#not that he is blameless in the marriage obviously but i think it makes sense that he doesn't believe shiv even cares about him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jingabitch · 4 years

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To Love an Empress

SUMMARY: Despite the acrimonious beginning to your relationship, Yoongi is drawn to you.

PAIRING: emperor!yoongi x empress!reader

RATING: E

WORD COUNT: 9.8k

A/N: My final submission for the BTS Ghostie bingo, yay! This one fills the secret admirer tile. This fic is kind of based on Henry VII and Elizabeth of York’s early relationship, and inspired by The White Princess, so if some of the dialogue and scenes are similar, that’s why.

Shoutout to my lovely betas @knjkitten and @yoongs-jeontae for helping me beta this! Banner by @jkeuphoriadreamland 💕 i’ve never had a banner on a fic before this is fun hehe

Min Yoongi was a hard man, and he knew it. He’d won his throne on the battlefield, running his sword through the old king and crowning himself right there on the blood-stained grass.

You knew it too, could never forget it when you looked at your husband. The scar on his face from an injury he’d sustained during the decisive battle for his crown; the memory of how coldly he’d treated you at the beginning; the baby growing inside you as a result of Yoongi’s insistence that you demonstrate your ability to provide him with heirs before he would marry you. As if he’d had a choice, when your bloodline was the cornerstone of his legitimacy.

After all the angry words and hostility between the two of you, he knew there was no chance you would forgive him. And yet, a part of him craved it. He saw the kindness you lavished on your ladies-in-waiting, the servants, and all the children running around the palace who were sons and daughters of the nobles and the army of servants working here. Was it so wrong of him to want just a little of that for himself? You were his wife, after all.

Yoongi was a warrior. He’d trained all his life to take control of the kingdom. War was all he knew.

Which made him, unfortunately, woefully inept when it came to wooing a lady, especially one so resistant to him. He’d relied on his looks before, but now that he had the scar on his face, it seemed that even that tool was no longer at his disposal. God knows you hated it.

With no one else to turn to, he asked his eunuch what he should do. At first, the portly man just blinked at him, confused. “She’s your wife, you don’t have to persuade her to warm your bed,” he pointed out.

Yoongi grimaced. “I know that,” he grumbled. “I want her to like me.”

Sambo snorted. “Should have thought about that before you made her ‘prove her fertility’ to you.”

Sulking, Yoongi got up and stormed away from his eunuch. Obviously, he knew that, and he wished that no one else did. It wasn’t like him to force a lady like that, but tensions had been running high at the time and he hadn’t trusted a woman from the house of L/n. You must have run to your lady-in-waiting and cried to her when it was over, because Sambo had gotten quite the shelling from her the next day.

Sambo, who’d quickly grown used to the antics of his master, just hurried along beside Yoongi. “Just give her something pretty,” he advised. “Women like that.”

Yoongi stopped short. Why hadn’t he thought of that? “That’s a great idea,” he enthused. “You’re useful for once, Sambo,” he praised his eunuch.

Sambo rolled his eyes to hide his pleased smile. “You’d think a grown man would know something like that,” he jibed. “Taking love advice from someone who can’t even perform must be a new low for you.”

“Whatever.” Yoongi waved off the insult. “I’ll get her a nice hairpin,” he decided. “But don’t tell her it’s from me.” He didn’t want you throwing it out in disgust.

“She’s obviously going to know,” Sambo pointed out. “There is no man in Joseon suicidal enough to woo the empress. That’s treason.”

Frowning, Yoongi snapped, “Just do it,” before stalking back into his room with a huff and shutting the door in Sambo’s face. The eunuch really didn’t need to rain on his parade like that, even if he was probably right. Hopefully you wouldn’t immediately come to the conclusion that it was him. It wasn’t just that he was afraid you’d throw out a gift from him—he wanted to make you smile. Not because you were bound to him and might as well exhibit some fondness towards your husband, but because he was really, truly capable of making you happy.

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Pregnancy had been difficult for you so far. Without your mother around, you were left to go through it by yourself. At least Ling, your personal servant-turned-lady-in-waiting, was here with you. You’d been together since you were a child and she was a young teen, and she was like a sister to you.

The morning sickness was starting to fade, thankfully, but you still got nauseous sometimes, so Ling suggested that you have your breakfast in the courtyard to enjoy some fresh air and sunshine while the cleaners dusted and polished your quarters.

When you finally got back to your room after being bullied by Ling into taking a little walk – exercise was good for the baby, she insisted – there was a hairpin lying on your table, next to the novel you’d been reading. Curiously, you knelt down to pick it up.

“What’s this?” you asked Ling, who was trailing a few steps behind you.

“It’s a hairpin, milady,” she responded somewhat cluelessly.

“Yes,” you said patiently, “but why is it here? I’ve never seen this before.” Looking more closely at it, you turned it over a few times in your hand. It truly was pretty, a delicate gold phoenix carved into the end of the pin, decorated with pink flowers and milky jade balls around the base of the phoenix.

Sitting down on the other side of the table, Ling pulled your hand holding the pin closer to her so she could examine it too. “I don’t know, but it’s so pretty,” she sighed. “Maybe you have a secret admirer,” she giggled.

“Yes, the pregnant empress has a secret admirer,” you said drolly. Everything about your existence, from the gilded cage you were trapped in, to your marriage to the most powerful man in Joseon, to the heir you were carrying in you, screamed that you were taken, owned by a man. And not just any man, of course, but the one whose wife was strictly, on pain of death, off-limits.

“Well, you never know,” Ling said lightly. “Just take it for what it is,” she advised. “Someone wants to make you happy!”

“All right,” you accepted skeptically, but you couldn’t quite stop the smile from stealing across your face. After living as a political pawn for so many years because of your family and giving up everything for the man who’d killed your uncle, it did feel nice to think that there was someone out there who liked you for you.

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You weren’t stupid, of course. You had considered that it was your husband who’d had the pin sent to you. It made sense, after all – he was the only man in the whole of Joseon who could do something like that. It didn’t take long for you to disabuse yourself of that notion, however. Yoongi hated you, considered you the snake in his midst. Taking a L/n bride after defeating the House of L/n was the last thing he’d wanted to do, and he’d made that abundantly clear when you met. Hell, even before that, when he’d sent a platoon to your residence in the countryside to retrieve you.

Your first interaction with the new emperor had gone woefully poorly, with cruel words said on both sides.

As angry and resentful as you were about being claimed as his wife, you weren’t in any mood to be supplicant to the new emperor. When they brought you to meet him, in an admittedly charming gazebo, you knelt without bowing or greeting him, refusing to even look straight at him.

“Are you just going to sulk, then?” he drawled, and you barely resisted the urge to strangle him with your bare hands.

“We’ve done nothing right; surely you aren’t insisting that we follow tradition now?” you replied, your light tone doing little to hide your displeasure. This was all wrong, you knew. Despite Ling hovering just out of earshot keeping a watchful eye on things, you knew that your reputation was at stake simply from meeting the emperor alone before you were married.

