God… Stunning, babe… couldn’t take my eyes off you that day…

God… Stunning, babe… couldn’t take my eyes off you that day…

2 years ago on 10/11/2012
Ü• 13 notes




The Sweetest Day || August 3, 2016

lucyquinnabrams:

thegrownassartieparty:

Mischief as always quick witted, Artie turned, cake inspired innocence instead playful at Quinn’s candy shop mention. ” ‘I’ll let you lick the lollipop’,” he quoted, pairing 50 Cent lyrics on a ridiculously waggled brow, chuckling a bit after; Artie was glad to have found a woman tolerant of such goofy antics, Q never once asking he change his humor, never once embarrassed by it. She laughed with him rather than at him, a sole reason of many as to why Artie took unaffected comfort in making Quinn his (very soon to be) future wife. She accepted him. She loved him; no matter how silly, how busy, how bossy, how shy… and he couldn’t help but to hopelessly love her back, whether she kept poised throughout wedding plans or was a rightfully fitful bride. “Baby, no need to apologize,” he assured. “I’ll just slay the ‘-zilla’ in you. Turn you back into my princess, and… everything’ll be just fine.” It was a sweet promise, Artie leaning to press kisses unto Q’s delicate and rosy cheek three gentle, consecutive times. Affection kept, the pair exchanging warm smiles and first bites— coconut buttercream the first of their afternoon trials, moans sounding, underlying vocal tease.

A peck of Artie’s own stubbled cheek then prompted a flush of face and suggestive banter; he shivered, Quinn’s whisper at ear and nibble of lobe drawing a soft moan from deep within the rumble of bare chest. “Mm, girl… you messy,” Artie drawled, half-jokingly, head cocking and sapphire finding the sparkle of golden, emerald eyes. “But I’m guessing not wrong.” He giggled, pout feathering over Q’s knuckles once more, her admitted want urging a dull rush of heat to reflexively settle between masculine, sweat dressed thighs. “After, sweetness,” Artie swore, voice a tender coo. “You can have me all you want after we decide.” Pressing on to share in a test of red velvet (free hands interlaced), he grinned, Quinn fondly swiping a slight glob of frosting from his lips, by her tongue clean. “Thank you, mama,” Artie mewled, smooching the tip of Q’s button nose— easing even closer to his missus.

She, too, near, welcoming a nuzzled Eskimo kiss, Artie nodded. “You’re the boss,” he smiled, wide at Quinn’s lift of third sample, slipping the piece inside his already waiting mouth. Chewing… gulping… groaning, Artie guffawed, Q’s razz encouraging he capture her pucker a ginger moment. “Yo, it just might make things easier, Sugar Lips,” Artie mused, his fiancée’s ask leaving him thoughtful— recalling flavor, texture, balance… “Hm… I really liked the buttercream—” he trailed, catching Quinn’s claim of indecisiveness, glance scanning varied miniatures and laughing, squeezing her palm. “But… Weren’t we supposed to have, like… a layered one?” Artie pondered. “White cake… cheesecake filling…?”

Biting her lower lip gently as Artie teased about her ‘licking him like a lollipop’, and continuing their more risque acts after cake tasting, Quinn nodded. Her features were flushing to a crimson color, probably near the same as the very red velvet cake they had been tasting. However, Artie’s precious promise that even if she were to become a crazed Bridezilla - he would slay the crazy out of her and love her regardless - had the blonde beaming; it was a gentle grin, her gaze softening as she caught his own. Though the banter was still light-hearted it was just… so very easy to fall in love with Artie all over again - every single day - when he said such sweet, unconditional sentiments. “Okay,” she returned, more bashful than before— hazel eyes fluttering closed as she leaned unto his lips; cheeks danced over delicately by the lovingly press of masculine mouth… “You really are my knight in shining armor, you know,” Q murmured, nuzzling her cheek to his own and leaving a kiss there before proceeding to his ear and teasingly returning to their more naughty humor with a gentle nibble. Even through all of the years, their tendency to bounce back and forth smoothly, was still there; Quinn knew it always would be - that was just the way they were.

Giggling in unison at Artie’s “messy” joke, Q nodded, their eyes meeting on a glittering, playful stare. It was then that she noted a trace of butter-cream frosting along his lower pout, and used that moment to take advantage of true tasting. “You’re the messy one, boo,” she razzed softly, tongue swiping along plump lower lip and removing the icing, each lover purring in response as she tugged back. “Alright, I promise to be patient, so long as you promise to let me taste you later,” she quirked mischievously, eyebrow arching as a wry smile took over peach-hinted lips, their curve lifting when Artie’s own ghosted across her knuckles again - drawing the couple closer to one another on a precious pepper to tip of button nose. Quinn crinkled it adorably, sending him a fond smile as she guaranteed he to be the dessert specialist of the pair; which was followed by his own expertise in remembering a layered cheesecake flavored choice they had earlier agreed must be on their list to try.

“Oh yeah! See… this is why you’re the expert, baby… I have so many ideas and wedding images swirling through my head— you keep your cake focus,” she teased, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of upturned mouth and slowly inching back to concentrate on the flavors again, delicate fingers raking absently along the nape of Artie’s neck as she did so. Shifting the box slightly, a sheet of paper fell to their feet; Q picked it up curiously, and let out a guffaw once she saw what it was. “Artie bearrrr,” she whined jokingly. “There was a key this entire time - look.” Q showed him the guide, it designating which cake was which sample, just like one might find in an upscale box of chocolates. “This could have come in handy earlier,” she added with a softer laugh, hazel eyes scanning the chart and finally finding the specific one they were searching for. “Here we go,” she grinned, orbs sparkling with eagerness as she carefully cut into the cake; insisting Artie take the first bite, she gingerly slipped a forkful into his mouth. Judging by no response of words yet— simply moans, Quinn had a feeling he approved. Whilst her future husband reveled in the creamy goodness, Q scooped up her own bite, sliding it between lips on a soft hum. “Oh my god… did we just eat an actual slice of Heaven? Because I don’t know how it could be anything less…” she mewled, licking the cheesecake decadence from her lips and gauging Artie’s reaction to her new favorite choice… so far.

