For better or worse
SUMMARY: A blurry paparazzi picture convinces the internet that you and Timo are secretly married. With your reputation still recovering from a damaging rumor, pretending the speculation is true seems like the perfect PR solution.
WARNINGS: fake marriage, friends to lovers, celebrity/public scrutiny, paparazzi, rumors and damaged reputation, PR relationship, suggestive sexual content, implied smut/18+.
Requested: Timo Meier + a marriage rumor starts because of one blurry picture
The picture was terrible, that was probably why it became such a problem.
If it had been clear, if whoever had taken it had managed to get your face properly in frame, maybe your publicist could have killed the story before it became anything. Instead, it was blurry enough for people to fill in the gaps themselves.
You were leaving a restaurant in New York with Timo sometime after midnight, your hand curled around his forearm because the pavement had been wet and your heels were ridiculous. Timo was slightly ahead of you, looking over his shoulder while you laughed at something he had said.
Completely innocent, except for one detail.
There was something shiny on your left hand.
And because the picture had been taken from across the street, zoomed in until everything became grainy and distorted, the thin diamond ring you had been wearing for a movie role suddenly looked suspiciously like a wedding band.
The headline appeared before you even got home.
ACTRESS Y/N Y/L/N SECRETLY MARRIED TO NHL STAR TIMO MEIER
By breakfast, it was everywhere, by lunch, people had found pictures of you and Timo together from the previous year.
Birthday parties, charity events, a Devils family event you had attended with him because he had practically begged you not to make him go alone, a vacation with mutual friends where somebody had caught Timo asleep beside you on a beach chair.
An old video of you fixing his tie at an awards dinner, a photograph of his hand against your lower back, things that had never looked romantic suddenly looked like evidence and under normal circumstances, you would have laughed, Timo definitely would have laughed, unfortunately, your circumstances weren’t normal.
Your public image was already hanging by a thread.
Three months earlier, you had been dragged through an ugly tabloid scandal involving one of your former co-stars. Someone had leaked cropped photographs implying you had been having an affair with him while he was still in a relationship.
It wasn’t true.
There had been explanations, statements, receipts, other people backing you up but none of it mattered because once people decided that you were the villain in the story, the truth became boring.
So when your publicist arrived at your apartment that afternoon with two lawyers and an expression that told you somebody was about to ruin your day, you already knew you weren’t going to like the solution.
Timo was sitting beside you on the couch, mostly because you had called him in a panic also because half the rumor involved him.
Your publicist set her tablet on the coffee table “The response is overwhelmingly positive.”
You stared at her “To me being accidentally married?”
“To you being married to him.”
You looked at Timo an Timo looked at you, neither of you spoke so your publicist continued “The public thinks you’ve been keeping the relationship private. They’re reframing the previous controversy because they think you were already committed to someone else.”
Your stomach dropped “No.”
She hesitated, that hesitation told you everything “Timo’s team has already been contacted.”
You turned toward him “You knew?”
“They called me twenty minutes ago.”
“And?”
Timo rubbed his jaw “They think correcting it immediately might create more attention.”
You blinked “More attention than people thinking we’re married?”
One of the lawyers cleared his throat “We’re not suggesting that you legally claim to be married.”
“Good,” you muttered.
Your publicist gave you a careful look “We’re suggesting that you don’t deny it.”
Silence, your mouth fell open and Timo actually laughed once, mostly from disbelief “So what,” you said, “we just let everyone believe I secretly married him?”
“Temporarily.”
“Timo.”
He was already looking at you, his expression had changed, the amusement was gone “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said quietly.
That somehow made it worse, because Timo had been your friend long before people became interested in whether he touched you.
He was the person you called when premieres went badly, the person who stole food from your refrigerator whenever he visited Los Angeles, the person who sent you pictures from road trips when he found something stupid he knew would make you laugh.
There had never been pressure between you, never expectations, never anything complicated. Until apparently the entire internet decided you were his wife.
Your publicist folded her hands “We let the speculation settle. You two are seen together occasionally. No interviews discussing details. No fabricated wedding story. Just… don’t correct people.”
You stared at the ceiling “This is insane.”
Beside you, Timo murmured “Definitely insane.” You glanced at him, he smiled slightly and somehow, several hours later, you agreed.
The first few days were easy, mostly because neither of you changed anything.
You texted, you called, Timo went back to New Jersey and you continued filming. People interpreted the silence exactly how your teams hoped they would.
