Content:18+ OtwMichael x PhotographerReader, oral femreceiving , p in v sex , Michaels first creampie, unprotected sex, switchMichael, switchReader, established relationship, mentions of his brothers hearing you two | use of dashes, my work is not ai. Also lmk what you guys think about it in the comments, I just want to know what people think of my recent fics so far!!
Summary: What happens when you and Michael get snowed in with his 3 annoying brothers, Marlon, Jermaine, and Jackie, who came to visit him at his New York apartment. They constantly talk about how “innocent” and how funny they think it is that Michaels so “inexperienced”, which leaves Michael to think he has a something to prove…
It was the final day of Michael’s brothers' stay at his New York apartment. They had come to visit him after three long months apart, and as always, you were right there by Michael's side. In a way, it was part of your job—you had met him two years prior during a photoshoot, where he instantly fell in love with your talent and dedication. He had immediately asked for your number, playing it off by asking about your availability for another shoot as if that wasn't his assistant’s job to handle. From that point on, he called you every single day until he finally asked you to dinner, and the rest was history. Now, a year and a half into a beautiful relationship. You had already visited Hayvenhurst and met his family. They absolutely loved you, and you fitted in perfectly.
"Oh shit, all flights just got delayed," Marlon said, pointing at the breaking news on the TV screen."My girl is at home waiting for me. We were just talking about trying a new position, this is just horrible timing."
The room erupted into laughter from you, Jackie, and Jermaine, while Michael just let out an annoyed sigh.
"Well, brother, looks like we’re here for another day," Jermaine said, making himself right at home as he kicked his feet up onto the coffee table.
"Can you please at least take your shoes off before you put them on my table?" Michael asked, annoyed as he pushed Jermaine’s feet off the expensive wood.
Don't get him wrong—Michael loved his brothers fiercely. But God, they could be a lot to deal with sometimes. He had missed them, and the four days they spent together had been incredible. He loved showing them his favorite spots in New York, playing cards late into the night, and even prank-calling people. Yet, he was secretly desperate for it to just be the two of you again.
He would never admit this out loud, of course, but he wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside you and lose himself between your soft, plush thighs. He had been so relieved thinking they were finally leaving today, because it meant he could finally get rid of the relentless, four-day-long boner he’d been hiding.
And why was he so painfully pent up? Because you had taken a few naughty, dimly lit photographs of your beautiful, naked body and handed them to him—intending for him to look at them when you two were apart. Your timing, however, had been terrible. Just as he was about to lock himself away and act upon seeing how pretty and naughty you looked for him, his brothers had arrived at the door.
Over the last few days, you had noticed the subtle signs of his torture. Like the way he shifted uncomfortably in his seat during dinner, trying to rearrange his stubborn erection, or how he would gently move your hand from his thigh to his knee during a movie because the close proximity was simply too much for his aching length to handle.
When you had whispered to him at night, asking why he wouldn't just make love to you, he had simply replied, "I think it would be inappropriate to do such things with my brothers around, y'know?"
You had just teased him back with a smirk, whispering, "That resilience isn’t gonna last long, Mikey, but okay."
Then you’d roll over and go to sleep, smiling to yourself as you felt his rock-hard length pressing against your behind, completely amused by how stubbornly polite your boyfriend was being.
Michael follows you into the kitchen, his shoulders slouched in a rare display of defeat. Outside, the snow is coming down in thick, heavy sheets, effectively locking the apartment down. You turn around to look at him and instantly burst out laughing at the sheer disappointment written all over his face.
You know the exact reason why.
"Michael, you know this is your doing right?" you say playfully, leaning in close. "You could've been had me face up, ass down in the sheets." Playfully, you land a firm, teasing smack right against his ass.
He tenses up immediately. Your touch always gets him going, but now that he’s been completely pent up for four straight days, it causes him to get even harder than he already was. A low, frustrated hitch catches in his throat.
"A-angel, please," he says, his voice dropping an octave as he bites his lower lip, trying so hard to resist. He glances nervously back toward the living room where the distant sound of his brothers' laughter echoes. "What if they hear us? I don't want to hear those knuckleheads laughing at us"
"Baby, I don't care about them laughing," you say, stepping into his space and pressing a soft, lingering kiss against his cheek. You can feel the intense heat radiating off his skin. "All I care about is you stuffing me up."
