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Fandom: Hazbin Hotel.
Pairing: human!married!Reader x Alastor's brother husband x human!Alastor.
Rating: explicit.
Summary: a few days later, you take the test again: negative. Overwhelmed by despair, you attempt to drown yourself (this scene is marked with a warning in the chapter, so you can skip it if you prefer). Alastor tells you to have sex again when you're ovulating, but this time, it's different: it's no longer the cold, detached sex of the first time.
🔞 Warnings: infertility struggles, depression, attempted suicide, emotional infidelity, adultery, brother-in-law relationship, religious guilt, unhealthy coping mechanisms, obsessive desire for pregnancy, explicit sexual content, breeding themes, emotional dependency, heavy angst, dark romance.
Previous │ you’re here │ next
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The two pink lines did not appeared, neither this time.
You stared at the single line, as if you could make a second one appear with the power of thought alone, believing in it, hoping for it, desiring for it with all your heart.
You’d waited the full five minutes.
You’d even opened another one, used a different brand, but the result… was the same.
The hope of those days that had lightened your heart and your life was the same one that was slowly killing you.
It was an illusion, ruthless and cruel.
The pain in your ovaries, your sore breasts… all false alarms.
You didn’t want to eat anymore. You didn’t want to wash anymore.
You couldn’t do anything anymore.
Living had become tiring.
And your husband was always at work.
Your husband, the man you needed, wasn’t there.
The thin flame that warmed your heart, flickering, was dying.
So was your soul.
Then, you thought back to Alastor.
To those dirty things you had done.
You’d fucked him… your husband’s brother, for God's sake!
You felt dirty in your soul.
An empty, withered shell that was rotting.
You hit your head with your hands, making fists.
You let it all out: the anguish, the pain, the torment.
You were freeing yourself from the weight that had been crumbling you for so long.
You thought about the betrayal, the guilt, the copulation in Alastor’s bed, and… all for... nothing.
You didn’t cry. You couldn’t even do it.
You felt too empty for tears.
You just sat on the closed toilet lid, the two plastic sticks on the edge of the bidet like medical waste.
You’d begged another man to fuck you.
You were just a pathetic whore.
You slowly rose from the toilet, staggering slightly, not even bothering to remove your clothes.
You couldn’t bring yourself to care.
Your mind was no longer entirely clear; it was shrouded in despair and depression.
What would your husband have thought of you if he’d known?
What did Alastor think of you?
He was your family, but also your friend.
After all, you’d grown up together.
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You made your way across the small bathroom toward the bathtub. Bending forward, you gripped the thick, curved edge, lifted one knee and then the other, and settled yourself inside. Your dull, lifeless eyes stared into the emptiness between your bare feet.
Then you turned on the faucet.
The water was freezing cold.
The sound of it rushing into the tub did nothing to distract you from your misery.
Your thoughts grew darker, and you no longer felt capable of returning to normal. Guilt weighed heavily on you—not only because of what you had done, but because you felt more attached to Alastor than to your own husband.
He definitely thought you were a whore.
You’d forced him to fuck you, you tricked him to impregnate you, no less!
You had no excuses or justifications: you sucked.
How had you come to commit such despicable acts, just to fulfill a desire?
Your fingers threaded through your hair. You began to tear it out.
You were in a very depressed state, you didn’t feel any pain.
Yet, you definitely felt it: that pit in your chest, digging and digging.
Creating a huge hole in your rib cage.
So, you surrendered yourself to all the pain you were feeling.
You let your body sink into the icy water that now filled the bathtub and enveloped you completely, soaking your clothes through.
The water slipped into your mouth, filling your lungs. But you had no intention of climbing out of the tub.
You wanted to die, just as your hope had died.
Just as your dream of becoming a mother had died.
Your husband had left for work an hour ago, full of his usual optimism. “We can do it, sweetheart,” he’d said, kissing your forehead.
The lie between you had grown teeth.
Then, you didn’t even hear the loud knocking on the bathroom door.
You had been in that state for several minutes.
Your skin was beginning to wrinkle.
Little by little, your lips lost their soft color, abandoning their rosy warmth as they slowly turned a cold, lifeless shade of blue.
“Y/N?” Alastor’s voice, muffled by the wood.
“Y/N!? Open up! Are you ok?!? Please, open the door! Please!” His voice grew louder and louder.