Artie smiled, again catching the blaze of Q’s blush; how one girl… one woman could manage to be so cute, he’d never (in all the rest of their life together) ever know. He kissed atop her sweet and warming radiance, smooth cheek unto his own scruff then lovingly nuzzled, Artie cooing a sure, “And you’re my fair maiden, baby… my damsel.” Though domesticity soon turned instead to playful nature, Quinn nibbling at ear lobe— tonguing a glob of buttercream after from masculine pout. Artie groaned, soft, angling to shoot his fiancée a wry grin. “Well, I, ah— I guess it’s a good thing I have you to clean me up, angel face,” he teased, leaning to capture her lips— suckling the lower swell there a tender moment; drawing free, velvet tenor low, Artie’s speech grazed Q’s somewhat bruising pucker: “I promise…” Pecking both delicate knuckles and the tip of rounded nose, giving a fond laugh in watching it crinkle, he scooted near. Attention had come full circle, the two once more discussing partiality of sampled cake— Artie bringing to light a certain, specified (and layered) miniature they’d yet to taste…

Quinn’s humored pride, she praising her future husband’s dessert based memory, sparked within him a boyish and bashful sense of accomplishment— Artie beaming as she kissed the corner of said express, wide. “What can I say, mama?” he cheesed, sighing (content) at the feel of her touch massaging craned neck, eyes over slices still scanning. “When it comes to sweets— your big man don’t mess.” Artie squeezed Q’s held palm, thumb stroking the back… though a notice of (previously unnoticed) fallen paper, displaying the flavored details of each ordered piece, had him guffawing— bright and buoyant. “Are you serious?!” he hooted, burrowing the heat of his chuckles away against Quinn’s collar bone, exhaling from a gradually calmed amusement. “This kinda’ thing would happen to us, babe,” Artie razzed, head resting upon Q’s shoulder… sapphire orbs peeping north, admiring his bride-to-be in adoring quiet— however, sitting up as she cut into filled cake, offering him a generous forkful.

Artie could manage no restraint, chewing through ridiculously pleasured moans and nodding a wordlessly returned agreement, Quinn herself expressing a matched love for current (sinfully delicious and… and creamy) decadence. “THAT one, princess,” he enthused, peppering sloppy, sugared smooches across Q’s face, which he’d taken to cradling between gloveless hands. “That one, that one, THAT ONE. YES.”

2 years ago on 10/11/2012
Ü• 15 notes




The Sweetest Day || August 3, 2016

lucyquinnabrams:

thegrownassartieparty:

Again, Artie beamed, Q’s squeal and chaste peck encouraging a warm rumble of laughter, bubbling up from between lithe pecs. A nudge of noses after left sapphire and hazel impossibly close— feathered lash to feather lash. “Mm, nice try, sweetness,” Artie returned, playfully prodding at Quinn’s lips with his tongue, loving the way delicate features subsequently pinked— the two then hesitantly separating, moving to taste test instead inside kitchenette. Once seated before table; once prepped - both silverware and cool beverages at the ready - wedding cake samples (still in box) were uncovered, tenderly set. Artie expressed a boyishly humored wonder in seeing so many sugar-coated options, Q offering he pick the first slice and making “Bridezilla” crack. Artie angled in chair, regarding fiancée with an amused, though wholly sincere, affection. “Yeah, but… you’ll be MY Bridezilla, so…” His grin quirked, he leaning to smooch the corner of Quinn’s mouth— pulling back and suggesting that they try the coconut topped miniature nearest them. Enthusiastically digging in, ever the gentleman (offering Q the first bite), Artie moaned— relishing creamy, delectable flavor an exaggerated moment.

Though his future wife’s chuckled innuendo and winking stare had five o’clock shadow flushing beet red, Artie swallowing thick— quick to retort, tease cheeky: “Well if my orgasms came with a taste, baby, THAT’D be it.” Yet her soft muse and kiss of cheek encouraged Artie’s second beam, wide, he humming. “Me too, little darlin’,” Artie agreed, free palm slipping to hold Quinn’s, he squeezing there— lifting interlocked touch to graze masculine pout over slim digits. Artie smiled against Q’s knuckles, head nodding at red velvet mention. “Whatever you want, princess,” he welcomed, accepting Quinn’s fond forkful, chewing on a contented groan (half-lidded ocean blue orbs gauging her expression).

” ‘Good’? ‘Good ‘? Girl, that is— that is culinary heaven,” Artie animatedly stressed, talking through cream cheese frosting; he gulped it down, matching Q’s giddy laugh, once more kissing petite hand. Gaze glinted, devilish: “And mama— your man’s most definitely up for the challenge.”

Quinn adored her fiance’s adorable child-like wonderment over the multitude of cake flavors to choose from. It was one of the most precious things she had ever witnessed, and Artie held most of those moments in her life already. “You look like a kid in a candy shop,” she giggled, watching intently as bright, wide blue eyes sparkled at the variety of decadent offerings laid out for them. “That’s true; always yours. If I start spitting fire or anything though, I apologize in advance,” Q teased, they continuing along with her “Bridezilla” charade for a moment. The blonde had even made the effort to watch that particular television program to ensure she didn’t act that way. Sure, she had a past of popularity and did enjoy the finer things in life, but Quinn had also been strung out of the end with essentially nowhere to turn - she had seen some rough times, and she was just so very grateful to be alive, and happy, and to have the man of her dreams. Yes, she wanted a nice wedding with delicious cake and a beautiful princess-like gown, but the most important thing was that it was Artie’s eyes she was meeting at the end of the aisle as she walked down it; his smile that she would note quirk when their gazes caught for one last time before they were bonded for matrimony— and his tears that probably only she would see peak out beneath his crystal stare and wiped away whilst they declared their vows. She would forever be faithful and his - and would never take advantage of the fact that she had managed to snatch the biggest catch in the universe.

