𝐦𝐚𝐟𝟐𝟗 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
⤷ 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬
request -> uhh maybe where its like 2003 when he got drafted and she also plays hockey and is at the draft and is also a goalie but she goes to the flyers and he goes to the penguins so kinda like enemies to lovers minus the hating eachother ykwim if its to complicated j do whatever you want
Miscellaneous Masterlist - part two - part three -
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.
────────── ❤︎ ──────────
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.
────────── ❤︎ ──────────
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.
────────── ❤︎ ──────────
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.
────────── ❤︎ ──────────
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?”
Your heart skips a beat but you swear you’ve never nodded your head faster. “Yes.” That simple word makes Marc’s smile widen before he wraps his arms around your waist, kissing your lips quickly and dragging you off the counter, holding you up as you spin in circles in elation. All Marc-Andre can think in the moment is just one word: finally.