But you felt nothing. You didn’t even register the concern creeping into his frightened, desperate voice as he shouted.
Your consciousness was already abandoning you.
Your hands fell like dead weight on your chest, scraping the shirt, your flesh.
You wanted to strip yourself.
You wanted to… cease to exist.
What kind of woman were you?
You weren’t even fit to give birth.
Other women screwed and got pregnant on the first try.
You, not even if you sold your soul to the devil.
A loud, resounding thud echoed through the house. Yet, you heard nothing. You were so immersed in your suffering that you had lost awareness of the world around you.
Alastor kicked the door open.
The door opened, falling to the ground with a loud, dry sound.
He stood in the doorway, taking in the scene: you, trying to kill yourself, the tests on the bidet.
His eyes went to them, then back to you.
Not because he didn’t know what to do, on the contrary… but because seeing you in that state… hurt him.
He felt a pang in his chest, in his heart.
Wasting no time, he threw himself down beside the bathtub, he didn’t even bother rolling up his sleeves. He simply plunged his arms into the icy water, which was now spilling over the edges and flooding the floor, and lifted your head out first.
Supporting your head with one hand, he glanced around and stretched out the other to grab a large towel.
He spread it on the floor.
Then he lifted you from the tub, pulling you carefully from the water and laying you gently on the towel.
There were no signs of life.
Alastor immediately began trying to revive you.
He pressed firmly against your chest, then pinched your nose shut and breathed air into your lungs through your mouth.
“Stay with me! Stay with me! Please, don’t die! You can’t die! Y/N, can you hear me?! Please, come back to me! Come back to me, Y/N! I can’t… I can’t lose you! I only agreed to live with you two because you were there! Please, you can’t… you can’t leave me!”
Alastor’s tears fell from his crimson eyes, dampening his long, beautiful lashes.
They looked like pearls glimmering in the light.
His tears landed on your face, mingling with the water from the bath, trailing down your cheeks and along your neck.
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Suddenly, your body jolted.
You began coughing violently, expelling all the water you had swallowed.
Alastor’s eyes widened in relief.
He gave you enough space to breathe, but stayed close by your side.
Supporting you with one hand on your back, he helped you into a half-seated position so you could expel the remaining water.
Alastor rubbed your back in slow, circular motions.
He kept repeating your name, encouraging you and praising you as you coughed everything out.
Alastor stayed with you for as long as you needed him.
He peppered your forehead and temples with small, brief kisses when you finally calmed down; then he gently dabbed you dry with another towel, trying to soak up some of the water from the drenched clothes you were still wearing.
There was no malice in it, in him.
But what your husband should have done, his brother did instead.
His presence, however, made you feel worse.
You clung to his elbows, tugging at them, tugging at his shirt.
And the more you struggled, screaming in pain, the more he clung to you, holding you tightly.
He buried his face in your thick hair and cried, again.
The scene before his eyes was horrifying.
If he could, he would have caught the person responsible and killed him.
There was only you: the innocent victim of a cruel fate, which had robbed you of your greatest desire.
Alastor then pulled away, taking your face in his large, thin, veined hands. He held your face tightly, but not so much that it hurt. He shook you a little, so you would pay attention to him.
“Listen to me. Listen, Y/N. Look at me,” he said, shocked but serious.
“We only tried once. It’s not over. It’s not that easy to get pregnant. We can… wait until you ovulate and try again, for as long as you’re ovulating,” he said, shaking your face again. You clung to his arms again, burying yourself under his chin. And this time… you cried.
“I’m a horrible person. God will never give me a child, especially now that He knows I’ve committed such a heinous sin against my husband. I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” You screamed.
“I’m sorry, Alastor! I ruined your life! Your brother’s! It’s all my fault! I’m a whore!”
Alastor’s eyes widened at the words you dared to say, desecrating your mouth.
A mouth he’d been watching from afar, wondering what it tasted like.
“Don’t say that bullshit! Do you understand?! You’re not a... !”
Christ, he couldn’t even repeat those words.
How could you think so little of yourself?
“I’m the one who agreed to help you! Y/N, please, listen to me! It’s not cheating if it’s done for a reason... You just want a child. You’re not cheating on your husband with another man, you’re just looking for an alternative. And I’ll help you. Do you understand?”
His eyes shone and burned into yours, dark, deep, questioning.
Was there any truth in his words?