Trading bites; Artie’s gentlemanly offer to her first was no surprise— he always was so polite in that way, and Quinn grinned upon accepting the bite - shared between giggles and moans at the delightful flavors now gracing their taste buds. Forever playful, she couldn’t help but point out that the sounds leaving his mouth were similar to when he relished in sexual gratification; winking, Quinn pointed this out, gentle lips grazing his skin and causing her to beam brightly as she noticed the flush blossoming along his features at the observation. “Sunshine,” she leaned in, softly murmuring into Artie’s ear as his free hand gently took her own and began pressing delightful kisses across feminine knuckles… “Your orgasms do have a taste, and I’d have to say it’s a pretty close call.” Even her own cheeks were blushing now as teeth gingerly nibbled Artie’s earlobe and Quinn tugged back with a devilish grin. “All of these noises are making me want you,” she mused, still leaning in close, but lifting enough to catch his hooded gaze of pleasure. “Mmm, all so good,” she returned in moan after swallowing another sampling and licking her lips clean of cream cheese frosting. “You missed a spot though…” Q trailed, leaning over, her tongue darting gingerly to the corner of his lips and stealing the rest of frosting from his pout. “There you go.”

Giggling again, this time at the half-dazed expression of her man, Quinn reached for another sample. “How about this one? It’s lemon chess cake— probably a little lighter than the others… then maybe we can throw in some chocolate for good measure,” she chuckled. Now meeting his nose with the tip of her own, Q scooted their chairs a bit closer, her fingers still locked with his own unused digits as she reached for the citrus fruit cake and lifted a bite. “Open up, cuteness,” she purred, placing the piece between his lips before daintily taking in her own taste, moaning at another explosion of flavors. “Maybe we can just get another box of samples and serve those?” she joked, though right now it was becoming awfully hard to narrow down, and there were still many left to choose from. “Baby, I know you’re up for that challenge. Which is your favorite so far though, bee?” she asked once the swallow had made it’s way down with a refreshing swig of iced tea. “I’m too indecisive for this. Cake is your forte.”

Mischief as always quick witted, Artie turned, cake inspired innocence instead playful at Quinn’s candy shop mention. ” ‘I’ll let you lick the lollipop’,” he quoted, pairing 50 Cent lyrics on a ridiculously waggled brow, chuckling a bit after; Artie was glad to have found a woman tolerant of such goofy antics, Q never once asking he change his humor, never once embarrassed by it. She laughed with him rather than at him, a sole reason of many as to why Artie took unaffected comfort in making Quinn his (very soon to be) future wife. She accepted him. She loved him; no matter how silly, how busy, how bossy, how shy… and he couldn’t help but to hopelessly love her back, whether she kept poised throughout wedding plans or was a rightfully fitful bride. “Baby, no need to apologize,” he assured. “I’ll just slay the ‘-zilla’ in you. Turn you back into my princess, and… everything’ll be just fine.” It was a sweet promise, Artie leaning to press kisses unto Q’s delicate and rosy cheek three gentle, consecutive times. Affection kept, the pair exchanging warm smiles and first bites— coconut buttercream the first of their afternoon trials, moans sounding, underlying vocal tease.

A peck of Artie’s own stubbled cheek then prompted a flush of face and suggestive banter; he shivered, Quinn’s whisper at ear and nibble of lobe drawing a soft moan from deep within the rumble of bare chest. “Mm, girl… you messy,” Artie drawled, half-jokingly, head cocking and sapphire finding the sparkle of golden, emerald eyes. “But I’m guessing not wrong.” He giggled, pout feathering over Q’s knuckles once more, her admitted want urging a dull rush of heat to reflexively settle between masculine, sweat dressed thighs. “After, sweetness,” Artie swore, voice a tender coo. “You can have me all you want after we decide.” Pressing on to share in a test of red velvet (free hands interlaced), he grinned, Quinn fondly swiping a slight glob of frosting from his lips, by her tongue clean. “Thank you, mama,” Artie mewled, smooching the tip of Q’s button nose— easing even closer to his missus.

She, too, near, welcoming a nuzzled Eskimo kiss, Artie nodded. “You’re the boss,” he smiled, wide at Quinn’s lift of third sample, slipping the piece inside his already waiting mouth. Chewing… gulping… groaning, Artie guffawed, Q’s razz encouraging he capture her pucker a ginger moment. “Yo, it just might make things easier, Sugar Lips,” Artie mused, his fiancée’s ask leaving him thoughtful— recalling flavor, texture, balance… “Hm… I really liked the buttercream—” he trailed, catching Quinn’s claim of indecisiveness, glance scanning varied miniatures and laughing, squeezing her palm. “But… Weren’t we supposed to have, like… a layered one?” Artie pondered. “White cake… cheesecake filling…?”

2 years ago on 10/6/2012
Ü• 15 notes




The Sweetest Day || August 3, 2016

lucyquinnabrams:

thegrownassartieparty:

Artie didn’t think he’d ever truly tire of waking, not so long as he was shaken by the weight of Q’s slim frame— the press of her kisses, at first light, after ardent; the two were quite lovingly tangled, her arms about his neck, Artie holding Quinn near by the waist. Between sweetly worded chatter and welcome feathers of lip, he smiled, body warming beneath the trail of Q’s delicate touch— abdomen instinctively tensed, taught with familiar flex and trembling (slight). “I wouldn’t doubt that,” Artie beamed, chest blazing, fond— quickly drumming. Though his fiancée’s tease of bachelor party and slip of glasses unto nose left Artie again lost in residential cozy, exchanging pecks of nose and soft spoken promise. “Can’t wait,” he purred, grin crooked— cheeks flush, heating, Quinn’s cradle of rough jaw and sweeping thumbs urging Artie take a repeated lean. His pucker molded to her chin, gently. “I love you too, baby,” he returned, glittering sapphire finding ever pretty hazel. “More than anything.”

