingers?" he asks, letting you go.
You try, grimacing slightly but ultimately finding you're able to twiddle your digits and squeeze your fingers into a loose, if painful, ball.
Marcus breathes a little sigh of relief.
"Good, baby, that's good. It's probably not broken."
He pulls you into his arms then in a sudden embrace, crushing you into his chest. You can feel the anguish in his grasp, the way the hug lasts a little too long, like he's trying to make sure you're still there, safe and well.
You think he might be overreacting a little but you welcome the attention all the same. Mostly you're ashamed you let your emotions get the better of you, that you'd succumbed to violence at all.
"Let's get you home and bandaged up, okay?" he says after a moment, pulling back to place two big hands on either side of your face again, smirking at you with a look that's both adoring and vehemently disapproving. "Maniac. You better hope he doesn't press charges."
You return his smile and roll your eyes, grateful he's finally replaced some of his panic with his usual Marcus charm.
"Well, I kind of have a guy on the inside at the FBI, so I think I'll be okay."
His grin widens before he leans in to press his lips to yours in a loving kiss.
-
You're sitting on one of his kitchen chairs while Marcus crouches on the floor in front of you, first aid kit torn open on the table. He's trying to focus on taking care of you, on making sure your fingers definitely aren't broken and feeding you Ibuprofen to bring down the swelling in your hand.
But truthfully, Marcus is distracted. Painfully so.
As he tends to your wounds, cleaning your scrapes and bandaging up your bruising knuckles, the memory just keeps replaying in his mind.
You, throwing your body into the line of danger, pulling back one strong, beautiful arm and colliding your fist with that asshole's face.
You'd nearly taken him out. You'd nearly broken your hand. He should be horrified. He shouldn't condone it - he doesn't condone it.
And yet, all he can think to himself, as much as he tries to fight it, is how absolutely, ridiculously hot you'd looked. He's been quietly half-hard since you left the bar, his skin prickling with arousal every time his brain conjures up the memory.
He's never seen you like that before, never would have guessed you even had it in you. He knows bits and pieces of your past, knows you've had you fair share of hard times and shitty exes. Sure, you'd been stonier when he'd met you, more closed off till he'd cracked you open. But this - to actually witness you stepping up and taking charge, even if it had left you broken and bruised - it's like seeing you for the first time.
His breathing is somewhat uneven as he finishes wrapping your hand before placing a gentle kiss to the tips of your fingers and rising from the linoleum, keeping your hand in his as he does. For good measure, he leans forward to kiss the crown of your head too.
"It really hurts now," you whine softly, pressing your face into his tummy as he wraps his arms around your shoulders.
"Adrenaline's wearing off," he says, stroking your hair soothingly. "You got him pretty good."
You sigh and Marcus aches with need to alleviate your pain somehow.
"You need anything else, babe? Some water? More Advil?"
He feels you shake your head against him.
"God," you groan, burying your face in his shirt and squeezing him tighter around the waist. "I'm sorry, Marcus, that was so stupid."
Marcus swallows, your proximity now making it very hard to ignore the blood rushing from his head to his cock. He blushes, suddenly glad he's not looking directly at you.
"Actually...I gotta admit. Watching you clock that guy...it was kinda sexy."
You pull back to look up at him dubiously and his blush deepens, nervous the confession might have put you off somehow.
"Really?" you ask but you don't sound upset. You sound...intrigued. It encourages him.
"Yeah," he shrugs, more confident now as your eyes glint with interest and his dick twitches in his slacks. Fuck. "You looked so...powerful. And tough."
"And you liked that?" you press curiously, running your hands gently up the sides of legs while his move to cup the sides of your face.
"I mean, I don't like that you got hurt, but." His voice has gone hoarse, your touch moving to hover over the fronts of his thighs, so close to the growing bulge in his pants. He takes in a ragged breath. "I-I don't know. It was hot."
"Interesting."
You smirk up at him as you slowly undo his belt with your good hand, his breath catching his throat. You pull down the zipper of his slacks, your gaze never breaking from his.
"Is it bad?" he chokes. "Is it bad that it turned me on so much?"
Your eyes glint with wonder but then you begin struggle with one hand to tug at the waistband of his pants, a sobering sight.
"Shit...sweetheart, you don't have to...your hand..." But he sounds feeble in his protests and he thinks you can tell.
You just shake your head and look up at him from under your lashes. "Help me out a bit?"
And so he does, nodding as pulls both his pants and boxers down his thighs so his cock springs free, now nearly fully hard.
"I don't think it's bad, Marcus," you muse in answer to his question as you take him in your unbandaged hand and his lips part involuntarily. You stroke him a few times till he thickens in your palm. "Is it bad that it turns me on that it...turns you on?"
He's having a hard time forming a coherent thought, your touch alone enough to make his mind go blank - it's exactly what he's been shamelessly craving since he led you out of that stupid bar. His fingers unconsciously tighten in your hair while yours tighten around his cock and it's all he can do just to croak out a breathy, "No."
