Chapter 2
September 14, 2025 at 12:57 PM
My lips are pale and vicious You're foamin' out the mouth You've suffered in the darkness I'll suck the pain right out So come and taste the reason, I'm nothin' like the rest I kiss you in a way, you'll never forget about me
The music was roaring from the massive speakers. The dance floor was packed with swaying bodies of those who lived for heavier tunes. Mikasa hummed the melody under her breath, satisfied, sipping a pale beer at the bar. Unbelievable—she’d gotten into the VIP concert of her favourite band just for going to church once! Joy bubbled in her chest. With every sip, the alcohol in her blood thickened, making her itch to get back on the dance floor. Still, Mikasa decided to let her feet rest just a little longer before diving back into the crowd. Heels had seemed like a great idea in front of the mirror—now they felt like nails hammered into her soles, digging deeper with every step. But for the sake of a killer look, she was willing to suffer. The bartender handed her a fresh can of beer just as her favourite song came on. Without thinking, Mikasa jumped down from her seat, trying to take a sip mid-step, paying zero attention to what lay ahead—and paid the price for it instantly. She hadn’t expected someone to appear in front of her so suddenly. She stumbled forward, crashing straight into them, and beer sloshed out of the can, splashing her face. Sharp drops slid down her chin, rolled over her neck, and spread across her chest. "Shit!" she hissed. She had no napkin to wipe the sticky wetness off her skin, and the feeling was already driving her mad. She opened her mouth to give the man who’d blocked her path a piece of her mind, raised her furious eyes to his—and froze mid-sentence. "…Father Levi?" At first, Mikasa didn’t even recognise the priest from her church. She stared, wide-eyed, at the man whose torso was hugged tightly by a sleek black turtleneck, perfectly accentuating his lean, muscular build. Her long black lashes fluttered as she blinked in disbelief—how on earth could he be here, at this concert? For a split second, their eyes met—and she caught a flicker of interest in his gaze—but it disappeared almost immediately, replaced by his usual cold expression as he reached into his coat and pulled out a pale handkerchief. "Thank you," Mikasa said, quickly dabbing at her face. It wouldn’t get rid of the sticky feeling, but at least it would dry her skin a little. "I didn’t see you, Miss Ackerman," Father Levi replied, stabbing her with that formal tone of his. But she noticed him glancing at her again, almost against his will. Realising he’d have to remain near her at least until she returned the handkerchief, Mikasa deliberately slowed her movements, dabbing her neck with exaggerated care, then trailing the cloth toward the generous curve of her chest, barely concealed by the black crop top she wore—adorned with a bold large red snake. She looked up—and to her surprise, caught him staring. Her heart thudded in her chest. Maybe she had a chance. "You’re not all that holy after all," Mikasa teased, folding the handkerchief neatly but making no move to return it. "I never claimed to be holy," Levi said evenly. "I only speak the Word of God. I’m allowed to have interests of my own." He was visibly uneasy standing next to her. It wasn’t clear whether it was because she’d found him at a concert like this, or because of what she’d confessed to him just days ago. "And your interests include music straight from the Devil himself?" she asked with a sly smile, using her fingers to make little quotation marks. But Levi’s expression remained serious, forcing her to dial it back a bit. "You’ve got quite a stereotypical view of the Church, Miss Ackerman," he replied at last, lifting his gaze to meet hers. After a pause, he added, "And of priests." In the dim bar light, fractured by strips of neon blue, his eyes looked nearly black. And in that instant, Mikasa felt it—the desire for him to look at her longer. She clung to his words like a lifeline, as if he’d handed her a subtle invitation. A spark of hope flickered, and she immediately crafted a small, not-so-innocent plan. "Maybe you could tell me more sometime?" she offered, flashing the gentlest, most harmless smile she could muster. But the priest was not as naïve as she’d hoped. "I’d be happy to see you at tomorrow’s sermon," he said, extending his hand. "If you’re finished with it, I’ll take the handkerchief back." "I’ll wash it and return it next time, all right? It’s soaked in beer," Mikasa said sweetly—already deciding she would at least try to find a way to win this man over, even if it meant burning in hell for eternity.
