
roma★
One Nice Bug Per Day
Claire Keane
cherry valley forever
No title available

No title available

if i look back, i am lost
Today's Document
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
sheepfilms
No title available
almost home

⁂
will byers stan first human second

@theartofmadeline

pixel skylines
NASA
Monterey Bay Aquarium
styofa doing anything
Not today Justin

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Malaysia

seen from United States

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Malaysia
seen from Denmark

seen from Malaysia

seen from Türkiye

seen from United States
seen from Denmark
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Denmark
seen from United States
seen from Denmark
@sleepyseguin
Tyler Seguin | DAL @ MTL Postgame Interview (x)
tyler seguin | i still see your face (nsfw)
summary: you and tyler break up. it’s harder than you thought it would be.
a/n: highly recommend listening to driver’s licence by olivia rodrigo to get the whole vibe. my spotify must think i have a problem by the constant repeat.
It’s not like you haven’t had a break up before. It’s just that this one feels different. Raw. A ragged edge that’s been torn. You drink too much beer and sleep too little. Your friends rally around you, of course they do, drag you to clubs with too many teenagers, tell you they never liked Tyler anyway. But the lie is thin, and in the dim bathroom of the bar one says, but why did you guys break up? What happened? You blink at her, mouth tasting of tequila. I don’t know.
-/-
Of course you know. You’re an adult. You made this decision together, sat on his couch. One of his throw pillows hugged to your chest so he couldn’t see the way your hands were shaking.
“If this is really what you want,” Tyler had said, and you could hear the scratch in his throat, the way his eyes shone too bright. Unshed tears.
You hadn’t been able to speak, tongue too thick, hot tears on your cheeks, fresh ones ready to replace as they dried sticky on your chin.
He was away from home too much. Your lives were going in different directions. You had opportunities to travel with work, and it’s not like he could come with you. It was best to do it now, a clean break, rather than struggle on, slowly tearing.
You’d cried all the way home from his house, struggling to keep the wheel straight. Your mother would have been horrified by the reckless driving. When you’d finally dared to look at your phone, that first night alone, Tyler’s text made you sob all over again. I love you. Always.
-/-
You talk to him, sometimes. You can’t help yourself. It’s like an itch that becomes unbearable. You have to scratch. Meaningless text message chains. How are you? Fine, you? I’m okay. I miss you. I miss you too. You know it’s not helpful, not the path towards healing that your married friends preach. But it makes it easier to sleep. Knowing he’s still out there. It’s a blissful kind of agony when he texts you unprompted, in the middle of the night, sometimes the middle of the afternoon. I think of you all the time or I dreamt about you or I thought I saw you at the game. Your own misery overwhelms. Winter sets in. You struggle through grey days, take the long way home to drive past his street. Pray you don’t see another car next to his.
-/-
You cry on the phone to your mother, great big sobs like a child does when they’ve lost their favourite toy. She tells you she’ll fly out.
“No, it’s okay. I’m a big girl. I can do this.”
“You can,” she assures, but the surety seeps away as soon as you hang up. A bottle of wine in front of the television. Take out. You’re either starving or not hungry at all now. You only watch ten minutes of an episode before you’re switching to the NHL channel. It’s too hard to forget the schedule. It’s like a reminder in your brain when you wake up in the morning, he’s playing today. You used to nap together, in the afternoons before games. The weak sunlight, the dancing dust mites. A Friend’s episode turned low. Tyler would reach for you in his sleep, nuzzle into your neck. Like he could never get close enough. Like he knew you would leave one day.
-/-
A mutual friends birthday. You’d tried to make excuses, but even you didn’t believe them.
“It’s worse to avoid him,” your friend says, “It will only make it harder later.”
So in an effort to do the Right Thing, to be a Big Girl, and Move On, you find yourself drinking too strong punch, pieces of apple and orange floating in a plastic cup, leaning into a guy you just met and laughing too loud.
And it is fun. For awhile. A mix of old friends and new. Loud music. And for most of the night, he’s not there. He’s so late you think he’s not coming. And you pretend you’re crying because you’re relieved and not because you’re disappointed. You’ve been smart enough to take yourself to the bathroom for the small meltdown, bent over the counter and taking deep breaths. You’re too old to be getting this smashed at a house party. It’s hard to focus on yourself in the mirror, bending light. It’s a good thing he’s not coming, you tell yourself, and wish you could believe it.
You’re headed to the kitchen, the sink full of ice and hiding your drinks. Tyler is there. Tyler is there, standing in the hallway, talking to the host. His big hand makes the beer he’s holding look like a kid’s toy. He’s laughing, crinkly eyes, the sound reaching you. Slapping the guy on the shoulder, enjoying the joke. He’s so happy. How can he be so happy?