Michael’s eyes widen slightly, a dark, heavy hunger flashing through them as his breath hitches completely.
"BUT—we will wait until they leave, as you wish, Mikey," you say with a chuckle, suddenly pulling back and leaving him completely stranded in his own desire.
You turn around and casually start grabbing the ingredients you need from the fridge to start cooking, leaving your fiercely stubborn, agonizingly hard boyfriend leaning against the counter, completely at your mercy.
A couple of hours go by, and you finally finish making dinner. The delicious aroma of the home-cooked meal fills the entire apartment, instantly cutting through the thick layer of boredom that had settled over the living room.
"Guys, c'mon, the food is ready!" you shout over to the four boys, who are currently locked in a loud, passionate argument about who knows what.
At the mention of food, the bickering stops instantly. They practically stampede into the dining area, pulling out chairs and piling their plates high.
"Wow, this is so, so good, girl. You put your whole soul into this," Marlon says, chowing down on the food like it’s his last meal on earth.
"Marlon, can you please close your mouth when you chew?" Jackie says, rolling his eyes in disgust before turning to you with a warm smile. "This food is good, though. Thank you."
"Yes, thank you," Jermaine chimes in, picking up a piece of food on his fork and examining it critically. "I mean, you could’ve used a little less salt—"
"It’s perfect, Angel, thank you," Michael says firmly, completely cutting Jermaine off. He shoots his brother a warning look, wanting absolutely nothing to do with his picky protests—especially since you just spent hours cooking for them.
You giggle at the brothers and the highly entertaining way that they bicker. "Thank y'all. I wanted to make sure even though we are snowed in, we could still eat good."
From across the table, Michael catches your eye. He eats quietly, but under the cover of the tablecloth, you feel his foot gently brush against yours. He gives you a look full of deep affection—and a lingering hint of that agonizing hunger you left him with in the kitchen.
"Man, seriously," Marlon says, wiping his mouth with a napkin as he leans back in his chair. He looks between you and Michael with a sympathetic shrug. "Sorry about this, by the way. I know you guys probably wanted some alone time by now, and here we are, completely crashing your space for another night."
Before Michael can even open his mouth to reply, Jermaine snorts, waving his fork dismissively. "Oh, please. Mikey's innocent self definitely doesn’t do anything nasty anyway. We aren't interrupting a thing."
Jackie bursts out laughing, nodding his head in agreement. "Yeah, brother, you wouldn’t even hurt a fly! I seriously can’t imagine you doing anything like that. You're just too innocent."
A deep, embarrassed flush immediately creeps up Michael’s neck, coloring his cheeks a bright, dusty pink. He glares at his brothers, gripping his fork a little tighter.
"Would you guys please shut up?" Michael says, his voice a mix of playful exasperation and genuine embarrassment. "Please don't discuss things like that over food."
"What? It's true!" Marlon chuckles, nudging Jermaine.
You bite your lip hard, forcing down the laugh bubbling up in your chest. You take a sip of your drink just to keep from giggling out loud, looking at Michael’s intensely flustered face as he stubbornly avoids looking at you.
Only if they knew, you think to yourself, highly amused. If they only knew what we do when no one's watching.
After everyone finishes eating, the boys surprisingly take charge of cleaning up the dinner table, giving you the perfect opportunity to slip away. You head into the bathroom, turn on the hot water, and take a long, relaxing shower to wash away the day.
You swear to yourself you just want to wear it because it looks cute—no alternate motive whatsoever. But when you step out of the steaming bathroom, you reach for a red, lacy satin pajama dress. It's mostly for comfort, of course. You truly don't expect Michael to want to try anything anyway, given his rigid rule about his brothers being in the next room. So, you just thoroughly oil yourself up with your favorite moisturizers, spray a few spritzes of sweet perfume, and hop into bed to watch some TV.
A little while later, Michael finishes his own shower. But when he walks back into the bedroom, he doesn't just get under the covers—he stops dead in his tracks and just stares at you.
The conversation at the dinner table had seriously gotten under his skin. He knows he shouldn't have let it bother him, but it did. Hearing his brothers laugh and call him "innocent" over and over again ignited a stubborn fire in his chest. He wants so desperately to prove them wrong. He wants to prove that they don't know everything, and to prove to you—and himself—that he can get reckless, too. Seeing you lying there, glowing, smelling like heaven, and poured into that red satin dress is the final straw.