Was it only because you truly wanted to have a child?
Was he helping you simply because he wanted to see you and his brother happy?
“But you don’t have to scare me like that anymore,” he sighed against your cheek, resting his slender, pointed nose against it, pinching you with his mustache.
“I’m sorry,” you sighed, your throat burning after all the desperate screams, now calmer.
He looked at you intensely. His dark eyes were like impenetrable pools, still slightly moist from the tears he had shed just moments before.
“Please… don’t tell your brother about any of this.”
You could see his expression change, soften. His eyebrows widen and relax in a soft expression, one of surrender and shared pain.
But how could a celibate and single man, without ever having had a girlfriend, understand that desire of yours, so profound?
His hands, still glued to your cheeks, lightened in a gesture of tenderness, care and affection.
Shortly after, he lifted you off the floor and carried you to his room, closing the door behind him with his foot.
His hands seemed to never leave you as he carefully dried you.
He gently helped you remove your wet clothes so he could change you into something dry.
Then he gently combed your hair, cradling you as he dried it, while you rested comfortably in his large bed.
All this time, his hands seemed drawn to you, constantly brushing your skin with silent, reassuring gestures, as if he couldn’t bear to be away from you.
In the days that followed, your relationship with your husband became increasingly cold and distant.
Every time your husband came closer, every time he touched you… you thought of Alastor’s fingers.
That had been inside you, and shouldn’t have.
You had broken your marriage vow.
You had broken God's commandment: you shall not commit adultery.
You would get up, put on a long sweater, and go out onto the porch or the backyard.
You couldn’t bring yourself to share a room with your husband.
If you had gotten pregnant, it would have been different.
If you had gotten pregnant, you wouldn’t have felt so guilty.
The end justifies the means, after all.
Instead, having had sex with him without getting pregnant… it was like having had sex with him out of desire, and nothing else.
Adultery, plain and simple.
But meanwhile... Alastor became your shadow.
You couldn’t even sleep next to your husband.
Your nerves were as tense as violin strings.
You prayed for ovulation to come soon…
You needed Alastor’s comfort. But more, you needed his physical comfort.
In the following days, you felt hotter, hornier.
Even more neurotic, but maybe it was because… of everything that had happened.
Alastor noticed the change in you. He immediately noted the date in the notebook he always carried with him, without your knowledge.
Even your mood was different.
You had sudden mood swings. You were stern, but also very fragile. He wasted no time.
“Come to me when he leaves for work,” he whispered in your ear, by sneaking up on you from behind and caging you at the sink as you cleaned the dishes after breakfast.
And just as he had come, he left.
Again, the house was too quiet.
Your husband had kissed you goodbye, his lips warm and habitual, and you’d felt like the worst kind of liar.
Now, standing in the hallway outside Alastor’s door, you felt that nausea again, mixed with agitation.
This time you weren’t wearing a nightgown, but short pajamas: simple cotton sleep shorts and a camisole, your feet bare.
Although you were (not so) repulsed by the idea, you had washed and prepared yourself for him, hoping, once again, that the dirty feeling would go away.
You opened the door and Alastor was sitting on the edge of his bed.
His shoulders tense.
His hands gripping the edge of the mattress.
His intense, penetrating gaze on you.
He was just waiting.
You.
The sun streamed in through the shutters, illuminating the room, casting dark, distorted shadows on the wall.
Alastor had half-closed the shutters for a more… intimate, less adulterous feel.
This time, he was wearing a black shirt, unbuttoned at the chest, tight on his slim and toned physique and soft trousers.
He raised a hand, poised, open palm.
A clear invitation to join him.
And as you walked, one slow step after another, your eyes remained locked.
He watched you as you approached him.
It seemed like an impossible, infinite distance, as if you couldn’t reach him.
Sliding your feet across the cold, solid floor.
When you were near to him, you placed your hand in his, clinging to him. Clinging to the hope that he could truly end your suffering, once and for all.
Alastor smiled softly at you.
With his other hand, he let go of the edge of the mattress, lifted it to your hair, and removed the hairpin holding it in place.
Your thick, wavy hair fell over your shoulders, down your back.
Then, he slid his hands down, trailing them to your hips.
He held you close in his gentle hands, and pulled you closer to him.
Slowly, he moved his hand from your hip to your cheek. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, admiring you.
Your face was pale from stress and exhaustion.