"Do I look powerful like this?" you ask alluringly before ducking forward to take the leaking tip of his cock in your mouth.
Marcus groans, his head falling back at the wet, warm contact. You take him deeper and he just about loses it, your good hand still gripping him at the base as you drag your lips over his length.
You don't just look powerful, he thinks. You are powerful. He's crumbling right in front of you, weak for you in an instant.
"Fuck," he sighs, willing himself to watch you work, even if the sight of you with your mouth full of his cock is bordering on overwhelming after being hard for so long. He fights to keep it together, to make it last so he can keep seeing you this way. "Yes. So perfect, baby. Fucking beautiful when you're sucking my cock."
You hum around him and the vibration makes him see stars. Marcus can barely breathe as you increase your pace on his cock, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing on his length in earnest, your gaze fixed upwards so he catches your eye every time he looks down at you, just like you know he likes.
"Oh shit - "
He gasps when you move your hand from his cock to gently fondle his balls and - fuck - he can't -
"Honey, I don't wanna come like this," he chokes out, just in time for you pull off him with a soft pop and a smile.
"No?"
Marcus shakes his head frantically, ignoring the incessant ache in his cock arguing with him that yes, actually, he would very much like to come like this.
His dick can wait. He needs to be inside you. He holds you by the chin to tilt your face up.
"Wanna fuck you, baby - can I?"
You nod eagerly, biting your lip in a manner so enticing that a fresh bead of precome spills from his slit as he helps lift your shirt over your head, being mindful not to graze your injured hand.
"C'mere," he grunts, hoisting you up on to the table and making quick work of your pants and underwear, leaving them in a heap on the floor before yanking off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, diving to connect your lips with his.
You moan into him, granting his tongue entrance without hesitation, your own tongue caressing his bottom lip and licking into his mouth hungrily. You slip his shirt off his shoulders and flatten your palms against his chest, your touch causing goosebumps to sprout across his skin. Marcus wastes no time unhooking your bra and trailing his hands over your breasts, palming them briefly before moving lower to cup your mound, tips of his fingers finding your already soaking heat.
"So wet," he whispers in wonder against your mouth, the tip of one finger dipping inside your centre, marveling at the slick collected there and feeling you constrict around him. "How are you always so wet for me, huh?"
He adds a second finger, both of you groaning in unison when he slowly begins to fuck them in and out of you. Your head falls back and you lean into your hands, the moment coming to a grinding halt when you gasp loudly - not in a good way.
"Fuck," you hiss, grimacing as you sit up straight and clutch at your injured fist with your other hand; you'd put too much weight on it by accident. Marcus's fingers still inside you as guilt quickly floods the arousal taking over his brain.
"Shit, baby, are you okay? I'm sorry."
But you just smile, reaching up to stroke your thumb across his lips.
"Don't be sorry, baby," you reassure him gently. "You were making me feel so good, I just - forgot all about this." You punctuate the sentiment with a wave of your bandaged hand.
A smile returns to his face; in that case, his dick will just have to wait a little longer.
"Why don't you lie back and I'll make you forget again," he breathes, attempting to lace his voice with whatever seduction he can muster. It seems to work, your eyes glaze over as he coaxes you down on the table and falls to his knees between your legs.
"You just relax, sweetheart," he hums, raking his fingers over your folds and spreading you open, locating your swollen clit before leaning in to press a kiss against it. "And I'll make you forget all about it."
You curse quietly, spreading your legs wider to accommodate his shoulders as he settles in properly before dipping his tongue lower to lick languidly over your core.
He laps greedily at the wetness there, burying his face deeper so his nose grazes your clit and you moan his name above him, a delicious sound - his favourite sound in the whole fucking world - a sound that goes straight to his cock.
He grips your inner thighs to hold you steady when you start to squirm, his tongue dragging back upwards to work quick circles over your clit, closing his lips around the nub to suck it gently between his teeth. Your fingers in his hair let him know he's on the right track and his gaze lifts to catch your eye, a groan slipping from his mouth at the look of bliss on your face. You're already close.
"You gonna come for me, sweetheart?" he beseeches you, trailing one of his hands further up your thigh, letting you feel the drag of his palms over the sensitive skin between your legs.
"Fuck, yes - Marcus - I need - "
"I know, baby, I know."
You always need a little more, and he's always happy to oblige.
He pulls back just for a moment to sink two fingers into you once more, relishing the way it makes you whisper his name over and over and over, the way your quiet chanting chokes off with a gasp when he dives in to tongue at your clit again right at the moment his fingers find that spongy spot inside you. He hooks his fingers into it with practiced care, his eyes fluttering closed when you clench around him, slick gushing over his knuckles and now he's aching for it, needy to feel you finish.
His cock drips precome freely onto the kitchen floor just at the taste of you on his tongue and the feeling of your walls around his fingers. Fuck, he loves this so much. He loves you so much.