"You okay, baby?" you ask, genuinely confused as to why he’s just standing there staring at you instead of climbing into bed.
"Yeah... yeah, I'm okay," he says, his voice deeper and huskier than usual. "You just look real sexy tonight, Angel."
He finally moves, getting into the bed, but he doesn't settle down to sleep. Instead, he leans directly over you, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to your jaw. Your eyes widen slightly as his lips trail down to your neck, and then down to your completely exposed collarbone. It is, without a doubt, the most action you’ve gotten from him all week.
"Mmm, someone’s feisty tonight," you breathe out, your hands instinctively rising to drag your fingers through his soft hair. "A sudden change of heart, pretty boy?"
You let out a chuckle, but it quickly transforms into a soft, helpless moan as his lips find a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, his hands gripping your hips with a sudden, needy fierceness that tells you his four days of waiting are officially
"I can’t take it anymore, Angel," he gasps against your skin, his lips moving frantically over your neck as his hands find their way to your chest, slightly groping your breasts over the slick satin dress. "I need you. I need to feel you, please..." He shifts his weight, pressing his lower half firmly down and humping himself against your thigh, his thick, aching erection rubbing desperately against you through his clothes.
"I’m all yours tonight, baby," you whisper breathlessly, your own heart hammering against your ribs. "Let’s let loose and have some fun, hm?"
You cup his face, lifting it from your neck to pull him into a deep, bruising kiss. Your tongue slides deep into his mouth, and Michael lets out a wrecked, needy moan directly into the kiss. He doesn't stop, his hips constantly rolling and humping against your thigh, the friction so intense that precum is already starting to leak through his boxers.
He is so incredibly needy, completely stripped of his usual polite restraint.
His hand slides down from your hip, his fingers slipping under the hem of your satin dress to find your panties. He rubs his thumb directly over your clit through the thin fabric, and the sudden, electric jolt makes you arch your back off the mattress in response, your wet arousal already soaking through the cotton.
"God, I missed this, Mikey," you moan directly into his mouth, your fingers tangling tight in his hair.
Without warning, Michael hook-slides his fingers under the edge of your panties, pulling them to the side, and slips a long, slender finger deep inside you with one fast, desperate push.
A loud, euphoric moan tears from your throat before you can stop it. "Oh, shit," you gasp, your hips twitching as you feel his finger pump inside your tight, slick heat.
Hearing you make that sound—knowing he's the one extracting it from you—sends Michael completely over the edge. He rubs his hips even faster against your thigh, his clothed erection leaking wetly through his pajama pants as he works his finger inside you, his breath coming in ragged, shallow pants.
Michael pulls away from the kiss, his breathing ragged and his eyes dark with a raw, intense focus. He quickly shifts, moving to his knees right in front of you. He lowers his head between your thighs, his warm breath fanning across your sensitive skin as he slowly kisses the soft insides of your legs.
From this angle, he looks up, taking a moment to just admire you—the way your plump breasts rise and fall with your heavy breathing, and how your beautiful, wet center is completely exposed and aching right in front of him.
A deep, primal growl escapes his chest.
"I'm going to eat you up so good, Angel," he whispers, his voice thick and husky as he licks his lips at the sight he’s been desperately craving for the past week. "Going to lick every last drop from your pretty folds, baby."
He doesn’t waste another second. Michael leans down, his warm breath hitting your sensitive skin right before his tongue glides flat and wet up the entire length of your aching center.
A sharp gasp tears from your throat, your fingers instantly tangling into the sheets on either side of you. He hooks his large hands under your plush thighs, lifting you slightly and pulling you closer to his face so he can bury himself completely in you.
"M-Mikey..." you whimper, your hips involuntarily twitching against his mouth.
He lets out a muffled hum of approval against your skin, his tongue working in long, firm, agonizingly slow strokes. He knows exactly how you like it, tracing your sensitive folds before focusing his attention entirely on your swollen clit. Every time his tongue laps over it, a jolt of pure electricity shoots straight to your core, causing you to arch your back completely off the mattress.