Dark eyes meet yours, the fall of his mouth from the grin. He goes to say something, call out maybe, but you’re turning away already, pushing back into the lounge room, the backdoor. Fresh air. Cold crisp of a Texan winter. The weather reporters are saying it might snow this year. He finds you. Of course he does. In the back-garden, looking up at the moon, counting stars. Your name in a familiar voice. The way he says it makes your heart hurt. You can barely look at him, the grass moving under your feet as you turn to face him. Curls peeking out from under a beanie. Black hoodie, dark jeans. You recognise the hoodie. You used to wear it to bed sometimes.
“Hi,” you say, trying to be causal, wanting desperately to be, but at the same time you’re reaching out, clinging onto his arm. Don’t ever let go again.
Tyler smiles, sad and small, “It’s nice to see you.”
“Yeah,” you breathe, head back, gazing up at him. The moon has nothing on Tyler. Come back to me, you want to say, but this is your fault. You did this. You made this happen.
“I wanted to talk to you,” he says, and you think yes, yes, just ask me, I’ll come back I promise, “I think it’s better if we don’t talk anymore. It’s too hard.”
“Oh,” you say. It suddenly seems so much colder out here. “Okay.”
You watch him walk away, back into the house, the light of the party. And if you cry in the Uber on the way home, no one else has to know.
-/-
The first time you sleep together, afterwards, you could almost convince yourself it’s an accident. Not talking hadn’t lasted long. A loss, a commiserating text, a wish to just go back to the way things were. We can, you’d said, just for one night.
It’s almost awkward, the way he’s a stranger around you again. He looks tired, sore, sweatpants and a hoodie. Pink cheeks from the cold outside. His hair is still damp from the shower, curling around his ears. You want to stay here, like this, forever, letting him sit you down in the bed, holding your face in his big hands to kiss you from where he stands between your knees. The way Tyler says your name, wanting, needy. The press of his body on yours. You missed this. You missed this so much. It would never be the same with anyone else. The way he touches you, so carefully, so purposefully. He knows just how you like it, just how you work together.
It’s a habit, for you to be on top after a game, not worth making him expend any more energy. But he fights you for it, doesn’t let you settle, rolls you over onto your back again. You protest, mildly.
“It’ll make you sore,” you say, can’t stop touching him, his hair, his face, his back, his chest. His skin is warm from the hoodie.
“Don’t care,” Tyler says, a crooked smile, nudging his nose against yours, “I want it like this, want to see you properly.”
Your heart is broken and remade simultaneously. It’s all you can do not to pull the doona over both of you and hide forever, keep him here like a prisoner. Cherish him for an age. His mother would never forgive you.
Your body aches for him, as he nudges open your legs, kisses your mouth, your neck, your breasts. You should take your time, enjoy it, the last time, but you can’t help but surge towards the end.
“Want you inside me,” you whisper, fingers on his hips, angling him.
“Yeah,” Tyler rasps, aligning himself, “Fuck. Yeah, please.”
The relief of him sinking home, the opening of your body to him. It’s too easy, almost, the rhythm he settles into. Your legs tight around his waist, groaning when he pulls one up over his shoulder, finds a new angle. A big hand palming at your breast, the way he says your name, thick and low. You come a few moments before him, get off on the way he watches you, holds you, fingers caressing just above where he slides in and out of you. It takes everything not to cry, the final release, the drop of endorphins.
Tyler shakes when he comes, a whole body shudder as he holds himself deep, panting against your ear. You stare at the ceiling and blink away tears. How could you ever have walked away from this? Nothing feels right unless he’s here.
Later, he gets up to leave, but you reach out before he can get out of bed.
“Please stay,” you whisper, pathetic. Tyler’s a shadow in the dark, but he’s warm when he slides back under the covers, gathers you up against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat as you fall asleep.
-/-
It takes you another week to swallow your pride. You call your mother, again, cry on the phone, again.
“I think I was wrong, I think I made a huge mistake.”
“If he is who you say he is,” she counsels, “He’ll forgive you.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
You’re convinced that someone will be in your parking spot the whole drive to his house. A new car. A girl’s car. You can’t breathe along his whole tree lined street, until you see the empty spot. Like it’s waiting for you. Like it has been this whole time.
You almost slump into him when he opens the door, the relief, the grief. He’s surprised to see you. Sleepy. Got in late last night from a Roadie. The dogs are everywhere at once, bumping you into each other as they try to get a cuddle. Tyler stumbles into you, forced by Marshall’s heavy tail. Your hand on his ribcage, steadying. Are you really going to do this? On his front step? Behind him, you can see your red coat on the coat hook. So that’s where it was. You’ve been looking for it in the cold. And he’s kept it, this whole time. Waiting for you.
“I’m sorry,” you say, “I’m so, so sorry.”
