MAYA LOPEZ headcanons.
rated e for explicit sexual content — 18+ — minors dni.
a/n: beefy pro fighter maya my beloved
maya lopez x reader ; is your girlfriend a puppy or a brawler? yes.
warnings: nsfw, semi-explicit smut, afab language, anal play, choking, spanking, strap-ons, rough sex, one single mention of blood.
watching maya in the ring gets you hot. especially when she’s fighting men and they can’t hold their own against her. she’s faster, anticipates better, hits harder, bounces back quicker. first time she invited you to a fight you worried you wouldn’t like seeing her get hit, but that fear dissolved when she took a mean cross to the jaw and found you in the crowd, flashed you a bloody grin, and pummeled her opponent into submission with heavy-handed blow after blow before the first round was up. when you kissed her in the locker room after the fight she tasted a little bit like blood even though she’d already cleaned up, but you didn’t mind. you kind of liked it. then she used her prize money to take you out to dinner where she touched you under the table while she ate steak tips and drank beer and you were left to grip your drink until your knuckles went white and every muscle in your body tensed.
nowadays you’re front row at all of her fights with her leather jacket draped over your shoulders to keep it warm for her and so everyone knows exactly who you’re there for. who you belong to.
tight hugs when she comes home from the gym in muscle shirts, nuzzling into a big bicep because it’s warm and hard and you’re never safer than when you’re wrapped up in her. kissing on her arm because you don’t want to pull away to free your hands to speak and you don’t think she wants to either and you like that her skin tastes a little like sweat and you really like how she flexes as soon as your mouth touches her.
it’s always the arms. reaching for her in bed at night, curling your hands around her arm, pulling it against your chest and snuggling it like you would a teddy bear while she snores softly at your side. tugging her arm around your shoulders while standing in line at the supermarket. digging your nails into her forearms when she plants her hands on either side of your head and looms over you with a presence as intimidating as it is dead fucking sexy. telling her she should get tattoos because she’s got the arms for it. she’s not big on pda but she doesn’t mind you hanging onto her arm in public because it makes her feel like you’re never going to leave her and as independent as she is you know she lusts after the loyalty she inspires in you.
when she hangs out topless in boxers at home you’re always ready to fucking fold. when she cooks in training shorts and a sports bra you like to sit and watch, following the ebb and flow of thick muscle beneath her skin as she moves through the kitchen and pretends not to notice how heavy your eyes are on her. when she works out in cropped tanks it’s hard not to drool and you get stuck between wanting to drop to your knees and worship her abs with your tongue and wanting to get pinned down and rendered helpless by her big strong arms.
sometimes you wake up in the morning to maya doing pushups on the floor beside the bed. you roll over to the edge and prop your chin on your hands and watch with a dreamy little smile on your face. when she’s done you drag her into the shower and throw yourself at her under the spray of hot water.
other times you wake up to maya doing pullups on the bar you installed in the doorjamb. sometimes on those days you’ll roll onto your back and prop your legs open and stroke yourself through your underwear while you watch her muscles bulge and flex, pausing to tell her, “ten more,” before going back to playing with your cunt. getting yourself ready for her while you watch her smirk and power through the last of her reps. by the time she’s done and crawling back into bed with you her chest is heaving and her skin is warm to the touch and when you take a fistful of her shirt and pull her down on top of you she’s heavy and solid and her hips fit so well between your legs.
bear hugs. her big muscly arms draped around your neck, your face nuzzled against her throat. her hands on your legs while you lay on the couch with a movie on in the background. her fingers working the knots from your back after a long day, pressing your skin, stroking your muscles like she can convince them to ease up and stay that way if only she touches you in the perfect spot. coming up behind you while you’re cooking and draping herself over your back, arms over your shoulders, cheek pressed to the side of your head as she rests her weight on you and you can’t even be annoyed about the fact that it’s very hard to cook with a big brawler putting all her weight on you because you love when she gets clingy. you set down the spatula and sign, “puppy,” because you know she’s watching your hands and it’ll make her roll her eyes and grin and because she really does act like a big lapdog sometimes and she knows it.
