Chapter Text
The concept of the Bachelor is already a little crazy: can someone find the one they’re fated to be with in 10 weeks from a pile of pre-selected people? It’s a ridiculous televised experiment whose 1 in 20 success rate pretty much gives a definitive answer to the question.
Now place that same concept in a world guided by the primal rules of wolf instincts and soulmates, and it’s even crazier.
Maybe that’s why The Bachelor is crushing ratings in it’s 12th season there, it’s mind-boggling why contestants even genuinely try to find an undestined mate when there are unbreakable metaphysical rules that guide who they’re fated to be with. It’s a show that with it’s promiscuity, anti-soulmate theme, and low-effort production spurs many mothers to prevent their kids from watching it and whose cast and writers are subjugated to much online ridicule.
Just how much? Metacritic in this universe gives the show a solid 1.2 out of 10.
Of course there’s a bunch of narratives and themes that some fans try to impress on it to legitimize their reasons for watching, such as it’s an extrospective examination of defiance (can a wolf overcome their instincts and choose the love of their life—the answer so far is, um, no), or of chance encounters (can the producers magically find someone’s soulmate through a subjective online application process—the answer so far is also, lol, no), or of pure ambition (how far are contestants willing to go for fame love when they’re locked in a mansion with nothing but alcohol and their rivals—the answer to that one, apparently, is far enough to “go wolf” and bite another contestant in their fucking face).
It’s not that people don’t date around before they find their soulmates, it’s more like they don’t bother trying to make a mate out of “flings,” for a lack of a better word, anymore. The technology to help people identify their soulmates is so good these days, especially with the invention of scenting kits, that a case of two soulmates meeting at 40 recently made the news as a quaint anomaly (“Too old to find fate? Not if you ask these two luddites…”).
Most people still wait until their late 20s before turning to intervention, because it’s still way more romantic to bump into your fated one at a coffee shop than it is to find out by scent gland sample, which involves the rather dispassionate process of acquiring a kit, mailing that off, and getting the result via a neatly organized PDF 3-5 business days later. The bottomline is since it’s so easy to find your soulmate these days, it’s pretty much considered an asshole-move to try and mate with anyone else.
And maybe that’s also why the show is so popular, in the face of inevitability and etiquette norms, people are still trying, albeit futility, to find love before destiny (or science) finds it for them.
Or maybe not. Most people don’t really watch the show for a genuine happily ever after, it’s mostly for the trainwrecks and the “catfights” (although now colloquially called primal-fights ever since the cat hybrids launched an anti-defamation campaign to combat stereotypes). Or there’s also the fun fantasy league aspect (can you predict who the bachelor wants to bone the most based on appearance and awkward cocktail conversations well enough to win some dolla’s), and the chance to catch the over-the-top rejections as they air live, especially the two-on-ones that (for the most-part) end with the bachelor romping off with his chosen date as the rejected one gets left behind.
The previous season’s Bachelor, Seokjin, created a legendary moment of rejecting both contestants and leaving them on top of a summit in the French Alps, showering them with ripped-apart construction paper hearts pulled from his pockets as he blew them both a kiss and flew away in a helicopter and left them both to hike back down together.
(Honestly it should have won an award for comedy writing gold.)
All of this leaves one remaining mystery: why do people sign up to be on the show? The success rate isn’t high, the reputation of the show is pretty much in the dumpster, and oh yeah, the pay is notoriously abysmal.
Other than the obvious chance at their 15 seconds of reality fame, the other contestants surely have their own reasons, but none of that matters to Taehyung. All that matters is that he knows exactly what he’s doing here, enroute to the Bachelor mansion in a souped-out limo with 10 other slightly-buzzed but quite excited contestants.
He’s here to be the “crazy” one, to make enemies, start fights, and generally fuck shit up, so he can land a coveted spot in the spin-off, Bachelor in Paradise, the show where they send all of the non-winners to live on a beach and “find love” with each other until they get famous enough to jump to something greater or die in obscurity hell while trying.
