As a friend, I’m a good listener. I think I give good advice and I’m loyal. I’m quite reserved – I enjoy listening more than I enjoy talking. And I’m usually really difficult to break, I have a guard up. I don’t know whether that’s because of the jobs that;I’ve been on or whether it’s always been there, but I’m always really quiet to begin with.

As a friend, I’m a good listener. I think I give good advice and I’m loyal. I’m quite reserved – I enjoy listening more than I enjoy talking. And I’m usually really difficult to break, I have a guard up. I don’t know whether that’s because of the jobs that;I’ve been on or whether it’s always been there, but I’m always really quiet to begin with.

Sam and Douglas being adorable during an Italian press conference (◠‿◠✿)

Favorite Gossip Girl outfits - Blair Waldorf (part 1)

To Everything There Is A Season ~ (Outlander AU)

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

Kathy feels herself relax, not realizing that she was so tense to begin with. The guilt over Frank is still present, but it has no place here. Pyotr wants her; she’ll make the rest work. “Yes,” she tells him certainly, honestly. Slowly, as if trying not to startle a wild animal, she brushes his hair away from his forehead. Her hand trembles slightly, but not in fear. She hasn’t done slow and gentle in a very long time. Not since — not since before the war. She’ll think about what that means later. Barely above a whisper, she confesses, “I”m glad it’s you.”

"So am I," he whispers back, leaning in to kiss her. The first one is gentle, sweet—Pyotr would be afraid of letting too much of his feelings show in that kiss, if it weren’t for the fact that he doesn’t really care about hiding it anymore. So what if he loves his wife? "I’d have hated for you to be here with any of the others." He thinks of Kathy in this room with Angus or Murtagh or (God forbid) Dougal, and immediately wishes he hadn’t. He blocks out the image by kissing her again, this time rather more heatedly.

Kathy kisses him back and uses the opportunity to drag her fingers through his hair. She’s wondered whether it is as soft and tangled as it looks, or if it will feel rough against her skin. The action serves to tug Pyotr even closer, deepening the kiss. She loses herself in it like she hasn’t been able to get lost in a while. It’s better than any of the daydreams she’s had, better than anything she can remember at the moment. She thinks that she hears herself make a soft sound in the back of her throat. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are wide, her breathing stuttering. “Where did you learn to kiss like that?”

The corner of his already-reddened mouth tugs upwards in a wickedly knowing smirk—the same look, in fact, he’d given her the night she’d caught him and Laoghaire. They’re still in familiar territory, but he’s also growing in confidence with each touch. Desire makes him bold. “I said I was a virgin, not a monk,” Pyotr practically purrs, leaning back in and starting to kiss his way down her throat. “I could give you the girls’ names, but I don’t think you’d like that.”

The Scottish girls are fine teachers indeed. Kathy keeps one hand in Pyotr’s hair and leans her weight on the other, her fingers curling into a loose fist around the sheets. “And you still thought that women don’t enjoy this?” Her voice is lower than before, more distracted. The jealousy is dull and pulsing, but Pyotr’s mouth is on her skin now, and she is certain that it won’t ever be on anyone else’s. In this, he will be a better spouse than she ever was. 

Kissing had always seemed to go over well with the girls, but he’d never done it with the intention of really going any further—and in the absence of personal experience, he’d had to defer to that of Dougal and company. The distraction in Kathy’s voice reassures him, though, tells him he’s doing the right thing here and now. “I’m learning,” Pyotr murmurs, just before he begins sucking a mark onto her collarbone. His lips curve into a smile, his hand resting low on her hip to brace himself.

She lets her head fall back a little and frees her hand from his hair, putting it to better use unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt. She goes by feel, but stops after the first few. Gently, she moves her collarbone away and sits up. Both of her hands lift to cradle Pyotr’s face between them. She can’t resist a quick kiss to his mouth before saying, “Tell me if you want me to stop, alright?”

Being touched like this, it’s easy to feel truly loved and wanted. Pyotr will worry and analyze everything later—but for now, Kathy’s touch is warming him, setting him on fire. She already knows what to expect from his back and body in general; there’s little fear in letting her undress him. “Not a chance,” he whispers back, kissing her again and starting to untie the knot at the collar of her shift. “Tell me if anything I do doesn’t feel right?” Pyotr asks, the words escaping disjointedly between their mouths.

