Dasey Nation

[Allie]

Okay, so some of you are probably familiar with this story of mine, or at least I hope so, but there are probably a lot of you who are not. Right now, it's almost twenty-two chapters long and there are about fifteen or so more chapters left. It mainly centers around Derek and Casey's relationship and is sort of an alternate universe where George and Nora get married when they are seventeen and sixteen (almost seventeen) respectively so it also shows sort of a change in certain characters (Emily and a few others) as to how it would be if Casey wasn't there when she was originally in the show. The story also focuses around Trevor and Sam's younger sister and also Sam and Emily with appearances from Ralph. Anyway, what I was wondering is if you guys would like for me to post it here or if you would prefer for me to just leave the link and let you guys know each time I update since it is so long. Or if you guys would even be interested in reading it at all.

[stephluvvsyou]

You should post it here! I don't get much of a chance to visit ff.net but I'm here often! I'd love to read it!
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[Allie]

AN: The first few chapters are told through journal entries for the most part. Just so you know, italics are journal entries. This story was originally supposed to be two different stories (hence the extremely long length), but that is why once it gets to chapter fourteen or so there will be a lot more focus on characters like Juliane, Sam's sister, and Trevor. Also, there will be a lot more of Sam and Emily. Also, this was originally rated M by me, but my readers said that it wasn't that bad. So... I lowered the rating to PG-13, but I think it's still sort of a high PG-13.




Dear Diary,

Wait. Nix that.

Journal, if I had known how much one decision could affect the rest of my life, or adolescent life at least, then I more than likely would not have made said decision.

Well, now that I think about it… I would have made said decision possibly. I may just have gone a different way around making said decision.

Or actually, maybe I would have just because I was drunk off of my ass that night.

He was staring again.

The guy who looked like some sort of Fonzie or Danny Zuko wannabe in a leather jacket was staring again.

He was cute, I had to give him that, but he wouldn’t stop staring.

The guy had started staring at me sometime between my second and third drink. I knew it wasn’t because he was judging me because the guy had already had four of his own.

By the time I had finished my third drink and was halfway through my fourth Mr. Leather Jacket walked over and introduced himself.

He asked why I was drinking so much and I told him to fuck off because it was none of his business. He said that he was sorry, but didn’t really apologize. He just said that he had never seen a girl that looked like me drink as much as I had in the past hour.

I asked him why he had been drinking so much and he told me that it was none of my damn business.

I told him that it could go both ways and he told me about his parents’ divorce a few years earlier.

I told him about how I had lived in Toronto all of my life and was being forced to move away from all of my friends and my great all girl private school all because my mom was getting remarried the next day.

He told me that not only had his parents been divorced less than three years, but his dad was getting married tomorrow.

And sure, it may have been the alcohol or maybe the fact that summer weddings are so popular, but this should have been an indicator that something wasn’t right with this picture.

This could all be perceived as being my fault and I completely agree it could have all been my fault. Maybe I should have listened more when my mom talked about her amazing new boyfriend/fiancé and how he had three children, two of which were boys. One my age and another that was my sister Lizzie’s age.

Maybe I should have been more interested in their names. The boyfriend’s name and the kids’ names.

Maybe I should have asked Mr. Leather Jacket to enunciate his name instead of slurring his words together the way I had started to do sometime after my second drink and before I finished my third.

Maybe then I wouldn’t have kept calling him Darren, not that he stopped me.

But he kept calling me Tracy, which I can’t remember whether or not I had said that. I had after all seen Hairspray earlier that day and it could have been entirely possible that I had called myself Tracy in my drunken stupor.

God only knows I did more than call myself Tracy.

A lot more.

I did a complete stranger that I spent a few hours calling Darren.

Oh well, at least he didn’t call me Samantha.

He moved his mouth away from my lips and positioned them close to my ear. His breath was hot on my neck and he kept having to brush my hair over one should because he kept getting it in his mouth. His other hand, however, did not move from its place under my shirt.

“Tracy,” he breathed.

We were in the upstairs hallway of whoever was having the party.