It was unusual for you to enter the palace knowing that you were to be the empress, too. Usually the empress dowager chose her son’s bride, based on a series of tests that demonstrated her suitability for the throne. But, you knew, you were already the best candidate, purely based on your bloodlines.

Yoongi leaned forward, steepling his fingers in front of him. “Of course not,” he said, and his low, dangerous voice caused your breath to catch as you jerked your head forward to look at him properly for the first time. You couldn’t help but gasp at the long scab slicing through his eye. Catching you staring at it, he smiled bitterly.

“Are you afraid of your fiancé?” he asked.

“Of course not,” you hissed. “Just horrified that I have to lie with a disfigured monster.”

You remembered the way he’d jerked back, as if scalded. Okay, so you weren’t blameless in the current state of affairs you found yourself in, this hateful sham of a marriage that neither of you enjoyed. Still, given the acrimonious relationship you had with your husband, it seemed less than likely that he was your secret admirer.

“Poor, pitiful L/n Y/n,” he responded coldly. “Why don’t we get it over with, then?”

“What?!” you gasped, your hand flying to your mouth.

He smiled at you coldly. “I will not repeat the mistakes of previous emperors,” he informed you, and your lips pursed in displeasure, recognizing his comment for the jibe that it was – most of the previous emperors in the history of the kingdom had been your ancestors. “Having no legitimate heir is a recipe for disaster.”

Despite your best attempts to avoid giving him the satisfaction of your reaction, you couldn’t hold back the blanch. Smirking in satisfaction at having gotten back at you for the cruel insult, he continued, “We will be wed only when you are pregnant.”

Really, after all was said and done, it was no wonder that you and your husband despised each other.

Still, maybe there was a part of you that wished the pin had come from him. It wasn’t that you were in love with Yoongi or something insipid like that, it was just… you were kind of lonely here in the palace, with hardly anyone you knew around. The only person you’d been allowed to bring with you was Ling, because she’d been your servant for so long.

It would be nice to feel, just once more in your life, like you had a friend around you.

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As your pregnancy progressed, you grew increasingly miserable and annoyed, and your secret admirer stepped up his efforts to cheer you up. From pretty flowers on your pillow to new books when you finished your existing ones, even pretty ribbons and once, a bag of a rare tea that was supposed to alleviate morning sickness, this mysterious individual was showing you more care than your own husband.

You rarely saw Yoongi these days, since he was usually busy in the throne hall, setting the country back to rights. Being a woman, you never got to attend the morning meetings and reading of the petitions, but from what you heard, Yoongi wasn’t the most competent politician. It frustrated you to no end – you were the daughter and niece of the past two emperors, had grown up learning about politics, history and economics, and yet your role was basically being a baby incubator while your inexperienced husband was led down all sorts of rabbit holes as the ministers tried to take advantage of the situation to fatten their own coffers.

The last straw came when you heard of a proposed tax increase for the peasants, purportedly to shore up the kingdom’s defenses. You knew Minister Su, who was in charge of defense, was greedy and corrupt, but very eloquent and had many supporters among the cabinet. Overcoming your own reluctance to speak to your husband directly, you stormed into his private quarters one evening, while he was relaxing with a drink.

“Get out,” you ordered his eunuch, who was kneeling by his side.

Sambo looked over at Yoongi, who nodded at him. Once the doors slid shut behind the eunuch, you knelt in front of your husband. Since you were about six months pregnant now, it was difficult for you to maneuver, but you managed. “I need to talk to you,” you told him.

“I gathered that,” he said dryly. “Could this not wait for a more appropriate audience?”

“No,” you rejected him flatly. “I heard that you’re considering a new tax on the peasants.”

“That’s none of your business.” He leaned back slightly and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You should reject the tax proposal, Your Grace,” you said quietly.

“I said, that’s none of your business,” he thundered, slamming his fist down on the table.

You winced, but continued, undeterred. “Minister Su does not have the best interests of the kingdom in mind, Your Grace. There was a bad harvest this year, and the people will not stand for a tax now, especially when they are already so tired of conflict.”

It seemed that bringing up the civil war that had just been fought between Yoongi and your uncle was a bad idea, as he looked even more furious. He sucked in a deep breath to yell at you, but you quickly continued, cutting him off before he could start.

“Your reign is still new, Your Grace, and the people are still unsure about you. Now is the time for generosity, so that they learn to love you.”

“Why does a L/n empress care about whether the people love me? You and your family hate me; you fought a war against me,” he scoffed, leaning back on his hands in a casual pose to show just how little he cared.

Bristling indignantly, you bit back, “You raised an army against my family! You are the usurper! Make no mistake of it, sir, I advise you not because of any attachment to you, but because I care about this kingdom.”

At that, some of the fire left him. “Everyone claims to care about the kingdom, but all they really care about is themselves. Do you think I don’t know that my ministers are watching me, waiting to take advantage? That people are plotting against me as we speak?”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s what it means to be the emperor. My father had the same thing, as did my uncle – from you.” Maybe goading him wasn’t the best thing to do right now, but you were pregnant, uncomfortable and irritated.

“Then how do I know that I can trust you?” he retorted, his frustration with the current situation bleeding through his voice.

You were going to murder this man, you swore. He wouldn’t need to wait for any plot coming from outside the palace walls. How could someone be capable enough to enact a coup against the emperor, and yet so frustratingly dim when it came to politics?

“Because my wagon is tied to yours, you idiot. I am your empress now before I am a L/n woman, and this child I carry inside me is a Min child. Do you think that if your rule fails, I can just go home, and all will be well for me? I will be executed together with you, and so will our child.”

That seemed to shut him up. “I’ll think about it,” he finally allowed grudgingly.

“Thank you,” you said, bowing with your forehead pressed to the back of your palms over the floor.

After you’d left, Yoongi thought about how that was the first time you’d bowed to him. It seemed there was much he didn’t know about his wife.

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The next afternoon, you heard from Ling that the tax on the peasants had been rejected, and a jeweled comb was delivered to your room. This particular gift came directly from Sambo, so you knew that it was from Yoongi, and you accepted it for the apology that it was.

Two weeks later, proof of Minister Su’s corruption and embezzlement came to light, and he was sent into exile. You might have felt slightly smug about it, since you’d hated Minister Su ever since your own father was the emperor, but mostly you felt a little bad for Yoongi, having to deal with something like that so soon after coming to power.

That same night, Yoongi invited you to have dinner with him. Well, it was more like an order, because you weren’t in any position to turn down the emperor, but Ling was excited nonetheless as she got you ready, helping you into your pretty jeogori and braiding your hair into an elaborate bun.

“I’m so happy for you,” she gushed as she stood in front of you, tying the jeogori. “This could be the start of a new relationship between the two of you!”