The pristine, polite Michael from the dinner table is completely gone. In his place is a man entirely consumed by a four-day hunger. He sucks on you gently, the wet, smacking sounds of his tongue filling the quiet bedroom, completely drowning out any lingering thoughts of his brothers down the hall.
You look down through hooded eyes, watching the back of his head move between your legs. The sheer devotion in the way he's consuming you, makes your walls tighten around nothing.
"Oh god, right there," you cry out softly, your toes curling as the pleasure begins to tightly coil in your stomach.
Hearing your praise, Michael’s pace quickens. He slides two long, slender fingers deep inside your slick heat, pumping them in a steady, rhythm while his tongue continues to ruthlessly lick and swirl against your sweet spot. The dual sensation has you completely breathless, your hands leaving the sheets to find his hair again, gently tugging to keep him anchored right where you need him.
You are getting so close, the friction and the deep, wet heat of his mouth pushing you right to the absolute edge. Your breath comes in short, ragged hitches, your hips rolling helplessly against his face as you prepare to break.
He wraps his lips directly around your swollen clit, sucking on it slowly and deliberately. The intense, pulling sensation makes your head fly back against the pillows, but Michael doesn't take his eyes off you. He looks up through his eyelashes, his large, dark eyes completely locked onto yours, watching the exact moment the pleasure registers on your face.
While his mouth works ruthlessly between your thighs, he reaches up with his free hand, catching the delicate red strap of your pajama dress. With one smooth, deliberate tug, he pulls it down, fully exposing your breast to the cool air of the bedroom.
His fingers instantly wrap around your warm weight, his thumb and forefinger finding your erect nipple. He squeezes and teases it in perfect sync with the slow, deep rhythm of his mouth, sending a dual jolt of electricity straight through your body.
The sudden rush of overlapping sensations is too much to hold in. You let out a loud, raw, pornagraphic moan that echoes clearly against the bedroom walls. “Fuckkkk Michael”.At this point, any lingering thoughts of being quiet or worrying about his brothers down the hall completely evaporate. You don't care who hears you; Michael is making you feel entirely too good.
Your hips roll helplessly against his face, your body slick and trembling as his fingers inside you pump faster, matching the desperate, heavy suction of his mouth that's dragging you rapidly toward the edge.
He pulls away from your clit with a wet, sudden pop that leaves you gasping, your hips twitching and squirming in frustration after being brought so tantalizingly close to the edge.
"One second, Angel. I’m not done with you yet," he breathes, his voice thick with a heavy, uncharacteristic dominance.
He stands up over the bed just long enough to grip the waistband of his pajama pants and boxers, shoving them down past his hips in one swift motion. His thick, aching length springs free, fully erect and glistening heavily at the tip from the sheer weight of being pent up for four agonizing days.
You look up at him, your eyes dark as you lick your dry lips in anticipation. Your slick walls clench tightly around nothing at the sight of him. "Hurry up, pretty boy," you whine, your voice a desperate, needy whisper. "I want to make you feel good so bad."
Without waiting another second, you position yourself, pulling your legs back and opening yourself up completely, displaying your soaking wet heat in full invitation.
Michael lets out a deep, primal groan at the sight of you completely open and ready for him. His knuckles turn white as he strokes his length a couple of times, wrapping his hand around his shaft to steady himself, before he climbs over you. He doesn't ease in slow. Driven by four days of pure torture, he aligns his tip and slides all the way in with one quick, heavy stroke.
The sudden, thick intrusion makes both of you gasp loudly. Your incredible tightness grips him so fiercely that Michael instantly whimpers, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder as his hips lock against yours.
"Mmph, Angel... you're taking me in so good," he groans, his entire body trembling as he sinks into your deep warmth.
You wrap your legs tightly around his waist, whining loudly against his ear. "Oh god, you're so deep..." You arch your back, completely overwhelmed by the full, stretching weight of him finally filling you up exactly where you needed it.
The four days of built-up tension explode into a passionate, unbridled pace that neither of you can control. Every time his hips slam against yours, a loud, wet friction echoes in the room, accompanied by your uninhibited, loud moaning. You don't care about the rest of the house, and clearly, neither does Michael. His pristine, careful image is completely shattered, replaced by a desperate, sweating man entirely undone by your body.
