One blissfully sunny afternoon, a certain Southern Italian dragged her own whore ass out of the Catholic Church she had just desecrated, and marched it back to her fake boyfriend's house.

It almost felt better to think about this whole situation in the third person, because then I could almost pretend that I, Lovina Vargas, was NOT the little homewrecking, slutty Southern Italian that let herself be fingered to an earth-shattering orgasm by a certain tomato bastard in the Lord's house.

That was totally somebody else.

I swear.

To be honest, I was still fairly disoriented by what had just happened. It felt unreal.

It really could have been some other girl receiving a finger or two up the pussy in the pews of a Catholic Church by Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. It could have been anyone.

But not me.

It shouldn't have been me.

It should have been Feliciana.

His fucking girlfriend.

A pang of sharp guilt slammed through my chest, but I ignored it and quickened my pace.

I took off my sweater and tied it around my waist, hoping that it would be enough to distract from the large wet stain on the front of my shorts.

Goddammit, why couldn't I have worn darker shorts?

Or you know… NOT get finger fucked by my sister's boyfriend?

I was sweating a whole fucking river by the time I reached potato territory. The sun bathed me in its relentless heat, completely devoid of mercy.

This was just the beginning of God's punishment for the heinous act of heresy I had just committed under his domain.

I slowed my pace as I approached the neatly preened lawn that surrounded the Germanic house.

Shit.

Of course my impeccable timing never failed me before, so why should it now, si?

There, outside in clear view, with a hose in his hand and a trail of pleasant tunes escaping his lips, was Gilbert Beilschmidt- the potato bastard himself.

I had to admit that I was a bit taken aback by his current presence.

I never pegged him to be the type to water a bed of fucking daffodils under a hellishly hot almost-summer sun, adorned with an unbuttoned floral sunshirt, a pair of dirt-stained cotton pants, and a straw hat.

I felt a lurch in the pit of my stomach as I stared at him gently spraying the daffodils with the hose, his thumb gently applying a minimal amount of pressure on the sprayer so as not to drown the plants.

I admit it.

He looked fucking sexy.

Fuck it, I've already lost all of my dignity in front of you judgmental, sick fuckers, so WHY NOT admit that GIlbert Beilschmidt is hot as fuck?

It's painfully obvious at this point, so why not just cut the shit, si?

I could definitely conclude that I had a thing for gardeners and farmers. I used to think that I only had a soft spot for tomato farmers, but now I wasn't so sure…

I could do with a little potato.

I wou- wait. FUCK! I am a shitty-ass person.

I've just committed one of the most atrocious, adulterous sins possible, and here I was, already lusting over some fucking potato bastard in gardener's clothing.

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?

I snapped back to reality when Gilbert turned his head away from the daffodils and towards me. I immediately stiffened as his eyes found mine, and gulped when I saw a large, devious smile form on his lips.

"You don't always have to keep coming back you know; it's not like you're actually my girlfriend- kesesese," he teased with a snicker as he tightened the sprayer on his hose.

I immediately bristled at this.

He never ceased to remind me that while I talked constant shit to him about his appearance, lifestyle, and overall personhood, I continually made the choice to stay in HIS house.

And what the fuck could I say to that? He was right.

I did keep coming back to stay with him.

I kept up the ruse that I was his girlfriend.

Of course I wanted to make Antonio jealous, and I wanted his relationship with Feliciana to come to an end, but I had already managed to do some damage … so WHY was I still so keen on being around the fucking potato bastard?

Was it because I had grown comfortable here in his house?

A part of me obviously liked him enough to stay with him and keep him company on a daily basis, and the funny thing is, I really didn't mind that much.

Nevertheless, I had a fucking reputation (or what little of it there was left) to keep.

"Fuck off Beilschmidt. You look stupid in that hat."

He snorted. "Nice comeback."

He turned his attention back to his daffodils, which honestly, annoyed the living shit out of me.

At that same moment, I was suddenly slammed with another overwhelming feeling of guilt. It was as if God decided to drip burning hot acid into my brain so that I could endure the physical pain and shame I had brought upon Him by desecrating His church with my sister's boyfriend.

And at that moment, something occurred to me.

Something ridiculous, but it seemed to make the most sense in that hysterical moment.

"I need your help," I spluttered, taking a few steps towards Gilbert.

"When do you not?" he countered, the smirk in his voice evident. He was still looking at his stupid daffodils.

"Che palle, will you shut the fuck up and take me seriously for once?" I snapped. "And stop looking at your dumbass flowers. Daffodils suck hairy ballsack."

"Whoa there, schnuckelchen, you can insult me all you want, but don't disrespect the flowers!"

He turned his body to fully face me, that devious glint still present in his eyes.

The bastard was always mocking me.

And yet, I didn't really care that much anymore.

I pressed on now that his eyes were on me.