“You know I can’t get more pregnant, right?” you asked drolly, raising a brow. In fact, you’d pretty much expected him to leave you alone for the rest of the pregnancy and only call on you once you were recovered enough to perform your conjugal duties once more.

“Oh, hush,” she giggled. “I’m sure he wants to see how you’re doing. You are carrying his heir, after all.”

“Sure, that’s me,” you muttered. “The incubator.”

“Be nice,” she admonished. “You want him to like you, so that he’ll give you more privileges. When your son becomes emperor, then you can swan around all day like the crone.” Suffice it to say, neither of you liked your mother-in-law that much.

“I know,” you sighed. “I’m just uncomfortable all the time.” Entering your third trimester of pregnancy, you were having trouble standing around and kneeling on the ground? Impossible. You’d had a table and chair moved into your room so that you could sit comfortably, but as far as you knew, Yoongi still sat on the ground for most of the day.

Ling didn’t know about your late-night meeting with the emperor a few weeks prior, but you wondered if this dinner had something to do with that.

In Yoongi’s room, something similar was happening, as Sambo fussed over his master’s robes.

“Sambo, enough,” Yoongi sighed. “I don’t have to look nice; she’s already my wife.”

Sambo scoffed. “I said the same thing to you about sending her those gifts, but you insisted then too.”

Yoongi glared at his eunuch without saying anything, mostly because he had no argument against that. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted the man; he’d done nothing but tease him about his crush since he found out.

Thankfully, your arrival cut Sambo’s fussing short – yet another thing he had to be grateful to you for, he supposed. It stung a little that his wife apparently knew more about politics than he did, but you seemed to want to help him, so there was that.

“Your Grace,” you greeted, bowing slightly.

“Good evening,” he responded. “Please, sit,” he invited, gesturing towards the table he had brought into his room just for this. He remembered how much you’d struggled with kneeling on the ground, and then getting up, the last time you’d come to visit him, and thought that this would make it easier for you.

You’d seen the table as soon as you entered the room, of course – it was kind of hard to miss, since the room was mostly empty. Accepting his offer with a gracious smile, you sat yourself down and clasped your hands together demurely in your lap. Yoongi sat across from you and nodded at the servant standing in the corner, and that was the signal for the food to start coming in.

To be honest, you’d expected to see Yoongi’s favourite dishes being served tonight, since everything at your wedding banquet had been his favourite foods, so you were pleasantly surprised to note that it was the food you’d been repeatedly requesting due to your cravings instead.

When the servants left, closing the doors after them, Yoongi spoke. “Please eat.” He gestured at the spread, and you acquiesced, picking up your chopsticks.

“Thank you for the advice,” he started.

The food you were holding with your chopsticks fell back onto your bowl of rice as your hand went limp in shock. “Wh-what?” Of all the things he could have said, that was the one you’d been expecting the least. In all honesty, you’d expected something more like admonishment for interfering – and a lack of other punishment that would serve as tacit acknowledgement that you’d been right. It was how your father had been with your mother.

To be fair, it looked like it was costing him dearly to thank you. “You were right about the tax,” he ground out.

“Oh…” You recovered quickly and nodded, graciously accepting his thanks.

“But don’t make a habit of interfering,” he continued. Right… so there was a catch, after all.

You rolled your eyes. “Of course not,” you said sarcastically. “I’m just the brainless baby incubator, after all. It’s not like I grew up here, or have any knowledge and experience of palace politics, or anything of the sort.”

“You’re a woman—” he thundered, slamming his chopsticks down on the table.

“I am your empress,” you cut him off. “You insisted on marrying me precisely because of my bloodline, so I will not be sidelined, especially when we both know you could use all the help you can get!”

“Help that I can get from my advisors,” he huffed.

“One of your ministers was literally just exiled for corruption, so I don’t know why you want to throw in your lot with them, but sure.” You rolled your eyes. “Now, if that was all, I think I can take my meal in my own quarters tonight.”

Unfortunately, your dramatic exit was foiled by how much you struggled to get out of your seat. Biting back his smile at how cute you looked with your belly, Yoongi leapt to your aid – you were, after all, still his wife and carrying his child, so it was the least he could do.

You pinned him with a glare as he got up to assist you, but were left with no choice but to accept, holding on to his proffered arm and letting him basically hoist you up. “If you need anything…” he started, looking slightly contrite.

“Don’t worry, Your Grace,” you said. “I might be ‘just a woman’ –” your tone made it clear that you were mocking him, and he had the grace to look slightly chagrined – “but I am the empress, and I am carrying the heir to Joseon, so I get everything I ask for.”

“Good, that’s good…” he looked slightly shifty now, and you couldn’t help but feel a little bad for him. He’d been acting like a bit of a dick, but to be fair, you supposed, it wasn’t like his attitude was uncommon. With Ling’s reminder ringing in your ears, you took his hand and brought it to the swell of your belly. Your child was strong and healthy, and even through the layers of your clothes Yoongi could feel the flutter of kicks.

“Wow…” he looked entranced, and you couldn’t help but smile at him. Your child had been conceived in hatred and anger, but you were determined that you would not raise him in that environment. No, he would know only love. You were sure of it.

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Even though the dinner hadn’t gone according to plan, it was still somewhat of a shift in your relationship with your husband. Now when your paths crossed, he smiled at you instead of just walking by stonily.

The gifts from your secret admirer continued too, which made things kind of confusing for you. On the one hand, you were trying to make this thing with your husband work, if only so that your child could grow up in a positive environment. It was difficult enough growing up in the palace, something you were keenly aware of.

And yet, the continued attention from this unknown person was starting to tug at your heartstrings. You hardly knew who it was but being shown kindness without any ulterior motive was certainly enough for you to think fondly of your secret admirer. He didn’t send gifts that often, usually once every other week or so, but each one brought a smile to your face. Sometimes it was your favourite flower, or a snack from another part of the world, or a cute trinket from the market, but all of them were equally dear to you.

The fluttering feeling that you got in your chest when you saw that he’d left you another gift was somewhat tempered by the guilt over the whole situation. Were you allowed to enjoy this attention? You looked furtively around, slightly worried that someone was going to knock the Japanese cakes out of your hand.

“You know,” Sambo said, standing next to Yoongi, who was peering at you from his hidden position behind a wall, “Some of your subjects might find it unseemly for their emperor to spend his days spying on his wife.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi grumbled, although the words had no heat to them, given how distracted he currently was. He hoped you liked the cakes.

“If you want to spend time with her, you can just ask, you know,” Sambo pointed out. “Haven’t you two been getting along better lately?”

“She still gets annoyed at me every time,” he sighed. “I don’t want to upset her, she looks miserable enough as is.”

Sambo, watching you rub the small of your back as Ling fussed over you, had to agree. At eight months pregnant, you looked fit to pop. “Well, she’ll give birth soon, and then things will be better,” he said, patting the emperor on the back. “You really need to be more discreet, though. She can tell it’s you from a mile away.”

