Helpless (Chris Jackson x Reader) COMPLETED

Chapter 8

Now, since you were off the show, you could now work and watch Chris perform. You always critiqued the way he stood, or if he should project his voice.
"You take your job too seriously." He said, as you flatten his shirt out for his next scene. "I'm sorry, but they pay me good money and I would like to keep earning that good money, okay?" He nodded, giving you a peck on the cheek. "Too bad Rachael is gone, maybe she can come back. Chris smiled, looking behind his left shoulder. "I heard the director saying you might be making a special entrance next season. And don't worry, since we're a couple, we will have phone calls, and scenes with you in your house." You nod, stepping back from him as you admired your work. "Perfect." You said, putting the lint brush down. "As always." He replied smiling, his crooked teeth glimmering at you. "Alright 30 seconds people." Mr. Director shouted. "Gotta go." After all the other scenes without Chunk, this one included him.
"Hey, Chunky boy." Jason called out, Chunk turning around. "What did you call me?" Jason put his hand on his shoulder, "Not important. I need to tell you something." Chunk cocked an eyebrow, at least tried to. "What?" Jason patted his shoulder. "I know you've been kinda devastated since Rachael as gone. So I thought I would help you." "How? Get her back. Talking to her on the phone is really hard. She literally has the worst service." "Literally?" "Literally." Chunk said, nodding his head. "Well no. But I hired a new recruit that you could train to be just like you." Chunk gasped, "What."

"You don't understand, this is another boy, like me. How do I train him?" Chunk said, looking at himself in the mirror. "I'm not sure, how about teach him how to not be like you...like at all." You said, painting your toes on your bed. Chunk sighed, "I'm going to regret saying this." You stopped painting your toes, "What is it?" Chunk put a hand on his head. "I need your help." You squealed, almost spilling the nail polish. "I'm so happy you said that. I knew it one day." Chunk walked out the bathroom. "Whatever." You laughed, "Whatever nothing. Now what exactly do you need help with." "Teaching young people to do fashion." You pulled out a notebook, "Don't you worry honey, because I have all the notes." Chunk sank into his bed, staring at the camera as it flew suspended over his head. "Great."
"And that's it, great job. See yall tomorrow." Mr. Director said, leaving the set. You got out of the surprisingly comfortable bed, and went to change back into your clothes. Chunk walked behind you, jumpscaring you. "What the hell?" You said, you only in your bra, your underwear flying from your hand. "I had too." He insisted, putting his hands up. You go to retrieve your underwear, bending over to grab it from the floor. "Damn." You heard Chris say, making you blush. You pull the underwear on, turning around to face Chris again. "If you don't mind, I'm changing." "I know," he said, leaning on the counter. You pull your shirt over your head, then buckle up your ripped pants, fitting nice and snug.
Chris was already dressed, his jeans, sweater, and jacket outlining his body. You hook your arms, and head out for the night.
You and him walk down the street, the moon illuminating your path. "Its so pretty tonight." Chris said, gazing up at the moon, its soft glow shining on him. "You look good right now if I say so. And I say so." You add, lightly punching him in the arm. You continue to walk.
You two finally arrive to your house, someone's car parked in the drivway. Chris freezes at the sight of it. "What...what is it?" Chris looked over at you. "That s my ex-wifes car!" You stopped walking, staring at the vehicle. Why is she here? What does she want? How did she find us? Will she hurt us? These thoughts speeding through your brain so fast, like cars on a track. Chris noticed your scared expression, moving towards you, embracing you with a hug. "Hey, it'll be okay." He said, rubbing my hair down, just the way you like it. You took a deep breath. Where is Rachaels confidence when you need it? You ask, but you don't even bother to answer yourself. You take Chris's hand, the both of you walk inside.
Veronica Jackson stood in the middle of the living room, wringing her hands like towels. When she saw us step in, she placed her hands at her side. "Um, hi, yes, can I help you?" You asked, Chris standing behind you. She nodded, "Yes, I need to know why you stole my husband?" Chris took a step forward, "Stole your husband, bitch..." You stopped him, placing a hand on his mouth. "Chris let me take care of this. She asked me not you." He glared at you, but crossed his arms, going back to standing still. "Now, from what I understand. You said that you were done with him." Veronica smirked, "Yes, I did day that. But we still haven't got a divorce." You turned and looked at Chris, who's face seemed to drain color. You turned back to her, your face having a menacing glare. "That s not fair, you said you were done. Besides, you can't have him back." Veronica stepped toward you. "Oh yes, I can. He's still my husband, and if he wants his fame to stay. He will make the smart decision and come back home. His children have been wondering where hes been." Chris looked down, his face pale and white. "She's right," he managed to whisper. You looked at him, defeat hung in his eyes. "I have to go back. I can't let people know about you. I'll make a compromise." Veronics shifted her weight to her right hip. "What?" His eyes drifted to you, as you begged him to not go with your dim eyes. "I'll go back with you, and you can punish however needed. But you have to promise that this is never told about, or I'll go against you. And you know I know plenty of things." She thought, the nodded her head. "Deal. Come on love." Her hand stuck out, waiting for his hand to join her." You watched as he gave you one last glance, then walked past you and wrapped his warm hand around hers. "Chris..." you whispered, as Veronica turned the door knob. "Im..." You said after, as she opened the door. But they were out before you could finish your sentence. Tears brimmed up into your eyes.
"Pregnant."