A/N: Just a couple Dasey drabbles, usually inspired by fanvideos on YouTube. Dedicated to the online Dasey fandom, which is one of the most interesting and accepting communities I've come across. Enjoy!
Note: All drabbles are separate from each other and most are AUs in some fashion.
Derek is pretty sure being this attracted to your step-sister while your legitimate little sister is smiling knowingly at you is very, very wrong. Even more so since said sister is doing exactly the same (really provocative) dance right next to said really hot step-sister.
So all in all, he decides it would be best if he left right now before he does something really stupid. In fact, he'd go so far as to commemorate it as his new best decision ever...that is, if his feet would ever move. Said feet seem to disagree (as well as something slightly higher up that he is most certainly not thinking about at all) and he stands next to Sam feeling knock-kneed and only slightly better about himself when he catches Emily's deadly glare at Sam's flabbergasted expression.
"So, what do you guys think?" Casey asks in a breathless, completely unappealing voice after the applause quiets.
"Will we win?" Marti chimes in, looking far too cute to be almost thirteen.
"Of course you will!" Emily coos. Derek is really going to have to remind her Marti's not six anymore.
"Yeah," Ralph agrees, "That was really sex—"
"Sensational!" Sam cuts in quickly, earning a smirk from Edwin and confusion from George and Nora. Derek really needs a drink...or just to get out of here, really. Casey's still panting. She's probably doing it just to annoy him now; isn't she in better shape than that?
Lizzie rolls her eyes from where she's propped her cast in his chair. "Honestly, I'm kind of glad I broke my leg now. You're way better than me, Marti."
Marti giggles, Casey smiles, and Derek goes to the kitchen to stick his head in the freezer.
It stops raining the instant Derek is thankful for the downpour. He stares at the sky for a moment, shivering in his disbelief, before he flips off the clouds and trudges home.
It's rather dark by the time he gets there and he's cowed enough by his fate that he actually carries his shoes up the stairs instead of tracking mud on the carpet. He's thinking idly of stove-top s'mores and sports channel recaps when he gets to the top and so is thoroughly unprepared for his door to burst open, dispelling Casey in all her panting, white-faced glory before she comes rushing in on him and...
His hands come down from where they were trying to protect his face from the McDonald-flavored wrath and his shoes are somewhere on the floor which a distant part of his mind insists is not good, but at the moment all he can think is that Casey hates mud. And she refuses to get wet unless she's in the proper attire.
...So why?
His hand makes a muddy smear across her neck (he can feel the grit under his palm) and she makes a noise and suddenly all that matters is more and now and very quiet in the back of his mind, yes.
The only thing that's missing from this scene is a rainstorm. The sky remains obstinately blue with not even a threatening cloud on the horizon as the sun beats cheerfully down on the two arguing students in the park.
Derek has no idea what's just happened. Yes, they knew it wouldn't be easy. Yes, they knew that their family wouldn't understand, might even try to stop them. But when he brought all this up after that day (that one terrifyingly glorious day), she said it didn't matter, she didn't care. Let them come, in that dark, reckless voice and he couldn't resist tackling her into the couch.
But now, a couple of setbacks later and she's set to throw it all away already. She hadn't batted an eye when George and Nora had sat them both down to try to convince them otherwise (had instead whipped out a PowerPoint presentation that had both their parents agreeing before they knew what they were doing), she hadn't cried when Emily wouldn't speak to her for several days, she hadn't even been shocked at Edwin and Lizzie's betting pool they'd had going for almost five years, for God's sake! But as soon as his mom had called late last night to rant at him for over an hour, she'd been biting her lip, avoiding his eyes, and generally fast approaching Casey-powered levels of worry and stress.
He stares at her now as the tears make ugly tracks around her nose, trying his absolute hardest to figure out what's going through her head.
She pauses briefly, blinking hard at the sun. "Maybe it would be for the best," she starts, obviously trying to control her voice, "if we just stop now. Before we hurt anyone else."
He doesn't bother trying to respond to that; he knows well enough that there isn't an answer he can give right now that would satisfy her.
"Don't give me that look," she says, glaring pathetically. She turns away from him, hunching her shoulders. "We could go back to how it was before. We wouldn't have to keep this up anymore."
Even without seeing her face he knows what bullshit that is. But he still doesn't say anything, doesn't even try to stop her as she walks away, whispering, "Goodbye, Derek," quietly enough that he almost doesn't hear her.
But he does. And suddenly he knows exactly what's going through her head. He didn't sit through all those crappy drama shows with her to not know what's happening right now. And there's no way in hell he's going to let it.
He runs after her, grabs her arm as he catches up to her, and makes her look at him. This won't work otherwise.
"You're a really crappy actress," he says, panting a little. There's a dopey smile on his face, he can feel it working at the corners of his mouth, that just won't go away.
She looks at him, her indignation winning over her tears for a moment, and it's just enough to let him know he's not wrong about this.
He kisses her, full on the mouth, tasting the salty wetness and simply not caring. She struggles for a moment, halfheartedly pushing on his shoulders, but he just winds his arms around her and eventually it melts into the simple, sweet tug of their mouths on one another's. There's some distant part of him that's disgusted with this lovey-dovey behavior, but right now, he couldn't care less.
He pulls back just a little, just enough to talk. He sees her mouth trying to follow him, to get it back, and smirks at her. She huffs without much malice. "What?"
"My mom's going to disapprove of my life whether you're in it or not," he says, "and..." Pauses. This kind of stuff is still hard for him to get out, so he closes his eyes and leans his forehead against hers, lets it steady him. Swallows. "And I'd much rather you were in it."
He can feel her smile growing on his cheek, still a little shaky. The tears were real enough, it seems. "How did you...?" she tries, not sure how to finish.
"Please," he answers, pulling back and smirking even more. "You can't pull a classic lovers-angst scene on me and not expect me to get it. Granted, if it'd been raining, I might've called it a bit sooner." He laughs incredulously. "I mean, you even did the whole 'turn-your-back-against-the-pain' thing that—"
Rolling her eyes, she cuts him off with another kiss, smiling brilliantly.