Yoongi looked over at Sambo and scowled. “No way,” he denied.

“Really? So there are lots of men walking around decked out in the emperor’s robes, and have blonde hair, then?”

“Fine.” Yoongi sulked. “Let’s go, then.”

“You know you have a bunch of petitions to review, right?”

“I get it.”

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To put it mildly, labour sucked. But at the end of it, you had a beautiful little boy, handed to you wrapped in a blanket. “Wow,” you marveled at your son, stroking his cheek with your thumb as you cuddled him close. Your own dear boy. Cradling him in your arms, it hardly mattered that he was a Min, that he represented the end of your house on the throne. Your son was all that mattered now.

Looking up, you saw Yoongi hovering by the entrance to the room, looking on hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure if he would be welcome. The idea was laughable to you – he was the emperor, there was nowhere he couldn’t go. You remembered your own father striding around as if he owned the place, because he did. No matter how fond he’d been of your mother, it had always been clear in the way he acted that he knew he was the boss. At best, she was a favoured subordinate.

You could see some of that attitude in Yoongi, and you accepted it – that was how men were, after all. But sometimes, peeking through the haughty exterior, you caught glimpses of someone kind and considerate. Someone you could grow fond of.

“Come in and meet him,” you invited.

As he came closer, he breathed, “It’s a boy?” His voice was slightly choked.

Smiling, you nodded. He knelt next to you and peered into the blanket, staring down at his son for the first time. Then he turned his head slightly to regard you. “You look beautiful,” he complimented, and you looked up, surprised. You didn’t know exactly what you looked like, but you were sure you were a mess after labour and childbirth. Your hair was a matted, sweaty mess, and you were dressed simply, in a cotton underdress.

Still, from the way he watched you holding the baby, you could have been dressed in the most beautiful of clothes and jewels.

“Do you want to hold him?” you asked, and his eyes lit up.

“Can I?” he asked. You nodded, passing the little bundle over to him.

“My son,” he said softly, leaning his head down to get closer to the baby. “Min Man-bok.” The name had been chosen by the astrologers, who said it would bring him great fortune throughout his life. You hoped it was true. This boy would grow up to be the emperor that united the warring houses of Min and L/n, and finally put an end to all the senseless violence that had stolen the lives of your brothers, and later, your uncle.

As you watched them – your husband and your son – you felt a sense of contentment like you’d never known before. In that moment, it hardly mattered that they were the emperor and the crown prince, that the weight of the kingdom rested upon your baby’s tiny shoulders. For that brief window, they could just be… yours.

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The birth of your son changed everything. The gifts that had once been so dear to you because they meant that someone was out there thinking of you now seemed almost uncomfortable, like unwanted attention that threatened the security of your family. You knew it was ridiculous – after all, the giver of said gifts had been quietly doing so for months, never trying to push his luck or making his identity known to you.

Still, though, as you became closer to your husband, that nagging feeling that you were doing something wrong wouldn’t leave you. Thankfully, the gifts seemed to dry up, and you wondered if your anonymous admirer was really that astute. Whoever he was, you owed him your gratitude. He’d known when to start, and, it seemed, just when to stop.

In actuality, Yoongi had just been too busy to think about sending the gifts. Having a son took up much of the time that he wasn’t already spending governing, which had also increased in the past month or so. There was so much entertaining to do, as the lords and ladies of the land came to express their fealty to the crown prince, and as Yoongi made ever more ambitious diplomatic alliances with other kingdoms now that his reign was secured with the birth of his son.

In whatever spare time he had, he was constantly hanging around you and Man-bok, fawning over his son and enjoying your company. Despite your confinement, you thwarted the rules by sitting right outside your door to get a little sun and fresh air, often holding your son while you did so. It was a beautiful sight, one he wanted to continue to drink in for the rest of his days.

It was no surprise, therefore, that his priority wasn’t sending cute gifts to you anonymously, since he was always around you. When your confinement finally ended, he threw a little two-person party, ordering the kitchen to make all of the food you’d been craving since you were pregnant that had been off-limits for you, including your old favourites. He even managed to get the cook from your country estate into the palace, to make your childhood favourite.

“Thank you for dinner,” you said at the end of it, resisting the urge to lean back on your hands to give your stomach more space.

“Thank you,” he countered. “I am forever in your debt.”

“It was my duty,” you demurred. It was the truth – you’d always known that it would be your job to bring heirs to your husband.

“Still.” There was a beat of silence as a servant rushed to fill your cups with rice wine. He lifted his cup to toast you. “You have brought new hope to this kingdom. An emperor who will unite the houses of Min and L/n.”

“I thought our marriage accomplished that,” you giggled. You might have had too much alcohol tonight, after almost a year of not having any.

“You really think so?” he breathed, looking at you like you’d hung the stars in the sky and told him they were for him.

“Yoongi…” It was the first time you’d called him by name. In your defense, the open, vulnerable way he was looking at you made it difficult to remember that he was a warrior king, despite the scar on his face that attested to his experience fighting a war. “Of course, Your Grace.” You recovered from your slip quickly, and you flushed slightly, hoping he wouldn’t remember it.

Of course, that was a doomed wish. He’d committed it to memory, the sound of your precious voice speaking his name, and in that almost fond and tender tone, too. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest, and knew he was done for.

When he left your quarters that night after dinner, he barely waited till he’d descended the steps to pump his fist in the air. That was the most successful interaction you’d had with him to date, not counting when Man-bok was born, of course, since he was pretty sure you were so exhausted you couldn’t snipe at him if you tried then.

“Your Grace!” Sambo, walking a step behind him, sounded scandalized.

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“So, tonight went well,” Ling prompted as she helped you get ready for bed. You sat in front of her, letting her take the pins out of your hair and sighing in relief. Your updo was often twisted so tightly it pulled on your scalp, and the giant metal pins hurt, to say the least.

“How would you know that?” you murmured, trying to keep a straight face. Ling would never let you live this down if you confessed to her just how much you enjoyed the company of your husband these days. Not after you’d screamed so loudly and for so long about how you hated him and didn’t ever want him to touch you.

In your defense, he’d really been a nightmare to live with at the beginning, cold and angry, mistrustful of your intentions. Not that he’d had any reason to trust you based on the way you’d treated him. You still cringed to think of the angry, cruel words that had been exchanged between you. You’d mocked the scar on his face from your uncle, the previous emperor, and he’d taken pleasure in describing the way he ran his sword through him in exchange. You’d laughed at his tenuous grip on the throne, and he’d—

Well. Suffice it to say, both of you had moved past that.

Ling reached over you to shift the mirror so that you could see your own face in it. “You’ve always had a shitty poker face, milady,” she explained. “You can’t hide anything from me.”

You sighed. “I knew I should have gotten different servants when I came,” you responded without any heat.

“Please, as if you have the patience to teach someone else just how you like your morning routine,” Ling scoffed, recognizing your teasing for what it was. Finally removing the last pin from your hair, she smoothed her hands over it as it tumbled down your back, then picked up the brush to comb through it.