"You were a priest, right?" I asked.

"I was ordained back when Holy Rome was still alive… when you were just a sniveling little brat," he answered, that wicked smile only growing more and more wicked.

Suddenly, his eyes traveled downwards and rested on… my crotch.

I felt my ears redden dramatically.

"You piss your pants, Vargas? That's not a normal side effect of the antidote I gave you this morning."

I almost choked.

Fuck.

I had forgotten about the large cum stain that drenched the front of my jean shorts. Apparently my sweater had done a poor job at hiding it.

Goddammit.

Fuck me and my life and all of my personal philosophies.

I really did not want to explain to Gilbert what had just happened less than half an hour ago back at the church, but at the same time, I needed to tell somebody.

And who else could I tell at this low-ass point in my life?

My fucking sister?

Yeah, that would go well.

I had no one else to go to.

Plus, I needed religious help.

And I was NOT about to get it from the Vatican.

Again, NO help from the siblings.

I took a deep breath, and averted my eyes. "It's not pee. It's...It's…"

I felt his expectant gaze pierce through me. The combination of his stare and the sun's heat made me crack under pressure.

"FUCK! I just need your help on this. I...I need to be forgiven by God. And blessed with holy water. I fucked up really bad. I can't talk to anyone else about this. PLEASE tell me you're still technically a priest!"

I sounded ridiculous. Even to my own ears.

Gilbert rose an eyebrow at me, a mildly interested look gracing his features. "I am, or once was, a sovereign nation with a very long religious memory. Once ordained an official vessel of the church, I will forever be a vessel of the church. In other words, yes, I am technically still a priest… though a bit out of practice."

He adjusted the hat on his head with his left hand before continuing, "This is very intriguing… you are asking ME to give you the sacrament of Confession? What did you do? Eat too many tomatoes? Do too many drugs? Murder someone?"

I wanted to smack that stupid gloating smile that was starting to form on his dumb-ass face.

Here he was, teasing me for asking him for yet ANOTHER favor, and I here I was, yet AGAIN, at his mercy.

But as I said before, I really had no one else to go to.

How fucking sad is that?

Gilbert Beilschmidt was the closest thing I had to a friend these days.

"I was just at the church, and I- I sorta ran into Antonio," I grumbled.

My heart started to drum violently against my chest. The very recent memory of my Church-ly rendez-vous started to flood my brain.

I could feel Antonio's fingers circling my sweet spot with that tender, yet carnal ferocity. I could feel that growing tingle that slowly enveloped my pelvis, my stomach, my limbs…

That shameful burst of juices that exploded from my pussy and stained the fabric of my jeans…

"You two have impeccable timing," Gilbert commented, disrupting the dirty thoughts that cascaded through my brain like an endless film reel. "It's almost as if God planned for you two to see each other there."

Yeah, no fucking kidding.

A chill ran down my spine when Gilbert chuckled.

"So what happened?" he asked, his facial expression reflecting increasing amusement. "You make out in the church? Gotta get some priestly forgiveness for succumbing to lust and all that Satanic shit?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but choked on my own spit. After clearing my throat, I managed to utter something between a "yes," and a "kind of."

I could tell that the damn bastard was about to put two and two together. I may call him an idiot on a daily basis, but he is NOT a fucking idiot.

I watched as his gleaming eyes traveled once more from my face down to my cum-stained crotch.

After about twenty seconds of staring, a glimmer of realization flashed across his irises and he started to cackle uncontrollably.

"KESESESESSESESESESESESE!"

I immediately attempted to readjust the sweater around my waist so that it would fully cover the stain, but it just ended up sliding down my hips.

Lol, thanks God. Appreciate the help.

Also, your priests SUCK!

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" I thundered.

I shouldn't have told Gilbert. What the fuck was I thinking? I should've just played dumb and admitted to pissing my pants.

Gilbert's cackling ceased, but he did not look deterred in the slightest at my outburst. In fact, the fucker looked even MORE amused.

"I always knew that good ol Spanien could be the scandalous one, but in a church? Now THAT'S complete heresy. Especially for him," he commented, his voice heavily implying that he was enjoying this sick situation thoroughly.

Damn bastard.

My eyes focused in on his hose, tracing invisible patterns along the handle as my cheeks became increasingly warm with shame. I could not bare to look at his smirking, bitch-ass face.

I wanted to say something to defend myself...ANYTHING at all, but, I was speechless. Tongue-tied. Embarrassed beyond all belief. I literally wanted to fucking die.

And this time, I KNEW that God would not let me into Heaven.

He definitely doesn't want me to be a nun; he just wants me to FAIL at life. And sex.

"So just out of curiosity… how big is it?"

His question interrupted my inner tirade of self-hatred.

"I...what?" I stuttered like a dumbass.

"His dick. How big is it?"