Yet tenderness instead turned to playful nature, Q tackling Artie once more atop mattress and he eager to receive. He relished the tremor of her comfortably clad curves, arms wrapped tight about petite hourglass and teeth nipping bare shoulder; Artie chuckled, pecs rumbling. “I knew it,” he mused, only half-jokingly, then laughing at Quinn’s preciously attempted ghetto slang. “No, mama, no!” Artie assured, palms giving her hips a ginger, affectionate squeeze. “You’re great. MAD cute. For serious,” he winked, stressing his own adept tongue at what he liked to call “gangsta’” bravado, from bed to chair shifting; following Q’s bare, gracefully padding heels, Artie rolled blissfully through loft. Modestly set air conditioning kept soon-to-be spouses cool, Cali sun shining, slanted sky light above spacious den inviting bright rays; wheeling to park before kitchen table, Quinn stepping inside the neighboring alcove, Artie awaited cake testing. Forks, knives, homemade iced tea all placed, preceding ceremonial samplings and Q announcing dessert reveal, he giggled (the sound buoyant).

“Lay it on me!” Artie enthused, future wife peeling back white boxed lid— ocean blue orbs catching sight of varied miniature pieces, widening. “Holyyyyyyyyyyy JEEZ,” he exclaimed, adorably awe-struck, distantly nodding at Quinn’s explanation of their particular taste in choosing. “Got it, mon cappy’tan,” Artie smiled, stare flitting to admire Q’s matched grin, stomach flipping. “Yo yo yo, Sugar Lips. Rodger that,” he mewled, Quinn’s kiss and ask of which cake to try encouraging the wander of masculine gaze; honing in on a particular coconut sprinkled slice, Artie lifted the nearest fork, piercing through what he assumed to be some type of buttercream frosting. “I vote this one, babe,” Artie detailed, feeding Q the first bite, nabbing a second himself and thoughtfully chewing. The sugared flavor exploded, perfectly moist, deliciously overwhelming the buds on his tongue; Artie moaned, mouth boyishly full. “Oh my Godddddddddd. BABY.”

After waking her man in the most affectionate of ways, Quinn added one last tackle of nuzzles and cuddles before attempting her turn at Artie’s ghetto bravado. She probably sounded ridiculous, but Artie’s reaction was priceless, and pleased with it, she giggled, pecking his lips one more time and squeaking at the gentle squeeze of curvy hips. “If you say so baby… I’ve been trying to brush up on them so I can declare our vows that way,” she teased, nuzzling their noses together and drinking in his essence— ocean-ed stare, that smile, before reluctantly leaving Artie’s arms so they could head to the kitchen for their cake tasting session. As much as she loved the sugary stuff and knew that Artie did too, Quinn had a feeling they might be sick of it by day’s end. Grabbing all of the necessary utensils and dishes - cold-brewed homemade tea ready to sip at and also help cool off the end of summer days in sunny California - the couple explored their options, Q letting Artie decide where to start first. His precious giggle and adorable awe at the abundance of desserts before him had the blonde beaming brightly; she was just so excited to delve into this next step with him— not the cake tasting, but the marriage. She was truly proud to soon be an Abrams… officially; bonded for life.

“I told you! I’m not going to be able to fit into my dress after this, so then I am going to turn into Bridezilla,” she pouted playfully, lighting up when Artie chose to try the coconut first. It was one of the slices that most caught her eye, and she couldn’t wait to taste. Daintily, she took the small bite offered between her lips, releasing a low moan as the deliciousness took over her mouth and she savored the flavor. Artie’s response to the choice was even more enthusiastic than her own, drawing extra giggles from Quinn as she swallowed the bite. “Jeez, babe… sounds like when we’re in bed together and I’m pleasuring you,” she teased with a wink of hazel eye. Artie’s vocal reaction was just too explosive for her to not throw in some sort of playful flirtatious banter. “I really love that one, though I am quite fond of coconut, which might be why,” Q purred, licking the remainder of frosting from her lips before leaning over to place a chaste kiss to Artie’s. “I’m thinking red velvet next… it has my weakness - cream cheese frosting,” she smiled, stabbing a decent-sized bite from the piece and gingerly feeding it to Artie before dipping a smaller portion into her own.

“MmmMmmm… that one’s good too,” Quinn nodded, relishing another small bite. “We’ve only tried two and I already can’t make up my mind!” she laughed. “Guess we’ll just have to try every single one…”

Again, Artie beamed, Q’s squeal and chaste peck encouraging a warm rumble of laughter, bubbling up from between lithe pecs. A nudge of noses after left sapphire and hazel impossibly close— feathered lash to feather lash. “Mm, nice try, sweetness,” Artie returned, playfully prodding at Quinn’s lips with his tongue, loving the way delicate features subsequently pinked— the two then hesitantly separating, moving to taste test instead inside kitchenette. Once seated before table; once prepped - both silverware and cool beverages at the ready - wedding cake samples (still in box) were uncovered, tenderly set. Artie expressed a boyishly humored wonder in seeing so many sugar-coated options, Q offering he pick the first slice and making “Bridezilla” crack. Artie angled in chair, regarding fiancée with an amused, though wholly sincere, affection. “Yeah, but… you’ll be MY Bridezilla, so…” His grin quirked, he leaning to smooch the corner of Quinn’s mouth— pulling back and suggesting that they try the coconut topped miniature nearest them. Enthusiastically digging in, ever the gentleman (offering Q the first bite), Artie moaned— relishing creamy, delectable flavor an exaggerated moment.

