Black Coffee


Proud Member
Dec 30, 2015
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
A/N: Hi guys, this is the first MJ fan fiction I've written in forever! I hope you guys like it :wub:

Disclaimer:Explicit language and Drug mentions

Black Coffee


Chapter 1

Wake up. Possibly shower. Get dressed. Make coffee. Drink coffee. Walk to work. Work. Close. Go home. Eat. Sleep.

That was Vicky’s basic routine every day, any sort of unexpected interruptions being a rarity. She lived by these steps and she enjoyed it. She enjoyed the expectancy and her expectations being met. She hated surprises and she hated being in situations if she didn’t know what the outcome would be. It may not have been the healthiest way to live, but it worked for her.

She was twenty six and had almost no social life. If she could keep herself alive by making money that would buy her food and put a roof over her head, she was content. She didn’t need the hassles that came with having too many friends. It had been long since she lost touch with any of her family. It was a miracle if she gave in and called her parents on Christmas or New Years. That seemed like an asshole thing to do, but Vicky just wanted to live her life peacefully. From what she's learned in her lifetime, interacting with people was detrimental to the ideology of “living in peace.”

The only person who came remotely close to being called a friend was the guy who did her tattoos. It took Vicky years of constantly revisiting the tattoo shop to actually get familiar enough to know his name: John Trescot, which was exactly the name Vicky used when referring to him. She never called him John or even the formal Mr. Trescot; she addressed him as John Trescot. The man eventually got sick of the unnerving formality, so he insisted on Vicky calling him Rat. Vicky didn’t like the idea of nicknames; it meant they were getting close, but the man did her tattoos and she had to stay on his good side, so she complied.

Other than that, though, her best friend was her job, and her job involved music, and that was far more than enough to keep her happy—or at least her definition of happy. Ever since she was a kid, the one thing she loved was music (specifically punk music), and over the years, that love never faltered. To be able to basically own the music shop she now worked in was a dream come true. The actual owner had many branches of the music store Vicky worked in, so that specific store that Vicky managed was basically hers. As long as the profits never stopped, Vicky was free to run it however she pleased. This meant, of course, she never hired other workers, ran the store herself, and allowed it to be the perfect excuse for her anti-social lifestyle.

Vicky had built herself this perfect little shelter with an unfaltering barrier that kept her away from the world. She considered it to be one of her strongest creations. Little did she know it wouldn’t be holding up for long.


She sat behind the register of her record store, flipping aimlessly through the latest Wolverine comic, while keeping a subconscious eye on the customers who were browsing the aisles. Her hair, dyed black, hung down the sides of her face, had grown longer than she liked, but she hadn’t gotten around to trimming it. A loose-fitting T-shirt, which had a band logo that had long been faded, hung loosely against her small frame, the short sleeves allowing her tattoo littered arms to be exposed. Her hazel eyes flicked up occasionally to check on the customers, then back down to her comic.

The customers in the store were a couple of teenage girls. Once they found what they were looking for, they made their way over to the cash register. Vicky had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. They’d spent a long time in the shop, and all they’d managed to decide on was some celebrity gossip magazine. She hated even having those in the shop because they attracted people like these two girls, who were giggling at the air, and it made her eyebrow twitch. Being judgmental was not her thing, and she gave everyone the benefit of the doubt, but occasionally she allowed herself a slandering thought or two.

“Find everything okay?” She asked, a forced grin on her face.

One of the girls nodded, her grin matching Vicky’s, but most likely not as forced. She rang them up, going as quickly as she could, and sent them on their way, purposely leaving out the robotic, “come back soon,” that was usually said at the end of a transaction.

They walked out, leaving Vicky to her comic before she heard the chime of the bell that hung above the door, signaling another person walking in. She glanced up shortly, noticing that a man had taken the place of the teenage girls. Vicky’s glance was short, enough to notice sunglasses and light skin standing out against black clothes. Vicky’s eyes were focused on her comic, but she kept her ears open, catching the shuffling of the man’s feet against the floor as he browsed the aisles. Soon enough, she heard the footsteps trail right up to her register, and she silently sighed, lowering her the comic book.

In front of her, stood a tall man with big sunglasses, an obviously fake beard, and his hair was hidden under an oversized winter hat (though it was the middle of summer). On the counter he dropped two candy bars, a Janet Jackson record, and a cassette from some local band.