“You’re right. I guess I’m stuck with you,” you responded, tilting the mirror slightly so you could look at Ling in it.

“Whatever. Stop trying to change the subject,” Ling ordered. “What happened tonight? You looked so happy when he left, and he could barely hold back his grin.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not that,” you said defensively. “I’m barely even recovered from giving birth; I’m hardly ready for more.”

“All right,” Ling conceded, though you could tell from her tone that she was still amused. Belatedly, you realised that your defense hadn’t been about how you felt about your husband at all. “Have a good night, milady.”

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Having a son changed everything. You knew, perhaps better than anyone else, save your brothers, the dangers that came with being an heir to the throne, and it worried you to pieces that his life would never be safe.

You’d told your husband before, completely unsympathetically, that this was what being the king would entail. Having people after you, coveting what was yours, always lurking in the shadows and waiting for a time to strike… the idea that your own son would be subject to the travails of being the emperor made you want to clutch him to your breast and never let him go.

Yoongi caught you in one of your moods one afternoon, sitting in the gazebo in your private gardens, leaning against a pillar as you rested your son against your thighs. You cooed at him as you played with his hands and feet, smiling as he laughed back at you, but the furrow of your brow gave you away.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, sitting down next to you. It was rare for you two to be alone – Ling and Sambo were usually hanging around, and Man-bok’s nanny and wet nurse weren’t too far from the baby either. But you’d wanted a little time to bond with your son alone, so they were hanging out by the pond a small distance away. Ling had become friends with the nanny and nurse, and they were more than happy to have a little free time to gossip.

You picked up your infant son’s hand and used it to wave at him. “Hello, daddy,” you said in a high-pitched baby voice, and Yoongi smiled tenderly at the both of you, although you were still looking down at Man-bok and didn’t see it.

“Hello, my son,” he replied, leaning in to pick Man-bok up. You straightened his clothes a little as Yoongi stood the baby up on his lap, bouncing him a little. Yoongi was truly a remarkably involved father, especially for being the emperor.

“Yoongi, I’m worried about Man-bok,” you confessed in a small voice, looking up at your husband for the first time. Even the scar on his face now was a reminder of how difficult it was to be the emperor – Yoongi had been lucky to escape with just a disfigured face. He hadn’t even lost his vision.

“What’s wrong with him?” Yoongi asked with a frown, turning the boy slightly in his grasp to inspect him. He looked healthy enough, but you never knew with babies, really.

“Nothing,” you rushed to reassure him. “It’s just that being the crown prince is dangerous, and being the emperor is even worse.” Your voice choked up as you explained. Saying the words out loud made them more real somehow, and you almost wished you hadn’t.

“Y/n…” Yoongi looked over at you, shifting Man-bok so that he was being held more securely against him. “Is this about your uncle?” At the beginning, he’d never thought much about the fact that you were related to the previous emperors, but now the fact that he’d basically murdered your uncle in cold blood hung over his head like the sword of Damocles.

“Y/n… I’m sorry.” The words stuck in his craw, but he forced himself to say them anyway. It was a lie, but if it was what you needed to feel better…

Instead of accepting his apology, you made a rude noise. “For what?” you asked.

“For your uncle…?” Confused now, Yoongi cocked his head at you and furrowed his brow.

“Why would you need to apologize? Of course you raised an army to take the throne. It was his fault for leaving potential heirs alive.” The nonchalant way you expressed that sentiment gave him pause. He’d never taken you for someone so cavalier about violence and death. “He did the same thing to my brothers.”

The way your lips tightened as you said it clued him in to the fact that that was what was really bothering you. Of course, your brothers. The two princes that your uncle had had imprisoned and then murdered to secure his rule. When your father had died, your uncle had been declared regent since the crown prince wasn’t old enough to rule, and he’d wasted no time cementing his own authority instead.

“Y/n…” You avoided his gaze, instead reaching for Man-bok. He relinquished the boy to you and you hugged him close, needing to feel your son’s warm, healthy body pressed against you. “I promise you,” he continued, his voice full of conviction. “Nothing will ever happen to our son. Not so long as I live and breathe.” Ducking in, he pressed a tender kiss to the top of Man-bok’s head.

“Really?” The faint hope in your voice made his heart clench. In all the time he’d spent alternately admiring your kindness and cursing your stubborn, know-it-all streak, he’d never seen the vulnerability that you were showing him now. In hindsight, it was silly that he hadn’t realized this earlier, but of course you were scarred from the civil conflict that had been raging. Your family was in the thick of it all, and as much as the men and women involved were royalty, they were also your blood relatives. Really, it was a wonder you’d turned out as normal as you had.

“I swear on my life.” He’d never meant anything as much as he did now.

“Thank you, Yoongi.” Holding Man-bok with one hand, you reached for him with the other, sliding your arm along his shoulder to pull him close for a kiss. It was sweet and tender, a wonderful, perfectly fitting first kiss. His eyes fluttered shut as you drew close, wanting to savour the moment for as long as he could. Your lips were soft and you smelled like roses, just like the perfume he’d given you in secret.

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It was highly unusual for the emperor to share a bed with his empress. Intimacy was carefully planned based on auspicious dates, and after the deed was done, you both got dressed and went your separate ways. You knew that, and yet you slipped into his room that night, after Man-bok’s 100-day celebration.

You’d gotten mostly undressed after the banquet ended, grateful to be out of your restrictive clothing. Man-bok was sleeping, of course, with his nanny, and you’d dismissed Ling too after she helped you out of the empress robes. Dressed in just your pajamas, you pulled a warm shawl over your shoulders and left your quarters. You just had so much pent-up energy from earlier, and you needed to talk to someone about it.

“Hey,” you said softly, slipping in through the doors just as Sambo was leaving. He gave you a sideways glance, but you ignored it.

“Hey,” Yoongi greeted, smiling at you. He too was in his pajamas, already in bed, the covers pooling around his waist as he sat up. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I just…” You swallowed, feeling a little silly now. This could have waited till tomorrow. “I guess I didn’t want the night to be over,” you confessed. It had been so much fun tonight, getting to meet and talk to everyone. Your sisters and old friends had come to the palace, and Man-bok had been so cute in his little ceremonial robes.

“I get it,” he said. “Come sit.”

You came closer, sliding the shawl off your shoulders, and knelt next to his futon. Illuminated in the soft light of the lamp nearby, the long blonde hair he’d left to tumble over his shoulders seemed to glow softly. Your own hair had been hastily put back in a bun – a lady never left her rooms with her hair down, after all. It was nowhere near as intricate as anything Ling could do for you, but it sufficed.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” he asked with a soft smile.

“You know I did,” you giggled, leaning closer.

