Pucking Sweet Quotes

Names. What’s in a name, really? I mean, besides a bunch of letters or sounds strung together to make a word. Does a rose by any other name really smell as sweet? Would the most famous love story in the world be as poignant if it was called Romeo and Gertrude? Why is what we call ourselves so important?

He takes a sip of his drink, leaving behind a milk mustache he quickly wipes away. It’s then I realize where I recognize him from: the milk advertisements. Sweet Lord, I’ve been jilling off to him.

Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck, You do their work, and they shall have good luck: Are not you he?' 'Thou speak'st aright; I am that merry wanderer of the night.

Oh sweet baby Jesus, he called it his.

You tired, sweets? You want go to sleep?” “No. I want you to love me.” “You’re not tired of being loved yet?” She touches her lips to mine. “Never.

His heart beat with renewed determination, as if the organ had come back to life, even though it had never died. As if it said, I've been waiting for her.

It makes me want to see if I can resurrect the sweet boy inside this closed man who stole my heart so many years ago. My

I’m coming to talk sense into you. Unicorn dicks don’t come along every day, sweet cheeks. You need to quit freaking out and get back on that stallion.

Who’s going to hold me back from cunt-punching Olivia when she says my dress looks unflattering on my body type?

You’re not ready to tell Poppy you love her, and that’s fine,” he calls after me. “You’re not ready to tell me either, and that’s also fine. God knows you’re not ready for a big happily ever after with commitment, and babies, and that chocolate lava cake in Aruba! But I’m gonna get you ready because I’m an insufferable fucking asshole who’s too Leo to function, and I love you, Lukas Novikov!

The money doesn't mean anything, Charlene. Nothing means anything without you. I want you however you come- broken, messed up, in leather, lace, satin, cotton pajamas... However you are, it's just you I want.

What? A character almost as awful as Phaedre, and quite as desolate as Antigone, represented by a graceful coquette in point lace and pearls, who will take poison as sweetly as if it were a cup of coffee, and will die with elaborate care not to tumble her train? Preposterous!

I savor her—taste her mouth, sample the sweetness of her tongue and the press of her body against mine. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want her. I don’t want to claim, fuck, devour. I want to be worthy, and I’m afraid I never will be. This is exactly what makes me a bad person, because that won’t stop me. I’ll get inside her. I’ll find out how good it feels to be with her, even if I never deserve her.

God, she was gorgeous. Pure and cleanly beautiful. From the rounded crests of her cheeks to the delicate sweep of her jaw, she had the kind of face sculptors memorialized in marble and the rest of us gazed upon for centuries to come. Of course she was beautiful. She was an actress. Meant to be idolized on the screen. Emma Maron, a.k.a Princess Anya, future queen and conqueror on Dark Castle. The guys and I used to watch the show while traveling between games. Anya was a favorite. Particularly since... I'd seen her breasts. It hit me like a puck to the helmet, and my ears began to ring. I'd seen those perfect creamy handfuls with sweet pink tips that pointed upward, defying gravity and begging to be sucked. I had watched her on hands on knees, perky tits bouncing as Arasmus slammed into her from behind. I actually blushed. Me. The guy who'd had dozens of women throw themselves at him every night since high school. I'd had sex so many times and in so many ways it had become a blur. Nothing shamed me or made me uncomfortable. Yet I started to get hot under the collar, my cheeks burning. After nearly a year of being disinterested in all things sexual, my dick decided to make its presence known and start rising. Now, of all times. Now, when I was stuck in a damn truck less than three feet from a woman, I finally got a hard-on. Lovely. I felt like a damn lecher. "At least it's a beautiful drive," she said, breaking through heated thoughts of creamy breasts with cotton candy nipples.

There was no sort of change from dawn to sunset. My heart was heavy for all those whom I had lost. It seemed to me that life was but a sequence of tender ties, formed only to be ruptured, and leave the torn heart aching. I missed, moreover, the glad, sweet, summer season in the open air; the freedom of the old fruit gardens and flower-covered ways; the homely, happy sounds of all the stirring bees and chirming birds, of the ducks in the dark cool pond, and the lowing cattle in the poplarbelted meadows.

I never knew quite whether I liked her—how can you with those women of the world? She was kind and insincere; she was gentle and she was cruel; she was generous and ungenerous; she was true as steel and she was false as Judas—what would you?—she was a woman of the world, with several sweet natural impulses, and all a coquette's diplomacies. She tended me with the greatest solicitude one day that autumn, when I had run a thorn into my foot: and the very next day, when I was well again, she laughed to see me worried on the lawn by a bull-terrier. If you have not met a woman like that, I wonder where you have lived.

