A/N: Okay, long and hopefully not too confusing author's note coming up. Take two, since the stupid computer had a meltdown after I wrote the first one.

A friend of mine was reading over my LWD fanfiction (none of which is on this site yet...I'm workin on it) and pointed out that it was pretty much all Dasey fluff/romance. Duh, I said. Dasey is teh awesome. People love Dasey. I love Dasey. Then she told me she didn't think I could write anything LWD without converting it into Dasey or including Dasey in some way. That's when my inner Derek--or Casey, really--came out, and I said bring it on.

Which is how I ended up with a couple of prompts (she's still working on more) that lend themselves so easily to Dasey it's killing me. As in, these prompts are most definitely Dasey prompts, straight out, more than just implications. And apparently I had to de-Dasify them. Which I did pretty successfully, twisting the prompts around. But can I help it if a little shippiness crept in between the lines? ;)

Okay, nearly done here. These prompts were originally supposed to be just a bunch of one-shots, but when I got started on the first I couldn't stop so I broke it into six parts. The rest of the prompts will follow. First prompt is this: Casey is sleeping with Derek.

Disclaimer: If you don't know what goes here, you've obviously only been reading fanfiction for the time it takes to click on this link.



The screech from above, so familiar to them all, did not even cause members of the McDonald-Venturi clan to look up from their dinner. They chewed complacently as Casey came thundering down the stairs, dragging a bed sheet behind her.

"What is this?!" she demanded, storming up to the dinner table and waving a fistful of sheet so close to Derek's face he went cross-eyed.

"A sheet?" he said mildly, leaning his chair back on two legs and casually taking a sip of his water.

"A sheet drenched in maple syrup!" Lizzie, who had been drinking from her glass, snorted involuntarily and choked. Always helpful, Edwin pounded her on the back a bit harder than was really necessary. "I turned the comforter down," Casey continued angrily, "and the sheets underneath were soaked and sticky! My sheets, my pillows, my mattress." With each item she listed she poked him hard in the chest with her finger, until his chair tilted back too far and, despite his wild attempts to grab Casey's arm, he was sent crashing to the floor. His water glass soared up in a spectacular arc and dumped its contents all over him, adding insult to injury.

"Oh no." Nora buried her face in her hands while Lizzie, Edwin, Marti and Casey laughed at Derek on the floor. "Are you all right, Derek?"

"You were doing so well!" cried George exasperatedly as Derek climbed to his feet, shaking his wet hair like a puppy. "No major pranks for at least two weeks, and now this?" Derek righted his chair, rubbing his arm as though it were bruised.

"He was probably stocking up on maple syrup," Casey glared at her stepbrother, who shrugged and smirked, even while trying to wring out his soggy polo.

"Put your sheets in the wash, Casey. I'll get you some new ones from the linen closet for tonight," Nora said, getting up from the table. Casey shook her head.

"It soaked right through to the mattress, Mom. We don't have an extra one of those lying in the linen closet. And I think my sheets will need dry-cleaning."

"You're paying for that," George firmly told Derek, who rolled his eyes.

"Well then," Nora said, "you're just going to have to sleep in Lizzie's room tonight."

"Where will I sleep, then?" Lizzie demanded.

"You'll sleep in your bed, of course."

"My bed's not big enough for both of us! And this is no longer Christmas and I'm through being manipulated, so I'm not going to sleep in the camp bed in my own room this time." She stuck her tongue out at Casey, still holding a grudge from being guilt-tripped over Christmas.

"Oh, the camp bed," George groaned. "I'll have to pull that from all the junk in the garage."

"Okay, so Casey will sleep on the camp bed—"

"Wait," Casey interrupted. "Why should I have to sleep on the hard, dirty camp bed for something that is clearly not my fault? If anyone should have to, it's Derek."

"Good idea, Case," George said, turning to his eldest son, who was attempting to slink upstairs unnoticed. "Derek can sleep on the camp bed."

"Hey!" said Derek.

"But where will I sleep?" asked Casey.

"Lizzie, are you sure there isn't room in your bed?" said Nora.

"Positive. I have nothing to do with this. I'm not sleeping in anything but my own bed tonight. Which is only big enough for one, if you haven't caught that already."