“Got everything you’re looking for?” She asked, ringing up his purchases. She was a bit apprehensive about this strange man, but she soon brushed it off. Nothing was going to ruin her workflow.

“Uh… yeah. Yup.” The man spoke nervously, in a surprisingly higher voice than she expected. Again, she brushed it off as she placed his items into a bag. “Woah, I like your tattoos. Mind if I see?” He asked, reaching his hand out to touch her arm. She instinctively pulled her arm back in surprise, her eyes widening as she looked at him. He looked confused, tilting his head a bit. Her shock was fleeting, and soon replaced with her usual stoic manner.

“Yeah, sure.” She shrugged, holding her arm out. His hands gently held her arm as he studied the tattoos on her arm. “Uh… you sure you can see anything in those dark shades?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. The man backed away shyly, looking off to the side.

“Well, I… I guess I could take them off…” He slowly pulled his glasses off his face, revealing long eyelashes and brown eyes that never met hers. That’s when it hit her. The voice, the eyes, the shitty disguise… this guy was…

an absolute nutjob!

He stood there for a second, as if he was waiting for something… some kind of reaction. Vicky cleared her throat. “So uh… are you gonna look at my tattoos or what?” She asked, somewhat impatient. This guy was intruding on her comic book time. He looked surprised, and somewhat pleased.

“Oh, yeah!” He smiled, grabbing her arm once more. Yup… this guy was definitely some kind of crazy. “Wow, I really like the detail in this one!” He said in awe, pointing to the three-eyed Wednesday Addams on her forearm.

“Thanks…” Vicky mumbled, slowly retracting her arm. She grabbed his bag and handed it to him. “Well, have a good day.” She said dismissively. “Come back soon.”

“Oh, I will...” The man smiled, leaning forward a little to read her name tag “Vicky!” He read, dragging out the ‘V’ in her name. He turned around happily and walked out the store, Vicky staring after him speechlessly.

What a weirdo.
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Proud Member
Oct 8, 2004
Awesome :clap:

Thanks for sharing your story, Zazzle :D

Beautifully detailed.

Is there more? :unsure:


Proud Member
Dec 30, 2015
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Chapter 2

The next day, Vicky opened shop as usual. The day so far had been uneventful, to which she was grateful for. She didn’t sleep well last night, and she was sure it was apparent on her face. It was pretty quiet in the shop, besides the music spilling out from her headphones. Currently, she was unboxing some records, and placing them in their respective crates. She was listening to her walkman, Black Flag’s “Slip it in” blaring, humming as she organized the records. The bell above the door chimed, and she barely looked over her shoulder before continuing to organize the music. Soon, Vicky felt a tap on her shoulder. She slid her headphones off and turned around, and was greeted by the same strange man who came into the shop yesterday. Her heart dropped into her stomach. ‘Oh no…’ she thought, ‘...a regular!’. She kept her face stone cold, unchanging, though on the inside she was throwing a fit.

“Hey!” He smiled shyly, tugging at the hem of his shirt. He seemed excited, but honestly Vicky couldn’t care less. “I told you I’d come back!” He was still wearing that ridiculous fake beard and winter hat combo, but this time instead of wearing his sunglasses he had them tucked into the collar of his shirt. Vicky scoffed.

“Usually when I say that I don’t actually mean it.” She deadpanned. She turned around and continued sorting records, hoping he would take the hint and walk away. Her hopes were crushed when he leaned on the table she was working on and continued the conversation anyway.

“I came back because I wanted to talk to you some more, you seem so... interesting.” He spoke sincerely, catching her a bit off guard. Her face flushed, and she ignored him and walked to the front of the shop where another box was, and started to open it. He followed her anyway, waiting for a response. Stuff like this was not supposed to happen. She felt thrown out of her comfort zone. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

“Listen, if you're trying to hit on me or get in my pants or something, it’s NOT going to work so you better give up now and go home.” She snapped, her cheeks red. She looked up and glared at him, their eyes meeting. He blushed, embarrassed.

“I didn’t mean—You definitely got the wrong idea!” He exclaimed, flustered. “I just wanted to, you know, be friends or something! Maybe come in and help out around the shop, you know!?” He looked a bit frazzled, but everything he said seemed very sincere.