But if the world only toss you a cake, only keep you well fed and well fattened, what a good and a fair world it is, how full of all sweetness and light, how true in its vision, how pure in its excellence;

Lifting his head, he whispered against her wet, throbbing lips, “Too much?” Wasn’t that sweet, Consider even. But oh, hell no. She gasped, “Not enough.

Apparently, not all guys like the taste of pussy. A lot of locker room talk makes it seem like this is a chore. Fuck, I would live on my knees for a good pussy. And Rachel tastes so fucking good. Sweet and feminine. I want to roll her over. I want her straddling my face. I want to drown.

This, sweetheart, is us taking you together,” I murmur, nestling between Steele’s open legs. He is like iron in his fist as, without a word, he guides his cock into her pussy from behind. “Fuck,” she groans. “God, you’re so fucking big.” He grunts and thrusts higher. When he is all the way inside her sweet pussy, I lean over, guiding my cock into her already stuffed hole as Jason wakes up and watches this with a raised eyebrow

So long as he keeps not touching me, I get to feel this exquisite squirming, aching, bleeding kind of pain of desperation that is really pairing well with my crippling doubt and self-loathing.

I think I’m gonna scream, then cry, then eat a pint of Neapolitan ice cream.

I was feeling so overwhelmed, I shoved the phone in Cole’s face, demanding that he talk to her before I set the house on fire. He’s been dealing with her ever since. I don’t care what goes in the house, I just want it done.

And while this is charming to watch. Clearly, you both know something I don’t. One of you better fill me in before I walk off the edge of the pier and get eaten by a manatee.

She loves you, Nov.” “I know. Fuck me if I know why.” He glances my way. “Do you think I can get her to stop?

I opened my underwear drawer this morning and got a nice little jump scare. Our dick pic. He printed it out and framed it like a total fucking lunatic.

I don’t think she knows how beautiful she looks like this, how powerful, how desirable. I feel like I’m holding onto a beam of pure fucking sunlight. Her attention is life-giving. It’s restoring. With her, I am remade.

Nothing is ever private anymore.

My sweet, big-hearted, loyal Puck, who I'd thought would ruin my life for fun but actually made it infinitely better. Every day now held a lot more laughter, a lot more joy, a lot more delicious food that I didn't have to make myself. Sure, we disagreed and debated and sometimes threw up our hands at each other's stubbornness, but I knew that he'd never walk away if I argued back, and I'd always be on his side, even if he made me slap my forehead sometimes. Every time we worked things out, we added another brick to our foundations, and marrying him would make what we'd built even stronger.

Poppy: "I DO need something. I need to know where you find the king-sized audacity." Sanford: "He buys it in bulk at Costco.

Yeah, the kind of fun that gets you fingered on a yacht and pregnant.

Oberon could not speak for the burning anger on is tongue. Instead, he drew back his mighty fist and would have knocked his captain clean off the wall, down on the jagged rocks below... Only suddenly, standing between him and his prey was the gloriously golden image of his wife smiling sweetly up at him. "Really, darling, such a display. And so public too!" she said, laughing like the ringing of a bell chorus. "What will all the little ones think?' "Out of my way, Titania!" Oberon bellowed. "Puck has told me of your part in all this nonsense, and I'll be dealing with you next!" But Titania had seen too many of her husband's tempers over the long centuries of their marriage to mind him much now. "Don't be ridiculous," she said lightly, tapping him on the nose with one long, elegant finger. 'Do you really want to stand in the way of true love? When you start meddling with people's hearts, things never go well, as everyone knows.

Amanda: Ugh. Now I’m crying for real. Why do you have to be such a great fucking friend? Diana: Because I like to make you cry. I like to shower you with my sweet love and then watch your gratitude spill out of your pretty melted-chocolate eyeballs while I soak up your tear juice on a sponge. Amanda: Now I’m laughing and crying. There’s snot everywhere. It’s gross. Diana: You’re welcome. I love you.

The pleasures of the flesh are sweet. – Mmm, flesh, said Puck.

Come, Robin Goodfellow, I give you these treats: A soft ground warmed by straw-burning fire; A maukin draped with elegant attire; Honey'd wine, the more to pleasure thee- A 'mess of white milk and bread' for your standing fee. Come, Good Master, and make a happy sound: Stamp your cloven feet 'pon this merry ground. Your Lady's brow is fair, her face is sweet, Her mouth is red and her mouth is neat, For Her love, come to this merry ground. Come, Robin Goodfellow, and some call Buck- Whether name they you 'Hobbgoblin' or 'Sweet Puck', Every day you give them mirth, And every day you give them luck.