Tyler shakes his head, confused, furrowed brow, “What’s going on?”
“I made a mistake. I made a stupid mistake. I got scared, and I panicked. The truth is. I love you. And I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. And it’s scary. I’m so scared. But I shouldn’t have taken it on you like this. It was wrong. And if you can’t. If you can’t forgive me I understand. But. I really, really want you, too.”
He says your name, quietly, prayer like. Your hand is still on his chest.
“Are you sure?” He asks, and the dogs are still all around you, the front door is wide open. Tyler’s socked feet on the porch.
“I’m so sure.”
And he’s laughing. He’s laughing. And he’s kissing you. Warm and fresh and familiar. And then you’re laughing and then you’re crying and Tyler is just holding, holding, holding you.
And along the street, a warm breeze blows through the trees. The promise of summer.
masterlist // tyler seguin imagines
- lover to lover - (nsfw)
Tyler comes home from a game. You’ve fallen asleep on the couch. Gentle hands wake you.
(“An easy manoeuvre, used to each other, the way you move together, fit together. Flat on his back, his head on a throw pillow, you in the cradle of his hips, bent low over him so you can stay close, feel him breathe.”)
- may you see the light surrounding you -
You go and check on Tyler after Lite’s comments. The house is as quiet as he is.
(“Tyler’s slumped in the middle of the bed, bare chest, but black sweatpants, the duvet half pulled across his legs.”)
- a fight, a misunderstanding - (nsfw)
You think Tyler will fight back. He doesn’t.
(“Your bodies are still carefully held apart, but he rests his cheek against your hair.”)
- a moment in the dark -
In the middle of the night, Tyler wakes you.
(“Your hand slips up along his ribcage, gliding over bone - bump, bump - over muscle. No matter how much Aspirin he’s had, he’ll still b sore. Your touch is careful.”)
- at night, lose my mind - (nsfw)
You and Tyler in a hotel room. You know each other, always.
(“One of his hands finds your hip as your body unfolds, steadying you and bringing you tight in against him at the same time. He’s gonna make a mess of your dress.”)
- i’ve been saving this for you - (nsfw)
Tyler needs to know he played well.
(“He says your name like a prayer, and you keep forgetting how to breathe, wanting to kiss him and never stop, wanting to stay here with him and never leave.”)
THE HELL U ARE BACK???? YASS
it is finally time. lets go lads xx
tyler seguin | in the morning
summary: morning sex. that’s literally it. (slight mention of ch*king)
please feel free to message or request here! stay safe xo rose
It’s raining when you wake up. The windows have been left open, so the fresh, clean smells seeps in, the sound of it on the roof. The curtains blow in the breeze, brushing gently against the wood of the floorboards. You roll over, the rustle of bed sheets. Tyler’s hand slips off from where it was resting on your back with your movement, but you collect it quickly, slide it back over your hip. He smells like sleep where he absentmindedly moves closer, already awake. He’s on his phone, one arm propped up on a pillow to scroll through emails. You can tell by the quick, alert movements of his eyes as he reads he’s been awake for awhile, but has stayed relatively still to let you sleep longer. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re always startled awake by him leaving the bed. An unconsciousness knowing of him leaving your immediate space that disturbs your REM.
“Hey,” you say, voice still thick with sleep. Your mouth tastes slightly stale. He smiles at the sound of your voice, dropping his phone to look at you.
“Hey,” Tyler returns, hand slipping up from your hip to your ribcage, under his big t-shirt you’ve worn to bed.
“What time is it?” You wonder, phone lost somewhere under the pillows from where you’ve dropped it while falling asleep the night before.
“Just after nine,” he tells you. A Sunday. Off season. He’ll train this afternoon, but for now, the morning is peaceful and stretches before you. Tyler’s fingers continue to brush a slow rhythm of your ribcage, bump, bump, over bone.
You hum happily. Plenty of time to laze around in bed. Maybe you’ll cook eggs for the two of you later. Make coffee with too much caramel in it. For now though, the rain patters outside, and Tyler’s legs are tangled with yours under the sheets.
“Did you dream?” He asks, slipping down from where he’s propped himself up on pillows to be more at your level.
“Don’t remember,” you reply, it was a deep, heavy sleep. The storm must have soothed you. The stupid amount of money spent on the mattress topper was meant to find some relief for Tyler’s back, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the new level of relaxations it’s brought your sleeping habits.
tyler “😍😍😍” seguin
hockey players: garbled unintelligible yelling on the ice
me:
Wild Card Solidarity
mic’ed up treasures
I don't want to totally cloud your fantasy of Tyler Seguin but I do feel like you need to hear about the time I was in this hole in the wall bar in Toronto (it holds about 10 people) and Tyler came in with his friends holding literal FISTS FULL of cash, stayed about 15 min, had about four shots, and left with his five dude bro friends while singing 'WHO GOT THE FUNK? WE GOT THE FUNK'. Soooo, ya.
wait this sounds like……exactly……my fantasy of Tyler Seguin??????????
happy valentine’s day from me ft. elevator music man