Though his future wife’s chuckled innuendo and winking stare had five o’clock shadow flushing beet red, Artie swallowing thick— quick to retort, tease cheeky: “Well if my orgasms came with a taste, baby, THAT’D be it.” Yet her soft muse and kiss of cheek encouraged Artie’s second beam, wide, he humming. “Me too, little darlin’,” Artie agreed, free palm slipping to hold Quinn’s, he squeezing there— lifting interlocked touch to graze masculine pout over slim digits. Artie smiled against Q’s knuckles, head nodding at red velvet mention. “Whatever you want, princess,” he welcomed, accepting Quinn’s fond forkful, chewing on a contented groan (half-lidded ocean blue orbs gauging her expression).

" ‘Good’? ‘Good ‘? Girl, that is— that is culinary heaven,” Artie animatedly stressed, talking through cream cheese frosting; he gulped it down, matching Q’s giddy laugh, once more kissing petite hand. Gaze glinted, devilish: “And mama— your man’s most definitely up for the challenge.”

2 years ago on 10/4/2012
Ü• 15 notes




The Sweetest Day || August 3, 2016

lucyquinnabrams:

thegrownassartieparty:

The tickle of both feather light pecks and honey blonde locks left Artie’s tired smile splitting, wide, Quinn’s happy murmur urging he roll unto his spine. “Mm… yes please,” Artie managed, voice still thick with sleep, though prior dreams were now far behind— instead abandoned, he content to simply stare up and capture the soft beauty of Q’s slightly pinked radiance with warm, affectionate eyes. In all the years they’d been together, Quinn had never looked more gorgeous; hazel stare bright, features smooth and somewhat bronzed, quirk of mouth a full… inviting peach… a gentle grace about her undoubtedly brought into effect by their living (and waking and eating and sleeping) together… alone at home in Los Angeles. The notice again stretched Artie’s grin, he beaming, leaning to capture Q’s lips— her trailing press of slim digits against bare torso drawing a low hum from between lithe pecs. Yet in catching Quinn’s speech, Artie chuckled, tugging a bit at bottom pout (right palm lifting to thumb along delicate jaw) mid-kiss. Her moan after and wrap of arms round neck sparked a second chuckle, the express pleasantly deep, Artie teasing his own, “Don’t tempt me, woman…” before easing back.

At Q’s smirk and conclusive pucker, shaggy, chestnut tresses cocked, strong hand then falling to cup at curved waist; Artie’s brow waggled a playfully ridiculous moment. “You know me well, Fabray-soon-to-be-Abrams. I’m impressed,” he winked, Quinn’s following razz and paired mention of exotic dancers bringing the young man to attention, whole; all honest— all innocence. “Babe, your trust isn’t ill-placed. I promise you that— and ‘sides… why would I want some random girl’s goodies shakin’ around— when I can have my favorite’s… and not hafta’ pay?” Artie swore, a mischievous lilt becoming velvet tenor— Q soon coming into proper focus, she poising thickly framed glasses atop his nose’s sloping bridge. Her kiss at the tip had stubbled cheeks flush, tomato red, he returning the action to Quinn’s the very same… relishing sweet domesticity, romantics without sensual intent. “Perfect,” Artie grinned. “Thank you, baby…”

Her final lure and giggled nuzzles, however, encouraged the tangle of sculpted arms, he cradling her to bare chest. “Pssssht, you just wanna’ see me half nekkid,” Artie accused, teeth tenderly pinching the skin of his fiancée’s shoulder. “But, ah… I did kinda’ feel like lounging…” He smiled, turning to whisper in Q’s ear, lips purposefully grazing the lobe: “C’mon, boo boo. Let’s get this sexy on in the kitchen and taste us some wedding cake.”

He was so full of innocence upon waking up that Quinn often hated to interrupt his slumber. Today though, had been planned for a while, and after allowing Artie to sleep several hours past the norm, it was finally time to gently - and affectionately - wake him up. The blonde wasn’t surprised at all to be invited by that sexy, raspy tone of his while still half-asleep; his lips all too irresistible to not give in to as she felt the soft press of pout against hers. Sighing, Q snaked her arms round strong neck, reeling him in closer and moaning quietly into the embrace— Artie’s tease to not tempt him into staying in bed rising a soft chuckle from her and encouraging her lips to meet his a bit more ardently before parting, a final chaste one left to his mouth as fingers danced along her husband-to-be’s firm torso. “Baby, we’ve been together over five years - of course I know you! Probably better than you know yourself,” she mused, melting into his close hold and watching in adoration at the toss of messy brunette locks and smile peaking amidst rough, unshaven skin.

Teasing about his bachelor party, she wasn’t surprised at all by Artie’s response; he was so much better than anyone she could dream up. Most men would throw a fit or be disappointed at the very idea of not having exotic dancers at their last big outing before matrimony. Not Artie though - he was loyal as ever, and didn’t get mad at her request; instead, he assured disinterest anyway and proceeded to let her know that he only wanted his lady’s goods anyway. Smiling wholly, Q reached aside for her man’s glasses and carefully placed them atop the bridge of his nose so he could see her approving expression. “That’s my guy… and I really will follow through with that private show,” she promised, leaving a kiss to the top of his adorably scrunchable nose, only to squeak in delight when he returned the gesture. “You’re welcome, love…” she cooed, palms lifting to cradle blushing cheeks, the soft pads of her delicate thumbs brushing over - even tickling along the jaw of his ruggedness. “I love you,” she added sweetly, before pouncing back onto him for a finality of snuggles before their venture to the kitchen to test cake. Smirking as she felt teeth graze the lobe of her ear accompanied by a velvety whisper, Q shivered, clutching him tighter and dropping another husky chuckle. “Now that I can’t deny. I always wants to see your body,” she playfully replied, attempting Artie-Fresh’s slang, but sounding like a bit of a novice. “Still working on that, bee.”

