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allari-ammayi · 8 months

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PLEASEEE I NEEEED PART 2 TO THE BHALLA FIC RN 🙌🙌🙌

Wife | Pt.2 《Bharya》B. Deva

☆Bhallaladeva x Fem! OC☆

Synopsis: Pooja and Bhallaladeva have been married for three months, but after their wedding ceremony came to an end, Pooja hasn't seen him or heard of him since. It's not like she's his first wife she likely won't be his last- is what she thinks. But when Bhallaladeva sends a servant to summon Pooja to his quarters late one night, Pooja hopes to fulfil their unstarted martial duties, instead, Bhalla requests that Pooja do something else for him. Something Pooja never expected to hear from the ruthless king of Mahismati. 《Pt. 2, 2.4k Words》

Note: There will probably be maybe two more parts to this story lol. This is the OC version of this fic. If you would like to read the Y/n version, it will be available on my Y/n masterlist page! ALSO, REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 》 By interacting with my works or posts, you agree to be exposed to my content and are confirming that you are willingly reading my writing!!

She stepped inside and gulped. His room was kind of how she imagined it. It was wide, grand, open and nothing like hers. Pooja’s room was grand too, of course, being one of the wives of the king, but compared to the king’s room, it felt like a children's play area.

Pooja stepped forward, examining every inch of the room, her anklets making music with every step she took. But the most important question lay unanswered. Where was Bhalla? The main reason Pooja traveled halfway across the palace at one in the morning for?

Pooja crossed her arms behind her and looked around, admiring the portraits and the statues. They were portraits of him, one of his mother, and of previous kings. But none of his brother or any of his wives.

But one particular portrait caught her eyes. Or rather, the fact that it was covered up with a massive velvet cloth.

What was Bhalla hiding under there?

Pooja stepped towards the portrait, her anklets notifying every other living thing nearby of her movement but right as she reached for the velvet cloth, the sound of a voice made her stomach drop.

“Here.” Said low, breathy voice. Pooja flinched, instantly drawing her hand away from the covered portrait and span around to face the source of the voice. What she saw made Pooja’s heart jump and her stomach summersault.

On his mighty grand bed, lay Bhalladeva.

The king.

The warrior.

The ruler.

Her husband.

Like his voice, Bhallaladeva was breathing heavily and fast, reaching an arm out for Pooja who was unsure of what to do.

Upon stepping closer to him, Pooja began getting worried. Bhalla’s face was covered in tiny droplets of sweat, his breathing was heavy and his chest rose and fell at an alarming rate.

Pooja gasped at the helpless form of the king and brought her hands to her lips.

“Your- Your Majesty-!” Pooja began, unsure of what to call him. Pooja’s use of ‘Your Majesty caused a tiny flinch to escape Bhalla’s body.

Should she acknowledge their marriage and the sacred thread tied around her neck by Bhalla and call him ‘Bhalla’?

Or was was more fitting to call him ‘Bhallaladeva’ to please his massive ego and not seem overly friendly?

Or was she supposed to be his quiet submissive wife and refer to him as his majesty?

Pooja gulped and quickly looked around while Bhalla continued breathing rapidly in a feverish way.

“Don’t- Don’t worry Your Majesty! I’ll-” With the way Bhalla flinched as she called him ‘Your Majesty’, Pooja was internally face-palming herself. Pooja hated how she kept stumbling over her words.

Way to make a great first impression, she thought as she slowly began panicking.

Pooja noticed how Bhalla could barely keep his eyes open as they kept drooping and he struggled to breath normally.

“I’ll call a healer-!” Just as Pooja turned around to sprint away to fetch a healer, Bhalla’s voice stopped her yet once again.

“No-!” He said. Pooja couldn’t tell if he was shouting or simply in pain because the moment she turned around, she saw him painfully clutching his heart while he winced in pain.

“But-”

“No. I don’t need a physician right now.” Bhalla said, his pain starting to worsen as he raked his fingers through his dark curly locks. Pooja gulped, unconvinced but not willing to disobey his Majesty’s orders.

“Then… Why was I summoned here, Your majesty?”

Bhalla pat the empty space next to him on the bed, confusing Pooja.

What did he want her to do? Clean the bed sheets? Dust it? Was the dust causing him to go all haywire like this?

Pooja, still confused, awkwardly moved towards the king and bent down. She looked at the king, who looked back at her before she looked down at the spot when he was patting.

