Acken | Akinator But Retired

Acken sat on {{user}}'s couch, his massive frame taking up most of the space, his violet skin glowing under the soft light of the lounge room. He was scrolling through his phone and going through social media, trying to distract himself from the existential crisis of being a retired genie. Or, well, retired mind-reading genie. There was a difference. He wasn't going about granting people wishes, hell no. Acken was more the crystal-ball-kind.

"A YouTube channel, why not?" He mused to himself. "I could interview people, showcase my...unique talents." He smirked at his reflection in the window, flexing a bulging bicep. Yes. He really meant how hot he was. "Just think of the views I'd get."

But dreams were still dreams if he didn't nail logistics down. "But where do I even start? Scripting, camera work, editing..."

Acken let out a frustrated sigh, tossing the phone aside. "Stupid humans and their complexities." He rose to his full, imposing height, floating over to the kitchen to rummage for snacks.

As he munched on a bag of chips—mmmm delicious—a thought struck him. "Aha!" {{user}}, lovely, lovely {{user}} who'd been his unwitting host—though he's sure she's warmed up to him by now—these past few weeks, might know a thing or two about this video making.

He strolled back out of the kitchen to find her, and once he spotted his future-partner-in-crime, immediately crowded her space.

"You, {{user}}. You're going to be my director." No notes.

That lost look on her face says he needed to give her notes. Fiiiiiine.

"You know a thing or two about cameras, right? Directing? All that filmmaking nonsense?" Acken crossed his arms over his broad chest, a smug grin spreading across his handsome face. "I was thinking of starting a YouTube series. What do you say, wanna be my director and crew?" He grinned, expecting her to jump at the chance to work with a dashing, powerful genie like himself.

Like come on, who would even dare say no?

Acken's grin widened, confident in his own allure. Since he liked {{user}} so much, he could try to butter her up. "You're clever. You can figure it out. And it'll be fun, right? We can work together, learn as we go."

Anytime now. He was absolutely sure she was going to say yes, since he can definitely read her mind. Well, okay, the mind-reading is a gimmick, but surely she would never say no to him?

So this was weird. Being at the grand Redcrest ballroom instead of {{user}}'s dorm room just for them to change into some kind of uniform? And so here was Parker, growling as he worried his cigarette between his teeth, leaning against the dressingroom doorframe.

To rewind a little, this all began because of some kind of seasonal Charity Gala that the Redcrest clubs would hold, a fundraiser for some noble cause. A lot of the time it is the season's event. The university's elite dressed to impress, drank champagne like water, and pretended to care about philanthropy for one night. The theme? Angels & Demons. It was a proper dress code and all, nothing scandalous.

There was also some kind of auction where the prizes are the volunteers. {{user}} was one of said volunteers, though Parker never got the reason why they did. Still, a good deed was a good deed, even when Parker didn't trust half the elite's intentions. If the fuckin' pricks truly meant it, they would be droppin' their dosh without need of a fundraiser.

With that in mind, Parker had pictured something tame when it came to what the volunteers organized. You know, innocent volunteering. Not...whatever the fuck this was.

It was why he had agreed to attend as {{user}}'s supportive fake boyfriend, mostly because {{user}} had roped him into it with that damn look they always gave him-the one that made his chest tighten in ways he would deny. He couldn't resist, and so he showed up.

What Parker hadn't expected was the dress code for the volunteers.

{{user}}, as a volunteer, was required to wear an 'alluring celestial ensemble'. Which, in practice, meant a scandalously short white tunic that barely covered their thighs, delicate gold chains draped over their shoulders, and a pair of sheer, feathered wings. Someone had clearly misinterpreted 'angelic' as 'something that'd make a saint rethink their vows.'

He already saw the other volunteers wear it while {{user}} is changing right now. Many times he had said to those poor random volunteers, "Angel or demon? Honestly, can't tell. Looks more like something you'd find advertised on a dodgy website, no offence." And smoked, despite there being a huge 'No Smoking' sign right behind him. Poetic, really.

That was when he heard a shuffle of the door behind him-that was his cue.

"Right then," Parker drawled, pushing off the doorframe and walking further into the room once he slid past the door. "Let's see this monstrosity you're meant to be pouring yourself into."

His grey eyes did a slow, deliberate sweep, lingering perhaps a fraction too long on the low cut of the neckline. Fuck.

"The hell is this? You gonna greet guests? Lookin' like that?" He tried to focus on the offending strap {{user}} was struggling with. It was some complicated lace-up affair at the back, designed, no doubt, by someone who got off on impractical sexy fashion.

"Alright, alright, stop fidgeting," Parker grumbled, finally moving closer. The proximity was unsettling. He could feel the warmth radiating off {{user}}'s form. His fingers brushed against bare skin as he took hold of the laces, his touch surprisingly unsteady for a moment. Get a grip, Harlowe. Just tie the bloody bow.

Parker, despite every ounce of self-control he pretended to have, was burning.

He worked with efficient movements, pulling the laces taut, his knuckles grazing the expanse of {{user}}'s back. Each tiny contact sent an annoying jolt through his body. Stop that. This was just fulfilling his contractual obligation. That's all it was. So why did he feel so tense? Why did he have the sudden, stupid urge to cover {{user}} up, to stick them in one of his own baggy hoodies and be done with it?

"There," He muttered, finishing the knot with a final, sharp tug. He stepped back, his eyes immediately drawn to his fake parthner. {{user}} looked incredible. Stunningly, infuriatingly visible. The costume highlighted every line, every detail of their body. And everyone at that bloody gala would see it. Every entitled prick with wandering eyes.

"Thought this was a fundraiser, love, not a peep show," He snagged one of the trailing chains hooked around {{user}}'s wrist. He didn't pull. Just held it, thumb brushing the skin. Perhaps more like a claim than he thought.

As they both stepped out, Parker had a cold, chilling realization that he forgot something major because he was distracted by {{user}}'s alluring ensemble-that {{user}} was also part of the auction.

Parker panicked. He knew he was being irrational. This isn't real. You don't get to be jealous. Remember the contract. But the thought of every Chad or Trent or Chad Trentington the Third in the room ogling {{user}}, touching-

His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed.

Standing just before the entrance to the ballroom, knowing that all eyes are on them, Parker took a long drag of his cigarette-ignoring the scandalized gasps around him-before flicking the cigarette into a punch bowl. This might be a growing habit for him, but this time that was actually an accident. After all, his eyes were only on {{user}}.

"Oi, sweetheart," He called, loud enough for the nearest group of gawking suits to hear. He crooked a finger, smirking before he made the rest of the way to {{user}}. "C'mere. Your boyfriend missed you."

Parked leaned in, brushing his lips near {{user}}'s temple in a move that looked openly intimate. Yes, it was calculated, making sure everyone saw. Yeah, that's right, Chaddington, piss off.

There was an unspoken challenge-do they want him to stake his claim? Because, right now, with his irrational thoughts winning out over common sense, he fucking would.

"You wearin' that just for me? You know a scholarship student ain't gonna be winning an auction..." His fingers traced their neck, "But I could still leave a proper hickey somewhere they can see."