Johnny Depp Imagines

Mortdecai #2: part 1

****Imagine your in high school and you're going to a party, where you meet your future boyfriend/husband.****

"Hurry up Y/N, we're going to be late!" Shouted my best friend Emma, sticking her head round my bedroom door.

"Ok coming." I said, quickly pushing my hair behind my ears and popping a tic tac into my mouth.
Running out of my room and to the car, which was waiting outside my house, I hopped down the stairs putting my shoes on.
Grabbing my coat, my bag and stuff, I shut the front door behind me and got into the car.

"Pass me the keys, I'll drive." I said, plopping myself in the drivers seat.

"Uh, why should you drive? It's my car." Protested Emma, crossing her arms and glaring at me.

"Because I'm the only one who'll be sober the whole time at the party. We've been best friends since we were three years old, we're nearly eighteen now and I know enough about you to know that you drink lots at parties.
Anyway, we're going to be late now aren't we? Now, give me the keys, quit complaining and let's go already."

"Fine." She grumbled tossing me the keys and clipping her seatbelt in.

Clipping in my seatbelt too, I started the car and drove out of the drive and down the street.

******************************

Just as I predicted, shortly after we arrived at the party, my best friend started drinking.

I watched her amble back and forth to the kitchen, each time returning with a big glass of alcohol.
I prayed she hadn't eaten before the party. If she had then I didn't like to think of the after affect and the hangover she'd have the next morning.

Apart from watching my best friend drinking, she was also interacting with people and talking lots. I managed to catch snippets of Emma's conversations, but when I did, her speech kept getting slightly slurred each time.

I on the other hand, was sitting in a dark corner, where no one could see me. Holding a glass of lemonade, I quitely scrolled through Instagram on my phone.

Soon, I heard a drunk voice call my name.

"Y/N, come on.... let's dance...fuck... I mean...come on." Slurred my best friend Emma, stumbling towards me, a glass of brown stuff in her hand.

"Oh, no thanks. I think I'll just stay by the snack table thanks. Who's going to look after the crisps?" I declined, taking another sip of my drink.

"The crisps, really? Please, for meeeee...." She begged, giving me puppy dog eyes.

"Ok, ok. I'll do it for you." I mumbled defeatedly, putting my phone away.
Downing my drink, I let Emma lead me to the dance floor.

I actually started to have a good time dancing with my tipsy best friend.
This was starting to be one of the best nights in my entire life.
That was until....

I watched my best friend's grip on her glass tighten and then she bent over and...

Bbblleeuurrrgghhh!!!!!

I won't say much about what happened since you probably already guessed.

I had told her to never drink alcohol on a full stomach. But did she listen?

No.

Emma slowly left the dance floor and ran drunkenly to the bathroom, as she continued to throw up.

There were lots of yucks, ewwws and oh my god, that's disgusting. Did you see that?, echoing around the room.

Stepping away from my friend's projectile vomit, I accidentally tripped over an empty cup.
As I tripped, I felt a someone quickly grab me to stop me from falling.

"You ok?" Asked a soft male voice.

I looked up and found myself looking into a beautiful pair of brown eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I said, standing up, silently observing the person.

The guy who had caught me had brown eyes and dark golden blonde hair that was slicked back. He was wearing a black leather jacket, jeans, a white vest, boots and a silver necklace. Overall, he looked like a classic 80s movie bad boy.

I immediately fell for this guy.

We stood there staring at eachother until he broke the silence.

"So, um...you wanna dance with me?" He enquired.

"I'd love too." I replied.

As I was led to the middle of the dance floor, an upbeat pop song started playing.
Everybody cheered loudly and gathered onto the floor, where they started dancing.

"What's your name pretty girl?" Asked the boy, as we both danced together.

"Y/N L/N. But you can just can call me Y/N."

"That's a beautiful name."

"You haven't told me your name yet." I said in a slightly flirty voice.

"Ah, desperate are we?" He smirked, flirting back.

I blushed a brilliant red, which he probably didn't see under the bright blare of the disco lights.

"The names Mortdecai doll." He replied, spinning me round as we continued to dance along to the music.
"Charlie Mortdecai."

******************************

Turns out Charlie didn't technically live here. He was only here because his parents were working on several very important projects for their jobs here in the US.

Soon we started dating and then we got married quite a few years after that.
Once we happily married, we moved to his house (actually it was a mansion) back in England.

After we married, we became rich and Charlie lost his bad boy looks and ways.
He sold his motorbike too, which was a shame, because we always used to ride it.

Instead of the naughty, daring, adventurous, romantic teenage Charlie I had known, he got replaced with this hair gel enthusiast, art aristocratic, eccentric, wealthy, scaredy cat, posh speaking, suit loving, twat.

Of course I love him, he's my husband, but, sometimes I wonder if I might have been drunk at that party when I met him all those years ago.

****Hope you enjoyed this short Mortdecai imagine. It was quite a challenge for me to find something to write about this eccentric, art aristocrat of a man, but I did it.
There are more stories to come. So...stay tuned and stay safe 😘************************