Pooja began patting and sweeping aswell with her hand, brushing the non-existenct specks of dust off the edge of the bed, confidently.

When she finished, she looked at the king, hoping to see an impressed face at her brillinat cleaning abilities, only to be met with a confused look from the king.

“What’re you doing?” Bhalla croaked out.

“I was dusting.” Pooja replied, impressively. Bhalla’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

“...Why?” Bhalla said, after a slow moment of consideration, seemingly forgetting his pain in the confusion.

“Because… Well, because Your Majesty-” Bhalla flinched ever so slightly as Pooja referred to him as ‘Your Majesty’, “-asked me to.” Pooja said, in a matter-of-fact tone, leaving Bhalla speechless. Bhalla’s lack of words left Pooja worried out of her mind.

Had she not cleaned enough? Or did she do it wrong?

Pooja was practically losing her mind over what Bhalla would do to her if she acted incorrectly.

Would he kill her? Posion her? Torutre her? Publically behead her?

Thoughts like those ran through Pooja’s mind and each thought was more treacherous than the one before. In the flurry of worry, Pooja stood up suddenly, knocking over a golden water goblet in the process and panicked further at the noise it made.

Bhalla was undisturbed by the goblet, he genuinely couldn’t care less about it. Instead, his energy was taken upp by a small smile gracing his lips at Pooja’s antics. The sound og the falling goblet masked the tiny chuckle that escaped Bhalla’s lips.

Suddenly, as if catching himself in a horrid act, Bhalla quickly wiped his smile right off, and replaced it with a simple calm face.

Pooja looked at the fallen ghoblet and back at Bhalla, misreading his calmness for anger.

“M-Maybe it would be best if I fetched a physician and left Your Majesty alone-” Pooja kept stumbling over her words, her voice clearly laced with tension and fear, and when she turned around suddenly, Bhalla’s voice stopped her once more.

“No.” He didn’t shout this time, he was calm as if suppressing his quick breath and his heavy voice. As if he was actually trying to be soft with her. As if she was a fragile little bird that he didn’t want to harm.

Pooja stopped and looked over at him, he was patting the empty spot next to him again.

“I meant stay with me,” He said, and under his moustach, Pooja failed to spot the tiniest and almost invisible smile curling at the corner of his lips, “Not- Not dust the bed,”

“Ohhh,” Pooja said, nodding her head slowly in understanding. She slowly and cautiously advanding towards the king and carefully sat next to his flat body.

“Stay with me.” Bhalla said, softly, allowing himself to close his eyes and he turned his head to feel Pooja’s touch through the fabric of her voni. “Just for a while…”

Pooja stiffened, having never expected something like this from the king. Bhalla’s voice made Pooja think it almost sounded like love, but she shook the thought off quickly. She remembered the words of the other wives.

Bhalla is incapable of love. Giving it or receiving it.

This wasn’t love, Pooja told herself, when another question popped up.

What happened to the king?

And another one.

Why did he need her to stay with him?

And another one, the one Pooja was most curious about.

Why her?

The answer to that question seemed simple. He wanted to see his latest wife, so he could cross it off on his to-do list and not bother about her ever again till her funeral. That was the only possible reason… Right?

Something in the back of Pooja’s mind told her that it wasn’t. Her curiosity getting a hold of her, Pooja gulped and let her first question out.

“Are- Are you okay?” Pooja mentally face-palmed at the way this question was phrased.

It seemed too formal and yet informal at the same time. How was that even possible!?

“Now I am,” Bhalla said, his voice musch less breathy like before, his chest raising and falling at a normal pace rather than rapidly like before. “Stay with me.” Bhalla’s soft voice and calm demenor, contrary to his previous aura, surprised Pooja.

It took her a few minutes to realise she was there to calm Bhalla down, but she was unsure how. She could just sit there like he said, till he fell asleep, but no.

Pooja could tell that Bhalla was still agitated, sure not as much as he was when she walked in, but he was still breathing pretty heavy and sweating like crazy.

Pooja looked around the room to see if there was anything she could use to help Bhalla and with each little thing she saw, the easier this task became. Now came time for execution.

Pooja looked down at her soft voni and without a second thought, ripped a large piece off.

She picked up the fallen goblet, filled it with water from the vase on the bed side table and dipped the ripped section of the voni into the water.

She gave it a good dunk, pulled it out and squeed the excess water out before she folded it up neatly and looked over at Bhalla. With a gulp and hesitant shaky hands, she wiped the sweat off his face with the cloth.

