Nothing about this is fake - João Félix
synopsis : how were you meant to explain that a PR relationship wasn't going to work for you? you were a known model for your independence and the face you never relied on a man or had been remotely associated with one, yet it all changed when João Félix came along.
content warning : fake/public relationship, slow burn, mutual pining, friends to lovers, jealousy, media intrusion, paparazzi, social media scrutiny, public attention, emotional vulnerability, miscommunication, swearing, kissing, suggestive themes, consensual sex, established consent, aftercare, fluff, angst with a happing ending
Was being an independent woman a pain in the ass? No.
Was being told your love life had just become a marketing campaign? Absolutely.
You'd barely stepped into the makeup chair when your phone started vibrating across the vanity, Aleksandra's name lighting up the screen for what had to be the fourth time that morning.
"Can I take this?" you asked your makeup artist with an apologetic smile.
She nodded. "We've got ten minutes before we need you on set."
Perfect. Just enough time for whatever crisis your manager had inevitably created.
"Please tell me this isn't another brand wanting me to post on Instagram at six in the morning," you sighed, answering the call as you slipped into the hallway outside the dressing room.
That was never a good start.
You frowned, leaning against the wall. "What's happened?"
Aleksandra hesitated for a moment—never a reassuring sign.
"So…" she began cautiously. "I've accepted a PR proposal."
You pinched the bridge of your nose. "A proposal for what?"
"I'm sorry?" you asked slowly.
You blinked once. Then twice. "… The footballer?"
You let out a short laugh, mostly because the alternative was screaming. "Tell me you're joking."
You looked up at the ceiling as if divine intervention might suddenly appear between the fluorescent lights. "You signed me up to fake-date a footballer?"
"It's a strategic partnership."
You let your head fall back against the wall with a quiet groan. "You do realise people are going to think I'm actually dating him?"
"That's… kind of the point."
You closed your eyes for a second, trying to convince yourself this conversation wasn't actually happening.
"So explain to me," you said eventually, "how pretending to fall in love with a man I've never met is supposed to improve my career."
Aleksandra exhaled softly, clearly relieved you'd moved past the denial stage. "Your engagement has plateaued. Brands want people talking about you again, but not because of drama. They want something aspirational. Something people invest in."
"So they've decided my personality isn't enough?"
"It certainly feels like they are."
"And João's in a similar position," she continued. "New club, constant speculation about his private life, paparazzi following him everywhere. Both teams agreed this benefits everyone."
"He wasn't thrilled either."
"No. Apparently, his exact words were, 'Absolutely not.'"
Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitched.
"Well… at least we've got something in common."
"I've arranged for the two of you to meet tomorrow. Just coffee. No cameras. No press. You can set boundaries, get to know each other, and decide how you want this to look."
Aleksandra didn't answer immediately. The silence told you everything you needed to know. You sighed, pushing yourself off the wall just as your makeup artist poked her head out of the dressing room.
"I have to go," you muttered into the phone.
"Just… give him a chance."
The line went dead before you could respond. You stared at your phone for another second before slipping it into your bag.
You hadn't even met João Félix yet, and somehow, he was already the biggest inconvenience in your life. With one last look in the mirror, you plastered on the smile that had made you millions, squared your shoulders, and stepped onto the set. If pretending everything was, fine was part of your job, you supposed this was just another day at the office.
The photoshoot passed in a blur.
Normally, you loved being on set. It was familiar, predictable. Stand here. Turn slightly to the left. Chin down. Smile. Change outfit. Repeat. It was muscle memory at this point.
Today, though, every pose felt automatic, your body moving while your mind replayed the same conversation over and over again.
You'd seen him before, obviously. It was practically impossible not to. Match highlights, magazine covers, and the occasional interview that popped up on your social media. You knew enough to recognise his face in a crowd, but that was about it. For all you knew, he could be the nicest man on the planet.
"Beautiful, Y/N!" the photographer called from behind the camera. "Give me one more."
You forced another smile, ignoring the ache beginning to settle in your cheeks as the flash went off for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon.
"Perfect. That's a wrap."
A chorus of thank yous echoed around the studio as people immediately began packing away equipment. You slipped behind the privacy screen to change back into your clothes, tugging an oversized blazer over your shoulders before checking your phone.
Aleksandra: 2:00 p.m. tomorrow. Café Privé. Don't be late.
Y/N: Can I accidentally miss my flight?
The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.
Aleksandra: You don't have a flight.
Y/N: Exactly. It'll be impressive.
Her reply came with nothing but a thumbs-up emoji.
The following afternoon arrived far quicker than you would've liked. You spent far longer choosing an outfit than you'd ever admit out loud. Not because you cared what João Félix thought.
It was because first impressions mattered. Professionally. At least, that was the excuse you repeated to yourself as you changed your top for the third time.
By the time your driver pulled up outside Café Privé, your stomach had tied itself into knots.
The café sat tucked away on a quiet street, hidden from the main road by rows of trees and climbing ivy. It was undoubtedly the sort of place people with recognisable faces met when they wanted privacy—or the illusion of it.
Aleksandra was already waiting outside, takeaway coffee in hand.
"You're early," she observed.
"I wanted time to consider running away."
"I'm still considering it."
She laughed quietly before gesturing towards the entrance.
As soon as you stepped inside, the smell of fresh coffee and warm pastries filled the air. It was quieter than you'd expected, only a handful of customers scattered around the room, each far too occupied with their conversations to pay you any attention.
A waitress greeted the two of you before leading you towards a private room at the back of the café.
Your heartbeat quickened with every step.
You'd attended premieres, fashion weeks and charity galas filled with A-list celebrities without breaking a sweat. Yet somehow, meeting one footballer had your palms beginning to feel clammy.
Aleksandra knocked twice before reaching for the handle.