“Well!” Vicky started. She sighed and turned back to the box. “Not interested.” She finished, impassively. She opened the box and Michael Jackson’s face was staring right up at her. This must have been the cut-out the shop ordered. Suddenly, the man was thrown into a coughing fit, kind of like he was laughing and coughing at the same time. She pulled out the cut out and turned to him, puzzled. “Are you okay, man?” She asked, confused. The man just coughed and laughed harder, turning away from her and waving a hand as if he was saying that he was fine. That was enough for Vicky to just shrug and walk away, setting up the cut-out next to the Michael Jackson bin. She never really payed much attention to the guy, just figured he was like any other popular artist—a sellout. Really, the only songs she knew by him were thriller and billie jean and that’s because they were on the radio like ten times a day. She barely even knew what the guy looked like… before she could take a good look at the cut-out she heard something crash from the other side of the store. She turned around, seeing that the man had accidently knocked over a shelf. “Oh, come on!” She groaned.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He apologized, dropping to his knees and quickly cleaning up the mess. Vicky walked over to him and helped, and soon everything was back in place. She had to hand it to him, he really did clean up the mess pretty fast, with all the magazines in alphabetical order... and she did need some help with the heavier boxes in the back… Wait. Was she really considering hiring this psycho? He wore a fake beard! She sighed pinching the bridge of her nose.

“What’s your name, man.” She asked. She can’t believe she’s doing this.

“Mi-ke. Mike.” He said, looking down.

“Well, Mike. I guess I could use some help around the store… But I’m NOT your friend. And lose the fake beard and winter hat, it’s creepy.” She said, placing a hand on her hip. Mike seemed to stiffen when she mentioned the beard and hat, but other than that he seemed elated that she was giving him a chance. “Now get out of my store before you break something else.”

“I promise you won’t regret a thing!” He said happily, turning around and walking to the door.

“Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath.” She sighed, walking behind the counter and taking a seat. She looked up at the clock as the bell chimed again, signaling that he had left. She still had four hours of the day left, and already she was exhausted. F!ck.


Vicky arrived at her music store at exactly eight o’clock in the morning, finding that Mike was already outside, waiting patiently, a steaming cup of tea clutched in both hands and held closely to his chest. Instead of a fake beard he wore a hospital mask and sunglasses, and in place of his winter hat he wore a hood over his head.

He was wearing all black as he was the day he first came in the store, his light, but slightly flushed from the cold, face standing out in the dull hue of the morning light. The only color other than his face was the chocolate brown messenger bag that was slung across his torso, hanging at his side.

“Morning, Vicky” he greeted happily when he saw Vicky approaching. His nose was red at the tip.

“Yeah, morning,” Vicky mumbled, unused to the perkiness, much less that early in the morning. She unlocked the door as per usual, walked in, and Mike followed closely behind her. She wanted to ask him about the mask, who he was hiding from, but she just really didn’t have the energy; plus that meant getting personal and she just wasn't about that.

“So why do you come here so early in the morning?” He asked, already ruining Vicky’s daily ritual because she liked it to be silent whenever there were no customers. “No one comes till way later.”

Vicky shrugged, not sure if Mike could see it from behind her, but she didn’t bother to check. She shoved the keys into her pocket and got herself settled in the chair she had behind the register.

“So,” Mike said, leaning against the counter like he did the table the day before, causing Vicky to scoot her chair back slightly, “we can just sit all morning?”

“No,” Vicky shook her head, “I can. You have things to do.”

“Oh!” Mike grinned. “Work, right! Ok, what do you need me to do, Boss?”

“Vicky,” She corrected him. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a list she had written up the night before. She had put so much thought into what she could have Mike do just so she could keep him busy for the entirety of the day. “Start with this.” She laid the list out on the counter and pointed to the first thing. He leaned in an uncomfortably close distance and Vicky held herself from backing away.

“Shelve new inventory,” Mike read out loud. “Ok, where’s the new inventory?”

“There’s a box there,” Vicky pointed to the door that was over her right shoulder. “Go bring it and I’ll show you where they go.”

Mike nodded, set his tea down on the counter, and went to the door that Vicky had told him. He opened it and noticed that it was like a small employee’s lounge almost. There was a sofa there, accompanied by a water cooler, and on the side there was a door to the bathroom. Michael smiled at the fact that Vicky never hired, yet there was a room made for more than one employee. He pulled his messenger bag off and tossed it onto the old sofa that looked simply run down with age, but not use. He then bent over and picked up the box that was on the floor, and walked back out to Vicky.