In other words: he’s here to kick off his aspiring career as a TV star. Finding a mate? Not even on his bucket list. It’ll happen when it happens.
But, shh, don’t tell the audience that.
From what Taehyung knows about this cycle’s bachelor, his name is Hoseok, he’s a small time rapper and he’s an eligible Alpha who hasn’t yet found fate. Looking for love, he stumbled into Seokjin’s season, made it to the final five as the second-favorite with his optimism and sunny smile until Seokjin broke it to him gently during a one-on-one date in a famous Italian restaurant.
“Sorry,” Seokjin had said, holding Hoseok’s hand with his own and the coveted rose in the other. He put the rose back gently on the plate and Hoseok had stared at it, stunned. Seokjin dramatically sighed, “But I can’t give this to you. I think I’m falling for you, but my relationships with the others are just farther along. But before you go, let me give you this,” Seokjin pressed a folded paper heart into Hoseok’s hand and whispered, blowing him a kiss as he got up and walked towards the door. “As a token of my love.”
(In the subsequent interview cut, Hoseok had infamously held the heart with disdain in front of the camera, in what later became a widely memefied moment, “What the bleep am I supposed to do with this?”)
As the limo pulls up to the mansion, the vibe inside changes. The chatter begins to grow in volume and excitement, everyone clambering to the windows to get a glimpse at the set. It pulls up to the iconic rose-adorned mansion with the tires bumping over the driveway’s cobblestones, and a hush immediately descends over the group.
“Is that,” a beta finally whispers. “...Yoongi?”
The host himself is standing there, in front of the mansion, in all his glory, dressed in a neat tux, his round smile pointed directly at the car. And standing besides him, with a smile brighter than the fucking sun is—
“Hoseok!” an omega decked out in a ballgown begins screaming in excitement, conveniently right next to an installed camera. “Oh my god, it’s Hoseok!!”
“Oh fuck,” another beta nervously adjusts his tie and swallows. “He’s hotter in person.”
Of course Taehyung can't confirm. He’s slated to be the first out the limo, and he’s too busy being preoccupied with the trivial, like whether his tie is straight or what quirky wording the production staff will use to label his occupation or whether the camera guy approaching him was going to get the good side of his face to get a good glance.
And maybe that’s also why he doesn’t notice it until it’s too late.
One moment he’s stepping out of the limo, tall and purposefully, re-buttoning his jacket with a charming grin on his face, the next moment he’s doubled over, covering his nose, his eyes glowing blue, his heart racing erratically in his chest, hit in the face with the most enticing scent he’s ever inhaled in his life.
The wafting scent of something irresistible--Taehyung really can't concentrate hard enough right now to determine what it is, so, let's say it's like, fucking, uh, pine or some other stereotypical alpha shit like that--is engulfing his olfactory receptors and riling up his base instinct. He feels his mind grow fuzzy and his breathing become erratic. Where was that coming from? Shit, he pinches his eyes shut, the rumors must be true, they must have sprayed pheromones or something, because he’s never been affected this badly before.
Taehyung breathes in again, and his knees buckle, his pupils dilate as he’s hit with a heat-level wave of euphoric craving. He sinks into a crouch next to the limo, one arm braced against the paint of the car, just out of Hoseok and Yoongi’s view.
He hears the footsteps before a shadow falls over him, too paralyzed to move when a cameraman emerges, figure obscured by the blinding film lights behind him. The guy clearly realized something juicy was happening and was starting to get all up in his face, stepping way too close for comfort. And before Taehyung can stop himself, he glares straight at the lense, covering his mouth with his hand, his lips curling up, a instinctive warning growl rumbles in his throat as the camera guy takes another step closer.
“Hey man, you okay?” The Camera Guy asks, concern evident in his voice even as he adjusts the camera for a better angle.
Taehyung nods jerkily. Fuck. He pinches his eyes shut again as another wave hits him.
This wasn’t good.