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Namjoon’s nephew comes to town unannounced.

They’re sitting in the living room marathoning silent movies from a bygone era when his phone blows off.

“What do you mean you’re at the train station,” Namjoon grouses in panic, feet sliding off the couch. “Which train station?”

Jimin leans forward with him, arms automatically lacing around his tense shoulders and squeezing. His heart rate is up, nothing dangerous but still a little alarmng, considering.

Is everything okay, he doesn’t ask. A little delusionally human to regurgitate the hard wired mechanical responses within him, rote trained specifically to mimic acceptable and conventional human interactions and relationship dynamics.

Unsteadily, Namjoon gets to his feet, swaying dangerously for a moment, heartbeat impossibly erratic. Jimin rises with him, palm itching to paste itself against his forehead and temperature test. A human significant other would do that.

That’s hardwired into his make up too.

"Clean everything,” Namjoon instructs breathily, shoving past him to get to the coat rack.

Jimin doesn’t think any other toy in his position would be able to read the subtext in that instruction.

But when he’s done clearing away all evidence of an existence of another being inside Namjoon’s house, he wonders if a real human boy would’ve also been able to read the subtext. And if so, would they quietly hide themselves away too or fight for recognition.

Jimin stows himself away in the basement. Namjoon's studio used to be here. It still is, even though it hasn't been used in over a year.

There's a bed and a bar fridge in the corner. Jimin doesn't need to sleep or eat at regular intervals like organic humans do, but it makes the basement feel a little less like a dumping ground. Especially when the packaging he'd come in is also down here with him.

“I like what you've done with the place, makes you seem a little more human,” he hears, footsteps creaking on the floors above him providing a little comfort. Namjoon laughs and Jimin smiles. A moment later there's a soft thud of flesh against knuckles and Namjoon's nephew is yelping.

“You're here for a week and that's it,” Namjoon informs, sternly. And the nephew whines about not feeling loved or welcome enough.

Jimin thinks it's cute, their whole dynamic.

His wiring queries that thought.

“I miss you,” Namjoon grunts into his neck, hips snapping wickedly. Jimin takes it lying stomach down, head neatly turned to the side for ease of access. Takes it like only a toy of his calibre can.

Now and again Namjoon's tongue comes prodding into his mouth, hips a little more frantic, movements a little less clean.

The rest of the house is deathly still.

Jimin could isolate the sound of Jeongguk’s even and sleepy breaths if he wanted, his enhancements are good for that sort of thing. But, it's a little after two in the morning and Namjoon was careful about coming down to see him.

“Miss fucking you all the time, any, so badly. The kid has to go.”

Jimin moans like the signals firing through him says he should. It's a little hard to tell sometimes how much of it is just him being too good at implementing his training and how much of it is by bio-design.

Mostly, he knows he's just lying to himself. He's a complex bio-machine, four parts human clone, one part algorithms. No matter how advanced his capacity for empathy is, there’s no changing the fact that he has no human soul.

He's a machine, well, sort of. A gentlemen’s toy. Lovetoy95, the wet packaging in the corner says.

“The kid has to go,” Jimin agrees.

It's only day two.

Namjoon’s not like other owners.

Not that Jimin would know what other owners were like. Namjoon custom ordered him. He wasn't used goods, or repurposed as most toys often were.

Jimin wasn’t a Double.

The whole reason behind the toy industry’s initial boom was due to a civilian whistleblower tattling on the covet bio-weaponry  military operations he’d accidentally stumbled upon while delivering pizza to a base in the upper east coast. Citizens had been outraged and a series of non-violent protests all across the country had eventually led to the project being shut down. All military research up to this point were privatised and all ‘Doubles’, or assets as they were officially recorded on paper by the government, released into the world with a promise of rehabilitation.

Of course none of that had gone as planned. The long and short of it was that, the rehabilitation program was largely a fail because humans were humans. Comforted by their prejudices and perpetually in fear of the unknown and different.

But, see… sex.

The industry was nothing if not eager for difference, little new quirks to drive new largely profitable kinks. A lot of assets might’ve not been considered human enough to be afforded jobs and the right to own property, but they were certainly human enough to fuck.

He's in in homing mode, so he doesn't hear Jeongguk coming down until it's too late.

The kid looks like a frightened little mouse when Jimin disengages, eyes bleeding out their stark blue to separate the irises and pupils into something a little more human.

“Fucking mental,” the kid yells, a little less wary now that Jimin doesn't look like one of those AIs hell-bent on destroying humanity and taking over.

“Namjoon has a fucking Double?”

“You're not supposed to be down here,” Jimin relays, rising from the spot on the floor in the corner he’d been sitting in, right next to the wet packaging he'd come in.

“Namjoon's fucking rich and mum still sends him a monthly allowance?”

For a moment, Jeongguk looks a little more fascinated with the face on the packaging than the real living toy in front of him. It takes a minute for Jimin to realise he's reading through the tiny script of the packaging.