Secret wedding, private relationship, overprotective hockey husband with an independent actress wife. Fans somehow constructed an entire love story without either of you saying a single thing.
Then the paparazzi started waiting outside your building and suddenly pretending required participation. The first time Timo came to visit after the rumor broke, there were photographers lined along the sidewalk.
You saw them through the lobby windows and immediately stopped walking “Oh, absolutely not.”
Timo looked outside “That’s a lot.”
“Very observant.” he laughed, you folded your arms “I’m going through the garage.”
Your publicist, standing nearby, shook her head “You can’t.”
Your head snapped toward her “Excuse me?”
“If you suddenly avoid being photographed together, people will assume something is wrong.”
“Something is obviously wrong. We’re not married.”
She gave you the look, the one you had started hating, Timo sighed beside you “What do you want us to do?”
Your publicist looked between you “Walk out normally.”
You narrowed your eyes “Define normally.”
“Like a married couple.” you nearly choked, Timo scratched the back of his neck “Okay.”
You turned toward him “Okay?”
He leaned closer “Would you rather stand here arguing for forty minutes?”
Unfortunately, no, so you walked outside together. The shouting started immediately.
“Timo!”
“Y/N!”
“Over here!”
“Can we see the ring?”
“When did you get married?”
“Where was the wedding?” Your entire body went stiff, then Timo’s hand touched your waist, not dramatically, not possessively, just gently, steadying.
You looked at him.
“You okay?” he murmured.
You nodded “Yeah.”
He kept his arm around you and the pictures went everywhere.
The kissing started because somebody asked for it, you were attending a charity dinner together six weeks later and by then, you had perfected the routine. Timo opened doors, you fixed his jacket, his hand rested against your waist in photographs. You sat close during dinners.
You whispered to one another when cameras were around because apparently married people were constantly whispering.
It was ridiculous, yntil it wasn’t, you were standing outside the venue when a photographer shouted “Kiss her, Timo!”
You froze, Timo did too, someone else repeated it, then another and a few seconds later everybody was screaming for it. You forced a smile, under your breath, you said “We can ignore them.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of you moved.
Then you looked at each other and something shifted. Maybe because his face was suddenly much closer than usual, maybe because his hand was already resting on your hip, Maybe because you had been pretending for nearly two months and there were only so many times you could let somebody hold you before your body started remembering the feeling.
Timo searched your face “Okay?”
You swallowed “Okay.”
His mouth touched yours, It was supposed to be quick, one second and maybe two, just a harmless little kiss for the cameras. Instead, Timo’s fingers tightened slightly against your waist and your hand moved automatically to his chest.
His lips were warm, soft, far too familiar for something you had never done before.
When he pulled away, you stared at him, Timo stared back, the cameras exploded around you, neither of you smiled, you simply walked inside and spent the rest of the evening refusing to talk about it.
The problem was that once you’d kissed him once, doing it again became easier. Goodbye kisses became useful when photographers were nearby.
Then they happened when nobody was nearby.
A kiss against your temple while you were cooking, a lazy kiss against his shoulder when you were half asleep, a distracted peck before Timo left for morning skate.
Neither of you addressed those either.
Then your apartment started becoming his apartment and his place in New Jersey started containing your things.
At first, it was practical, if people believed you were married, eventually somebody would notice if Timo stayed in a hotel every time he visited you.
So he stayed with you and when you went to New Jersey you stayed with him, you bought shampoo, he cleared a drawer, uou left three sweaters and he complained that you stole his side of the bed. You told him he didn’t have a side because it was technically your bed.
Except somewhere along the way, sharing a bed stopped being part of the performance, you would wake up with his arm around your waist, sometimes your face was tucked into his chest, sometimes Timo slept almost entirely on top of you because apparently an NHL player could occupy ninety percent of a mattress and still claim you were the one taking up space.
You became domestic without noticing.
Timo started making coffee before you woke up, you learned exactly how he liked his eggs. He knew which scripts you were nervous about and you knew when he was frustrated after games before he even said anything.
And then one night, everything tipped over the edge.
There had been wine, not enough to blame anything on but just enough to make both of you stop pretending you weren’t watching each other’s mouths.
You were standing in his kitchen, Timo was leaning against the counter, you had been arguing about something completely stupid.
Then he said “You know we’re terrible at this.”
You frowned “At what?”
“Pretending.”
Your heart stumbled, you forced a laugh “I think we’re pretty convincing.”
