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Falling Stars	By : johnnysgirl Category: Individual Celebrities > Johnny Depp Views: 8217 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Johnny Depp. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Falling Stars
Disclaimer: Roses are Red, Violets are blue…I no own…so you no sue.
Rating: R
Pairing: Johnny Depp/OFC
Enjoy - it's my first fic so I'm not sure what it will turn out like. Please review! (I generally can’t stand ‘actor’ ficks, but I woke up one morning and thought, hey! What the Hell?

I'm so cool, too bad I'm a loser
I'm so smart, too bad I can't get anything figured out
I'm so brave, too bad I'm a baby
I'm so fly, that's probably why it
Feels just like I'm falling for the first time
~Bare Naked Ladies

It was snowing. Thick white flakes. The kind you used to catch on your toung as a child. When I was nine my brother told me that snow was God’s dandruff. I haven’t tried to eat it since. I stared out the cab window, pressing my forehead into the soothing calm of the cool glass. Streetlights blurred into a watery haze, fading into the darkness. So this was Toronto. I’d been here before, when I was sixteen, somehow it wasn’t as snowy then. Maybe it was summer. I fidgeted, adjusting my dress. It was green, a deep, shiny velvet green. I’m easily distracted by shiny things. Maybe that was why I’d bought it…it certainly wasn’t the kind of thing I normally wore. The neckline was too low, and the skirt too high, but it was pretty. This probably wasn’t the most appropriate thing I could have chosen to wear to a nice, normal, family Christmas dinner. Then again, the word ‘normal’ is used loosely when it comes to describing my family. My grandparents come from good, old fashioned, Irish stock…and they make sure everybody knows it. My mother is the sanest of their descendents (which isn’t saying much); her Irish heritage reflected only in the shit-ass names she appointed me and my brother Kelk. Kelk was a good strong name for a good, strong Irish boy, just as Niantiti was a good, pretty name for a good, pretty Irish girl. For anyone who was considered naming there child something along these lines, reflect on this; YOU go through primary school with the name “NianTITI” and tell me how that works out for you. So from adolescence on, I’ve insisted on being called “Finn” (My middle name). Finn. Finn Dillon. Sounds like an STD. The taxi shuddered to a halt in front of an old, Tudor house. Its crumbing façade was ablaze with the light of thousands of miniature bulbs. Tinsel and other assorted ornaments hung haphazardly from the trees and fence. I gaped in awe; the house was so bright it wouldn’t surprise me if it could have been seen from space. Trust my grandparents. After paying the cab driver I hopped out, slamming the door and pulling my jacket tightly around my shoulders. It was cold. I watched the cab drive out of sight, before turning towards the house. I had to shield my eyes, the glare from the lights, reflecting off the steadily compiling snow was blinding. I’d walked only a few meters before tripping on what I presumed was the doorstep. Someone caught me by the elbow. The spots had cleared from my eyes enough for me to make out the hazy shape of a man…no…two men. The one who’d caught me was tall, about 5’10. He wore a leather jacket and dark glasses. The other was portly, and redheaded, with a jovial smile. “Didiéo” I cried happily, throwing my arms around my grandfather.
“Go mbeannai, dia duit, Niantiti”
The last bit was my name. I got that much, Gaelic wasn’t a strong suit of mine.
“It’s ‘Finn,’ didiéo.”
“Wha’s wrong wit’ ‘Niantiti’? ’sa good, strong, Irish name… are ye ashamed ’o bein’ Irish gurl?”
“No, I’m not ashamed of being Irish, I’ve just found it’s easier to go through life using a name that doesn’t contain the word ‘Titi’”
This comment evoked a snort of laughter from the dark stranger whom I had nearly forgotten. He looked vaguely familiar, maybe he was a cousin or someone who I’d met at a long forgotten family reunion.
“Sorry, I never thanked you, um-”
“Johnny.”
“Johnny?”
Grandpa grinned, clapping the younger man on the shoulder.
“Found ‘im kickin’ roun’ th’ boozer… bought ‘im ‘ere t’ share in th’ Christmas cheer.”
I flashed my best smile. “An Irish Christmas eve…well…at least it’ll be memorable.”
He returned my smile, causing my heart to skip a beat.
“Boozer?”
“Pub” I translatedferifering my hand for him too shake. His hand was warm, or maybe my fingers were just cold. Either way the contact made my skin tingle.
Falling Finn. Falling hard.
No. Bad. Stop it.
I leaned casually back against the door, doing my best to look sophisticated. At that precise moment, it opened inwards. I stumbled, falling right into my grandmothers open arms.
“Hi mámo!”
“Niantiti, dia duit, ye gave me a start there gurl!” She looked up, seeing my grandfather, “Aye! Wully! Get yer arse ire! re! we need ye cut the meat.”
“Aye, woman, I’m a commin’”
“Fer Christ’s Sake! ‘s Christmas eve Wully!”
She noticed me and Johnny. “And th’ two of ye….ye’d think there’d be summit better fer youngins t’ be up ter then sittin’ ou’ ‘ere on th’ doss...” She said, ushering us into the house. “Niantiti…s’this yer fella then?”
“No, we, uh, just met…he’s a friend of didiéo’s” I handed her my coat and a box of chocolates “Merry Christmas - er - nollaig shona duit!”
I looked across at Johnny, and promptly choked.
He’d removed the glasses and I realized where I recognized him from. His picture had been plastered all over my best friend’s locker all through high school.
Johnny Depp.
I suppressed the urge to giggle insanely. Instead, I offered to take his coat, which he handed me willingly, only to realize that I had no idea where to hang it. I picked the nearest door, unfortunately it was a bathroom.
“Okay, maybe we won’t hang this in there…”
For my effort, I was rewarded with another dazzling smile. Again with the adoration of shiny things…
It was at that moment that my grandmother herded me off towards the kitchen to help with the preparation of ‘afters’ (Also known as ‘dessert.’) I was still in a slight state of shock, so I didn’t protest.

I didn’t mention the celebrity in our midst to my grandparents.
I seriously doubted that my crazy Irish relatives kept up with pop-culture, ergo were not likely to evenogniognize the name Johnny Depp. Plus, the intrigue was more interesting if I kept it to myself.

I hummed gleefully as I made Apple and Barley pudding.

~*~*~*~*

That’s all for now, some lovely smut coming soon!! (Pun not intended)
Please R&R
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Falling Stars