Once Artie had transferred to his chair, Quinn lead him to the kitchen - a slight skip in her step as they made way to the area; it was quite large for an apartment, and grabbing a couple of dishes from the spacious cabinets, the blonde set them atop the table. Forks and knives (just in case) were added, as well as some iced tea to wash the different flavors down with. “And now for the main event,” she cheesed in her best announcer voice, revealing a large white cake-size box and setting it between them. Lifting the lid displayed about twenty different samples of each flavor, adding up to about the size of an entire sheet cake. “So our caterer says that if we don’t like the exact combinations, we can customize anyway we want. Let’s say we like the white chocolate frosting, but not the raspberry filling in it… we could substitute for something else.” Grinning— wide, bright, she added what she knew Artie would be happiest about: “The groom gets a cake too you know, so we’ll be dealing with chocolate and vanilla and practically every other flavor in the rainbow. Keep that in mind,” she murmured, leaning in to ghost a kiss to her love’s cheek. “Now, where shall we begin?”

Artie didn’t think he’d ever truly tire of waking, not so long as he was shaken by the weight of Q’s slim frame— the press of her kisses, at first light, after ardent; the two were quite lovingly tangled, her arms about his neck, Artie holding Quinn near by the waist. Between sweetly worded chatter and welcome feathers of lip, he smiled, body warming beneath the trail of Q’s delicate touch— abdomen instinctively tensed, taught with familiar flex and trembling (slight). “I wouldn’t doubt that,” Artie beamed, chest blazing, fond— quickly drumming. Though his fiancée’s tease of bachelor party and slip of glasses unto nose left Artie again lost in residential cozy, exchanging pecks of nose and soft spoken promise. “Can’t wait,” he purred, grin crooked— cheeks flush, heating, Quinn’s cradle of rough jaw and sweeping thumbs urging Artie take a repeated lean. His pucker molded to her chin, gently. “I love you too, baby,” he returned, glittering sapphire finding ever pretty hazel. “More than anything.”

Yet tenderness instead turned to playful nature, Q tackling Artie once more atop mattress and he eager to receive. He relished the tremor of her comfortably clad curves, arms wrapped tight about petite hourglass and teeth nipping bare shoulder; Artie chuckled, pecs rumbling. “I knew it,” he mused, only half-jokingly, then laughing at Quinn’s preciously attempted ghetto slang. “No, mama, no!” Artie assured, palms giving her hips a ginger, affectionate squeeze. “You’re great. MAD cute. For serious,” he winked, stressing his own adept tongue at what he liked to call “gangsta’” bravado, from bed to chair shifting; following Q’s bare, gracefully padding heels, Artie rolled blissfully through loft. Modestly set air conditioning kept soon-to-be spouses cool, Cali sun shining, slanted sky light above spacious den inviting bright rays; wheeling to park before kitchen table, Quinn stepping inside the neighboring alcove, Artie awaited cake testing. Forks, knives, homemade iced tea all placed, preceding ceremonial samplings and Q announcing dessert reveal, he giggled (the sound buoyant).

"Lay it on me!" Artie enthused, future wife peeling back white boxed lid— ocean blue orbs catching sight of varied miniature pieces, widening. “Holyyyyyyyyyyy JEEZ,” he exclaimed, adorably awe-struck, distantly nodding at Quinn’s explanation of their particular taste in choosing. “Got it, mon cappy’tan,” Artie smiled, stare flitting to admire Q’s matched grin, stomach flipping. “Yo yo yo, Sugar Lips. Rodger that,” he mewled, Quinn’s kiss and ask of which cake to try encouraging the wander of masculine gaze; honing in on a particular coconut sprinkled slice, Artie lifted the nearest fork, piercing through what he assumed to be some type of buttercream frosting. “I vote this one, babe,” Artie detailed, feeding Q the first bite, nabbing a second himself and thoughtfully chewing. The sugared flavor exploded, perfectly moist, deliciously overwhelming the buds on his tongue; Artie moaned, mouth boyishly full. “Oh my Godddddddddd. BABY.”

2 years ago on 10/2/2012
Ü• 15 notes




broadwayrachpuckerman:

2019, Autograph session with Artie!

One of my most favorite leading ladies to work with (however small the project was, heheh)!

2 years ago on 9/30/2012
Ü• 35 notes




The Sweetest Day || August 3, 2016

lucyquinnabrams:

thegrownassartieparty:

Despite an ever seemingly hectic schedule, Arthur Micheal Abrams quite enjoyed the hustle and bustle of life in Los Angeles. The weather was a warm and welcome change, lacking both Lima and New Haven’s constant nip; the city, much like New York, never slept, noise reflecting culture… life— not to mention Hollywood glamor, he close to the future of his career: the business. There was freedom, at last a BFA degree Films Studies graduate; art— there was an incredible, Burbank based opportunity, he interning for Conan at the Warner Brother’s lot (Mr. O’Brien had disregarded Artie’s no longer being a student, liking his application and passion so very strongly, he’d still offered the position); there was a part-time job - also on lot - between screen-writing and directing independent projects, he (thankfully) making enough to support California bunking and food expense… and, as always— there was Quinn.