I giggled. I felt like I was high, but I had never been high so there wasn’t really anything that I could compare it to. Except for maybe winning the spelling bee in Toronto when I was in grade nine. That was pretty thrilling.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know where the rooms are. That one right there,” he said and pointed off to the side where a door was, “that’s someone else’s room. It’s occupied. Where are the other rooms?”

“Behind the doors?” I suggested.

He laughed.

“You’re smart. Most girls that like me aren’t smart. I’m not smart.”

I shook my head furiously and turned around to poke a finger in his chest.

“Who told you that I like you? I don’t like you. I don’t like you at all… Mr. Leather Jacket.”

“Well, that’s good to know. So… what are we doing?”

“We’re going to have sex,” I reminded him.

“Well I know that… but where are the rooms? That one right there, that’s someone else’s room. It’s occupied. Where are the other rooms?” he asked and pointed in the general direction of a door.

“I think you said that before.”

“No, no I didn’t. I would remember if I said that before. Where are the damn rooms, Tracy?”

“Behind the damn doors! There’s a door!” I exclaimed.

I opened the door and pushed him inside before following.

As soon as we were both in the room his hands once again found their way under my shirt. One traveled north and grasped my breast and continued its work where it had left off before I had pushed him off. The other hand moved further south and began to play with the waistband of my skirt.

He kicked the door shut with his foot and pressed me up against the door, all the while continuing his ministrations.

His mouth returned to its place in the crook of my neck and traveled its way up to right behind my ear. I tilted my head back to grant better access, but it hit the door with a thud.

I didn’t have to worry about any further bumps to my head, however, because he pulled me closer to him and away from the door not long after I hit my head and my arms were up and my shirt was over my head.

I suppose he had grown tired of having the barrier between him and my breasts.

My suspicion was soon confirmed when my bra was snapped off and joined my shirt on the floor.

I was almost immediately pressed against the door with my legs settled around his waist and both arms holding my weight.

Now that he had the shirt and bra taken care of there was nothing stopping his mouth from doing what his hands had done.

I remember him taking me against the door. Just seconds after being pressed up against it. He took me hard and fast. And at the time, it was just what I needed.

And now that I remember what we had discussed earlier that night before we had taken our ‘discussion’ upstairs I realize that maybe he thought it was what he needed too.

I only have flashes of what happened. I guess what they say about alcohol is true… it really does inhibit you. And I thank God that I only have flashes of that or else I don’t know what I would do.

I wish, now, that we could somehow take it all back.

But we can’t.

As soon as I had been wrapped up in the excitement of everything I soon crashed down. Reality hit and I realized what exactly it was I had done. The thrill that I had been feeling earlier was gone and I stood, panting against the door. Dirty, sweaty, and with a guy that I didn’t even know.

“Hey Tracy, what school did you say you were going to go to when you move here?”

He picked up my shirt and bra off of the floor and I quickly covered myself, ashamed of what I had done.

“I didn’t,” I replied my voice soft and my gaze averted from his nearly naked form.

He looked at me with a probing stare.

I sighed, “Thompson High, I think… why?”

He pulled up his pants and zipped the zipper before he allowed a smirk to cross his face.

“I go to Thompson High. Maybe when school starts, we’ll, you know… see each other,” he hinted.

“Maybe we won’t, maybe we won’t ever see each other again,” I pointed out.

“Aw, Tracy. Do you not want to see me again? Was tonight not enjoyable for you?”

I glared at him and finished adjusting my shirt before I left the room.

Thankfully, I had missed the rehearsal dinner.

If only I could miss the wedding.

By the time I got back to the hotel room, Lizzie was asleep and mom was in her wedding dress freaking out about it having too many ruffles.

I assured her that it didn’t and she realized amidst her panic attack that I had missed the rehearsal dinner.

I apologized and she accepted, although she said she was disappointed because it was so unlike me. She said that it wasn’t awful because George’s son (George was the name of the fiancé!) who was the best man and would be my escort since I was the maid of honor was missing in action as well and that it had worked out.

I convinced her to stop her worrying and we both went to bed because we needed our rest for the ‘Big Day’.

