#m. fleury

2003 - NHL Draft

“And with the first overall selection The Pittsburgh Penguins proudly select…” You hold a baited breath, hands sweaty and clutching the fabric of your dress, “Marc-Andre Fleury of the Cape Breton Screaming Eagles!” You let out the breath you’re holding and smile and clap (even if you’re fuming on the inside). Marc stands up in the row in front of you, smiling, laughing, and hugging his family and it makes you sick! As if he can feel your glare on the back of his head he turns and catches your eye, a smirk pulling on his face, he smiles and waves his fingers. Your glare only deepens which pulls a laugh out of Marc’s chest, he starts to walk down the aisle to the stage but stops and turns over his shoulder shouting “Second overall is good as well Princess but y’know what they say ‘second is the first to lose!’”

Your face turns beet red, your fists clench, you’re glaring so hard that your eyes are practically burning holes in Marc's head as he stands on stage. You hate him, you really do. He’s a goalie for crying out loud! How did he get drafted above you? You watch Marc as he walks off the stage, his smile is wide as he waves to the crowd. His eyes flicker back to you, his smile grows even wider as he winks and blows you a kiss. Bitch, you think. The GM of the Philadelphia Flyers walks onto the stage and starts talking into the mic, effectively breaking your eye contact with Marc. “With the second overall pick in the 2003 NHL draft The Philadelphia Flyers proudly select Y/N Y/L/N from Sorel-Tracy, Canada.” You smile and stand, hugging your family before making your way down the aisle to the stage, ready to officially become a Philly Flyer.

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October 11, 2003 - Pittsburg vs. Philadelphia

You circle the ice stick in hand, staring down the Pittsburg center that you’re about to face off against. You can see Marc skate in his crease, his mask on top of his head, spraying himself with his water. Once he notices you staring (more like glaring) he sends you a wink. You scowl in response and rip your gaze away from Marc and focus back on the ref as he holds the puck above the dot. You and the opposing player get into position, waiting with a baited breath until…

The puck finally drops and the game begins.

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3-3. Tied. You’re sweating buckets having played most of the game. There’s 10 seconds left in the game and if you don’t score the game will end in a tie. You can’t tie! You have to win! You have to prove that you can beat Fleury and be a woman in the NHL and still kick some ass. The ref calls for the face off, you skate up, get into position and take off as the puck is dropped. The puck is practically glued to your stick as you skate up the ice. It’s only you and Fleury. The first overall pick and the second.

8 seconds remaining as you pass through the neutral zone.

7 seconds remaining as you pass the blue line.

6 seconds remaining as you skate to the top of the circle.

5 seconds remaining as you slow your speed, holding eye contact with Marc.

4 seconds remaining as you deke once, twice, thrice.

3 seconds remaining as you bring your stick back and forth, making contact with the puck.

2 seconds remaining as the puck sails through the air straight to the top of the goal.

1 seconds remaining as Marc reaches out, barely nicking the puck, effectively knocking it off course.

0 seconds remaining as the puck sails past the goal.

You slump down onto the ice defeated. Marc throws his hand up in elation skating towards his team but he stops next to you, bending over and patting you on the shoulder. “Nice shot.” You shrug him off and push yourself off the ice, skating past Marc, slamming him in the shoulder on the way to your team. He watches you skate away, a small smile on his face and a funny feeling in his chest.

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December 24, 2003 - Christmas Eve

You’re standing in line at the supermarket in your hometown of Sorel-Tracy, Canada. A grocery cart is in front of you filled to the brim with last minute ingredients and drinks for your family’s annual Christmas dinner. This is the first time you’ve been home since the season started and it’s safe to say the rest has been nice. The lady in front of you finishes checking out which makes you push your cart up, and start to unload your items onto the conveyor belt. “Need some help?” You turn to the side and look at the man who spoke. He’s older than you, probably in his mid thirties, with a receding hairline and crooked, yellow teeth and right now he’s currently looking at you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s seen in a while.

