Tae adjusted the strap of her neon pink bandeau top for the third time in five minutes. The thin material barely covered her chest, and the matching micro shorts left nothing to the imagination. "Yoon, does this make my ass look too big?" she asked, twisting to check her reflection in the floor-length mirror.

Yoongi didn't glance up from his phone, fingers flying over the screen. "Everything makes your ass look big, babe. That's the point."

Across town, Mimi straddled Jungkook's lap on their leather couch, her barely-there lace bodysuit riding up as she kissed down his neck. "Kook, baby," she purred between bites, "remember that producer who slid into your DMs last week? About the... special show?"

Jungkook's grip tightened on her hips. "The one where they film couples fucking live? Yeah." His smirk was all teeth. "You actually wanna do that?"

Mimi laughed—low, throaty—and ground against him. "Obviously."

Meanwhile, Tae's phone buzzed against the marble bathroom counter. She snatched it up, eyes widening at the DM preview: RAW INTIMACY CASTING CALL - APPLY NOW. Her manicured nail tapped the screen. "Yoongi," she called, voice dripping with fake innocence. "Hypothetically. Would you ever fuck me on camera?"

Yoongi finally looked up. His slow, lazy grin said everything.

"Depends," he drawled. "You gonna scream my name like last time?" Tae tossed a hairbrush at him, missing on purpose.

"Seriously," she pressed, biting her lip and angling her hips just so in the mirror. "Think about it—just us, no edits, no fake moaning for those trashy studio vids."

Across the leather couch, Jungkook was already pulling Mimi's bodysuit straps down with his teeth. "They want real orgasms," he murmured against her skin. "You think you can come on command in front of two million live viewers?"

Mimi arched into him. "Try me."

Back in Tae's penthouse, Yoongi pocketed his phone and prowled toward her. "You really wanna be the girl everyone jerks off to?" His hands slid over the swell of her ass, fingers dipping under the shorts.

Tae gasped but held her ground. "And you don't wanna be the guy who wrecks me so hard I can't walk tomorrow?"

The producers sent follow-up details simultaneously. Jungkook's phone lit up with a stream of requirements: No safewords. No cuts. Full penetration visible at all angles.

Mimi snatched it first. "Oh my god," she breathed, thighs clamping around him. "They want us to pick the positions live based on viewer polls."

Jungkook's laugh was dark. "Better stretch first."

Yoongi, meanwhile, had Tae pressed against the mirror, her neon top shoved up to her chin. "Tell me," he growled, "you gonna cry when I make you come on their 4K cameras?"

Tae's moan was answer enough.

Her back arched off the mirror as Yoongi's teeth found her nipple through the sheer fabric, the damp material clinging to her skin. "Fuck—yes," she gasped, fingers twisting in his hair. "Make me." Downstairs, her phone buzzed again—the casting confirmation with bold red text: CONSENT IRREVOCABLE AFTER ARRIVAL.

Across the city, Mimi was already scrolling through the show’s leaked clips on her tablet, thighs still spread over Jungkook’s lap. "Look at this one," she murmured, tilting the screen. The video showed a couple mid-thrust, the girl’s makeup smeared as she sobbed through an orgasm. "Think you can break me worse than that?"

Jungkook traced the lace straining between her thighs. "Easily." His thumb pressed down hard enough to make her jerk.

Back in Tae and Yoongi’s, Yoongi had her shorts around her ankles, her ass flush against his hips. "They’ll see everything," he taunted, palming her bare cunt from behind. "Every drip. Every shake." His fingers slid inside with a wet sound Tae couldn’t pretend to hate.

She braced against the mirror, fogging the glass with each pant. "Good."

The show’s second email hit their inboxes simultaneously—a waiver requiring signatures in blood-red digital ink. Liability Waiver Clause 12.4: No interruption of sexual acts once recording begins, regardless of distress signals. Mimi scrolled past it with a scoff.

"Distress signals," she echoed, rolling her hips against Jungkook’s straining zipper. "Like I’d tap out before you."

He caught her wrist, pinning it to the couch. "Prove it."

Meanwhile, Tae’s knees hit the bathroom tiles as Yoongi fisted her hair, pressing her face toward the open waiver on her phone. "Sign it," he ordered, voice rough. "Or I stop right now."

Her thumb hovered over the screen—then smacked down with a laugh. "Coward."

In the silence before the storm, both apartments echoed with the same sharp ping:

CASTING CONFIRMED. REPORT TO STUDIO 6A AT 8PM TOMORROW.

Mimi licked her lips. Jungkook’s grip tightened.

Yoongi yanked Tae upright by the hair. "Better hydrate," he whispered.

Tae grinned. "You first."

Yoongi's fingers twitched against her scalp—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make her breath hitch.

Across town, Mimi was already scrolling through lingerie options on her phone, legs still draped over Jungkook’s thighs. "Think the viewers will vote for crotchless or fully sheer?" she mused, thumb hovering over a barely-there mesh bodysuit.

Jungkook snatched the phone and tossed it aside. "Doesn’t matter," he said, dragging his teeth along her collarbone. "You won’t be wearing it long."

Back in the penthouse, Tae twisted in Yoongi’s grip, her bare ass pressing against his jeans. "They’ll mic us up, right?" she breathed, arching into his touch. "Imagine—everyone hearing how wet I get when you—"

Yoongi’s hand clamped over her mouth. "Shut up and pack."

Mimi, meanwhile, was already straddling Jungkook’s lap again, her nails digging into his shoulders. "What if," she whispered, lips brushing his ear, "they vote for anal first?"

Jungkook’s laugh was a low rumble against her throat. "Then you’d better beg prettier than anyone ever could."

Tae’s suitcase lay open on the bed, half-packed with lace and batteries when Yoongi’s phone buzzed—a producer’s DM: Reminder: no lube allowed. Natural wetness only.

She snatched it from his hands, reading aloud with a smirk. "Guess I won’t be the only one screaming."

Jungkook’s text tone went off simultaneously. Mimi didn’t bother looking up from where she was biting marks down his chest. "What now?"

He held the screen up—a leaked clip from last season’s show, the girl’s throat bobbing as she gagged on cock. "Front row seats, princess."

Mimi licked her lips. "Bring popcorn."

Yoongi’s fingers were already tracing Tae’s waistband. "Last chance to back out," he taunted, though they both knew she wouldn’t.

Tae turned, pressing her tits against his chest. "You wish."

Downstairs, the car service notification pinged—*12 hours until pickup.*

Jungkook’s teeth grazed Mimi’s nipple through lace. "Better rest up," he murmured.

She arched into the sting. "Make me."

In the penthouse, Tae’s moan echoed off the marble as Yoongi’s fingers curled inside her.

Somewhere, a studio camera powered on.