It took me a full minute of looking at him straight in the face to comprehend the words that had just exited his filthy potato-shitting mouth.

I was completely thrown off by how casually he asked it… how his facial expression did not shift one bit. He could've been asking me about the weather.

Well, I'll tell you what the weather's gonna be like, motherfuckers.

Shit-storm central.

Better bust out the heavy-duty toilet paper.

And the bleach.

"You are disgusting. We did NOT fuck in a church, you pervert," I managed to throw at him venomously after recollecting my entire existence.

"Kesesese, you're not fooling anyone, Vargas."

"We DIDN'T FUCK!" I reiterated, stomping my foot against the ground a little too aggressively. I felt a sharp pain travel from my ankle to my knee cap and I bit the inside of my mouth to prevent myself from yelling.

"Alright, whatever you say, cutie-pie," he said with relish. He was enjoying this WAY too much.

Weren't priests supposed to be appalled by this kind of shit?

"We just...he j-just…"

Oh fuck. Here I go again with the stupid, bullshit stuttering nonsense.

I just needed to stop talking before I said something else that I was going to regre-

"He finger-fucked me, and I squirted all over the inside of my pants."

Oops.

Goddammit.

I guess I needed to get it off my chest more than I realized.

Despite the fact that I had spoken my dark truth out loud to Gilbert Beilschmidt of all people, I still felt a sense of relief wash over my whole body. It was as if a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders.

"So you didn't see his dick?" he pressed. He almost sounded disappointed.

"If you want to see his dick so bad, then have a look for yourself," I snapped, thoroughly annoyed by his response. "For a priest, you're an immoral fuck."

"Kesesese, if you haven't noticed by now, and I'm sure you have, given that your brother IS the Vatican, all priests are immoral fucks."

With a tug of the hose, Gilbert turned his attention to the next daffodil flower-bed. He looked away from me, and started to gently spray the soil with water.

"But I must say, I am fairly surprised by the fact that little Miss Italy-Romana is a squirter. I wasn't sure if you had it in you," he remarked teasingly.

I could not tell whether he was complimenting me or insulting me.

But before I could make some witty comeback (not that I had any at this point), Gilbert turned his body so that he was fully facing me once more, and his gleaming scarlet eyes locked onto mine.

For some reason, I suddenly felt rooted to the spot.

"It just makes me a little...curious," he said wickedly, his voice like black velvet as it traveled along my eardrums. "If you can squirt that much from just being fingered, I wonder how much you can squirt from...other things."

The air around me shifted considerably. It was almost as if someone had knocked the wind out of me, and replaced all of my organs with butterfly wings.

Hearing him say those words to me made my pussy throb.

Si, you heard me right.

All he had to do was say the word, and I probably would have let him indulge in his little 'curiosity.'

Hell, I was even curious to find out myself what I was capable of.

However, before I could succumb to this newfound lust, the normal, angry, German-hating Lovina manifested herself in my consciousness.

I immediately bristled and stiffened my stance; I ignored the fact that I had been subconsciously leaning toward Gilbert, and given his increasingly smug facial expression, it did not go unnoticed.

"When I come to a priest for services, I am asking for PRIESTLY services, you fucking perverted imbecile," I spat.

"No need to be so feisty," Gilbert replied. "I am simply putting all my cards out on the table."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that if you're ever sexually frustrated, and you want someone besides Antonio to make you cum, hit me up. I am supposed to be your boyfriend after all, ja?"

I choked.

How could he…

How could he just say that to me without so much as batting one of his non-existent eyelashes?

While watering his stupid daffodils as if this whole conversation would be forgotten within the next thirty minutes…

Fucking piece of…

SHIT!

GAHHHHH.

"Before you call me a perverted imbecile again, or a potato bastard...so original," Gilbert continued calmly as I seethed at him, completely wrapped up in my sexualy frustrated rage. "Just know that it is simply an offer."

"You are fucking disgusting."

"You have some obvious pent up sexual energy that needs to be released, and I don't mind helping a friend out."

"You-don't mind helping a friend ou- you're just trying to get into my fucking pants!"

"Kesesese, let's not forget the first night you stayed here," Gilbert relished. "When you literally tried to hop on my dick. And I had to stop you from doing something we'd both regret."

If my face wasn't already heated from embarrassment, then it definitely is now. "I was drunk."

"Which is why I stopped you. But you definitely went for it, and that has to say something. I'm just offering a solution to one of your problems."

"But I wasn't asking for a solution to that problem!" I yelled angrily, throwing my hands up in exasperation. I probably looked dumb as hell with my sweaty ass face, messy hair, sun-burnt neck, and cum-stained shorts. "I was asking for PRIESTLY SERVICES! GET IT THROUGH YOUR PERVERTED PIECE OF SHIT BRAIN!"