“Oh! Um, thank you for the offer but no thanks. I’ve got it handled.” You turn back to the cart and start unloading more of your groceries onto the conveyor belt. You feel him grab your wrist, stopping you as you go to place a can of green beans on the conveyor. “C’mon,” he drawls, “Just let me help you, baby.” You try pulling your wrist out of his grip but he is holding you so tightly that you can’t. “Look-” You’re cut off by a familiar voice, so cold, so lethal, that you practically shiver. “She said no. Now let her go.” Marc stands there, a hard look in his eye as he assesses the situation. His hand goes to your lower back, resting there as if to say ‘I’m right here, I’ve got you’.

The man bristles at Marc’s tone and visibly recoils as if he’s been slapped, “Excuse me?” He questions. Marc steps forward, his other hand comes up and grabs the man’s hand that is still groping your wrist. He grabs the creeps hand and rips it off of you muttering “Get the fuck away from her.” He places himself between you and the creep, shielding you from his predatory gaze. His eyes soften as his gaze settles on you, his hand still resting lightly on your back, holding you close to him. “Are you okay?” You nod and shuffle out of his grasp, moving back to unloading the groceries. Marc stands by your side as you finish checking out and even abandons his own groceries to walk you to your car.

Maybe this is the start of a beautiful friendship.

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July of 2004 - The Wedding

After losing in the Eastern Conference Finals you finally get to rest during your offseason. After spending the past few weeks spending time with family and friends it’s finally time to start the dreaded wedding season. It seems like everyone you know is getting married these days and a dozen of these people have invited you to their special union. That’s why you’re sitting at an open bar alone, sipping a Long Island Ice Tea, and contemplating your decisions. The music plays in the background, the cool summer breeze making itself known every few minutes. The sound of laughter and joy can be heard over the music, but it’s not loud enough to cover the sound of footfalls currently making their way toward you.

Marc sits next to you at the bar, his hand gesturing to the bartender asking for another round. You laugh to yourself because, of course, of course Marc is here. Of course he is sitting next to you, shoulder brushing yours and invading your personal space. “What number is this?” He questions. You look over at him confused. “What?” You question back. “What wedding number is this? How many have you been to?” You form a silent ‘O’ with your mouth and mutter ‘number 7’ with a slight shake of your head. Marc laughs and nudges your shoulder with his before wrapping his arm around your shoulders. With the drinks you’ve had buzzing in your system and warm fuzzy feeling Marc’s arm around you is making you feel, you stand up, offering a hand to Marc. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t question you as he slides his palm into yours, following you without hesitation.

You drag him through the party and back inside the reception building, giggling and stumbling through the halls. Marc runs after you, scrolling you up into his arms, spinning around the halls before pushing open an unoccupied bathroom door. He walks you both in, locks the door behind you, and sets you down on the bathroom counter. He brushes a few strands of hair from your face, his hand moving to rest on your cheek, his thumb rubbing your cheek bone. Your breath stalls in your throat, your eyes stay locked onto Marc’s, all you can smell is Marc’s cologne and the scent of his drink from earlier. You take the bull by the horns and grab his collar, leaning in and pressing your lips to his. He responds immediately by pressing his lips to yours harder, putting his hands on your hips and dragging you forward enticing a gasp from you.

He smiles into the kiss, squeezing your hips lightly, then he trails open-mouthed kisses down your neck stopping at the point where your neck meets your shoulder. He pulls back and rests his forehead on the spot he stopped at, your breathing hard with your head leaning against Marc’s. He laughs quietly, breaking the silence before picking his head up, looking at you with his big brown eyes. “Look,” he starts, “I really like you and I would love to take you on a date. I don’t really know how things would go during the season but you’re the kind of girl that I can’t let slip through the cracks. I can’t let you be the one who got away.” He pauses, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what you’re thinking. “Princess? Would you do me the honor of joining me on a date? Say tomorrow night at 6?”