“You know the aisle where I was yesterday?” She asked. He nodded. “They go there. There’s a section that’s completely empty. Put the records in alphabetical order, by artist.”

“Got it,” He nodded. “You can finish my tea if you want. It’s already too cold for me. I only like it when it’s steaming.”

Vicky looked down at the cup on the counter and raised her eyebrow.

“Gross,” She muttered, unsure of whether or not he heard, but not caring either way. Mike smiled, spun around, and shuffled over to start sorting the records. Vicky looked down at the drink again. As if she could ever share a drink with a stranger.

“I’m not sick or anything,” Mike laughed, setting the box down on the floor and pulling it open. “But it’s cool, I get it.”

Vicky decided she was better off not saying anything, so she just sat at her chair and pulled out the next issue of Wolverine.

“You know,” Mike spoke, interrupting Vicky’s silence once again, “you should have music playing here.” She just continued reading her comic, hoping that Mike would take the hint and stop talking. “You can just put the radio on” He continued. “And have speakers in the store. I mean it’s a music store, it should have music.”

“Don’t really see a need for that,” She shrugged.

“Oh come on,” Mike went on. “It’s a really good idea. The place is so quiet all the time; it gets dull.” Vicky looked up at Mike, wanting to laugh right in his face. That was what she wanted, silence. She enjoyed the silence and Mike was not, in any way, allowing her to enjoy it. “It can be really subtle and soft,” He persisted. “Just like background music.”

“Right, yeah, I’ll look into that,” She mumbled, just wanting to shut him up.

He picked up the now empty box and brought it to the back, and Vicky was mildly surprised he finished so fast. In fact, he did everything fast. As the hours ticked by and the customers came and went, Mike was in and out of the employee room, checking things off of the list. By lunch time, he had already finished the entire list and was just sitting behind the counter with her, waiting for her to say something.

“It’s lunchtime.” Vicky spoke after a while, not quite looking at Mike. “Go turn the sign around on the door.” He complied, happily turning the sign around and walking back to the counter. She got up and went to the back room, grabbed her lunch and came back, setting her food on the counter. She had a peanut butter and banana sandwich and salad, which is what she ate basically everyday. She was a vegan, so basically this was all she could eat.

“Wow, I forgot about bringing lunch” Mike spoke honestly, right before his stomach grumbled audibly. Vicky sighed before sliding him her sandwich.

“Here, have it. I have a salad anyways.” She sighed.

“Wow, I think that’s the nicest you’ve ever been to me.” Mike smiled, taking the sandwich. Vicky rolled her eyes, digging her fork into her salad. She looked up to see Mike staring at the sandwich, a confused look on his face.

“What’s wrong, allergic to peanut butter?” She asked through a mouthful of salad. He shook his head.

“No it’s just…” He turned to Vicky and grabbed her hands, looking into her eyes. Her heart started to pound.


“If I tell you something, Vicky, will you promise not to freak out?” He asked sincerely.

“Please don’t tell me you're some kind of psychopathic killer and you want to skin me alive” She groaned, fearful of his answer.

“What? No! Vicky, I…” He sighed, pulling his hands away. He pulled his mask off and took his hood off. “I’m Michael Jackson.” He said, looking away as if he was ashamed. Vicky let out a sigh of relief.

“For a second there I really thought you were going to murder me!” Vicky chortled. “I don’t give a f!ck who you are, man. You could be the queen of england for all I care!” She spat. And, it was true. Vicky could care less about status or fame. All she cared about was her well being and her store. In fact, instead of making her excited or something, the fact that he was a mega superstar made Vicky dislike him even more. He was ruining her simplicity! Throwing her life all out of whack! Michael laughed, suddenly pulling her in for a huge hug.

“You don’t know how much that means to me, Vicky!” He laughed, squeezing her tight.

“Ah! Okay! Okay! Let go of me!” She gasped, trying to pry him off. “You’re weird!” She said as soon as he let go. “Jesus…”

“I know!” He smiled, showing off his perfect row of teeth. Vicky rolled her eyes.

This was definitely not good.

She had accidentally befriended a superstar.
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