Promise you will never forget me.” His head tilts to the side, his eyes still holding mine captive. The dark ring surrounding his irises moves toward the center, turning the deep blue even darker. Something…more. “I’ll never forget you.” I stick my pinky out. “Pinky promise on your puck.” He links our fingers together with a smirk. “I promise.

But know this, Lukas: You stick your pretzel in

Her smile brightens again, and I add something else to my running list of facts about Poppy: lights up when praised.

Yep, your precious little Poppy Girl is riding two dicks at once!

This all started in a hotel room with the man at my side. My Mystery Boy. Now here we are, living a life neither of us could have ever dreamed. I snuggle in closer, closing my eyes. I don’t need to celebrate this moment with ice cream. Life is already so sweet.

A few weeks? This woman can have more than that. She can have months. Years. Hell, if she’ll only give us a real chance, a chance to be more than just friends, I’ll be her sweet puppy for the rest of my fucking life.

Sweet puppy, you listen to me now,” I tease. “If you think you have what it takes to ride this rollercoaster, you are sorely mistaken. In your current state, you wouldn’t make it up the first hill. There will be no having my way with you tonight. There will only be sleep.

I moaned and he caught the sound, breathing it in as he expertly worked my mouth. “My sweet girl,” he murmured in between kisses. “My gorgeous, perfect girl.” I was drunk on him. Addicted. Desperate in fact.

I have a home again. It’s not Ilmari’s bungalow. It’s the man sharing it with me. The sweet, twenty-two-year-old man who plays hockey and loves Mario Kart and can never answer a single text message. The man who always puts the oven on the wrong setting even though you tell him three times. The man who needs a haircut and fucks me like a god. The man who makes me laugh and listens when I speak and holds me when I cry. The man who’s been showing me every day since the day we met how he intends to put me first. Ryan Langley. My Ryan. My home.

I like my beers the same way I like my desserts: sweet and fruity.

My massage therapist is a ginger. A strawberry blonde. A redhead. A real one. Like me. Even though I’m lying facedown on the table, I can envision all that long, pretty hair hanging down her back, her sweet body and perfect round ass hugged by black yoga pants. She’s wearing running shoes—I can see them right now through the hole in the face holder—and her feet are small.

Well, sweet heavens. Now I’m thinking about Mars Kinnunen dominating things.

One day I got out "on the loose," as your slang phrases it; a reprehensible practice, no doubt, but one dear to dogs as to men, for better is a bare bone in the gutter, with the sweetness of free-will, than are fatted meats eaten within the curb and the gall of a chain.

Any time of the day or night. You need kissing? You come to me. Understand?

Go on, Poppy. Make my fucking night. Tell me I’m wrong.

Queer people exist. They fall in love, and get married, and have families, and live perfectly well-adjusted lives.

But the universe clearly understands the concept of give and take. It took something precious from me, and now it’s giving me this chance.

Moments. That’s all I get with Poppy St. James. These little moments that are nothing. But to me, they’re everything.

The girl I remember was sweet, innocent, and mousy. The woman I’m watching now is a fucking dirty girl, disguised as an angel. And, fuck, I’d love to take her into the restroom right now and dirty up her knees and fuck that halo right off of her head.

you deserve to be worshipped, body and fucking soul.

MABEL’S CHOCOLATE CHIP PUDDING COOKIES Servings: 15 cookies INGREDIENTS • 2 ¼ cups (281g) all purpose flour spooned and leveled • 1 teaspoon baking soda • ½ teaspoon salt • 1 cup (2 sticks; 227g) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature (vegan butter works too) • ¾ cup (150g) light brown sugar packed • ¼ cup (50g) granulated sugar • 1 (3.4-ounce) package instant vanilla pudding mix • 2 large eggs room temperature • 1 teaspoon vanilla extract • 2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips INSTRUCTIONS • Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper and set aside. • In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, baking soda and salt and set aside. • In a separate bowl with a hand mixer, or in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream the butter, brown sugar, and white sugar on high speed until light and creamy, at least 3 minutes. Do not skip this step.  • Add the dry pudding mix, vanilla and eggs and beat on high for 2-3 minutes, until light and fluffy. • Slowly add half of the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and turn the mixer on low speed to start so the flour doesn't get everywhere. Turn the mixer up to high speed and mix until combined. Add the rest of the dry ingredients and repeat until dough is just combined. Stir in the chocolate chips with a rubber spatula until incorporated. • Use a large cookie scoop or ¼ cup measuring cup to drop the cookie dough balls onto the prepared baking sheet. Bake for 10-12 minutes, or until slightly golden and just set on the top. Allow to cool on the baking sheet for two minutes then transfer to a baking rack to cool completely.

The second we get our dicks in you, our sweet little glass of peach iced tea turns into a straight shot of whiskey.