π‚π”π‘π‘π„ππ“π‹π˜ π‘π„π€πƒπˆππ†
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ππ‘πˆπ•π€π“π„ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑 .ᐟ (🚧) by bunnyr1b
bunnyr1b
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$$$. Musical Genius, Michael Jackson builds an unlikely connection with an exotic entertainer.
As    |    M J J  x P R N fiction by backpackk1d
backpackk1d
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During a violent storm, tired (and underpaid) doctor, Michael Joseph, finds an unconscious stranger behind his clinic. The stranger appears to be dead...and somehow still alive. What begins as a simple act of medical responsibility becomes increasingly complicated when the injured man, who may not be entirely human, keeps returning for reasons neither of them are willing to admit. "There are two things you should know. First, never pick up unconscious strangers behind your clinic. Second, if you ignore the first piece of advice, make sure they aren't vampires." - Michael Joseph a Prince Rogers Nelson x Michael Jackson AU Fanfiction.
π—¦π—˜π—₯π—˜π—‘π——π—œπ—£π—œπ—§π—¬ ; prichael fanfiction by BUTTUHFLY
BUTTUHFLY
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"You are special. You have always been special." Just before Fidel Castro's 1994 announcement that any Cubans wishing to leave Cuba may do so, Prince Nelson is sent to Miami to take advantage of the dual-citizenship he holds. With his father in Texas, the young migrant doesn't seek shelter in Little Havana, but a bus to Amarillo, Texas. Upon his arrival, Prince is surprised by his father's reluctance to take him in, but initially is determined to earn his love through the thing he loves most- His ranch. Michael Jackson, a skilled ranch hand is surprised and intimidated by the arrival of his boss' long lost son. The daunting task of teaching him the ropes is put upon his shoulders, frustrating him further. The two, however form a bond that will change the trajectory of both of their lives forever.
π™Šπ™ͺ𝙩 𝙀𝙛 π™π™€π™˜π™ͺ𝙨 - π™ˆπ™… - π™ˆπ™–π™©π™ͺπ™§π™š 𝙀𝙧𝙖 by ellevox
ellevox
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Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·β€’βœ¦β€’Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β·Β· Michael had never liked photoshoots. He hated the way cameras always seemed to turn him into a product rather than a person. But the moment he stepped into the New York studio of a French photographer, something felt different. For the first time in a long while, the lens didn't make him feel like it was invading his privacy. It didn't take long for his attention to drift from the camera to the woman standing behind it. And when the shoot ended and he returned to his hotel room, he kept thinking about her a little too much. (π™ˆπ™žπ™˜π™π™–π™šπ™‘ π™…π™–π™˜π™ π™¨π™€π™£ 𝙭 π™π™šπ™’π™–π™‘π™š!π™Šπ˜Ύ)