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[drakesfeelings]

Hector fort, fluff, that's all i need

sorry it’s a little short (and sorry for the long ass wait) hope you’ll like it tho 💖

more than you think [h.f]

“you need to stop dancing hermano, it’s getting worrying,” hector can’t help but laugh at marc’s jokes—disguised in faux concern.

lamine’s eyes widen in shock, and the smirk on the ‘blonde’s face quickly disappears when he’s playfully slapped by his teammate.

silently watching his friends fight, chuckling from time to time at marc’s attempts to dodge the moroccan’s attacks, hector almost forget about getting dressed.

today’s training is done. usually, the boys always had enough practice for a whole day, but xavi was in a good mood; which means finishing early.

and which means, in hector’s language, more time with his girl.

his naked back against the metal of his locker, putting on his yeezy’s slides, he feels his phone vibrate under his thigh. speaking of the devil.

❤️ | you’re done babe?

smiling to himself, he taps a simple answer before getting back to dress up—his movements now quicker than before.

hector was always the teammate who loves to take his time preparing himself. he usually took long ass showers and was the last getting out of camp nou, his cologne and shampoo lingering in the changing rooms.

the only and rare times he was on a rush, were the ones when you were waiting for him.

his whole team knew about how much he loves you, that much that he couldn’t bring himself to make you wait.

you are his princess, who is he, to make you wait? no-fucking-body.

so, it’s only an understatement to know why he’s the first one to finish packing today.

“the novia is waiting,” he hears alejandro’s teasing voice behind him. it’s not even a question anymore, just a simple fact.

“tú lo sabes,” the brunette smirks, sending a wink in his friend’s direction. “adios!” he quickly bids everyone goodbye, his hand tightening on his bag’s strap. you know it. bye!

before the door closes, he can hear marc’s complaints about him leaving like a thief and pedri’s making fun of the newly blonde.

he loves his team. but not as much as you, so he forgets about his teammates’ bickering and jogs in the exit’s direction, texting you during his run.

to ❤️ | coming mi amor

he quickly taps send and shoves his phone in his short’s pocket. in three minutes, the brunette is already coming out of the building, happily making his way to the parking, where you’re waiting next to his car.

shoulder pressed against the bmw’s driver’s door, your pretty eyes focused on the screen of your phone, you don’t even hear your boyfriend’s steps.

your legs are engulfed by the boy’s shorts—that you stole from his closet—and your white shirt is tucked into the front of your bra, letting your tummy breathes. you’re wearing a pair of slides, the weather being too hot to handle closed shoes, and your hair are wild-free.

his heart skips a beat. you’re the prettiest woman on earth to the man’s eyes.

“hola guapa,” he doesn’t let his adoration for you phase him though, keeping on his cool-fuck-boy act—even if he’s not waiting for your greetings to be said to snuggle his face in the crook of your neck, nose brushing against the skin of your jaw. hello, beautiful.

it’s time for your heart to skip a beat.

you grin with all your teeth, your arms automatically wrapping themselves around his neck and your phone long forgotten, loosely hanging in one of your hand.

“hola bebe,” you mutter in his chest, breathing in his scent. something musky, something masculine, something that screams hector, something that smells like home to you. your home. him. hello, baby.

he sighs happily, face smushed by your warmth and nostrils taking in your monoi scented body-cream. you smell like summer. like the beach, the sand, the blue sky and the waves.

but you also smell like his. and it’s all that matters to him, right now.

@ drakesfeelings