⊹──⊱❈⊰──⊹
Ragged breathing, barely stifled gasps, hot and sensuous touches—Mikasa trembled under the weight of another’s caress, her thoughts scattering like dust, drifting far, far away. Burning kisses traveled across her skin, rising to her chest, her neck, her lips. She arched toward the man, arms circling him, pressing closer, melting into the heat of his body. His hands shifted lower, running fingers between tender, wet folds, penetrating deep, caressing and stroking. Mikasa could barely contain her moans, trying to escape from her lips, touching unfamiliar features with her hands. In the dark, it was hard to guess who was touching her, but it didn't matter. Somewhere outside, a pair of headlights flared, casting a wash of pale light across her bedroom. It landed on his face. She froze. She saw him clearly now—and recognised him instantly. Father Levi. Horrified, Mikasa shoved him back, her breath catching, her body recoiling as her mind scrambled to make sense of it. What had led to this? When had he—how had this happened? Her panic rose like a wave, until suddenly— She woke up. Jerking upright in bed, damp with sweat and trembling, Mikasa slapped off her alarm and ran a hand through her tangled hair. Her heart still pounded. Why had her brain served her that? She groaned and flopped back against the pillow, eyes on the blank white ceiling, hoping for answers that wouldn’t come. The dream had felt so real. Too real. Her body still ached with phantom pleasure. Her skin tingled. And of course, now came the sound of her mother’s footsteps. Time for breakfast. Time for another Sunday sermon. For weeks now, Mikasa had been slipping into the same dreaded turtleneck and the same scratchy skirt, following her parents to church. But only one thing made it bearable: Levi. After every sermon, she waited beneath the stained-glass glow of the chapel until he finished his post-service duties—just for the chance to walk with him. She had never returned the handkerchief from the concert, and that had given her the perfect excuse to speak with him again. She had begged him to tell her more—about faith, about the church, about anything. He’d sighed, as if swatting away a persistent fly, but eventually said yes. Maybe it was the beaming look on her face, but he kept glancing over at her as they walked to the edge of the park. She didn’t want to give the handkerchief back. It was the only link she had. But keeping it forever would have been weird. When the next Sunday came, her heart leapt the moment Levi turned toward her and asked if she’d like to walk again. She wasn’t sure if what she was doing was right. During their strolls, she barely heard what he said. All she could imagine was his hands—on her body, on her skin. He never seemed to notice. Week after week, he walked her to the same half-forgotten park, where they always parted ways. He spoke often about God, the church, rarely about himself. But that was the only part she ever truly listened to. Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was wrong. But Mikasa had never been burdened by an excess of morality. She just wanted what she wanted. Her parents were thrilled. Their daughter, finally turning to God. They had no idea. Today, the sermon felt like hell. His voice echoed through the chapel, and all she could think about was the sound of his breathing in her dream. His gestures reminded her of his hands, and every time her thoughts slipped into fantasy, she shifted in her seat, unable to stay still. Her mother scolded her for fidgeting. Mikasa couldn’t even imagine facing him afterward. How could she look him in the eye when all she wanted was to touch him? She knew it was wrong. She knew it was manipulative and shameful. But she couldn’t help it. The more distant and unreachable he was, the more she wanted him. The thought of him never seeing a woman tempted and tormented her at the same time. So when Levi said he was too busy to walk with her today, Mikasa felt something close to relief. She was almost out the door when she heard his voice behind her. "Come back this afternoon," he said. "If you want." Her heart fluttered. The thought that maybe somehow she'd have a chance to stand against the Father's love to God filled her with hope. By noon, the sun was sharp and heavy, and Mikasa hadn’t bothered to dress “appropriately.” She wore her favourite short black dress, the one that showed off her tattooed thighs. She noticed Father Levi glance at her when she arrived—with curiosity? Disgust? She couldn’t tell. He said nothing and began walking. Mikasa wanted to ask him something sharp, something teasing, but held back. He’d probably shut her down. Or worse, say something like her mother always did—that she had demons in her and needed salvation. "Why do you believe in God?" she asked instead. Even she thought the question sounded forced. "Because I don’t want to believe I’m alone," he replied. "God is always near. Like a father who never condemns and always forgives." "But why come to church? Why confess at all, if you’re already forgiven?" "The world is cruel. Full of pain. Not everyone can accept that life is meaningless. People want to believe their suffering leads somewhere. They want to believe they’ll find peace. I don’t think it’s right to sin freely and ask for forgiveness later. But I’m not the judge. That’s God’s job." Mikasa nearly rolled her eyes. Levi was nothing like the other priests she’d met. He spoke with nuance, with doubt. The kind of thoughts that would get him kicked out of more orthodox churches. There was something human about him. And maybe, just maybe, she could have respected his faith—if it wasn’t the one thing keeping him from her. "Let’s sit," he said, nodding toward the park where they always parted. It was hot. The fabric of her dress clung to her skin. She hesitated. Then followed. She lit a cigarette, offering him one. He declined. She filed that away—one more thing he did't do. That was probably also sort of a taboo for him. She drew in deep, letting the smoke burn her lungs with menthol flavour, fill her with that faint, dizzying calm. She loved this feeling. Sitting beside Father Levi, everything blurred—his face, his hands, the shape of his robes, covering his body from unwanted attention. They sat beneath a tree. The shade was cool. Light filtered through the leaves, painting whimsical shadows on his face. He spoke. She didn’t hear a word. Just watched his hands, the way they moved, the faint crease between his brows. Everything about him was perfect. And she could never touch him. She wanted him so bad—to touch him, taste him, but he was too far away from her, yet so close. No one had ever said no to her. Not really. Even Eren, awkward as he was, had caved easily. She got tired of attention too quickly. All those boys with corny compliments and pickup lines were so annoying. None of them mattered. Reading romance—she wanted the same. Something real, something that really burned inside of her. And now that she had it—she couldn’t have it at all. She wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or scream, Come on, Father, it’s just sex. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She memorised every line of his face, desperate to keep it for later, so that at night she could play with the mosaic of fading memories. The thoughts drifted away from her. She couldn't think straight when he was near. Without thinking, without realising what the consequences would be, as if in a dream, Mikasa leaned in. For a moment she saw a glimpse of terror in his beautiful dark blue eyes. For one breathless second, their lips met—his were soft and warm—and in one gust, Levi pushed her away. She fell sideways, her cigarette lost in the grass. One strap of her dress slipped down her arm. She knew it would end up like this. But she was stupid enough to try anyways. He stood, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Have some damn fear of God," he spat, scrubbing his lips with his fingers. He tried to get rid of her touch. It was so embarrassing and painful. She knew—now it was over. Tears burned in her eyes. She couldn't turn the clock back. "Save your sermons, Father," she said, voice ragged. "They don’t work." She looked at him with fury, as if it were his fault she felt this way. As if he were the one who led her on. The glances. The kindness. The walks. For what? To talk about God? She wasn't born yesterday. She saw his eyes studying her. Even now, she saw him look at her—at her bare skin, at her body in this short dress. "I don’t know what you thought would happen," he snapped, already turning to leave. "You know it too well," Mikasa whispered, standing slowly, not chasing him. It was crystal clear now. There was no path through God or belief or whatever bullshit was standing between them. No path to him. She had never gone for celibate old men. But this one had ruined her. When he finally disappeared behind the trees, she collapsed into the grass and let the burning tears fall.