Bhalla practically melted into Pooja’s voni as he let out a sigh of relief as the cold water caressed his skin. Pooja gave the voni another dunk, squeezed it one more time and wiped only the top of Bhalla’s chest before she gave it one last dunk, squeezed and folded it and placed it on his forehead.

Carefully lifting herself off the bed, Pooja sprinted towards the nearest widow and with a great push, she opened it, letting the cool breeze open to cool Bhalla down. The rust on the windows told her that they hadn’t been opened in a long time.

Pooja ran back to Bhalla, who had stopped sweating but was still squirming around in unease. Pooja looked around to see if there was anything she could do to stop that and put an end to his uneasiness, till she came to a conclusion that there was only one thing she could do.

Show him a motherly kind of love.

Sure, Pooja was told that Bhalla couldn’t feel love, or so she thought, but it was worth a try. She sat back down, and after careful consideration, ran her fingers through Bhalla’s raven dark locks until she had a hold of his head. She scooped his head up and placed it on her lap.

Bhalla opened his eyes slightly to see what Pooja was doing, but when he heard her voice the very next second, he closed his eyes. Pooja closed her eyes and started humming a tune.

A tune that her mother sang to her as a kis. A tune that every mother likely sang to their kids. Pooja brushed Bhalla’s hair back and off his faceand remembered a lullaby.

“Lali, Lali, Lali Lali.” Pooja began, her nervous voice nowhere in sight, now replaced by a soft sing-song voice, “Vatapatrasayiki Varahala lali,” Bhalla closed his eyes fully now, his chest’s constantly movement slowling down with every word Pooja sang. “Rajivanetruniki ratanala lali.” Bhalla’s previously tense body softened down instantly like hard butter melting in the hot sun. “Lali, Lali, Lali, Lali,” Pooja carresed the side of Bhalla’s face as she sang the lullaby, his conciousness slowly drifting away with every verse she sang as he eventually returned to a peaceful slumber.

When Bhalla had fully gone back to sleep, Pooja carefully picked his head up, dragged over a pillow and gently placed him down. She saw his silk sheets flayed all over the bed and pulled them up before tucking him in as if he was just an innocnet little child, rather than the feared, ruthless leader of Mahismati.

When Bhalla was tucked in and peacefully sleeping away, Pooja looked down at his features and wondered what she was supposed to do now? Kiss him on the forehead and leave?

Maybe it was a bit too soon, she thought, considering this was the first time they even spoke to each other. But then again, she thought, she was his wife, and as a wife, kissing isn’t something to be neglected.

Impulsively, Pooja bent her head down and pecked Bhalla on the forehead before bringing her nails to her lips in shyness and spriting out of the room. Even if Bhalla was not fond of kisses, he wouldn’t know, he was asleep, Pooja told herself.

She carefully shut the doors to the room close to not wake him up and trotted off to her very own room, practically prancing, dancing, and skipping as she went, her excitement lighting up the cold dark hallways.

When Bhalla heard the doors to his room close shut, she slowly peeled his eyes open and looked up at the ceiling. Despite the windows being open and Pooja’s damp voni on his forehead, Bhalla’s face burnt like fire as he grazed his finger over the spot Pooja had kissed him.

Pooja hummed the tune of the lullaby to herself as she skipped through the hallways, her stomach unable to stay at ease with the butterflies eurpting through them.

Today was a good day, she thought, a productive one. She had talked to the king- or rather, her husband, for the first time. She sang him a lullaby and tucked him into bed.

Sometimes the simplest answers give the most effective results.

She even figured out what she would need to do from now one if she was ever called back.

Take his head into her lap, sing to him, calm him down and tuck him into bed.

Simple.

Though it seemed very unlikely that she would ever be called back.

But the voices of the other wives came into Pooja’s mind. The king never spoke to any of his wives unless it’s extremely important. He has no business with them and even if he does, he always only sends a servant.

This thought caused Pooja to stop and think.

True.

Why did the king need her if he never talked to his wives?

This unanswered questions left Pooja thinking about all the other unanswered questions.

Such as why was he the way he was when Pooja first entered the room?

Was it a medical condition?

Or was it the result of traumatic events in his past?

And if so, what exactly was that traumatic past?

Why did Bhalla need someone her to calm him down?

Why not one of his more experienced wives who knew more about him than she did?

And the most curious.

What lay behind the velvet cloth?