“Yes, I saw you having a grand old time with your sisters,” he teased, fondness evident in his voice. Ever since the kiss you’d shared, your relationship had been evolving. Yoongi didn’t know if you would ever forgive him for what he’d done to your family – despite your dismissive attitude towards your uncle – but he was content with this. You letting your guard down around him, seeking him out and enjoying his company… it was more than he’d allowed himself to hope for.

“Oh, I haven’t seen them in over a year,” you enthused. “It was so nice to see them all again! Thank you for inviting them,” you said, more quietly now. “I know it wasn’t an easy decision, inviting the L/n clan tonight.” Despite everything, you knew he was still insecure about his rule.

“You’re welcome.” He smiled at you, then noticed for the first time the soft light glinting off the hairpin you were wearing, the one he’d bought for you. “Oh, you’re wearing the pin! I was right, it does look good on you,” he complimented.

“You— what?” Your voice was shaky, your eyes wide as you reached up to wrap your fingers around the pin, and Yoongi realized that he’d fucked up.

Just to be sure that it was the right one, you pulled it from your hair, causing the long locks to tumble over your shoulders. Brushing it aside impatiently, you inspected the pin. Sure enough, it was the same one that you’d received almost a year ago, and you’d never found out who sent it to you.

“It was you?” The words trembled, fragile in the darkness of the room, barely there, like a wisp of smoke.

“I… yes.” Yoongi was watching you carefully, his hands held out placatingly in front of him.

“But why?” It felt like your mind was shutting down, unable to reconcile this new information. Back when you’d gotten this pin, you could barely stand to be in the same room as your husband. You hadn’t even started being friendly until after Man-bok was born. To know that he hadn’t felt the same way, that he’d been quietly watching you, thinking of you…

“I just wanted to make you smile,” he said honestly with a half shrug.

“Yoongi…” Your voice was choked up, and he was starting to panic now, not quite sure what he’d done wrong. Even if you hadn’t welcomed his advances, he hadn’t overstepped, right? All he’d wanted to do was make you less miserable, and now he was thinking that he would have been better off leaving you alone altogether.

“Is… is that okay?” The words were hesitant, Yoongi ducking slightly to look at your face.

Sniffling, you nodded, swiping at your tears impatiently so you could look at him clearly. In the dim, flickering light, Yoongi’s face was the most beautiful, dear thing you’d ever laid eyes on. Your eyes roamed his face, seeing him as if for the first time. He was so handsome, your husband, your emperor.

“Are you disappointed? Is that why you’re crying?” Worry crinkled Yoongi’s brow. He knew he wasn’t the greatest catch. Throne aside, his hair was a strange colour and the scar running dramatically across his face marred him permanently. He was short and quiet, awkward, caustic… The insecurities came roaring to the forefront.

“No,” you denied, grabbing his hands and bringing them to your chest. You shuffled closer yet, so that your forehead rested against his. “I’m not disappointed at all. Yoongi…” you breathed, your eyes fluttering shut as you brushed your lips across his softly. “Thank you.” For caring about you even when you’d cursed him. For being by your side, even when you hadn’t known it. Just for being him.

Yoongi’s hand slipped from your grasp before reaching up to cup your face, his thumb running across your cheekbone tenderly. “You’re welcome.” He understood what you meant and responded in kind. “You give me more than you know, Y/n.”

The urge to give him more was rising within you. Holding onto his shoulders for balance, you swung one leg over his lap, so that you were straddling him. His hands went to your waist, supporting you and tugging you closer. “Y/n,” he groaned. “What do you want from me?”

Your response was unequivocal. “Everything.”

That was all the permission he needed. Yoongi’s hand travelled up from your waist to the back of your head, bringing you in for a fiery kiss. He poured all of the longing of the past months into it, his lips moving over yours with urgency. Try as you might to keep up, you couldn’t. You’d only had sex with him to conceive before, and it had always been a hasty, dispassionate affair. You didn’t know what to do with your hands or your mouth, your palms resting lightly on his shoulders. You liked this, enjoyed the way his tongue slid against yours, but your body was rigid with uncertainty.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Yoongi broke away from the torrid kiss to ask. His hand on your waist rubbed you soothingly as he leaned back to take a good look at you.

“Uh, yeah, I…” You stammered. “This isn’t like before,” you finally said. All you knew of sex was what he’d shown you before, quick thrusts with his hands holding onto your thighs while you clutched the bedsheets and tried not to let your pain and discomfort show.

It was vague, but Yoongi knew what you meant, and he flushed with shame. “I’m going to make it up to you, okay?” he said, wrapping his arms around you and turning so that you were lowered onto the futon. His forearms bracketed your body, holding his weight up as he lowered his head for another kiss. “I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he slurred against your lips, one hand reaching for the tie of your shirt.

“Yoongi,” you breathed, your hands sliding around his waist as you held on to his clothes, tugging him closer to you. You felt the hard press of his erection against your belly, and were filled with curiosity. Before, you’d never really wanted to get close to it, and he’d basically just shoved it into you with little fanfare. You’d never even gotten a good look before.

Undoing the ties to his trousers, you slid your hand in, running your fingers hesitantly along his cock.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and you jerked your hand back as if scalded.

“I’m sorry,” you started to apologize, and he backtracked immediately.

“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he reassured you, nosing at your chin before he trailed kisses down your neck. You sighed and tilted your head, giving him more room.

“Really?” you asked.

“Yes, really,” he said, sucking a little mark right over your collarbone. Emboldened now, you tried again, this time wrapping your hand softly around the shaft. His skin was soft here, and so smooth, but you could feel the steely hardness underneath.

“Ah, you’re so good,” he praised, and you started stroking him lightly, carefully.

“Allow me,” he breathed as he slid his hand down your body, groaning as he found the wetness between your legs. “So perfect for me,” he sighed as he started stroking your clit softly, watching you for your reaction.

You moaned luxuriantly, throwing your head back as your hips rocked. You’d never felt anything like this before, and if this was what sex could be, it was no wonder everyone seemed to like it so much. As you grew distracted with the pleasure suffusing your being, your hand slowed down and then stopped on his erection, but he didn’t mind. Coaxing the sighs and moans from you was more than enough for him.

“I’m going to put my finger in now,” he warned you, and your eyes opened in confusion.

“Why?” you wondered.

“I have to stretch you out, love, so you can take me easily,” he answered, leaning down to kiss you.

“You didn’t before,” you pointed out, and he grimaced.

“Please forget everything I did before,” he groaned, sounding very much like he was in pain. “None of it was right, and I want to show you how much I love you.”

“You—what?” That was new. You hadn’t expected it so soon, if ever.

“Oh, fuck.” He reared back at that and clapped his hands over his mouth in horror. “I didn’t mean to say that! Please ignore it,” he pleaded. Honestly, he wouldn’t blame you if you put your clothes back on and ran out of there right now. What an embarrassing lapse of decorum.

To his surprise, you did none of that, instead wrapping your hands around his wrists and tugging them away from his face. “Did you mean it?”

