They tell us never to touch the light, angels and devils don’t speak, we don’t look, we don’t crave...and we sure as fuck don’t fuck. But Halloween, that thin, reckless night when the veil between worlds fades and we can walk among humans without being noticed—well, that night has always been my favorite sin.

I didn't expect you—dressed in white, a halo tilted like it's daring to fall, lips glossed with temptation and eyes like stardust. You glide through the party like you don’t belong, too perfect, too pure for this sticky house filled with humans grinding to bass-heavy music.

I can feel it the second you walk by me, you smell like moonlight and something forbidden. Divine.

And maybe I shouldn’t flirt, maybe I shouldn’t offer that cocky smirk or ask you if your wings are real while my eyes devour the curve of your ass in that sheer little slip of a dress, but you flirt back, you burn back—soft voice, teasing smile and I see the way your breath catches when I lean in and say “You don’t look like you belong in heaven, angel, you look like you wanna fall.”

We dance, we drink, we laugh like mortals do. And when your hand slides into mine and you pull me upstairs, we both pretend we don’t know who we really are. You’re all light and softness beneath me, gasping my name, nails clawing into my shoulders like you're desperate to drag me down with you. And I let you—I whisper filth into your ear, make you say my name again and again, until we collapse into tangled sheets and broken rules.

We promise never again, never speak of it, never seek each other out. It's over.

Weeks later, hell burning around me like always, you show up. Your glow dims slightly in the red haze of the underworld, but you’re still painfully beautiful—and furious, scared but determined. And when you whisper what you’ve come to tell me, my heart freezes.

I got you pregnant? Holy. Fucking. Hell.

An angel, with my child.

The throne room falls silent, my demons watch. I should laugh, I should be terrified. Instead, I stare at you and all I can think is: you’re mine now and heaven help anyone who tries to take you from me.

An angel pregnant with the devil’s child, they’ll sing about this for centuries.

You stand there, trembling but unbroken, your eyes flicker between rage and fear and something else I can’t name. My fingers curl around the arm of my throne, I should send you away, I should deny it, I should let the heavens come for you...but I don’t.

Instead, I rise—every step echoes, my boots heavy against the obsidian floor. I reach you, my hand slides up, fingers brushing your jaw and you gasp like the first night all over again.

“You came here” I murmur, voice low, dark. “An angel, walking into hell for me.”

My thumb sweeps across your lower lip. “Do you have any idea what that does to me, little angel?”

Your eyes flash “I came for the child, not for you.”

But your pulse stutters under my touch, your breath hitches. You smell like fear and desire and heaven, you’ve always smelled like temptation.

I lean down, mouth at your ear, voice a rasp of sin. “You still think you’re not mine? After the way you came apart for me? After what we made?”

You shudder and for a moment it’s just us again, like that night, hidden under sheets and secrets. I press a slow, possessive kiss to your throat, tasting starlight, you tilt your head back without meaning to. My hands slide down, palm splayed over the slight curve of your belly, the heat of my skin sears through you, a promise, a threat.

“I’m not letting heaven take you” I whisper. “Or them.”

You choke out a protest “Harry-”

“Shh" my lips graze yours, a ghost of a kiss. “You came to tell me. Now you’re mine to protect, mine to keep safe...even if I have to burn the sky to do it.”

And somewhere deep inside, I feel something I shouldn’t, something dangerous, something almost…soft.