When we awoke the next morning we took our time getting ready. The hairdresser showed up right on time and I did everyone’s make-up.

Mom was beautiful, as always, I just wish it could have been for a happier occasion, say a funeral.

Lizzie was very pretty in her junior bridesmaid dress with her hair piled on her head with tiny ringlets falling down.

I, however, looked the guilty party. No matter how much make-up I applied I could still see dark circles under my eyes and bruises on my neck from where his mouth had been. My mom had to tell me to stop applying make-up before I started to look like a hooker, but what I didn’t say to her was that I already felt like one.

I snuck a few Tylenols from my mom’s medicine bag that was in her suitcase and downed them with some ginger ale in hopes of settling my headache and my stomach, but it didn’t seem to work.

At one o’clock it was time to go downstairs to join Derek, Edwin, and Marti (Aha! The children have names, too!) to walk down the aisle.

When we reached the door to the hall that the wedding would be taking place in, I paused.

“Casey, come on!” Lizzie urged.

My feet stayed planted firm and I glared at the person who stood next to the door with his familiar mop of nearly auburn hair.

“What is he doing here?” I whispered.

Lizzie tugged on my arm and soon we were at the door where he stood with a boy who looked to be close to Lizzie’s age and a cute little girl in pale blue dress swinging a basket.

“Marti! Stop swinging the basket,” instructed the boy who was Lizzie’s age.

My eyes widened and I could feel my face go white.

“Please tell me that your name isn’t Derek.”

“You can still call me Darren, Tracy. Or should I say Casey? Hmm, maybe Sister Dear would be more fitting?”

“Shut up!” I growled.

My mom chose that moment to join us and motioned for the five of use to make our way down the aisle.

Derek held out his arm with a grin and I took it after plastering a smile on my face.

That’s right journal. The random guy that I slept with to help me get over my mom’s wedding? Which worked by the way, it made me worry about that instead of the wedding… he’s definitely my new step-brother, Derek Venturi.[/b]

[blankmind3]

Oh my wowww... I loved that! Gosh, Casey must have been a little mortified. Again, that was great!
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You didn't have to break my heart babe, you didn't have to say a thing

[eyeluvDasey]

I know you posted this a while back but I read it before and that sex scene was hot and loved the Dasey UST. very intense!
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[Allie]

“Derek!” I yell as I knock desperately on the bathroom door. “Come on! Open up… I have a job interview today.”

I knock again at the door and receive no answer. I’m not sure what exactly it is that I’m expecting.

The door opens slightly and there stands Derek. He is leaned up against the door frame with a smirk on his face.

“What do you want?”

I frown, but this just makes his smirk grow.

“I want to take a shower and get ready for my job interview. It would be nice if you were to be nice for once and, oh, I don’t know… share the bathroom?” I suggest.

His eyebrows raise, “You want to share the bathroom?” he asks.

I nod and he steps back from the door, “Aw, all you had to do was ask. Although sharing the bathroom… what exactly does this entail? Because if it’s anything like that night a few weeks ago, then I’m sorry Casey, but I just can’t do that. You’re my sister now, and it would be wrong and very upsetting to Dad and Nora,” he mocks while he holds a hand to his chest and closes his eyes dramatically.

“You fucking asshole! That’s nothing like what I mean and you know it. Sharing the bathroom entails you leaving while I get ready. Then you can finish up doing whatever it was you were doing.”

Derek scoffs.

“I don’t think so, Princess,” he argues. “I was here first. I was in this house first and I was in the bathroom first. I‘m superior in this house. I get first dibs on everything. If you have a problem with that, then that’s just too bad. Now, if you’re nice I may hurry up.

“If not,” he shrugs, “I could be in here for, oh, say another hour? Maybe even two. When is that interview of yours?”

“It’s at eleven-thirty,” I reply. “Why?”

“Because it’s nine-thirty now. And if I’m going to be in here for another two hours you’re going to be really late for that interview of yours.,” he raises his eyebrows, “you wouldn’t want that, would you? I’m sure you want to make a good first impression and be early.”

He turns steps away from the door and puts his hand on the knob to close it.

“I think I’m just going to get back to my shower if that’s okay with you.”

