PARIS WITH YOU - FAZEADAPT X READER
summary : you and alex had been privately dating for a few months, you guys rarely go out trying to avoid the public, so usually your dates consist of movie nights, cooking together, anything inside. but when the core is planning their trip to paris he asks you to come. your guys first romantic trip together
warnings: making out, private but not secret relationship. PLOT AND SMUT - p in v, oral (f receiving) praise. (anything else?)
The group chat had been blowing up all morning about the Paris trip. Flights, hotels, content ideas, the usual chaos. You were half-listening while scrolling through your phone when Alex’s name lit up your screen in a private message.
You stared at it for a second before typing back.
isn’t it like a core thing?
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
baby i’m asking you to come with me
Your stomach flipped. You glanced up from the couch. Alex was across the room, legs kicked up on the coffee table, phone in hand, looking completely casual. Like he hadn’t just said that.
He laughed under his breath, the sound low enough that only you caught it.
You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the smile.
He looked over at you then, eyes soft for half a second before he went back to pretending to care about whatever Ron was yelling about. back upstairs you waited for adapt to stop streaming, eventually he made his way up to his room where you had been laying in his bed.
you hear the door click and instantly look up. “i’m pretty sure if i get seen at paris with you everyone is going to put two and two together,” you say as he walked over.
“mhm,” he got onto the bed fully putting his body weight on top of you.
“It will be fun,” he whispered.
“you are too fat,” you try pushing him off.
“excuse me?” he sat up to look at you, you lean up and quickly kissed him, “nice try,”
instantly he leans down to your stomach tickling you.
“wait!! im sorry!!” you cry out laughing.
The airport was a different story.
Crowds, cameras, people who recognized the Core from a mile away. You walked a little behind the group on purpose, backpack strap tight in your hand. Alex stayed close enough that his shoulder brushed yours every few steps. Nothing obvious. Just enough that you felt it.
When the line slowed, his fingers found the back of your hoodie, a quiet tug, a silent I’m right here. You didn’t look at him. You didn’t need to.
Ron, of course, noticed everything.
He fell into step beside you with that shit-eating grin, phone already half-raised.
“Aww look at her trying to act normal,” he stage-whispered. “She’s so in love it’s embarrassing.”
He angled the camera toward your face like he was about to hit record. “Say hi to the internet, secret girlfriend.”
You lunged for the phone. “Ron if you post that I swear—”
He cackled and spun away, already showing Jason the almost-footage. Jason just shook his head, but he was smiling. Marlon didn’t even look up from his own phone, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
Alex’s hand settled on the small of your back for one second—warm, steady, gone before anyone who wasn’t looking could catch it.
“Ignore him,” he murmured near your ear. “He’s just jealous no one wants to sit next to him on the plane.”
You huffed, but the tension in your shoulders eased.
“I always ignore him,” you glance over at Ron and Laiyse.
The plane was quieter, a lot quieter.
Most of the cabin lights were dimmed. Ron and Jason were a few rows up, already half-asleep with hoodies pulled over their faces. Marlon had noise-cancelling headphones on and a laptop open. The rest of the world felt far away.
You had the window seat. Alex took the middle without asking.
Somewhere over the Atlantic the turbulence smoothed out and the cabin grew still. You shifted, tired, and he lifted his arm without a word. You curled into his side, head on his chest, one of his hands settling in your hair like it belonged there.
His heartbeat was steady under your ear.
“You good?” he asked quietly.
You nodded against him. “Thanks for bringing me,” you whisper to him.
“Anytime baby,” he smiled softly pressing a kiss to your head.
His fingers kept moving slowly through your hair. Outside the window the sky was black and endless. Inside, it was just the two of you and the low hum of the engines.
No cameras. No teasing. Just the quiet weight of his arm around you and the soft press of his lips against the top of your head when he thought you were already asleep.
But you stayed still anyway, smiling into his hoodie, and let yourself believe for a little while that the rest of the world didn’t exist.
The hotel lobby was all glass and soft lighting, the kind of place that made even the Core look slightly out of place in their hoodies and sneakers. Bags were dropped, room keys handed out, and the usual chaos of deciding who was sharing with who started up.
Ron stretched his arms over his head with a dramatic groan. “I need an hour. At least. Don’t knock, don’t text, don’t exist near my door. I’m dead.”
Jason snorted. “You’ll be live-streaming in twenty minutes.”
“Fuck off.” Ron was already walking toward the elevators, waving a hand without looking back. “One hour. Minimum.”
You and Alex exchanged a look. Quick. Quiet. The kind of look that said the same thing at the same time.
Marlon was already scrolling through something on his phone, half-listening. Jason just smirked like he knew exactly what the sudden silence between you two meant, but he didn’t say anything. He just grabbed his own keycard and followed Ron.
Alex’s fingers brushed the back of your hand as you both turned toward the elevators.
Your room was on a higher floor, quieter, the hallway thick with that expensive-hotel hush. The second the door clicked shut behind you, the air changed.