“That’s the problem.” You stared at him, Timo pushed away from the counter, he walked toward you slowly “Tell me to stop.”
You didn’t, his hand came up to your face, you whispered “Timo.”
“Tell me.”
Instead, you kissed him.
His mouth stayed on yours as he backed you gently against the kitchen counter. The kiss was slow at first, careful, like he was still giving you every chance to pull away.
You didn’t. Your hands slid under the hem of his shirt, pushing the fabric up until he helped you pull it over his head. The second it was gone you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him flush against you so your bodies pressed skin to skin.
Timo made a quiet, rough sound against your lips and reached for your shirt. He peeled it off with the same unhurried care, then unhooked your bra and slid the straps down your arms until nothing was left between your chests.
The contact made you shiver. He was warm and solid and already hard against your hip.
You kissed him deeper, and felt his hands settle at your waist. He tugged your underwear to the side, then shoved his own pants and briefs down just far enough.
One hand stayed on your hip, steadying you, while the other guided himself between your thighs.
Instead of pushing in right away, he paused. You felt the thick, blunt head of his cock drag slowly up and down your pussy, coating himself in how wet you already were.
He rubbed the tip against your entrance in lazy, deliberate strokes, teasing, letting you feel just how thick he was before he even tried to enter. Every pass made you shiver harder.
“Timo…” you moaned against his mouth, the sound soft and needy. He kept going, pressing the head just barely against you, then sliding it away again, over and over, until your hips were trying to chase him.
Only when you were trembling and whispering his name again did he finally line up properly. He pushed into you slowly.
“Timo—” you moaned right against his lips as the thick head stretched you open. He went inch by careful inch, giving you time to adjust to the fullness. Your fingers dug into his shoulders.
He stayed there for a moment once he was halfway in, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard “Okay?” he asked, voice low and strained.
You nodded, arms tightening around him. “Yeah… don’t stop.”
He sank the rest of the way in with one long, controlled thrust until he was buried to the hilt. You moaned into his mouth again, the sound broken and soft, feeling every thick inch of him.
He started moving in long, deep strokes. Each thrust pushed a little farther, stretching you open until he was bottoming out every time.
You moaned into his mouth again, the sounds getting higher “Mmm… Timo—ah—”
His lips stayed on yours most of the time, swallowing every quiet sound you made. Every few thrusts he would break the kiss just long enough to dip his head and take one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking slowly, tongue circling the peak, before coming back up to claim your lips again.
The dual sensation made your thighs tremble around his hips.
Then his hand slipped lower, sliding into the back of your underwear so his palm could press firmly against your ass. He used the hold to pull you tighter against him with every thrust, forcing himself even deeper, making sure you felt every thick inch.
The new angle made you gasp into his mouth “That’s it,” he murmured against your lips, voice rough but sweet. “Feel how deep I am? You’re taking me so well… fuck, you feel perfect around me.”
Your hands moved to his back, nails dragging lightly over his skin as you scratched him, moaning louder with every deep stroke.
The sound of your moans mixed with the quiet wet noise of him fucking into you “Ah—Timo… deeper—” you whimpered against his mouth, scratching harder when he rolled his hips and ground against you.
He groaned softly and kept the same steady, thorough pace, hand still gripping your ass through your underwear so he could pull you onto him over and over. “I’ve got you, baby. Just like that… take all of me. You’re so wet for me… so good.”
He fucked you deeper, still controlled, still careful, but with more purpose now. The counter edge pressed into the backs of your thighs with every roll of his hips. One hand stayed on your ass, pressing you closer, while the other slid up your bare back to keep you pressed tight against him.
“Ah—Timo… fuck—” you moaned against his mouth when he angled just right and hit that spot inside you. Your nails scraped harder down his back.
He groaned into the kiss and did it again, slower, deeper, grinding against you at the end of every stroke so you felt every inch. Then his mouth left yours once more to latch onto your other breast, sucking hard enough to make you gasp before he returned to kissing you, like he couldn’t stand being away from your lips for more than a few seconds.
“God, the way you sound when I’m this deep,” he whispered against your mouth between kisses, sweet and filthy at the same time. “Keep moaning for me… I want to hear every little noise.”
You clung to him, hands still scratching at his back, moaning into every kiss, the sounds getting higher and more breathless the deeper he went. His pace never turned rough, just steady, thorough, like he was determined to feel every inch of you around his thick cock while holding you as close as possible.