Lucy Quinn Fabray… Artie’s now fiancée, almost a full year into engagement; love of his life… partner in crime, forever charming and sweet and understandably supportive. Just as HE encouraged her each and every audition, Q having landed several small gigs, agent representation and a (soon to be announced) possible, national commercial booking— the two here, together, blissfully lost… fighting for their dreams amidst the buy of their first apartment and marriage preparations and total, wonderful madness. Artie wouldn’t have had it any other way; he was… beyond happy… beyond busy… and, as such— subsequently exhausted. Admittedly— the young man slept like a log, regardless. But knowing today to be one free of any kind of work, Artie allowed himself an extra few hours, at the deep and comfortable mercy of pleasant, future Mrs. Abrams centered dreams…

That is until a small… bounce stirred him from slumber, a supple, gentle figure cuddling atop Artie’s half-naked frame, weight shifting the memory foam pad of shared king-sized mattress. He “mm”ed, groggy, reflexively heating beneath the feel of Quinn’s early morning pecks; a smile worked it’s way unto five o’clock shadow, the expression lazy and Artie’s heart already skipping beats… the smell of Q’s freshly, honey scrubbed curves leaving lungs without partial breath. “What a way t’be woken up…” he contentedly mumbled, shifting onto his back, blurred sapphire vision peeling open at cake tasting mention— finding Q’s soft features, beaming at the beauty there: sans makeup and dewy and implausibly, flawlessly delicate. Using his forearms for support, Artie leaned, capturing Quinn’s full pucker— suckling there a ginger, again somewhat sleepy, moment. “I have a feeling I’m gonna’ like this part of the decision making process best, baby girl…” he razzed, grin cheeky.

Quinn was so proud of her husband to be. Sure, she had landed a few small gigs here and there after graduating from Yale with a degree in the Arts, but Artie… he had a stable job, still managed to work on his own independent ideas, and most of all, made plenty of time for his girl - planning their future— planning their wedding. She was so entirely ready to be Mrs. Abrams right now, that Quinn wasn’t even nervous anymore for the ceremony; she just wanted it to be official. Whilst planning was fun, she yearned that last connection to the love of her life, though some of the more simpler (and fun) tasks such as cake-testing came first. Pouncing gently atop his sleeping frame, blonde locks fell into her face as Quinn began to lay gentle kisses across Artie’s warm skin and the rough scruff that dressed his jawline; the ruggedness that she had expressed many times to find extremely sexy - though he always was. “Mmm, I should wake you up like this more often then sleepy-head,” she mused, content to just stay there for a while and shower her man with tender affection until he woke completely. Sugary sweets could wait; besides, nothing could compare to her love’s delicious kisses. The way his sleepy blue eyes glistened and mussed hair stuck up in all of the wrong places was just absolutely precious to Q. Lifting her stare to meet his glazed one (glasses strewn atop the nightstand still from his slumber), delicate fingers ghosted along Artie’s toned torso - the touch electric, and just as she was about to attempt to tug him up in anticipation, Artie lifted instead, capturing Quinn’s lips with his own.

“Sweeter than any cake I’ll be tasting today,” she murmured against his lips, a quiet moan befalling them as her future husband began to suckle at the blonde’s lower pout. “Keep this up and you’ll have me here all day instead of cake tasting,” she teased between kisses, Q’s own peach glossed lips pressing back a bit more earnestly as she wrapped her arms round Artie’s neck. “Something told me you would favor this part of the wedding planning process the most,” she smirked, peppering his lips once more before tugging back. “Well, except maybe the bachelor party, but I’m trusting you on that one,” she jested with a quirk of perfectly arched brow. “You know I only have one rule— no strippers. I’ll give you a private show after if you behave,” she continued her rambling, thinking perhaps it would help him wake up a bit more. Beaming at his handsomeness, Quinn reached across to the nightstand and carefully took Artie’s glasses; she gingerly (in such a domestic way) setting them atop the bridge of his nose before pecking the tip of it. “How’s that honey? And hey, since we’re trialing all of these at home, there’s no need to get dressed…” she added wryly, flashing him a cheeky grin. “Unless you just want to - though you know this apartment is not a ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ sort of place for us,” she laughed, before tackling him into the mattress once more with warm nuzzles and affectionate laughter.

The tickle of both feather light pecks and honey blonde locks left Artie’s tired smile splitting, wide, Quinn’s happy murmur urging he roll unto his spine. “Mm… yes please,” Artie managed, voice still thick with sleep, though prior dreams were now far behind— instead abandoned, he content to simply stare up and capture the soft beauty of Q’s slightly pinked radiance with warm, affectionate eyes. In all the years they’d been together, Quinn had never looked more gorgeous; hazel stare bright, features smooth and somewhat bronzed, quirk of mouth a full… inviting peach… a gentle grace about her undoubtedly brought into effect by their living (and waking and eating and sleeping) together… alone at home in Los Angeles. The notice again stretched Artie’s grin, he beaming, leaning to capture Q’s lips— her trailing press of slim digits against bare torso drawing a low hum from between lithe pecs. Yet in catching Quinn’s speech, Artie chuckled, tugging a bit at bottom pout (right palm lifting to thumb along delicate jaw) mid-kiss. Her moan after and wrap of arms round neck sparked a second chuckle, the express pleasantly deep, Artie teasing his own, “Don’t tempt me, woman…” before easing back.

At Q’s smirk and conclusive pucker, shaggy, chestnut tresses cocked, strong hand then falling to cup at curved waist; Artie’s brow waggled a playfully ridiculous moment. “You know me well, Fabray-soon-to-be-Abrams. I’m impressed,” he winked, Quinn’s following razz and paired mention of exotic dancers bringing the young man to attention, whole; all honest— all innocence. “Babe, your trust isn’t ill-placed. I promise you that— and ‘sides… why would I want some random girl’s goodies shakin’ around— when I can have my favorite’s… and not hafta’ pay?” Artie swore, a mischievous lilt becoming velvet tenor— Q soon coming into proper focus, she poising thickly framed glasses atop his nose’s sloping bridge. Her kiss at the tip had stubbled cheeks flush, tomato red, he returning the action to Quinn’s the very same… relishing sweet domesticity, romantics without sensual intent. “Perfect,” Artie grinned. “Thank you, baby…”

Her final lure and giggled nuzzles, however, encouraged the tangle of sculpted arms, he cradling her to bare chest. “Pssssht, you just wanna’ see me half nekkid,” Artie accused, teeth tenderly pinching the skin of his fiancée’s shoulder. “But, ah… I did kinda’ feel like lounging…” He smiled, turning to whisper in Q’s ear, lips purposefully grazing the lobe: “C’mon, boo boo. Let’s get this sexy on in the kitchen and taste us some wedding cake.”