“Y/n—” he whined, his face hot.

“Yoongi, please,” you said, and the tenderness in your voice gave him courage.

“Yes,” he admitted. “But I don’t expect you to say it back! I know it’s too soon, and you might never feel that way about me, and that’s okay, really, I—”

You cut him off by tugging him close to you and kissing him. “I love you too,” you murmured softly when you separated.

“Really?” His voice was small, and you smiled as you nodded.

“Fuck, I’m going to make it all better,” he swore, his voice deepening into a growl towards the end. With a renewed sense of purpose, he pushed you back into the futon. His hands were everywhere as they stripped you of your clothing, and you felt a little exposed lying there bare for him to see. You were more than aware that your body hadn’t quite bounced back from pregnancy, and he’d never seen you completely nude anyway.

The sheer reverence reflected in his gaze did much to boost your confidence, though. “You’re so gorgeous,” he rasped, bending to tug a nipple into his mouth. You cried out, your back arching as he laved at it, his hand returning to its previous mission of getting you ready to take him. His thumb rolled over your clit gently as he slid his fingers into you, first one, then two, pumping slowly to loosen you up. The wet, lewd sound soon echoed through the room.

“Yoongi,” you breathed to get his attention, pushing his shirt over his shoulders. The tie had already come undone and the front was hanging rather uselessly by his sides, and it wasn’t difficult to remove it. Yoongi got the message, though, stripping himself off with far less fanfare than he’d done for you before coming back with a vengeance, as if the seconds he’d spent away from your body were too much to bear.

“Yoongi, c’mon,” you begged inarticulately, pulling his body down to yours by wrapping your arms and legs around him.

“Stop it,” he admonished. “I’m going to get you nice and ready for me. You have to be patient.” But you could see the way his jaw clenched.

“Yoongi, I want you to fuck me,” you whined, writhing on the mattress.

That certainly got his attention, and he looked back up at your face, seeing the expression of wild abandon painted across your features. Your eyes were shut and your mouth open as you lost yourself to the pleasure he was giving you, long hair spread across his pillow.

“You ruin me,” he accused as he withdrew his hand, using the slick coating his fingers to lube up his cock before he positioned it at your entrance. You moaned and arched, tightening your legs around him to draw him in deeper.

Before, when he’d done this, it had hurt. You’d been dry and he hadn’t put any effort into preparing you or making it a pleasurable experience for you, and you tensed up, remembering how unpleasant the experience had been before. You wanted to make him feel good, though, because he’d done the same for you, and it was that which motivated you to urge him into your body.

When he slid in, inch by glorious inch, contrary to your expectations you didn’t feel pain. No, there was a stretch, but it was intensely pleasurable, and you writhed against him. “Ah, Yoongi, it feels so good,” you gasped.

“Yeah?” he said, sucking marks into your neck. “You like that?” When he finally bottomed out, he rested his forehead against yours, panting as he tried to retain some control.

“Yes, Yoongi,” you moaned, wriggling and clenching down on him, desperate for more.

“Fuck, don’t move,” he gasped, his eyes wide as he clutched your hip. “I want to make this good for you.”

“It is good,” you insisted, ignoring his instructions.

“Y/n, you don’t even know,” he groaned, bracing himself as he started to move his hips. He was gentle at first, making sure that it didn’t hurt, but you were impatient, whining that you wanted more, and before he knew it, he was really going at it, one arm hooked around your leg to hold you open for him.

“Yoongi, yes, yes,” you exulted, thrilled. The expression on his face, his brow furrowed tightly, was endlessly exciting for you, and you loved the motion of his jaw as he clenched hard, focusing on pleasing you.

Adjusting his position, he started thrusting again, this time skidding against your g-spot with every thrust. To really seal the deal, he reached down to rub at your clit with his fingers, drinking your every sound and movement up eagerly. You raked your nails down his back as your legs tightened around him, clenching down on him hard as you came.

Faced with the sensation of your walls fluttering around him rhythmically, he couldn’t hold it together much longer, pressing his forehead into your neck as he reached his own orgasm, groaning as his hips stuttered sporadically.

When it was over, he slumped down over you, barely remembering to tilt his body at the last second so that he slid off you and onto the futon. “I love you,” he gasped, throwing one sweaty arm over your chest to drag you closer to him so he could press kisses over your face. “I love you so much.”

Smiling, you turned your head, rubbing your nose against his affectionately. “I love you too, Your Grace.” The teasing lilt in your voice as you called him that warmed his heart. Before he could say much more, however, you yawned and turned, slinging your arm around his waist. “Good night,” you murmured, burying your face in his chest.

“Good night.” He rested his hand on the back of your head. His empress, his wife. His love.

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mredlich21 · 6 years

Text

Another Salman classic! Baaghi, a movie he wrote himself. And featuring another really really good performance from him.

I was watching this thing thinking “okay, saw that in Sadak, saw that, saw that.” And then I looked up the years, and Baaghi was first! Sadak gets the mentions as this really cool deep love story, but it’s just doing what Baaghi did already. Okay, so Sadak is doing it better (because Mahesh Bhatt > Deepak Shivdasani), but still, Baaghi did it first!

A while ago, I was talking about how Demi Moore’s “Indian” movie was supposed to be a big deal because it dealt with human trafficking, but that is obviously silly because there are so many other Indian films that deal with human trafficking. But they deal with it as it is experienced by the victims and their loved ones, not through the lens of some kind of social crusader.

(Do you remember the set up for this? Ranbir is helping a bunch of earnest documentarians, and none of the sex workers want to talk to them, but then Ranbir starts flirting and joking and treating them as people, and everyone loosens up)

Which is what Baaghi does! It looks at sex slavery through the lens of an innocent girl who got sucked into it, and the boy who falls in love with her. No one involved is completely “pure” and no one involved is completely “corrupted.” Well, that’s not quite right, our heroine is pure, and our villain is corrupt, but everyone else exists on a continuum. Even our hero is mostly good, but he did originally meet our heroine when visiting a brothel, so he’s not 100% blameless.

This is a much better message, to me, than the crusading rescuer kind of films. No one is going to identify themselves as the villain in those films, and be inspired to reform. And no one is going to think they can live up to the example set by the hero and try to save anyone.

But Baaghi is saying that anyone can be a hero, just be open to seeing someone as a human person and caring for them. And that anyone can reform, the madam and the pimp are part of a larger system and it isn’t just black and white. Well, except for Shakti Kapoor. He’s just eeeeeeeeeeevil and he always is! (except in Hum Saath Saath Hain. I kept waiting for him to reveal his dark side in that, and no! He’s truly just a good guy!)

(So odd seeing him being a happy wedding guest, instead of the evil uncle forcing the marriage to happen against the bride’s will!)

Baaghi is also just a really nice movie. It’s from back when Salman was a little baby superstar, and he had this amazing rawness and sincerity onscreen. I mean, he still does sometimes today, but it’s not as brilliant and sort of uncontrolled as it was back in the day. It makes his young romances especially powerful, because you really feel the passionate highs and lows, and instant connection, that teenage romances can have.