wearing her shirts. her hoodies. they’re big on you but you like that, and you like that they smell like her, like she’s right there with you instead of working late. when she works late and you’re bored and lonely you’ll text her nonsensical strings of emojis, or you’ll tell her about whatever garbage television you’re watching in her absence. she’ll usually text back within minutes, always making sure you know you’re as much a priority as her job is. on the rare occasions when she doesn’t text back quickly, you’re not above playing the teasing game. pulling on one of her zip-up sweatshirts with nothing on underneath and sending her a selfie. stripping down and slipping into a pair of her boxers and posing for a picture in front of the standing mirror in her bedroom. her responses rarely betray how much she truly enjoys pictures like those, but an i’ll deal with you when i get home or a behave yourself from maya is the equivalent of a heart-eyes emoji from anyone else. and she does always deal with you when she gets home (and you rarely ever behave), though ‘dealing with you’ can mean anything from eating you out on the couch until you’re trembling and teary and too sensitive to take any more to throwing you over her lap, spanking you red and raw, and slipping her favorite little plug into your ass.
maya likes to lounge. likes to kick back and sit with her knees propped open wide, likes you on her lap where you can see her and she can see you. claims it’s better even than the view of you bent over with an arch in your back because it’s all in the eyes. so she claims. but you’re fairly certain she just likes you on her lap so she can talk dirty to you. so you’re ready for it when she drops onto the couch and pulls you down to straddle her lap. “you look good,” she’ll say, hands moving slowly, deliberately, because she knows you hate waiting and she loves drawing out the teasing. “like you were made to be on top of me.” and you’ll start to blush, which she loves, too, and she’ll reach up and brush your rosy cheeks with her thumbs to draw attention to your bashfulness. meantime she’s just smiling that little secret half-smile that pulls at the corner of her lips as she gazes up at you through her lashes. “i want to watch you ride me,” she'll tell you, or, “let me sit back and watch you bounce on my dick,” or, “show me how you ride my cock.” doesn’t matter what she says, you’ll do whatever the fuck she wants.
win or lose (though maya has five wins for every loss) you’re her favorite prize, the one she can always count on. she’s indulgent after wins, likes dragging you into the locker room and sweet talking you into stripping down and joining her in the shower. she’ll soap you up until your skin’s all slippery and warm and then she’ll touch you for what feels like hours: coasting her hands down your back, taking handfuls of your ass, pulling you in until your hips are notched against hers, until you’re anchored to each other and nothing in the world could force you apart. she likes how you feel against her, your slick heat on her thigh always warmer even than the hot water, your nipples rubbing against her chest. she’ll kiss you nice and slow, she’ll suck your tongue into her mouth, will touch every inch of your body she can reach, reacquainting herself with how you feel when you’re laid bare for her. when she touches you between your legs where you need it most it’s all gentle, unrelenting pressure, and it’s all so soft. fighting’s her outlet, you’re her reward, and she treats you like you’re priceless.
it’s different after a loss. when things don’t go her way in the ring she won’t bother with a shower, she’ll just grab her bag and then grab you and take you home. sometimes you don’t even make it to the bedroom before her aggression surfaces and she bends you over the kitchen counter, the dining table, or presses you up against the wall in the hallway and yanks your pants down and forces a knee between your thighs so she can rut against you, fucking you into a hard surface because there’s nowhere else to put her frustration and she knows you like to take it. when she loses, round two is you on your knees with her leg over your shoulder and a hand in your hair, holding you steady while she uses you to get off. fucks herself on your face, rubs her cunt against your mouth and nose while you do your best to keep up with your tongue without losing your breath. round three is you on your back, legs hooked around her waist, pussy stretched around her favorite strap while she pounds into you, fucks you open, one hand wrapped around your throat so she can feel every last little sound you make.
win or lose, you love her. you’d be crazy not to.