Alex dropped his bag without looking where it landed. Then he was on you—hands under your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing. You barely had time to laugh before he tossed you onto the bed. The mattress dipped hard under you, and then he was climbing over you, knees bracketing your hips, one hand already braced beside your head.
He kissed you like he’d been waiting the entire flight to do it.
Deep. Hungry. No teasing, no holding back. His mouth moved against yours like he was trying to make up for every second you’d had to pretend in public. You pulled him closer by the front of his hoodie, legs wrapping around his waist, and he made a low sound in his throat that went straight through you.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. Both of you were breathing harder than the short distance from the door should’ve allowed.
“I’m glad you came,” he said, voice rough.
You smiled up at him, fingers still curled in the fabric of his hoodie. “Me too.”
He stayed there for a second, just looking at you, thumb brushing slowly along your jaw. Then his expression shifted—softer, but heavier somehow.
“What happens if someone sees us?” you asked quietly. The question had been sitting in the back of your mind since the airport. “Like… really sees us. Not just Ron being Ron.”
Alex’s hand stilled. He exhaled through his nose, eyes searching yours.
“Then someone sees us,” he said simply. “I’m tired of hiding. I want to go on dates. Actual ones. Not just sneaking around hotel rooms and hoping no one clocks it.”
You smiled, small and a little disbelieving, the kind of smile that came with relief more than anything else.
He smiled back, the corner of his mouth lifting like he couldn’t help it.
“We are in Paris,” he said, voice low and warm. “I am in Paris with my girlfriend.”
Then he leaned down and kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, like he was sealing the words between you.
“You are a big dork, y’know that,” you run your fingers through his hair.
“did you know that you are really pretty,” he grins.
“Jesus,” you roll your eyes.
he holds onto your waist kissing your neck and just holding you close to him. you could stay like that for the rest of the time in paris and you wouldn’t complain.
The restaurant was the kind of place that felt too nice for hoodies and sneakers, all warm lighting and low chatter, the kind of spot tourists dreamed about when they thought of Paris. The Core had somehow ended up at a corner table near the window, far enough from the main floor that the noise stayed soft.
You were wedged between Alex and Ron, Jason across from you, Marlon at the end with his usual half-focused expression like he was already planning the next piece of content in his head.
At first you kept it careful. Laughing at the right moments, smiling when someone looked your way, keeping your hands to yourself. Old habit. Even with the boys knowing, the rest of the room didn’t.
But the food was good. The wine was better. And Ron was being Ron—dramatically complaining about the portion sizes while simultaneously stealing fries off Jason’s plate.
“You’re actually insane,” Jason said, swatting at his hand.
“You’re twenty-something and look like a stick.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself, the sound coming out easier than it had all day. Alex’s knee bumped yours under the table—quiet, deliberate. When you glanced at him, he was already looking at you, eyes soft in that way that still made your stomach flip.
Without thinking about it too hard, you let your hand rest on the table between you.
A second later, his fingers slid between yours.
No one at the table reacted like it was a big deal. Ron just smirked into his glass. Jason raised an eyebrow, but it was more amused than surprised. Marlon didn’t even look up from the menu he’d already ordered from ten minutes ago.
And just like that, the last of the tension in your shoulders loosened.
You started talking more. Teasing Ron when he tried to pronounce something on the menu and butchered it. Asking Jason about some clip he’d been editing. Laughing when Marlon finally looked up long enough to dryly point out that Ron had ketchup on his chin.
Alex’s thumb brushed slowly over your knuckles the whole time, steady and warm. Every now and then he’d squeeze your hand like a silent check-in—you good?—and you’d squeeze back.
At one point Ron leaned in, voice low enough that only the table could hear.
“Look at you two. Holding hands in public like it’s nothing. What’s next, matching outfits?”
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “Shut up.”
Alex just lifted your joined hands slightly, like he was showing them off on purpose, and took a sip of his drink with his free hand.
“Problem?” he asked mildly.
Ron grinned wider. “Nah. Just saying. About time.”
The conversation kept going after that—louder, easier. Plates were passed around. Stories got told. You found yourself leaning into Alex’s side without thinking about who might be watching from other tables. For the first time all day, it didn’t feel like you were performing.
It just felt like dinner.
With your boyfriend’s hand in yours, and the boys who already knew exactly what you were to each other.
The conversation kept going after that—louder, easier. Plates were passed around. Stories got told. You found yourself leaning into Alex’s side without thinking about who might be watching from other tables. For the first time all day, it didn’t feel like you were performing.
It just felt like dinner.
Until a voice cut through the moment.
“Oh my god—sorry, hi—are you guys Faze?”
A girl stood near the edge of the table, phone already half-raised, eyes wide with that mix of excitement and nerves. Instantly, your hand jerked back from Alex’s like you’d been burned. Old instinct. Automatic.