"I am not going to sleep in the camp bed!" Derek said.

"Fine, then you'll sleep on the couch," George said. "It'll save me from having to dig through the garage. And Casey can sleep in your bed."

"What?!" yelled Derek.

"Ewww," Casey said. "Derek's bed? Is there really no other option?"

"Sorry, Case," Nora said. "Only for a little while, while we see if we can get the mattress cleaned. Or buy a new one."

"No! I refuse to sleep on the couch!" spluttered Derek.

"Then you can sleep on the floor!" George practically shouted at him.

"I'll wash Derek's sheets tonight before you go to bed," Nora assured Casey.

"Ugh…Derek's bed in Derek's room with Derek in it, thanks to…Derek." Casey sank onto the couch, looking disgusted.

"I cannot sleep on the floor," Derek said after a few seconds of utter speechlessness.

"Can I sleep in your bed tonight, Daddy?" Marti asked.

"No, Marti. Derek, you're on the floor for the week; it's your own fault. Casey, sorry about this, Derek will try to make your stay as pleasant as possible…won't you, Derek?" George said, looking at Derek menacingly.

"Whatever," Derek muttered.

Casey was sitting up in Derek's bed later that night, ready for bed, relishing in the freshly laundered sheets and reading a book by the light of the bedside table lamp. She looked up when Derek entered the room and slammed the door behind him.

"Trying to sneak the camp bed out of the garage?" she asked knowingly, smiling condescendingly.

"A croquet mallet fell on my head and I gave up," Derek admitted grumpily, walking over to the mirror to observe the bump on his head and pulling a cobweb out of his hair.

"Pity," she said without a trace of it.

Her head snapped up after a few minutes of silence.

"Stop that," she said, suddenly nervous but trying not to show it.

"Stop what?" he asked, tilting his head to the side innocently.

"Looking at me like that. I know what you're thinking. And if you try to remove me from this bed by bodily force it will be the worst decision you've ever made. And that's saying something."

Derek's shoulders slumped and he stopped looking at her like he was debating whether to push her off a cliff or strangle her with his bare hands in order to get his bed back.

"George set up the sleeping bag on the floor," she said cheerfully. He sullenly began rolling it out.

"You know," she remarked after a few moments of watching him do this, "have you realized that when you pull things like this, you just end up hurting yourself? Like when you hid all my clothes and I had to wear yours to school. Or now, when you ruined my bed and now I get yours."

"Yeah, "Derek muttered, "but I only have one bed. I've got plenty of clothes."

"I wonder what's next?" Casey said thoughtfully. "I've always liked your computer; do you think you could break mine?" Derek didn't deign to respond, and Casey returned to her book with a slight smile.

When she finally drifted off to sleep that night, Casey was the most comfortable in bed she'd been in ages. Derek's bed was very warm and soft, and she breathed the scent of the clean sheets deeply. It wasn't as familiar as her room, but knowing Derek was right there on the floor was oddly comforting to her.

Midnight. The illuminated red numbers on the alarm clock combined with the moonlight coming in through the partially-closed blinds over the window lit up Derek's bedroom just enough so he could see the dark outline of the bed, looking like a big fuzzy black lump. He could hear Casey's deep, even breathing and knew she was asleep. He rolled over on the floor for the millionth time that night, not truly believing the floor could possibly be this hard and uncomfortable. And yet it was.

He listened to Casey's breathing for a few minutes more, still wide awake, before he thought of an idea. Slowly, and very quietly, he climbed out of his sleeping bag and grabbed the edge of the bed to pull himself into kneeling position. Still being as silent as he could, he stood up and walked around to the right side of the bed, trying to avoid the hard-to-see junk scattered across the floor.

Casey was sleeping in the middle of the bed, a bit more to the side nearest the door. Ever so carefully, he reached over and gently pushed her more towards the door. She shifted as he did, and he froze—but she didn't wake up. Hardly daring to breathe, he pulled the covers back a fraction of an inch and crawled beneath them, keeping well to the left side of the bed. Feeling much more comfortable, he breathed a sigh of relief and drifted right off to dreamland.