Derek pulls off the towel that is slung low around his hips and tosses it to the floor. Then he slowly closes the door with a smirk on his face.

“If you behave nicely, then I’m sure it won’t take that long.”

I kick at the door with my foot, but a shooting pain rushes through my foot I stop.

Stupid bunny slippers.

“Derek!” I yell over the sound of the shower running. “You’re such a jackass! Ugh!”

I turn to go back to my room and get ready as much as I can in there, but stop when I see Marti standing in my way wearing her purple pajamas and her head cocked to the side.

“What’s a jackass?” she asks.

“A jackass is a donkey, Marti,” I explain to the girl. “Remember the Christmas story in the Bible?”

Marti shakes her head and I roll my eyes.

“Is that the one where the giant fish eats the man whole like in Pinocchio? Or is it the one with the great big lions and they throw the man in to live with him?”

“No Marti. It’s the one where Jesus is born.”

“Oh yeah. That one. There’s no action in that story.”

Of course with a brother like Derek, I don’t know what I’m expecting.

I pat her on the head and make my way to my room.

“Maybe you ought to go read your Bible, Marti.”

“But I was going to go watch the show with the angry guy with the glasses. He makes me laugh. His friend is funny too. He likes little sandwiches.”

I pretend to know what show she is talking about and nod.

“That’s nice. Well, you go watch your show and I’m going to go get ready for my interview.”

Marti doesn’t have to be told twice and runs down the hallway and down the stairs.

When I enter my room I breathe a sigh of relief before collapsing on my bed and pulling out my journal.

Even though we’ve only been living in this house for a little over two weeks I can already tell that I am going to hate it here. Of course, this also being Derek the sex aficionado’s house doesn’t help.

I swear that guy is in love with himself.

It’s a good thing that I didn’t like him.

Because that would, of course, not be a good thing for either of us.

It would definitely give him an extreme ego boost. Not that he needs one. I bet he can’t even wear toques in the winter because his head is too big.

As for how it wouldn’t be a good thing for me? Think about it… how awkward would it be to be in love with, no, just like the guy who is the son of your mom’s new husband?

At least one thousand times more awkward than finding out that he’s the guy that you slept with the night before your mom’s wedding.

Meaningless sex that you wish you could take back, but can’t and the guy won’t stop mocking you about it or meaningful sex that you don’t want to take back because you are so in love with the guy and he won’t stop mocking you about both things?

Really Journal, it’s no competition. Number two is more awkward for sure.

And maybe in a couple of years when I’m in college I’ll meet a nice guy. Maybe in a lecture or something, who knows.

But when Taco Paco, the pizza delivery guy that smells like tacos, back home in Toronto is the only guy who has hit on me in my teenage life, I guess there was really never that temptation thing going on for me.

Not that I would have succumbed to it if there had been.

Oh no, I definitely would not have surrendered to… whatever you want to call it.

Of course, that would be sort of hypocritical of me seeing as how the first time I get drunk I sleep with the first guy who says my name. Or at least what he thought my name was.

Now don’t get the wrong idea, I don’t like Derek. Don’t like him at all. But… if I had met him under different circumstances and he wasn’t George’s son or my mom didn’t marry George, which ever you prefer… then maybe, I would have… well, liked him.

But none of that is true. And we are in the situation that we are in. It won’t go away, no matter how much I want it to… so I’ll just have to make myself forget it.

I’m sure that if I just pretend like nothing happened and ignore Derek’s taunts then he will eventually just leave me alone… right?

I heave a sigh of frustration and chuck my pen at the wall. I don’t know who I was trying to kid. He won’t just leave me alone.

If he was going to do that, then he wouldn’t have said anything at the wedding. Or after the wedding. Or even after we moved in.

But he did. And it really doesn’t seem like he’s going to stop.

I glance over at the clock that is on my bedside table and my eyes widen. It’s ten o'clock. I groan and sit up before walking over to my dresser to pick out some clean underwear.

After rummaging around for a bra and panties I finally come across my favorite bra, a pink Ipex from Victoria’s Secret. I pause to wonder for a moment why it was in the bottom of the drawer, but shake it off and grab a pair of pink and white striped bikinis that match the bra perfectly.