2 years ago on 9/30/2012
Ü• 15 notes




The Sweetest Day || August 3, 2016

lucyquinnabrams:

Cake. That is what the afternoon consisted of, was cake. Red velvet, chocolate, vanilla— spumoni, marble, cheesecake. Cream cheese frosting and fondant, ganache, butter-cream… pretty much any type of filling for any wedding cake imaginable was on the menu as well. Quinn and Artie had been engaged for nearly a year now; they had decided after college to have a long engagement, allowing them plenty of time for preparation between projects and work. The blonde was very excited about their cake tasting session for the day, and she knew her future husband would be, for his love of sweets was almost as strong as the adoration he held for her. The venue had already been chosen after narrowing down some of the fanciest bakeries in LA, and upon hearing they could be delivered the samplings to taste on their own at home, the couple had decided that was the route to go for them - instead of embarrassingly stuffing their faces with every different flavor under the scrutiny of a caterer.

Artie was still asleep; he had a long night previous and Quinn didn’t dare wake him until the desserts arrived. Skipping breakfast in favor of leaving room for all of the sweet delicacies, she hopped into the shower and freshened up, opting to wear a comfortable pair of lounge pants and tank top. It was a casual, laid back day for them, and with neither having to work, Quinn was ensuring they would enjoy it. Artie actually was a big help in the wedding planning process - unlike most guys, and she was ever grateful for it. For a woman who always knew what she wanted, her indecisiveness seemed to arrive when it came to making choices for their special day— there were just too many things to decide, and it was Artie’s day as well; she loved having his input. Most people would pin the blonde as the “Bridezilla” type, but surprisingly, she was far from it. Cake was an important and enjoyable aspect of it, and would no doubt be their favorite— though she would probably leave more of the sampling to Artie (she did have a dress to fit into, after all).

The doorbell rang a while later, signaling the delivery of their treats. After thanking the worker, Quinn excitedly set the giant box down atop the marble kitchen counter-top and practically sprinted to the bedroom, playfully (and carefully) pouncing on a sleeping Artie so that she would be tackling him if had hadn’t already been pinned to the bed. “Rise and shine handsome,” she murmured, nuzzling his neck and ghosting tender kisses across his jaw and to the corner of soft lips. “It’s cake tasting day and I have an entire box waiting in the kitchen for us to dive into…” she cooed, trying to gently wake him up, even after jumping on the bed. “You can practically smell the butter-cream from here…”

Despite an ever seemingly hectic schedule, Arthur Micheal Abrams quite enjoyed the hustle and bustle of life in Los Angeles. The weather was a warm and welcome change, lacking both Lima and New Haven’s constant nip; the city, much like New York, never slept, noise reflecting culture… life— not to mention Hollywood glamor, he close to the future of his career: the business. There was freedom, at last a BFA degree Films Studies graduate; art— there was an incredible, Burbank based opportunity, he interning for Conan at the Warner Brother’s lot (Mr. O’Brien had disregarded Artie’s no longer being a student, liking his application and passion so very strongly, he’d still offered the position); there was a part-time job - also on lot - between screen-writing and directing independent projects, he (thankfully) making enough to support California bunking and food expense… and, as always— there was Quinn.

Lucy Quinn Fabray… Artie’s now fiancée, almost a full year into engagement; love of his life… partner in crime, forever charming and sweet and understandably supportive. Just as HE encouraged her each and every audition, Q having landed several small gigs, agent representation and a (soon to be announced) possible, national commercial booking— the two here, together, blissfully lost… fighting for their dreams amidst the buy of their first apartment and marriage preparations and total, wonderful madness. Artie wouldn’t have had it any other way; he was… beyond happy… beyond busy… and, as such— subsequently exhausted. Admittedly— the young man slept like a log, regardless. But knowing today to be one free of any kind of work, Artie allowed himself an extra few hours, at the deep and comfortable mercy of pleasant, future Mrs. Abrams centered dreams…

That is until a small… bounce stirred him from slumber, a supple, gentle figure cuddling atop Artie’s half-naked frame, weight shifting the memory foam pad of shared king-sized mattress. He “mm”ed, groggy, reflexively heating beneath the feel of Quinn’s early morning pecks; a smile worked it’s way unto five o’clock shadow, the expression lazy and Artie’s heart already skipping beats… the smell of Q’s freshly, honey scrubbed curves leaving lungs without partial breath. “What a way t’be woken up…” he contentedly mumbled, shifting onto his back, blurred sapphire vision peeling open at cake tasting mention— finding Q’s soft features, beaming at the beauty there: sans makeup and dewy and implausibly, flawlessly delicate. Using his forearms for support, Artie leaned, capturing Quinn’s full pucker— suckling there a ginger, again somewhat sleepy, moment. “I have a feeling I’m gonna’ like this part of the decision making process best, baby girl…” he razzed, grin cheeky.

2 years ago on 9/30/2012
Ü• 15 notes




Think this was when I realized my life was… pretty much perfect…

Think this was when I realized my life was… pretty much perfect

2 years ago on 9/29/2012
Ü• 19 notes




lucyquinnabrams:

Autograph signing in 2024.

lucyquinnabrams:

Autograph signing in 2024.

2 years ago on 9/29/2012
Ü• 76 notes