Michael Jackson Pfp Novels & Stories

Jone Jackson POV "Look at all these scrolls from the Moonfang Chronicle," Jone Jackson says, staring down at the little dark stone tablet in his male hands while his fingers tap a fast, angry beat on the wooden table. "The pictures show my male body grabbing Michael Jackson and giving him a big kiss right in front of the whole assembly."

Michael has become an addiction—a captivating enigma that I can't resist. And then there are his pictures on social media. I find myself scrolling through his profile, studying each photo with an intensity that borders on obsession. His physique is nothing short of extraordinary—strong, chiseled features, a mesmerizing smile that can light up a room. I can't help but drool over him, my heart skipping a beat every time I see his posts.

Michael eyed Jackson. "I can't," Jackson said through gritted teeth. "These seated are fucking hard." "Like my dick, right?" Michael smirked when Jackson visibly blushed, though irritated by his man's statement. "Earth to the couple," I waved my hand up. "Third wheel over here," "Sorry, princesa," Jackson said, shifting around. "Don't mind me, I'm nursing the aftermath of tempting the beast." He threw a glare at Michael, who smiled slyly.

"Not really. I've got it set up so fans can send me money if they want to, but I earn like, less than ten bucks a week. Can't live off that. Nah, I need a sugar daddy." "Couldn't you tell all those people who like your photos that you’re looking for a boyfriend?" Michael almost dropped the box he was moving as he leveled the biggest "are you serious" stare he could muster at his friend. "I take it that's a bad idea...?" "Terrible idea!" Michael went back to stacking boxes. "Online, I'm 'Mr. Perfect.' I live in a candy colored world of perfect hair and clothes 24/7. That's what people want to see. They don't want to know I'm some thirsty twenty-something who gets all grimy slinging boxes for

I scrolled slowly, my chest tightening with every exaggerated sentence. They always did this, turning real moments into entertainment. Still, I could not stop myself from checking Michael’s profile. My breath caught when I saw it. His profile picture had changed to one of the photos we took at the court. The simple one. Just the two of us standing close, his hand resting on my back. It felt intimate in a way I could not explain. He had posted a few pictures after that. The comments were pouring in, congratulations mixed with curiosity, envy, and disbelief.