August 2010

The meadow is full of beautiful flowers blowing in the warm summer breeze, the sun shining brightly on the ground below. Marc sits in front of you on a red and white checkered picnic blanket, unloading wine, cheese and crackers from the brown woven basket. Despite the blazing sun the contents from the basket are nice and cool as Marc hands them to you, his fingers brushing over yours as the food passes from his hold to yours. “Alright Fleury, spill, what’s with the picnic?” Marc looks at you with an offended expression, “What? I can’t take my girlfriend out on a date?” You laugh and slap his shoulder, “No, it’s just you are acting all nervous. What’s going on?”

Marc smiles and hands you a glass of wine, he masks his nervousness at your last statement. “Nothing love, I just wanted to take you out on a date before the season started.” You hum and nod your head, letting your suspicions go and just deciding to enjoy your date with Marc. You stretch out your legs, resting them over Marc’s lap, basking in the glow of the sun. Hours pass by, your conversations with Marc never ceasing, the both of you reveling in one another. You are now resting in between Marc’s legs, your back against his chest as he leans back on his hands. Marc is laying kisses up and down your neck as you both take a moment and sit in silence. “Love?” He questions. You shift in his lap, turning around to face Marc. You whisper “Yeah” as you start to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

Marc taps you on the thigh twice, you sign to sit up from his lap, which you do. Marc takes your hands in his and helps you stand up, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand. “Love, there’s been something I’ve been wanting to ask you the moment you first glared at me.” You laugh. “You are the light of my life, as cheesy as that sounds, you have bewitched me. I am whole heartedly in love with you, inside and out, you are my whole world and every moment we spend together I can feel my soul warm. You, my love, are everything I could’ve wished for and more, I will forever be in debt to your parents for making you, my beautiful girl.” Marc stops and takes a deep breath, getting down on one knee, looking up at you with teary eyes. “My love? Will you do me the honor of marrying me? Will you allow me to become your husband and spend the rest of my life worshiping you like the goddess you are?”

Marc pulls a ring box out of his pocket, opening it to reveal the most beautiful ring, the ring of your dreams. “Yes!” You cry, jumping forward to hug Marc, wrapping your arms around his neck and knocking him to the ground. He hugs you, he kisses you, and he laughs with you and you both lay on the picnic blacker covered ground. He presses multiple kisses to your lips as he shakily slides the ring onto your finger. You grab ahold of his face, bringing his lips to yours, tasting the wine and cheese from earlier. “I can’t wait to call you Mrs. Fleury.”

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July 2011

Today’s the day. 8 years after you first officially met Marc. You’re wearing a pretty white lace dress, a veil sits atop your head, and a bouquet of flowers is held between your hands. Your hair and makeup is done to perfection, you’re wearing your something blue, something old, and something new. A garter is around your thigh, patiently waiting for Marc to take it off in the privacy of your hotel room. Marc. He stands at the end of the aisle, hands locked together in front of him, visibly holding back his tears but that doesn’t matter because they are streaming down his face anyway. Happy tears, of course. His eyes are locked into yours as you make your way down the aisle, guests gasping, oohing, and awing as you walk by but nothing can tear your gaze away from Marc.

You reach the end of the aisle, immediately reaching for your husband to be. Marc takes your hand and helps you up the stairs and onto the alter, the both of you completely focused on one another and not the officiant or the other guests. Marc leans forward and presses a quick kiss to your lips before leaning back, still holding your hands in his. The guests laugh and aw while the officiant says “Not yet lovebirds.” but his comment falls on deaf ears. The officiant starts his speech, a long drawn out speech about eternal love and all that jazz. You and Marc aren’t listening, too busy communicating through eye contact and facial expressions.

Marc squeezes your hands three times, ‘I love you’ he is saying, something you have been doing for years. Your secret language so you can communicate privately. “Marc-Andre,” the officiant breaks you both out of your love-struck spell. “Do you take Y/N Y/L/N to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?" Marc doesn’t hesitate, “I do!” The officiant nods before turning towards you. “Y/N, Do you take Marc-Andre Fleury to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"

“I do!” The officiant grabs the rings, handing Marc’s to you and yours to Marc. With a smile and a laugh you slide Marc’s ring onto his finger, he follows by sliding your ring on your finger.