"They're already here," she murmured.
Before you could reply, she pushed the door open.
Your eyes landed on him almost immediately.
He was already standing, having evidently heard the knock before you'd even reached the room. Dressed in a cream knit jumper with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms and dark jeans, he looked far less intimidating than the countless magazine covers and match day edits made him out to be. His hair was slightly messy, as though he'd run a hand through it one too many times, and there was something almost hesitant about the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
For a brief moment, neither of you spoke.
His agent broke the silence first.
"Y/N, it's lovely to finally meet you."
You offered a polite smile, shaking her hand before turning your attention back to João.
Another silence. God, this was awkward.
He cleared his throat before extending his hand.
You glanced down at it before shaking it firmly. "Y/N."
His handshake was warm, confident, without being overbearing, and thankfully brief. As soon as you let go, you found yourselves standing there again, both looking vaguely uncomfortable while your managers hovered nearby like proud parents introducing their children.
It was João who finally cracked.
"So…" he began, rubbing the back of his neck. "Please tell me you hate this as much as I do."
It escaped before you had a chance to stop it, drawing confused looks from both Aleksandra and his agent.
"Oh, thank God," you said, shaking your head. "I thought I was walking in here to meet someone who actually wanted to do this."
He let out a quiet laugh of his own.
"I've spent the last twenty-four hours trying to think of ways to get out of it."
"I asked if pretending to break my leg would work."
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Aleksandra exchanged a glance with his agent before gesturing towards the table in the centre of the room.
"Why don't we all sit down?"
The conversation that followed was exactly as painfully corporate as you'd expected.
Schedules were pulled up. Brand obligations were discussed. Public appearances were listed one after another. A charity gala in three weeks. A fashion event the month after. The occasional dinner reservation that would 'accidentally' be leaked to the press.
You found yourself tuning most of it out. Instead, you stole the occasional glance across the table at João, only to discover he'd done the same thing.
Each time your eyes met, one of you looked away first. Eventually, his agent slid a neatly printed document across the table.
"The relationship guidelines."
"You've actually made rules?"
"They're more like… recommendations."
You flipped through the pages.
"No public arguments. No discussing the arrangement with the media. No contradicting each other online."
You stopped halfway through.
"'Comfortable physical affection encouraged.'"
"They really wrote that?"
João leaned over slightly, reading the line upside down before letting out a breath through his nose.
"I must've missed that part."
"I was too busy trying to convince them this was a terrible idea."
You couldn't help smiling. "So was I."
For the first time since walking into the café, the tension in the room eased. Maybe Aleksandra had been right. Not about the fake relationship.
You weren't being forced into it alone.
By the time the meeting wrapped up, you'd signed more paperwork than you cared to admit. A non-disclosure agreement. A media clause. Appearance schedules. Brand commitments.
You scribbled your signature onto the final page before sliding the pen across the table.
"So…" you said, looking between the two managers. "Are we done pretending this was our idea?"
João's agent smiled politely.
The chairs scraped against the floor as everyone stood. Aleksandra immediately launched into another conversation with his agent about launch dates and photographers, leaving you and João lingering awkwardly by the door.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans before nodding towards the exit.
"Want to get out of here?"
You glanced over at the two managers, who hadn't even noticed the two of you slipping away.
"I think they'd survive five minutes without us."
You followed him out of the private room and into the café, the quiet chatter from the other customers replacing the suffocating corporate atmosphere you'd just escaped. The barista smiled politely as the two of you walked past, seemingly none the wiser.
Only once you were outside did either of you properly relax.
João let out a long breath.
"I think I aged about five years in there."
"I was just thinking the same thing."
"You'd think we were negotiating a transfer."
He looked at you for a second before laughing, the sound surprisingly warm.
For a moment, the conversation drifted into a comfortable silence as you walked side by side along the pavement. It wasn't awkward any more—just… unfamiliar. You were two strangers expected to convince millions of people you were in love, yet this was the first real conversation you'd had without someone taking notes.
"So," he said eventually. "What do you actually do when you're not being forced into fake relationships?"
You smiled. "I'm a model."
"I meant… what do you do?"
You thought about it for a second.
"I read. I bake when I'm stressed, even though I'm terrible at it. I have a dog who's convinced he owns my flat. And I avoid the internet whenever I can."
"That sounds healthier than what I do."
"Training. Football. More football. Then pretending I haven't seen what people have said about me online."
There was something about the way he admitted it so casually that caught you off guard. Most people in the public eye insisted they never read comments any more.
You knew that was rarely true.
"I stopped reading them a long time ago," you admitted. "Turns out strangers have strong opinions about people they've never met."
He gave you a knowing smile.
Your phones buzzed almost simultaneously.
You opened the message from Aleksandra.
Aleksandra: Where have you two disappeared to?
He held up his phone, showing you an almost identical text from his agent.
Teresa: Please tell me you haven't left.
"They're definitely going to think we've run away."
"I considered it," he admitted.
He glanced back towards the café before looking at you again.
"You know…" he began, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "This is probably the most honest conversation we'll have for a while."
"The next time anyone sees us, we'll already be pretending."
The words settled between you.
By tomorrow, every smile, every glance, every touch would be analysed by people looking for proof that your relationship was real. Neither of you had signed up for that. Yet somehow, standing there in the middle of a quiet London street, away from the managers and the paperwork, this felt more genuine than anything you'd been asked to perform.
You slipped your phone back into your bag.
"So," you said, breaking the silence, "partners?"
He looked at you for a moment before holding out his hand.
This time, when you shook his hand, it wasn't because your managers expected you to. It was because, for the first time since this whole ridiculous arrangement had been dropped into your lap…
It felt like the two of you might actually survive it.
guys im thinking of making this a multiple part thing but idk imma see if i can be bothered or not
