"You about done, Stiff?" Casey glared at the girl only twenty feet away from him. She glared back at him defiantly. He shrugged and returned to tossing knives at the targets behind her.

"AND SCENE. That's a wrap, guys! Nice job, Acosta. You too, Quinn," the director said to them.

I rolled my eyes at the mention of her name. Maybe I'm bitter.

C'mon! She keeps making passes at Casey!

I am a pregnant, hormonal, possessive girlfriend and cannot be blamed for my thoughts and actions for the next nine months.

Quinn glared at the director and walked over to Casey. The mikes were being put away for the trip to Chicago and I was standing too far away to hear anything that she was whispering to him. I squinted my eyes as she placed a hand on his chest.

Correction- my chest.

I mean, technically, it is his chest.

But he's mine.

Therefore, he belongs to me.

I really should stamp 'PROPERTY OF SAMMY KEYES' on his ass or something.

MINE.

I really don't understand why I'm so possessive all of a sudden. A few months ago, the paparazzi were practically ripping off his clothes and all I could do was laugh at how ridiculous he looked when he came home. But now when even the gay makeup artist even looks at him, I growl internally and wanna implode.

I don't know what I'll do when shit gets steamy between Quinn and Casey's characters during the movie.

I'll probably rage and flip tables and whatnot.

Possibly murder Quinn and have the studio replace her with a dog.

I would love that.

Anyway.

Back to Quinn being annoying.

She gets closer to him and rubs her hands against his chest and brings them down to his torso, running them along his abs.

Ha.

No.

I don't think so.

"Caaaaaseeeeey, we gotta go pack our stuff for Chicago." I run up to him and politely (ha) shove Quinn away so I could wrap my arms around him. I whisper, just loud enough for her to hear, "Maybe you'll get lucky tonight, hmm?"

Yes, I'm being petty.

Casey smiles and wraps one arm around my waist. "Every day is lucky for me, as long as you're here."

Ooooh, brownie points for Casey. He's a very good suck-up.

He says to Quinn, "Sorry, I gotta go help Sammy pack. I don't want her to strain herself or anything, what with the baby and whatnot."

I kid you not, her eye fucking twitched. "Baby? What baby?"

I smiled sweetly. "I'm pregnant, hun."

"I…am so happy for you." She coughs. "Will you be joining us in Chicago for the whole time? Maybe you should go back home until after the baby is born?"

"No!" Casey says frantically. "I mean, no. NO. She's gonna be fine here. There's doctors in Chicago. And I'd rather be with her when the baby is born."

I eye him like, Pshh suuure.

Last time I suggested I go back to Santa Martina for just a little while for the baby, he broke down.

"Casey! Calm down!"

"NO, I will not calm down! Sammy, have you lost your mind? You're not leaving!"

I yelled back, "You can't tell me what to do!"

"Like hell I can't! Stop acting like a child!"

"Well then, stop acting like a complete dick!"

He blinked. "What."

I had completely forgotten about what a fragile state he was in just a week earlier and I let him have it. "Casey, you have no say in what I do. This is my life and I will do what I feel is best, no matter what you think I should or should not do. Get over it."

He looked crestfallen. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He reached out to touch my shoulder, but I turn away from him.

He asks, "Would it be better if I left?"

Thinking that he meant if he should leave me alone for a while, I said yes.

But he didn't leave the hotel room.

He went to the bathroom.

I remember thinking Well, that's a stupid place to go to leave.

Then I remember thinking Maybe he's just taking his anti-depressants with him.

My next thoughts were Shit, I just finished yelling at a guy who was suicidal a week ago.

My last thoughts before running to the bathroom were Does pregnancy make me stupid as well as hormonal?

I threw the door opened and saw Casey sitting on the tiled floor in the fetal position with an empty orange bottle in front of him. The same orange bottle that was filled to the brim with prescribed Zoloft just this morning.

"You idiot! What have you done?"

He looked up at me and whispered, "I'm sorry."

I grabbed him so that he was in a kneeling position and made him bend over the shower. He was limp in my arms, not even resisting. I stuck my finger all the way down his throat to his uvula and he threw up everything in his stomach.