There is a beautiful, shifting balance of submission between you two, the power dynamic melting away with every slick stroke.
At first, Michael takes total control. He pins your wrists above your head on the pillows, his large hands anchoring you down as he drives into you with a heavy, relentless power that makes your vision blur. He looks down at you with a dark, heavy hunger, watching your face twist with pleasure under his weight.
"Look at me, Angel," he gasps, his chest heaving as he plows deep into you, demanding your eyes. "Tell me who you belong to. Tell me."
"You, Mikey... always you," you whimper, arching your back to meet his heavy thrusts. "You're stretching me out so good, please don't stop."
"I'm not stopping," he growls softly, a rare flash of raw dominance in his eyes as he picks up the pace, making you cry out loud. "I'm taking everything you've got tonight."
But then, the sheer intensity of the pleasure overwhelms him, and the dynamic completely flips. The overwhelming friction of your tight heat begins to break him down, and Michael melts completely against you. His grip on your wrists softens, his arms giving out as he collapses onto your chest. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, whining and whimpering so pathetically.
You instantly take charge, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist and locking your ankles behind his back to pull him even deeper into your slick warmth. Your hands move to his damp hair, gently but firmly guiding his head, dictating the tilt of his hips with your own.
"That's it, pretty boy," you breathe heavily, rolling your hips up into him, forcing a wrecked, high-pitched moan from his lips. "Give it all to me. Give your girl everything you've been stubbornly keeling away from her."
"Mmph... Angel, please," Michael cries out, his body trembling violently as you squeeze your inner thighs around him, completely controlling his rhythm now. He is entirely at your mercy, whimpering into your skin as you drive him crazy. "You're—you're squeezing me too tight... I can't think straight. You feel too good, it hurts..."
"Then just let go for me, baby," you whisper, tugging lightly on his hair to make him look at you. His eyes are wide, glazed over with complete devotion, entirely submissive to the way you're consuming him. "Just give it to me."
"Angel... oh god, Angel," Michael gasps, his voice breaking entirely as the control slips from his fingers. His movements turn wilder, deeper, and more urgent as he tries to find his footing again, but he is completely lost in you. Your tight, slick heat is squeezing him so perfectly with every single stroke, pulling the climax right out of his body.
He knows he should pull out. The rational part of his brain is screaming at him to be careful—he has always been careful. He has never done anything reckless like that before in his life. But as he plows deep into you, feeling the intense, burning waves of your own orgasm beginning to clamp down ruthlessly around his length, his mind goes completely blank. The friction is too intense, the wet, warm heaven of your body too consuming. He just can't bring himself to leave you. He can't pull out this time.
"Angel... please, I'm gonna—I can't get out," he whimpers, his chest heaving as he stalls deep inside you, his hips trembling violently against your thighs. He looks down at you, his large eyes completely wide, filled with a pathetic, desperate need. "Can I? Can I stay inside you? Please, baby... can I cum inside you?"
You grip his damp shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin as your hips twitch helplessly under his weight. You find yourself pathetically begging him right back.
"Yes, Mikey, yes! Please cum inside me!" you sob out, your voice cracked, loud, and desperate as your own orgasm finally fractures through your body, your walls squeezing him in tight, violent pulses. "Stuff me up, baby... I want to feel you to fill me up so bad! Give it all to me!"
Hearing your desperate permission is the exact catalyst he needs. Michael lets out a loud, wrecked cry, losing the absolute last of his restraint. He buries his face in your hair, his teeth lightly catching the skin of your shoulder as he drives himself in to the absolute hilt, locking his hips flush against yours so there isn't a single millimeter of space left between you.
His body goes entirely rigid, his muscles locking up as he throws his head back. You feel the exact, glorious moment his heat erupts deep inside your core. He groans loudly, a long, rolling sound of pure, unadulterated relief, as thick, burning waves of his climax pulse heavily against your slick walls, filling you up entirely. He twitches inside you over and over again, spilling every last drop of his four-day frustration deep within you.
He stays heavy on top of you for a long time, his breathing ragged and shallow against your neck, completely spent and tangled in the sheets as the quiet aftermath of the storm finally settles over the room.
The heavy, frantic heat of the room slowly cools down, leaving only the sound of your mingled, ragged breathing in the dark. Michael stays buried deep inside you for a few long, quiet moments, his forehead resting against your shoulder as his heart hammers wildly against your chest.