His eyes roamed, serious and deep, through your hair and your gaze, lingering on your lips.
“You’re beautiful,” he admitted.
“My brother is so, very, lucky to have you,” he added as his fingers played with your lock of hair, then fell to your exposed neck, touching that spot that sent shivers down your spine.
“I’m hideous. Not just because of that… but, look at me. I have dark circles under my eyes, I can’t sleep. I’m all… ugly.”
“I’m looking at you,” he replied, pausing his movements. His hand rested between your neck and shoulder blade, not squeezing, just present. “And you’re beautiful, Y/N. This fragility you’re sharing with me… it’s so intimate. It makes you even more beautiful.”
You looked down, uncomfortable.
Alastor was right. Even though you two had never been intimate since you met, you had a deep connection.
You understood each other.
Alastor broke the silence, sensing your discomfort.
He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close, pressing you against him, raising his head to look at you.
“Last time, we were both too nervous. I was too… distant. We should be more relaxed. More natural. That helps, too.”
Your eyes snapped on him again.
“You think that… that mattered?” You asked.
“They say stress it’s not good for conception.”
Alastor’s eyes opened just a little on his linear face.
You flinched at his words.
Not even your husband, his brother, had ever dared to say those things to you.
You couldn’t hold his gaze. You lowered your face onto your hands, which were resting on his pelvis.
“We should try to be more natural. Is that okay for you?”
The silence that followed was so complete you could hear your heart beating so hard you thought he could hear it too.
Alastor smiled tenderly, his eyes locked with yours, his expression serious but not annoyed.
He raised his hands to his chest, unbuttoning one button.
Then he moved even lower.
His fingers moved slowly, his eyes dancing with yours, never looking away.
The air between you was electric, hot.
You’d never seen him without a shirt.
You’re husband was robust, with a comforting softness to his build.
Alastor was lean, all defined lines and muscles.
His chest was smooth, his stomach flat, with a light, dark fuzz that trailed down until it disappeared into the waistband of his pants.
He was toned, elegant in his build, and his skin… it was dark, shiny, warm, fragrant and beautiful.
“What’s wrong? Am I too ugly?”
You blushed, looking down, but you immediately regretted it.
Looking down, you could see his cock already erect.
The pants were soft, yes, but also tight and didn’t hide… anything.
His pronounced bulge strained against your pants, the shape of him clear and intimidating.
He just stood there, letting you look, his expression unreadable.
“Do you want me to help you?”
“Help me? With what?” You asked, confused.
His hands moved slowly, giving you time to look at him, to follow him, to understand and realize what he was doing.
He placed his fingers on your hips, making his presence felt, and delicately, he lifted your tank top, sliding it up your body, revealing inch by slow inch.
Then he removed it over your head, leaving it on the bottom of the bed.
Your breasts were now exposed, you weren’t wearing a bra.
Your nipples hardened under his stare.
Alastor traced them with his eyes.
He threw himself on you, cupping your breasts in his hands.
His lips opened around your nipples and began to suck and lick them.
Then he bit the soft flesh of your breasts; first one, then the other.
From beneath you, he looked up, watching your contorted expressions and how you covered your mouth with the back of your hand.
Alastor raised one of his hands and grabbed the wrist on your face, moving it, bringing it closer to his mouth.
“Has anyone ever told you you have beautiful moans? Don’t stop, please,” he begged, kissing the inside of your wrist. Then he went back to sucking your nipples animalistically, while squeezing your titties.
Sitting on his lap, you could feel his cock hardening even more.
Then, he moved away from your breasts, wrapped his arms around your waist, and rose from the bed, gently placing you on the mattress immobilizing you.
He straddled the bed, between your thighs, on top of you.
His gaze penetrated yours, occasionally falling on your moist lips.
“I really want to kiss you,” he confessed, but then lowered his gaze, moving downward.
But he knew he couldn’t do it. Kissing you would be a sin.
Kissing you would mean… falling in love with you...
You stared at him in shock as his head moved down your body, kissing and licking every inch of your abdomen until he reached your pussy.
Didn’t he mean… kiss you on the lips?
Author’s Note: I’m back! Unfortunately, between this heatwave and the fact that I’ve fallen back into my obsession with Koreans, K-dramas, and manga, I’ve lost a bit of my inspiration and motivation to write. Personal issues haven’t helped, either.
I hope you enjoyed it!
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