It takes another minute for Jeongguk to gasp softly and step back from the packaging like he’s been burnt.

Jimin’s eyes crinkle with a frighteningly human level of mischief.

“Namjoon owns a fucktoy?”

“Rude, my packaging clearly states that I’m, 'A gentlemen's toy’.”


The fucktoy kind of looks like the creators realised half way into producing something standardly feminine that statistically speaking, androgyny was all the rave right now.

All this time, Jeongguk had mistakenly believed that his uncle was just some loser wannabe song writer dicking it out in the big city at his mother's expense.

There was no way his mother wouldn't have audited an expenditure of this size, fucktoys were notoriously expensive. So, that meant Namjoon was definitely some kind of big shot now.

“Wait,”Jeongguk says, suddenly struck by the most obvious realisation. “You're a fucktoy .”

“Gentlemen's toy,” the fucktoy corrects once more, righteously exasperated. He was kind of cute edging on angry.

“Yeah, gentlemen's toy, whatever. I get it.”

“Thank you,” Jimin deadpans, not the least bit impressed.

“So, uh, you're designed to fuck. Right? That's what you're supposed to do.”

“Well I mean I'm custom built plus trained to do a whole list of other things besides just fucking, but objectively, yes.”

“Other things like what?” He inquires, walking forward with purpose. Uneasily, Jimin takes a step back. There's something enticing there, a sort of pervading innocence. The kind they probably wished they could’ve bottled and sold before the porn industry weren't under. It's delicate and flushes wildly in the fucktoy's cheeks as he breathes heavily.

It's sort of cool that more than just their human features and speech, fucktoys also have basic human mannerisms and bodily responses to further instill the idea that they're just as good as regular humans. If not more. Fucktoys primarily exist to be fucked , his hormone laden brain tells him, they’re arguably a little better than regular humans.

Jeongguk wonders what other human responses the fucktoy is able to mimick.

He's nineteen, horny as hell and his uncle has a fucktoy lying around half naked in his basement.

It's only normal that he'd plunder and pillage as much as he can, for as long as he can.

“Uh, chess?” Jimin says with a breathy moan, back hitting the soft blankets covering the bed, thighs parting instinctively. He’s already leaking enough for Jeongguk’s knee in between his thighs to come off wet.

This is worlds better than dry humping a plastic blow up doll while wearing goggles simulating Waifu sex at anime expo. “I can play chess.”




Jimin wakes up feeling absolutely stuffed, slick pooling in between his thighs and onto the space underneath his hips on the sheets. Namjoon licks into his mouth in greeting and Jimin keens, pressing his hips back into the thrust presently driving him down into the mattress, just how Namjoon likes it.

“Mm, always so ready for me,” Namjoon groans appreciatively into his neck, hip bones near bruising were they connect harshly with the small of Jimin's back, one precise thrust after another.

Jimin doesn't exactly know what possesses him into saying and he does in fact say, “Mm, your nephew might've had a little to do with that.”

Namjoon snaps his hips forward and pauses, processing the information his toy just divulged.

“What do you mean,” he exhales in the next moment, grinding slow, almost punishingly. Jimin gasps, throwing his hips back to encourage longer, deeper and attentive strokes.

“Jimin, what does Jeongguk have to do with you being ready for me?”

“Oh,” Jimin says, coming to a slow realisation that he'd probably ruined the mood. “I just did it again, didn't I? Failed to read the mood and now the moment's ruined?”

With a heavy sigh, Namjoon slips out, rolling over to lie on his back, one arm folded underneath his head.

“I do this all the time and I never learn, useless.”

With the other hand, Namjoon pulls Jimin towards him, resting his head on his own chest.

“You haven't done anything wrong, in fact, I'm willing to bet you did everything right,” he assures, tone patient as he cards his fingers through Jimin's locks. For some reason, it doesn't have the same tone of praise and fondness it usefully carries.

“I've displeased you,” Jimin notes, tilting his neck at an uncomfortable angle so he can look up at Namjoon's face, hoping to get a good read of the emotions displayed there. Those are never ambiguous.

“You have not,” he counters, hand trailing down the length of Jimin's back to dip in between his thighs. Jimin lifts one slightly, a reflex or his training, it's not pertinent enough to query.

“You're a perfectly good toy that always opens up his legs when he's supposed to, just like he was designed and trained to do.”

Jimin's eyes are scrunched shut as he moans, lost in the feeling of four fingers breaching his entrance in one go. Namjoon chuckles, endeared at the little greedy whine Jimin let's out when the fingers retract, wiping themselves dry against his hip and then coming to rest on his waist, pulling him closer.

“Rest,” his owner instructs.

Jimin lies there and tries to rest, he really does. Long after Namjoon's breaths have turned even and soft, he lies there and tries to coax his mind into resting. But, all he can think of is; what is it about him being a toy that serves the purpose for which it was primarily designed and trained, displeases his owner so?