That’s the big, I don’t want to say “hook” exactly, but catalyst maybe, for this film. Because Salman is so young, too young to really think about anything or be able to stop his emotions from running forward, he falls in love with a very inappropriate person. And because she is so young, she isn’t able to resist him, or even think that she should. And the fact is, in their careless thoughtless youth, they are actually seeing the world more clearly than the more mature people around them, who have been blinded by accepting “how things are.”

Normally when a romantic young couple says “You just don’t understand!!!”, I kind of roll my eyes, because either the couple is being ridiculously dramatic, or the parents (or whoever else it is that is forbidding their union) are being ridiculously evil. But Baaghi managed to come up with a situation in which I can kind of see both sides.

On the one hand, your son rescuing a girl from a brothel and bringing her home, announcing this is his to-be-wife, is really something that you need a few minutes to process. And Salman doesn’t exactly give them a long time to get used to the idea before storming out.

But on the other hand, it’s also wrong to throw a girl away and mark her as damaged goods because she was kidnapped and forced into sex slavery. And in the clear-eyed youthful side of things, that fact should be so obvious, that there is no need to slow down and think about society or anything else before charging forward to what is so obviously the correct solution.

That’s what I like about the message of this film, it’s not people sitting down and arguing out the facts of the case and the right and wrong of the morals, it’s saying that the right thing is also the natural thing, the thing that you instinctively want to do. And the “bad” people have to constantly kill their natural urges in order to keep doing their villainy. Humanity doesn’t tend towards evil, it tends towards good. Again, excepting Shakti Kapoor (by the way, it is super strange watching this thinking about his real life casting couch scandal).

I mentioned that I still prefer Sadak by a narrow margin, I think that is because Sadak went a little further in looking at how these natural instincts can break through, even past a bad beginning. In Baaghi, they are ultimately good, the heroine was tricked into prostitution, our hero is a young college boy with a bright future who only drives a taxi at night to raise money. But in Sadak, her uncle knowingly sold her into prostitution, and our hero really is a taxi driver. They are more flowers growing among weeds, then flowers momentarily plucked and placed among the weeds before returning to their own kind. Also, as I said, better director. I mean, this film is fine, workmanlike, acceptable. But Sadak has flashes of real brilliance in it.

(Plus, while Sadak has the same virgin prostitute heroine and innocent hero, the second hero and heroine are a prostitute and her former client, no prevarications)

Mostly though, I like this film for how straightforward the last half of it is, especially the ending sequence. Which means I have to get into SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER

Right, Salman is a young college boy, son of an army officer. He is growing increasingly estranged from his father, as he doesn’t want to join the army after graduation, but he also hasn’t quite built up the courage to tell him. This is a seemingly pointless backstory, but it helps establish the baseline that Salman is looking for a purpose in life, he knows what he doesn’t want, but not yet what he does want.

As he travels to join his family and start college, he glimpses a girl sitting in the window of a bus. They look at each other and have a moment of instant connection. It’s a very nice visual metaphor for the rest of the film, two young people on two very different tracks who meet randomly in the middle.

Salman joins the college and has the usual college hijinks (including being forced to run around in a bikini, images that I am shocked don’t pop up on the internet more often!). But the college hijinks are important, for showing that Salman is slowly fighting towards finding his own place and his own community outside of being his father’s son. And as part of this, his friends encourage him to come with them on an adventure into the red light district.

Going to the red light district is not treated as a huge sin they are doing, or something dramatically rebellious. But it’s also not an everyday event. They are a little nervous and a little excited, and it is clear (at least, to me) that they aren’t actually planning to pay for services at a brothel, they are just excited about the idea of visiting one and seeing what it is like. The film could have chosen to go another way, to make Salman be tricked or drugged or come up with some other elaborate blameless way for him to get there. But I like it better this way, acknowledging that red light districts are a fact of life, and college boys are curious about them, and that’s all it can take for this “good boy” to suddenly end up somewhere he shouldn’t be.

And all it takes for him to fall hopelessly in love with Nagma is to see her, tearstained and bruised on the floor of a room, and bring her a glass of water. He doesn’t need a big explanation that of course she is an innocent victim who didn’t choose sex work, or to see her as a vision of beauty, he just needs to be a young man seeing a young girl, and liking her. And vice versa as well, she just needs to see a young man who is kind to her, and that’s all.

In Pakeezah, there is this HUGE deal over Meena Kumari giving up her heritage of prostitution and allowing herself to feel something and etc. etc. And similarly, this HUGE deal of a young man from a good family being so noble he can look past her family. It’s a classic brilliant movie of course. And it’s talking about a different time and a different place. But it’s also another story of a prostitute (even if she hasn’t yet “sold her virginity”) and a young man of good family falling in love. And it’s told with all of this agonizing back and forth over if she feels good enough for him, and if he can ever see her that way, and so on and so on.

(See how she runs at the end, when the train whistle reminds her of her true love?)

But in Baaghi, they are just young human people who fall in love and never even realize there are consequences, let alone think about them. They both leap in feet first right away, despite her being a prisoner in a brothel and him being a college student with no plans or prospects. And rather than the world teaching them to be more serious, they teach the world to be more hopeful.

(Look at them, just having a sweet first date, not caring that he had to raise the money to pay the Madam to be allowed to take her out)

One of my favorite characters is the brothel madam, Asha Sachdev. She starts out seeming like any other Madam, lounging around and trying to talk sense into her girls. But slowly, you see her tenderness, her real concern over Nagma’s broken heart and her wish that the young people could be happy. She’s just as trapped as Nagma, and just trying to do what little good she can in the position she has. And in the end, when she decides to “rebel” just as much as the young people, she dies for her kindness.

Oh right, that’s the title “Baaghi: A Rebel for Love”. It’s kind of a boring title if you think of it as applying to Salman. Or even Salman and Nagma. Because isn’t every other Indian romance about the hero and heroine rebelling because they fall in love? But it’s a really interesting title if you think of it as applying to everyone else.

There’s Asha Sachdev, who eventually rebels against Shakti Kapoor’s dictates because she grows to care for Nagma, and believe in her love story with Salman. There’s the Pimp (who I can’t find the name of the actor) who starts out completely evil, ready to “break in” Nagma to the life of a prostitute. But then we learn he was raised by Shakti Kapoor and has no one else, and more importantly is only doing these things to help take care of his sister. And when she is raped and kills herself, the Pimp turns into a rebel too, for the love of his sister. And finally even Salman’s very proper father Kiran Kumar turns into a rebel, for the love of his son, when he learns that Salman and Nagma are fighting it out against Shakti in the red light district.

Happy Salman Day! Baaghi, a Salman Classic Written By Salman Another Salman classic! Baaghi, a movie he wrote himself. And featuring another really really good performance from him.

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