“I now present you; husband and wife! You may now kiss the bride!” You and Marc kiss each other in a flurry of laughter and smiles, unable to believe you once started out hating one another to know not being able to be without one another. The guests cheer and holler, your respective teams causing quite the ruckus. You pull back first, breathless from the fiery kiss, smiling wide at Marc before grabbing his hand and turning to fast the large crowd. Marc throws your joined hands up into the air, bright smiles on your faces as you begin your walk back down the aisle, stopping at the end for one last big kiss.

July of 2010

You wake to a strong, tan, arm wrapped around your waist, Marc’s grip tightens when you shift and he unconsciously pulls you closer to him, your back flush against his chest. The morning sun is reaching through the curtains, a slight breeze coming through the open window. Marc nuzzles his nose into your neck and presses his body right against yours, his toned, muscular body fits perfectly with yours. The sunlight peaks through the curtains and settles right onto Marc’s closed eyes. The sunlight draws him out of his sleep, his eyes blinking open in a slow, gentle way that makes you melt beneath his touch. His mouth curves up into a warm smile when he notices you admiring him, his dark brown eyes warm at the sight of you. “Hey love.” He murmurs against your skin, lips brushing your shoulder. You rub his arm, the one wrapped around your waist, in slow soothing circles. “Mornin’ baby.”

Marc shifts and lays you down on your back, his lean frame hovering over you, shielding you from the morning light. He settles over you, lowering his head into the crook of your neck, kissing, sucking, and biting the skin that lays beneath his lips. You tilt your head to the side, giving Marc more access, more room to work. He rolls his hips, patheticly rutting against you like a dog humping his favorite toy. That’s how he gets around you. Pathetic, whiney, and an all around mess the longer he is in your presence. Marc has been this way since the moment you first got together in the bathroom at the wedding reception. He crumbles beneath your fingertips, shivers when your lips utter dirty, sinful words, and unravels when you finally line him up, pushing his dick into your tight, wet, hot cunt.

His black hair is woven in between your fingers, being pulled in every direction, every thrust causes you to yank on his ebony hair. He whimpers when you pulse and squeeze around him, hips stuttering when you nip and bite at his jaw. Marc whispers praise and sweet words into your ear, he whispers stories about the past 7 years of life with you. ‘I love you’ is repeated multiple times, he makes sure you never forget that his heart belongs to you.

You both go at it for hours, christening every surface in your shared apartment, trying every position you can possibly think of. You’re absorbed in one another until you can’t take it any more, too sensitive to go another round. When you press your hand to his chest effectively stopping him all he does is smile and press and kiss to your cheek. He praises you, telling you how proud he is of you and he helps clean you up by ushering you into a nice warm shower. He washes your hair with practiced ease, having done it hundreds of times before, he washes your body so gently that you can hardly feel the brush of the loofa over your overly sensitive skin.

Marc helps you out after the water turns lukewarm, wrapping you in a towel, patting your skin dry before lotioning your body. He braids your hair so it is out of your face and dresses you in his boxers (the softest pair he could find) and in one of his Penguins shirts. He carries you to the couch despite your objections and giggles for him to set you down. Marc presses a quick kiss to your forehead before setting a blanket on your lap and scurrying off to the kitchen, presumably to grab breakfast for you both.

He returns with a tray. The tray carries a plate of your favorite breakfast food, a box of chocolates and a nice vase of your favorite flowers. He sets the tray down on the table in front of you, a smile so bright and blinding sits on his face. “Happy anniversary my love.” He kisses you. “You’ve made these past 7 years of my life the best I could ever ask for.” You kiss him. “Happy anniversary baby,” you say with a slow drawl. You kiss him again, grabbing his hand and pulling him down on the couch next to you. You pull back from the kiss and run your head down his bare chest.