"Marcus," you sigh and his eyes fly open to find you with your head thrown back, the delicate skin of your neck exposed, your eyelids squeezed tightly shut, right on the edge.
Fucking beautiful.
He unlatches his mouth from you just long enough to gently encourage you towards your climax, staying close enough that he knows you'll still feel his breath against the most sensitive part of you.
"Come for me, baby, let me feel you come on my mouth," he pleads. "Can you give me that? Yeah?"
Your moans increase in pitch when his lip close around your clit again and this time, he doesn't let up, not until he feels you squeezing his fingers and hears you crying out above him as you come. You arch up off the table and into his mouth, waves of pleasure rolling over you as Marcus watches in awe, watches the moment your features slacken and your muscles turn to goo.
Fuck. His free hand comes to his throbbing cock, unable to hold himself back any longer.
Finally, he pulls his fingers from your heat and rises shakily to his feet, his fist clenched tight around his cock. He situates himself between your legs, impatient now as he lines his tip up with your cunt. You're still catching your breath under him when he sinks inside with a low groan.
He falls forward, his palms coming down on either side of your head as he starts to move, his lips crashing into yours and stealing a moan from your open mouth.
He stays locked there as he fucks you, his hips snapping into yours with slightly more ferocity than he usually employs. You don't seem to mind, your gaze veiled with lust when he pulls back to see your face, eventually trailing his lips along your jaw until he finds the hollow of your ear.
"You make so me feel so fucking good, you know that?" he breathes and you just whimper softly in response, the fingers of your uninjured hand clawing over the skin on his back. "My strong, sexy, perfect girl. M'already so close from just watching you come."
He hears you giggle and that catches his attention. His steady thrusting falters and he pulls back to find you smirking up at him.
"What?" he asks, feeling his own face crack into a responding grin.
"And from watching me punch a dude, right?"
He huffs out a breathy laugh, his head falling forward as his cock twitches inside your walls at the memory.
"Fuck," he grunts. "Yeah, that too."
Your smile quickly fades when he pulls out and pushes back in swiftly, hips snapping into yours with new vigour. His pace quickens then, his thoughts consumed by the image of you at the bar, so brave and protective - protective of him. There's that you - strong and sturdy and sure of yourself - and then there's the you with him here, right now, the one who gives yourself over to him so willingly, who comes undone so easily at his touch, who lets him fuck you like this, so pliant and receptive. He's so fucking lucky.
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," he stammers when he feels himself nearing the edge, tight knot constricting in his gut, threatening to snap as the drive of his hips come harder and faster. Something in his pleasure-drunk mind tells him he needs to be closer to you, so he hooks his arms under your body and pulls you into his chest, grunting brokenly into your hair.
"M'gonna come inside this pretty pussy, baby," he manages. "Gonna fill you up, you want that?"
"Please, Marcus," you moan softly in response.
His thighs quiver as the tension breaks and he comes deep inside you, ropes of seed coating your walls as he empties himself with a lewd moan. His hands are frantic as they roam your skin, finally settling in your hair as he presses his forehead into yours, his thrusts persisting till the last wave crashes over him.
His lips find yours as he works to catch his breath, both of you groaning in unison when he finally slides his length out of you. He can't stop himself from breaking the kiss to glance downwards, admittedly keen to watch his come dripping out of your gorgeous cunt.
"Fucking hell," he sighs, lips twitching.
"Good?"
"Good," he confirms, ducking forward to kiss you again. "Fuck. You happen to know where any of your other exes hang out? Maybe we go beat up a few more."
It's probably not the best time to be bringing up ex-boyfriends but you laugh out loud all the same, wrapping your legs around his middle and pulling him in impossibly close.
You tut lightly when your laughter subsides. "What happened to my sweet, sweet man of the law?"
Marcus chuckles.
"No, no, see, I'm just trying to fill a gap in the justice system."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah, 'cause, right now, there aren't actually any laws that target douchebags who kept me from meeting you sooner."
Christ, he really shouldn't be allowed to open his mouth after he's come. You don't seem bothered by his nonsensical shit-talking though. If anything, he thinks you seem a little endeared, your teeth biting down on your lip as a tight smile crinkles the edges of your eyes.
"Ah, I see, so what you're saying is, we need to take matters into our owns hands," you nod, playing along.
Marcus strokes your cheekbone with his thumb. "Exactly."
You scrunch your face up and smile; the cutest fucking thing he's ever laid on eyes on, if he does say so himself. You finally detach from one another, locating your clothes and redressing in comfortable silence until a growing worry starts to brew under his skin.
"Hey, uh," he says, all teasing gone from his voice. "You know I'm just joking, right? Please don't ever punch anyone again."
Your lilting laughter once again fills the room as you tilt your head at him placatingly.
"Yeah, I know, Marcus," you assure him. "Won't happen again, promise."
He breathes a sigh of relief. "Okay, good. Love you."
"I love you too, babe."