When he finally shifts to pull out, a soft, involuntary whine leaves your lips at the loss of his warmth. He instantly hushes you with a tender, lingering kiss on your lips, tasting like the shared chaos of the last hour.
"I've got you, Angel. I'm right here," he whispers, his voice incredibly soft and thick with exhaustion.
He slides completely out of the sheets for just a brief moment to grab a warm, damp washcloth from the bathroom. Returning to the bed, he gently and meticulously cleans you up, his touch incredibly reverent and sweet—a stark contrast to the reckless hunger from before. Once you're both taken care of, he pulls the heavy duvet all the way up over your shoulders to shield you from the chill of the snowstorm outside.
Michael settles back down, pulling your back flush against his chest in a tight spoon. His large hand wraps around your waist, his fingers gently tracing small, soothing circles over your stomach. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume mixed with the musky heat of your lovemaking.
"You feel so good," he murmurs sleepily against your skin, his grip tightening just a fraction. "Thank you for letting me... for letting me stay inside you. I've never felt anything like that before."
You smile into the dark room, placing your hand over his. "You were amazing, Mikey. I think you definitely broke that resilience."
He lets out a soft, breathy chuckle, kissing your shoulder blade one last time before his breathing evens out into a deep, peaceful sleep, completely satisfied after four days of absolute torture.
The next morning, the smell of fresh coffee and frying bacon wakes you up. The snow outside has slowed to a gentle drift, and the bright winter sun streams through the bedroom windows. You get dressed in a cozy oversized sweater and sweatpants, walking out into the kitchen with Michael close behind you, his hand resting comfortably on the small of your back.
As soon as you both step into the dining area, the bickering between the brothers stops instantly. A heavy, suffocating silence falls over the room.
Marlon is sitting at the table, a cup of coffee halfway to his mouth, staring at Michael with wide eyes. Jackie is leaning against the counter, shaking his head with a mixture of shock and sheer amusement. Jermaine just smirks, slowly cutting into a piece of toast.
"Well, well, well," Marlon finally says, lowering his mug with a dramatic thud. "Look who finally decided to join us."
"Good morning," Michael says, completely oblivious, heading straight for the coffee pot. "Did the airport open back up?"
"Forget the airport, Mike," Jackie bursts out laughing, crossing his arms. "Man, I owe Marlon fifty bucks. I swear to God, I thought the roof was gonna cave in last night."
Michael freezes, the coffee pot hovering precariously over his mug. A deep, violent crimson flush immediately erupts at the base of his neck and shoots straight up to his cheeks, coloring his face a bright, dusty pink.
"What... what are you talking about?" Michael stammers, his voice a pitch higher than normal as he tries to play it off.
"Oh, don't play dumb now, Mikey!" Jermaine chuckles, shaking his head. "Mr. Innocent? Mr. 'I wouldn't hurt a fly'? Man, the walls in this apartment are thick, but they aren't that thick. I don't think any of us slept a wink after two in the morning."
"Man, you were tearing it up!" Marlon chimens in, leaning forward with a massive grin, completely thrilled to tease his younger brother. "I heard a whole lot of 'Yes, Mikey, please!'
You try to console your giggles by turning away and pretending to make yourself some coffee.
"Shut up! Would you guys please just shut up?" Michael gasps, practically hiding his burning face behind his hands. He looks completely mortified, his chest heaving as he stubbornly avoids looking at any of them. It was absolutely not his intention for them to hear everything, and the pristine, polite side of him is dying of embarrassment.
But as Marlon and Jackie keep laughing, high-fiving each other over the kitchen island, you notice a subtle change in Michael. He lowers his hands, and while his face is still entirely red, a tiny, proud smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. He clears his throat, taking a slow sip of his coffee, silently soaking in the fact that he had officially, undeniably proven them wrong. They would never, ever call him innocent again.
You just stand beside him, biting your lip to hide your own massive grin, letting out a soft giggle. You lean into his side, bumping your shoulder against his, knowing that your stubbornly polite boyfriend had that wild, reckless side in him the entire time—and you were the only one lucky enough to bring it out.
————————————————————————Authors note: I love off the wall Michael I had so much fun writing this LOL.
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