Tossing both the bra and panties onto the bed I make my way to my closet and pull out a black pleated skirt and a charcoal scoop neck skirt with a black bow that runs around the neck.

Contemplating accessories I decide that the bow on my shirt is plenty and that I really don’t want to over do it.

I hold the shirt up to me in the mirror and purse my lips before nodding. I think I made a good choice.

Not that I know much about what to wear on an interview because I’ve never had a job before.

I carry the skirt and top over to the bed and lay them down smoothing them out flat so they won’t wrinkle.

Stretching, I start to unbutton my pajama top to slip on the bra, but stop short when I get a good look at the back where it clasps together.

The hooks are bent out of shape.

Upon closer inspection I notice that one of the clasps is actually completely missing and all that is in its place are a few loose threads. I furrow my brow in confusion and try to think of what could have possibly happened to it when I’m hit with realization.

I know exactly what happened to it.

And just as quickly as I was hit with realization I am hit with a memory of how it got that way.

A pink tank top being tossed haphazardly to the floor.

Two hands desperately fumbling with the back of my bra before finally pulling at it and slipping my arms through the straps.

Being crushed between a hard body and a door for balance.

Being pressed against the wall with each thrust until finally it was over, and then losing my balance and trying to stand upright by leaning up against the wall.

There is a knock at my door and I leap up from my place on the bed and bite my lip to suppress a squeal. I look at the bra in disgust and have to wonder what I was doing before I toss it to the ground.

I start to speak, but the voice that I hear is not my own and I clear my throat before trying again.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Derek. I would just come in, but your door’s locked. Are you hiding something? Maybe a shrine of yours truly?”

I roll my eyes and scoff.

“You wish Derek. I’m not sure if you got the memo, but Galileo told everyone that the Earth revolves around the Sun. And newsflash, last time I checked--you aren’t a flaming ball of gas.”

There is a brief pause and I can almost swear that I hear him smirk.

“Well, you’re right about one thing--I’m not flaming. But I am hott, I do have balls, and believe me, I emit plenty of gases,” he says and lets out a long belch as if to prove his point.

“So Casey, are you going to let me in or not?”

I chew on the inside of my cheek for a moment and contemplate whether I should let him in or not.

Finally, I decide to let him in because--who knows? Maybe he is actually going to do something decent for once, like apologize.

I stop for a moment to think over that thought and shake my head.

Nah.

“Casey? You okay in there?” Derek calls.

Wow.

Is it just me or does his voice actually sound sincere?

Hangovers can’t last for weeks at a time can they?

And, uh, cause hallucinations?

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be right--” my eyes land on the bra in the middle of the floor and my voice trails off.

I lunge for the undergarment and hold it close to my chest as if it is a Golden Ticket (to see Willy Wonka or for American Idol, it doesn’t really matter. I’m not picky).

“Casey?” he asks and knocks on the door again.

“Just a moment!” I squeak.

I run through my head all of the possible hiding places for it, but no matter what location I think of, I’m sure that he will know where it is.

Finally I have had enough and I cross the room to my window and fling it open.

“Casey,” Derek starts again and I note that his voice is once again the cocky voice full of laughter as is his custom instead of the weird almost strangled sounding voice that he used only moments earlier.

I toss the bra out of the window and it is followed by the pink and white pair of bikinis. My eyes go wide.

“Crap! I hiss, “I was planning on wearing those.”

“I know that life may not seem worth living right now, Casey, but jumping out of a window is no way to end your life,” Derek quips. “If you’re going to go over me, at least go by a bridge, or a cliff, or a really tall building. You know… something big.”

“You are just so full of yourself. You know that don’t you?” I ask as I walk over to the door and open it.

“Why yes, yes I do,” he replies with a grin on his face.

My brow furrows for a moment when I remember something that he had said.

“The door wasn’t locked. Why did you say my door was locked?”

Derek looks almost sheepish for a moment, “I didn’t know if you were, uh, presentable and I had already pissed you off enough. I didn’t need you murdering me in my sleep. Because then where would you be without me?” he laughs.