But before you could fully pull away, his fingers found yours again under the table. Steady. Warm. Hidden by the tablecloth. He didn’t even glance at you—just kept his hold firm, thumb brushing once over your knuckles like a quiet I’ve got you.
The boys shifted into their usual polite-fan mode. Smiles. Nods. The whole thing.
“Yeah, that’s us,” Jason said easily.
The girl launched into a quick, breathless spiel about how much she loved their content, how she’d recognized them from across the room. Alex stayed relaxed beside you, voice calm when he finally spoke.
“We’re not taking pictures, but it’s nice to meet you.”
You looked over at him then. He was already glancing sideways at you, the corner of his mouth tilted up just enough that only you would catch it. You smiled back, small and private, the tension in your chest easing again under the table where no one else could see.
The fan left a minute later, still grinning, and the second she was out of earshot Ron leaned forward with the biggest shit-eating grin you’d ever seen.
“I have never seen y/n panic like that.”
You groaned, dropping your head back. “Ron, are you gonna be like this the whole trip?”
He grinned wider, completely unrepentant. “Absolutely.”
Alex’s hand squeezed yours under the table, and when you looked at him again he was fighting a smile of his own.
The second the hotel room door shut behind you, Alex had you against it.
No words. Just his mouth on yours—hungry, deep, like he’d been holding back the entire dinner. His hands were already under your shirt, palms sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra as he kissed you like he needed it to breathe.
You barely got your bag dropped before he was walking you backward toward the bed, never breaking the kiss. The backs of your knees hit the mattress and he followed you down, body covering yours, one knee slotting between your thighs.
“Been thinking about this all night,” he muttered against your mouth, voice rough. “Watching you laugh, holding my hand under the table… fuck.”
He kissed down your jaw, then your neck, teeth grazing just hard enough to make you arch. His hands made quick work of your clothes—shirt first, then bra, then the button of your jeans. He tugged them down along with your underwear in one motion, tossing them aside without looking.
Then he was on his knees at the edge of the bed, hands spreading your thighs open.
He looked up at you once, eyes dark, before leaning in and dragging his tongue through your folds in one slow, deliberate stroke.
“Fuck—” you gasped, hips twitching.
“That’s it,” he murmured against you, the words vibrating. “Let me hear you.”
He licked again, slower this time, circling your clit with the flat of his tongue before sucking it gently between his lips. One of his hands held your thigh open; the other slid two fingers inside you without warning, curling just right.
“God, you’re already so wet for me,” he praised, voice low and rough between licks. “Been like this since the restaurant, huh? Sitting there all polite while I was touching your hand…”
You whimpered, fingers threading into his hair as he worked you open with his mouth and fingers. He didn’t rush—long, wet strokes, the wet sound of it filling the room, every so often pulling back just enough to say something filthy and soft.
“Look at you… taking my fingers so well.”
He sucked harder on your clit the second the words left his mouth, fingers thrusting deeper, and the orgasm hit you hard—thighs shaking around his head, a broken moan tearing out of you as you came.
Alex didn’t stop until you were twitching and pushing at his shoulder. Only then did he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes locked on yours as he stood and shoved his own clothes off.
He climbed back over you, cock heavy and hard against your stomach as he kissed you again—deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
“Still with me?” he asked, voice softer now, forehead pressed to yours.
You nodded, already reaching between you to stroke him. “mhmm… please.”
He groaned at the touch, hips pushing into your hand for a second before he lined himself up. The head of his cock dragged through your soaked folds once, twice—then he pushed in, slow and deep, until he was buried to the hilt.
“Fuck, baby…” His forehead dropped to your shoulder. “You feel so fucking good.”
He started moving—long, deep strokes at first, like he was savoring it. One hand braced beside your head, the other sliding under your thigh to hitch it higher so he could get even deeper.
“That’s it… take it,” he murmured against your ear. “Look at how well you take me. So perfect for me.”
You moaned, nails dragging down his back as he picked up the pace. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, mixed with his low praise and the broken noises you couldn’t hold back.
“My girl… fucking my girl in Paris.”
“oh god,” your hand wraps around his bicep.
“You’re doing so good… so fucking good for me.”
He shifted the angle, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur, and one of his hands slipped between your bodies to rub tight circles over your clit.
“Come again,” he ordered softly, almost gentle even as he fucked you harder. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.”
The second orgasm ripped through you harder than the first—your whole body tightening around him as you cried out. Alex groaned, hips stuttering, and then he was coming too, buried deep, pulsing inside you with a low, broken “fuck—” against your neck.
He stayed there for a long moment after, still inside you, breathing hard, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.
Eventually he pulled out carefully and rolled to the side, immediately tugging you with him so you were half on his chest. His fingers traced lazy patterns up and down your spine while both of you caught your breath.
“You okay?” he asked quietly, voice still rough.
You nodded against his skin, smiling. “More than okay.”
His arm tightened around you, and he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “I love you,”
you let out a tired heavy breath, “i love you more,”