When he was done, I grabbed his shoulders and pulled him close to me. "Don't…you dare ever do that again or so help me, Casey-"

He grabbed fistfuls of my shirt. "I'm sorry. I-I haven't-"

"You haven't been taking your goddamn medication."

"You've been thinking about leaving again."

I sighed. "Casey…I just didn't think it would be a wise choice to drag you down with a baby. I would never leave you, I would just be in Santa Martina waiting for you to finish the movie."

"Drag me down?"

I pulled out of his embrace. "Casey, we haven't even talked about the baby at all. Not before we had this fight. After I told you I was pregnant, you undressed and fucked me thoroughly. Which I know I asked for, but afterwards we didn't really mention it. At all. Do you even want this baby? Or are you just scared that I'll leave again and you're just going to grin and bear it?"

Casey slid his arms around my back and under my knees to carry me to our bed. He was silent for a few minutes before asking, "Do you really feel like I don't want this baby?"

I squirmed under his gaze. "I dunno. I dunno how you feel about the baby at all."

He sucked in his cheeks. "Let me tell you how I feel. Worried. Scared. A little lonely. But at the same time, I feel happy. Sammy, I'm gonna be a father. This baby is gonna look up to me. He or she will come home from school, tell me about the stupid classmate that ate their cookie and ask me to go beat them up or something. I'm going to be half responsible for a living, breathing baby. And plus, what are we gonna name the baby?"

"Well it depends. If it's a girl, her name will be Bon Qui Qui IV. If it's a boy, his name shall be Dexter."

He rolled his eyes. "You would name our hypothetical son after a fictional serial killer. Only you."

I scoffed. "I bet you would want to name him Gregory House."

"Hey," he held his hands up, "don't hate on the doctor. We both know he's badass with a cane."

"You would rather name our son after a narcissistic asshole with an admittedly badass personality rather than a serial killer with a dark passenger, pfft no."

A voice from the laptop on the desk sounded, "Why are you even discussing names from TV shows? Obviously, you will name the boy after his Uncle Billy and if it's a girl, she will be named after Aunt Holly."

I groaned. "Billy, turn the damn webcam off. I was totally winning this argument."

Casey kissed me on my nose. "You wish. Sams, I'll take you to the doctor tomorrow for an ultrasound."

"Doctor who?"

"Actually, it's just the Doctor."

I whacked him with a pillow. "You're such a cornball."

We ended up having the pillow fight to rival all pillow fights. Yours truly won, but I think Casey was trying to let me win.

That night while we were lying in bed, I whispered to him just before he fell asleep, "You can't leave me, Casey. I'll be all alone with the baby. He or she will grow up without the best daddy ever. I love you."

I don't think he heard me.

"Well, I don't think it's such a good idea for the baby to be born on a movie set," Quinn said.

"Well frankly, doll, I don't particularly give a fuck what you think. Now if you don't mind, Casey was just about to accompany me to our room. Ta-ta."

Casey snickered at me as we walked away. "Ta-ta? Seriously?"

I punched his arm. "Shut up, it's the hormones."

"The hormones make you really jealous and possessive?"

"Maybe. Should I be jealous?"

He gave me a wet, slobbery kiss on the cheek. "Not at all, doll."

I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Real classy, Sammy."

"Hmm, I know it is, old sport."

"Old sport?"

I gaped at him. "Did you not see The Great Gatsby after I left?"

"I was more preoccupied with deciding whether or not to kill myself."

I stiffened. "I told you not to mention that ever again, Casey."

He didn't say anything.

When we got to our rooms, I went and got the bootleg version of The Great Gatsby. "We're watching it. Nowwww. Otherwise, you do not know what a true movie is."

Like two and a half hours later (dude, it's a long-ass movie but it makes me all happy inside)

"Why has that man not won an Oscar yet? And I think I'm about to cry at that ending."

I pushed Casey onto his back. "Now then, old sport. What say you to a round of sex?" I tried and, if I do say so myself, succeeded at imitating Jay Gatsby's Long Island accent.

"Sammy, I can't take you seriously with that accent. And we have to leave in two hours."

I pouted. "Pleeease? Really quickly?" I knew he couldn't deny me. Not anymore. Not for the next nine months anyway.

He grabbed me around my waist and began to frantically kiss me. "That look you give me is gonna push me into the chasm of lost manhood."

A/N: also like pls don't read this, turn back