Kathy doesn’t know what ‘right’ is supposed to feel like. It’s different from what she’s used to; but then, Pyotr is not what she is used to, though it’s clear that she likes this very much. “I’ll tell you if I want you to do something different,” she promises into the side of his cheek, one hand back in his hair. That would go without saying, but it’s nice to receive the confirmation that Pyotr cares about her comfort. It makes her feel wanted for something more than just sex, which is ridiculous in the present situation. But there it is. “Take your shirt off,” she says when she’s used her free hand to undo the rest of the buttons, leaning back to watch him.

Pyotr takes a shaky breath as she pulls away, already finding it hard to breathe amidst the intoxicating haze. His skin is burning from where she’s touched it, and he doesn’t feel quite himself as he shrugs out of his shirt and tosses the item across the room. Even though he feels relatively comfortable with Kathy and his scarred back, his stomach still twists in nervousness as the ugly marks are exposed. He wonders if she minds his disfigurement, but doesn’t quite have the courage to ask now. Instead, he feigns relaxed confidence and rests back on the mattress, supporting himself on his elbows and looking over at her. “Your turn now, love.” His grin alone is enough to make his excitement clear.

Kathy gets hung up on the term of endearment, raw longing flashing quick and barely noticeable over her face. She blinks, and smiles back at him. It doesn’t matter. “Very fair,” she says with her pulse in her ears, even though it is anything but. Pyotr is still mostly dressed, all things considering. If she pulls her shift over her head, she’ll have nothing but the pretty white stockings and the ribbons in her hair. But she doesn’t waste much time in getting on her knees and taking the shift by its hem, pulling it over her head. She drops it to pool by the side of the bed, letting Pyotr look his fill. The air is cool against her naked skin, but she barely feels it.

To Everything There Is A Season ~ (Outlander AU)

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

Kathy feels herself relax, not realizing that she was so tense to begin with. The guilt over Frank is still present, but it has no place here. Pyotr wants her; she’ll make the rest work. “Yes,” she tells him certainly, honestly. Slowly, as if trying not to startle a wild animal, she brushes his hair away from his forehead. Her hand trembles slightly, but not in fear. She hasn’t done slow and gentle in a very long time. Not since — not since before the war. She’ll think about what that means later. Barely above a whisper, she confesses, “I”m glad it’s you.”

"So am I," he whispers back, leaning in to kiss her. The first one is gentle, sweet—Pyotr would be afraid of letting too much of his feelings show in that kiss, if it weren’t for the fact that he doesn’t really care about hiding it anymore. So what if he loves his wife? "I’d have hated for you to be here with any of the others." He thinks of Kathy in this room with Angus or Murtagh or (God forbid) Dougal, and immediately wishes he hadn’t. He blocks out the image by kissing her again, this time rather more heatedly.

Kathy kisses him back and uses the opportunity to drag her fingers through his hair. She’s wondered whether it is as soft and tangled as it looks, or if it will feel rough against her skin. The action serves to tug Pyotr even closer, deepening the kiss. She loses herself in it like she hasn’t been able to get lost in a while. It’s better than any of the daydreams she’s had, better than anything she can remember at the moment. She thinks that she hears herself make a soft sound in the back of her throat. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are wide, her breathing stuttering. “Where did you learn to kiss like that?”

The corner of his already-reddened mouth tugs upwards in a wickedly knowing smirk—the same look, in fact, he’d given her the night she’d caught him and Laoghaire. They’re still in familiar territory, but he’s also growing in confidence with each touch. Desire makes him bold. “I said I was a virgin, not a monk,” Pyotr practically purrs, leaning back in and starting to kiss his way down her throat. “I could give you the girls’ names, but I don’t think you’d like that.”

The Scottish girls are fine teachers indeed. Kathy keeps one hand in Pyotr’s hair and leans her weight on the other, her fingers curling into a loose fist around the sheets. “And you still thought that women don’t enjoy this?” Her voice is lower than before, more distracted. The jealousy is dull and pulsing, but Pyotr’s mouth is on her skin now, and she is certain that it won’t ever be on anyone else’s. In this, he will be a better spouse than she ever was. 

Kissing had always seemed to go over well with the girls, but he’d never done it with the intention of really going any further—and in the absence of personal experience, he’d had to defer to that of Dougal and company. The distraction in Kathy’s voice reassures him, though, tells him he’s doing the right thing here and now. “I’m learning,” Pyotr murmurs, just before he begins sucking a mark onto her collarbone. His lips curve into a smile, his hand resting low on her hip to brace himself.