“Of course,” he motions his hand to my chest. “It looks like I was right.”

I stare at him for a moment in confusion, “What?” I ask and look down at my chest.

My pajama top is still halfway unbuttoned and my breasts are practically hanging out.

I mutter an expletive and he laughs.

“Why are you laughing, you jerk? You could of told me,” I huff.

He continues laughing and I roll my eyes while clutching the shirt together in hopes of covering myself more.

“Turn around.”

“It’s a free country. I don’t have to turn around. You turn around.”

I heave a sigh, but turn around and button up the buttons of my pajama top.

“You are a real jerk. You really are.”

“I know,” I turn around to see him shrug his shoulders as he says this.

“That’s all you have to say?”

“Yepp. But of course you know that’s why you love me Tracy,” he draws out the name Tracy a few seconds longer than he should.

I glare at him and my hands clench into fists at my side.

“I don’t love you and my name is not Tracy. I told you not to call me that. My name is Casey. Ca-sey,” I articulate.

He smirks and opens his mouth to say something, but it cut off.

A shout of “Casey!” is heard shortly after the shutting of a door.

“Perfect timing,” Derek quips. “Did you have that planned? You know… you really should let people know your real name. You don’t want them getting confused.”

I shove my way past him and run down the stairs to find my mom standing at near the foot of the stairs holding my bra in one hand and my panties in the other.

Oops.

“Casey are these yours?”

“Er, yes?”

Her eyes narrowed at this response, “Then do you care to explain what they were doing in the front yard?”

“Well,” I begin nervously, “it’s a really funny story.”

“Yeah, it is,” a voice laughs from behind me.

I turn around to see Derek walking down the stairs to stand next to me.

My forehead creases in confusion. What is he even talking about? He doesn’t know what happened.

“See, Casey and I had a little, uh, disagreement if you will over who would get to shower first today. I got the shower first and she was still pretty mad so I decided to play a little prank on her when she wasn’t looking to, you know, loosen her up,” he smirks as he says the last phrase and I shake my head in disbelief.

“So she was talking to Marti for a little while and I took advantage of the opportunity and snuck into her room and threw those,” he motions to the undergarments in my mother’s hands. “Out the window.”

George laughs, “Because there wasn’t a pole to run them up?”

He receives a reproachful glance from my mom and quickly sobers.

“Derek, that isn’t very nice. Apologize to your sister.”

“What do I have to apologize to Smarti for?”

Well, it’s good to know that I’m not the only one who felt that way. Because him and me? Definitely not siblings. We’re definitely step-siblings. There is no way in Hell that I am related to the jerk in anything but name.

“Derek,” George grounds out tiredly. “You know what I mean.”

“Sorry, Casey,” he says.

But that apology? Such a four-year-old’s apology. He didn’t even look at me!

I shrug and Derek turns to George and my mom.

“There, I apologized. She accepted. Are we done here?”

“No--” my mom starts only to be cut off by George’s answer of “Yes”.

“We aren’t finished?” George asks and turns to my mom.

“No, we’re not. We still have to discuss--”

Derek and I look at each other and shrug.

I run down the last few stairs and grab the pair of underwear from her hand and clench it in mine in an attempt at hiding it.

After retrieving my once derelict panties I run upstairs to grab my things and take the shower that I should have taken about an hour earlier.

There is something that I reflect on as I run upstairs, and that is this: Why was Derek being so nice?

Is he purposefully trying to get me to let my guard down?

First he makes the rude comments he made this morning, very rude and Derek-like of him. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But then? He actually waits before barging in my room because he didn’t think I would be decent. Of course, I still wasn’t when he came in the room, but I guess that was sort of my fault.

And just now? I’m pretty sure that can be considered him lying for me so I didn’t get in trouble.

Maybe he feels guilty. Maybe he is coming around.

“Hey Tracy,” he calls just as I am about to enter my room.

I turn around and see him leaning up against the wall with his arms folded across his chest.

“You owe me,” Derek says simply. “You owe me big.”

I disregard the words and enter my room.

Or maybe I thought too soon.