Gilbert let out another cackle before turning his whole body so that our bodies were aligned, his hands still clutching his precious hose.

"Alright, then you start," he said.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You want to be forgiven by a priest? Then we can have a face-to-face confession right now. How does every confession start?"

He looked at me expectantly, a permanent gloating expression etched on his face.

This was a mistake.

A HUGE mistake.

Yet, here I was.

Making another huge mistake.

Go figure.

I took a deep breath to keep myself from completely losing my shit.

After an inner tirade of more curses aimed at the stupid potato bastard, I choked out in a low voice: "Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been about a month since my last confession."

A wicked twinkle flashed across Gilbert's eyes as those words left my lips.

"And what is it that you would like to confess to the Lord God, Almighty?" he responded in a cool, but surprisingly "priestly" tone.

It sent shivers down my spine.

"I…"

Was he seriously going to make me say it again?

I glared at him with all of the spite that I could muster, but he just grinned back at me.

"God can't forgive you of your sins unless you confess them to me, darling."

Oh fuck you, you Teutonic piece of shit.

"I...committed adultery with Antonio in a church. I'm sorry for this and all of the past sins I've committed in my life," I grumbled begrudgingly.

A light chuckle left Gilbert's lips before he continued, "God has forgiven you, His child, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Now as for your penance… you are to recite two Hail Mary's, the Act of Contrition, and you shall be blessed by holy water straight from the mighty gates of Heaven."

Wait…

Holy Water?

Straight from the-SPPPPPPLLLLLLAAAAAASSSSHHHHHHHH.

Every comprehensible thought I may or may not have had flew out of existence as I felt the freezing cold stream of water soak my face.

I spat out a mouthful of liquid and blinked a few times to try and recollect myself.

What.

The.

FUCKING FUCK.

"CHE PALLE! YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"

Once my vision returned, I could see Gilbert, a wildly evil smile on his face as he pointed the hose at me, his eyes gleaming under the fiery sun. It was as if God (or maybe Lucifer… who knows at this point) had illuminated his entire being, and his hose had transformed into his mighty weapon of justice or some shit.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I bless thee with this healing water, so that you may return to the Kingdom of God in glory with His saints, forever and ever, Amen," he said, his voice calm and collected, yet still entrenched in a wickedness that made my skin crawl.

Before I could say another word, I was met with yet ANOTHER jet of water to the face. And this time, it went straight up my nose.

I stumbled backwards, yelling out a multitude of curse words as I attempted (in vain) to shield myself from the Prussian hurricane.

"YOU ARE SATAN!" I screamed at the top of my lungs as I shook the water off of my skin. I was soaked from head to toe.

"KESESESESE!" He laughed hysterically.

And that stupid laugh was the final straw.

"AAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!"

With a rage-filled growl, I lunged myself at the stupid idiota with every intention to beat the living shit out of him.

And I've said it once, and I'll say it again.

NEVER underestimate the power of an angry Southern Italian.

With a loud SMACK, I pummeled into Gilbert, and we both went tumbling backwards into his bed of precious daffodils. Scrambling to get leverage over him, I plunged my fist straight into his face with as much malice as I could muster.

I guess punching guys I'm sexually attracted to is my new thing.

As soon as my fist made contact with his face, my fiery rage ceased and I felt an immediate sense of euphoria rise up in my chest.

Gilbert's left eye was already swelling up and his nose looked a little crooked. I definitely did some damage. However, his facial expression didn't change one bit.

Instead, he turned his head slightly to the side, spat out a mouthful of blood and grinned mischievously at me.

"You probably feel fucking good right now, ja?" he asked.

I stared at him harshly, hardly acknowledging the fact that my legs were locked around his waist, and the tips of my boobs were mere centimeters away from making contact with his chest.

"You bet your fucking little ass it did," I responded breathlessly.

"That's because you just released some pent up energy. It all works the same."

It was as if someone bitch slapped me back to reality. I immediately scrambled off of Gilbert, and stumbled backwards in the most ungraceful way possible.

Once I was off of him, Gilbert sat up. He ran his hand through his hair and winced slightly. Despite the obvious damage I had done to his face, he still managed to look wildly attractive.

"You serve one hell of a punch; I'll give you that."

I just gaped at him numbly. Seeing him all roughed up and covered in blood made me want to jump his bones for some sick reason. And the fact that he literally offered to fuck me mere moments ago…

Gilbert got to his feet and wiped his hands on the front of his pants. He turned his head and frowned at his now flattened daffodil beds for a split second before looking back at me with that classic wicked grin of his.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to fix my face. And my daffodil beds. You really are a little troublemaker, little Miss Italy-Romana. But my offer still stands. If you need to release more energy, or get a little practice in before you fuck your sexy Spanish conquistador, you know where to find me. If you don't...well then, we can pretend like this whole conversation never happened."