“Timo… I’m—” you whispered against his mouth, voice shaking.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, kissing you harder as his thrusts stayed deep and relentless, hand still pressing your ass to keep you flush against him. “Let go for me, baby. Come on my cock.”
You came with a long, broken moan of his name, body tightening around him while he held you through it, still moving, still kissing you through every wave.
A few strokes later he followed, pressing as deep as he could and staying there, arms locked around you as he groaned your name into your mouth.
Neither of you moved for a long time after.
Eventually he eased out carefully, still holding you steady against the counter, and pressed a soft kiss to the side of your neck, then another to your lips.
You stayed like that, bare chests pressed together, breathing each other in, until your heart rates finally settled.
After that, neither of you could pretend the marriage rumor was the only thing tying you together anymore, the strangest part was that nothing felt awkward the next morning.
That should have terrified you. Instead, you woke up with Timo’s arm wrapped around you and your cheek against his chest.
He was already awake, you lifted your head “Hi.”
His mouth curved “Hi.”
You waited for the awkward conversation but it didn’t come, Timo brushed your hair away from your face then he kissed your forehead like he had done it a thousand times.
You settled against him again and that was that. Except technically, you were still supposed to divorce him.
Your teams had always planned an ending, the fake marriage had bought enough time, your reputation had recovered, the original scandal had disappeared from headlines and people liked you again.
Studios had stopped hesitating, you had three new projects, Timo’s team wanted the attention gone before the following season became too busy.
So your publicist scheduled the meeting.
“The statement can say you’ve decided to separate amicably,” she explained.
You and Timo sat across from her, your knee was touching his beneath the table. Neither of you moved it.
“We’ll say you’ve been dealing with things privately for some time.”
You stared at the draft.
After much consideration, Timo and I have decided to end our marriage…
You hated it, not because it was dishonest, almost everything about the situation had been dishonest. You hated it because somewhere along the way, the word marriage had stopped feeling completely fake.
Your publicist looked at you “Y/N?”
You looked at Timo, he looked miserable and suddenly you knew “No.”
Your publicist blinked “No?”
Timo turned toward you, you slid the paper back across the table “We’re not announcing anything.”
She stared “Timo?”
He looked at you for another second, then something softened across his face “No.”
Your lawyer frowned “You understand that eventually people might start asking questions about records. Marriage licenses. Dates.”
“We’ll handle it,” Timo said.
Your publicist looked between you suspiciously “What exactly happened here?” you reached beneath the table, Timo took your hand, neither of you answered.
You eloped three weeks later, actually eloped, no cameras, no magazine exclusive, no enormous celebrity wedding.
Just you and Timo, two witnesses, and a quiet courthouse several hours away where nobody recognized you until after everything was signed.
You wore a simple white dress you had bought two days earlier, Timo wore a dark suit, he looked nervous and that made you smile.
“You’ve been pretending to be my husband for months,” you whispered while you waited.
“Yeah.”
“And now you’re nervous?”
He glanced at you “This one’s real.”
Your expression softened “Good.”
Timo reached for your hand, his thumb brushed over your engagement ring, a real one this time “You sure?”
You smiled “You’re asking now?”
“I can ask again.”
“I’m sure.”
He kissed your knuckles “Okay.”
When the officiant finally pronounced you married, you laughed before Timo even kissed you, his hands came around your waist and your arms wrapped around his neck, when his mouth met yours, you couldn’t stop smiling against him.
Later, walking back toward the car, Timo pulled you against his side “So.”
You looked up “So?”
“Does this mean our anniversary is today or the fake one?”
You burst out laughing “The real one.”
“Good.”
“And we’re never telling anyone there was a fake one.”
Timo considered it “Probably smart.”
“Probably?”
He grinned “Could be funny in twenty years.”
You shoved his shoulder “Absolutely not.”
He caught you around the waist before you could move away and then kissed you again. Months later, when interviewers casually mentioned your marriage, neither of you corrected the timeline.
When magazines wrote anniversary articles, you smiled.
When fans rediscovered the original blurry photograph and called it the picture that had accidentally exposed your secret marriage, Timo sent it to you with a message.
Technically this picture started our marriage.
You replied immediately.
Technically it started our fake marriage.
His response came seconds later.
Worked out pretty well for me.
You smiled at your phone, then another message appeared.
Love you, wife.
And somehow that ridiculous word, the one strangers had given you before either of you had earned it, had become your favorite thing in the world.