She lets her head fall back a little and frees her hand from his hair, putting it to better use unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt. She goes by feel, but stops after the first few. Gently, she moves her collarbone away and sits up. Both of her hands lift to cradle Pyotr’s face between them. She can’t resist a quick kiss to his mouth before saying, “Tell me if you want me to stop, alright?”

Being touched like this, it’s easy to feel truly loved and wanted. Pyotr will worry and analyze everything later—but for now, Kathy’s touch is warming him, setting him on fire. She already knows what to expect from his back and body in general; there’s little fear in letting her undress him. “Not a chance,” he whispers back, kissing her again and starting to untie the knot at the collar of her shift. “Tell me if anything I do doesn’t feel right?” Pyotr asks, the words escaping disjointedly between their mouths.

Kathy doesn’t know what ‘right’ is supposed to feel like. It’s different from what she’s used to; but then, Pyotr is not what she is used to, though it’s clear that she likes this very much. “I’ll tell you if I want you to do something different,” she promises into the side of his cheek, one hand back in his hair. That would go without saying, but it’s nice to receive the confirmation that Pyotr cares about her comfort. It makes her feel wanted for something more than just sex, which is ridiculous in the present situation. But there it is. “Take your shirt off,” she says when she’s used her free hand to undo the rest of the buttons, leaning back to watch him.

myresin:

flowury:

flowury:

I want to do adult things with you

*whispers* taxes

*moans* pay the mortgage

To Everything There Is A Season ~ (Outlander AU)

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

Kathy feels herself relax, not realizing that she was so tense to begin with. The guilt over Frank is still present, but it has no place here. Pyotr wants her; she’ll make the rest work. “Yes,” she tells him certainly, honestly. Slowly, as if trying not to startle a wild animal, she brushes his hair away from his forehead. Her hand trembles slightly, but not in fear. She hasn’t done slow and gentle in a very long time. Not since — not since before the war. She’ll think about what that means later. Barely above a whisper, she confesses, “I”m glad it’s you.”

"So am I," he whispers back, leaning in to kiss her. The first one is gentle, sweet—Pyotr would be afraid of letting too much of his feelings show in that kiss, if it weren’t for the fact that he doesn’t really care about hiding it anymore. So what if he loves his wife? "I’d have hated for you to be here with any of the others." He thinks of Kathy in this room with Angus or Murtagh or (God forbid) Dougal, and immediately wishes he hadn’t. He blocks out the image by kissing her again, this time rather more heatedly.

Kathy kisses him back and uses the opportunity to drag her fingers through his hair. She’s wondered whether it is as soft and tangled as it looks, or if it will feel rough against her skin. The action serves to tug Pyotr even closer, deepening the kiss. She loses herself in it like she hasn’t been able to get lost in a while. It’s better than any of the daydreams she’s had, better than anything she can remember at the moment. She thinks that she hears herself make a soft sound in the back of her throat. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are wide, her breathing stuttering. “Where did you learn to kiss like that?”

The corner of his already-reddened mouth tugs upwards in a wickedly knowing smirk—the same look, in fact, he’d given her the night she’d caught him and Laoghaire. They’re still in familiar territory, but he’s also growing in confidence with each touch. Desire makes him bold. “I said I was a virgin, not a monk,” Pyotr practically purrs, leaning back in and starting to kiss his way down her throat. “I could give you the girls’ names, but I don’t think you’d like that.”

The Scottish girls are fine teachers indeed. Kathy keeps one hand in Pyotr’s hair and leans her weight on the other, her fingers curling into a loose fist around the sheets. “And you still thought that women don’t enjoy this?” Her voice is lower than before, more distracted. The jealousy is dull and pulsing, but Pyotr’s mouth is on her skin now, and she is certain that it won’t ever be on anyone else’s. In this, he will be a better spouse than she ever was. 

Kissing had always seemed to go over well with the girls, but he’d never done it with the intention of really going any further—and in the absence of personal experience, he’d had to defer to that of Dougal and company. The distraction in Kathy’s voice reassures him, though, tells him he’s doing the right thing here and now. “I’m learning,” Pyotr murmurs, just before he begins sucking a mark onto her collarbone. His lips curve into a smile, his hand resting low on her hip to brace himself.

She lets her head fall back a little and frees her hand from his hair, putting it to better use unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt. She goes by feel, but stops after the first few. Gently, she moves her collarbone away and sits up. Both of her hands lift to cradle Pyotr’s face between them. She can’t resist a quick kiss to his mouth before saying, “Tell me if you want me to stop, alright?”


I wasn’t in the right shape for Finnick for the audition. I had stubble and there was a picture of me at a premiere and everyone was like: who is this guy? He doesn’t even have blue eyes, let alone copper-coloured hair, a tan or a six pack.

wasn’t in the right shape for Finnick for the audition. I had stubble and there was a picture of me at a premiere and everyone was like: who is this guy? He doesn’t even have blue eyes, let alone copper-coloured hair, a tan or a six pack.

To Everything There Is A Season ~ (Outlander AU)

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

Kathy feels herself relax, not realizing that she was so tense to begin with. The guilt over Frank is still present, but it has no place here. Pyotr wants her; she’ll make the rest work. “Yes,” she tells him certainly, honestly. Slowly, as if trying not to startle a wild animal, she brushes his hair away from his forehead. Her hand trembles slightly, but not in fear. She hasn’t done slow and gentle in a very long time. Not since — not since before the war. She’ll think about what that means later. Barely above a whisper, she confesses, “I”m glad it’s you.”

"So am I," he whispers back, leaning in to kiss her. The first one is gentle, sweet—Pyotr would be afraid of letting too much of his feelings show in that kiss, if it weren’t for the fact that he doesn’t really care about hiding it anymore. So what if he loves his wife? "I’d have hated for you to be here with any of the others." He thinks of Kathy in this room with Angus or Murtagh or (God forbid) Dougal, and immediately wishes he hadn’t. He blocks out the image by kissing her again, this time rather more heatedly.

Kathy kisses him back and uses the opportunity to drag her fingers through his hair. She’s wondered whether it is as soft and tangled as it looks, or if it will feel rough against her skin. The action serves to tug Pyotr even closer, deepening the kiss. She loses herself in it like she hasn’t been able to get lost in a while. It’s better than any of the daydreams she’s had, better than anything she can remember at the moment. She thinks that she hears herself make a soft sound in the back of her throat. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are wide, her breathing stuttering. “Where did you learn to kiss like that?”

The corner of his already-reddened mouth tugs upwards in a wickedly knowing smirk—the same look, in fact, he’d given her the night she’d caught him and Laoghaire. They’re still in familiar territory, but he’s also growing in confidence with each touch. Desire makes him bold. “I said I was a virgin, not a monk,” Pyotr practically purrs, leaning back in and starting to kiss his way down her throat. “I could give you the girls’ names, but I don’t think you’d like that.”

The Scottish girls are fine teachers indeed. Kathy keeps one hand in Pyotr’s hair and leans her weight on the other, her fingers curling into a loose fist around the sheets. “And you still thought that women don’t enjoy this?” Her voice is lower than before, more distracted. The jealousy is dull and pulsing, but Pyotr’s mouth is on her skin now, and she is certain that it won’t ever be on anyone else’s. In this, he will be a better spouse than she ever was. 

To Everything There Is A Season ~ (Outlander AU)

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

Kathy feels herself relax, not realizing that she was so tense to begin with. The guilt over Frank is still present, but it has no place here. Pyotr wants her; she’ll make the rest work. “Yes,” she tells him certainly, honestly. Slowly, as if trying not to startle a wild animal, she brushes his hair away from his forehead. Her hand trembles slightly, but not in fear. She hasn’t done slow and gentle in a very long time. Not since — not since before the war. She’ll think about what that means later. Barely above a whisper, she confesses, “I”m glad it’s you.”

"So am I," he whispers back, leaning in to kiss her. The first one is gentle, sweet—Pyotr would be afraid of letting too much of his feelings show in that kiss, if it weren’t for the fact that he doesn’t really care about hiding it anymore. So what if he loves his wife? "I’d have hated for you to be here with any of the others." He thinks of Kathy in this room with Angus or Murtagh or (God forbid) Dougal, and immediately wishes he hadn’t. He blocks out the image by kissing her again, this time rather more heatedly.

Kathy kisses him back and uses the opportunity to drag her fingers through his hair. She’s wondered whether it is as soft and tangled as it looks, or if it will feel rough against her skin. The action serves to tug Pyotr even closer, deepening the kiss. She loses herself in it like she hasn’t been able to get lost in a while. It’s better than any of the daydreams she’s had, better than anything she can remember at the moment. She thinks that she hears herself make a soft sound in the back of her throat. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are wide, her breathing stuttering. “Where did you learn to kiss like that?”