⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ | Donovan Kerrigan Spicy Headcannon
Quick PSA: Donovan canonically likes curvier, chubbier girls. Most of my other OCs are either ambiguous or lean towards more standard slimmer girls. So please don’t ask me to make a “slim version” because this OC is particularly crafted to be represent curvier girls. If you’d like a bit more representation for yourself wether that’s body type or medical condition or anything, I may open the request google forms again.
Tags: not proofread & reworked from an actual oc x oc oneshot to a oc x headcanon oneshot so may be messed up tenses and perspectives.
♡︎.ᐟજ⁀➴ Donovan Kerrigan who is total munch. Can’t get enough of it. Like it’s terrible, he’s terrible. Before the gym, he’s folding his big, burly body into the back of his car to go down on you because apparently the post-orgasm euphoria is going to help you hit harder during your workout. You’re not entirely sure if it worked, but you did go twenty minutes longer on the stairmaster, so it might be the case. Or maybe it’s because you were really getting off on how he was staring at the way your ass rippled with each step in those tight Gym Shark shorts, all while doing his reps with a look of complete and utterly pathetic longing.
If anything, his munching tendencies backfired because he was hard eating you out and now he was hard watching you work out, so he was nursing a constant ache in his pants while trying to hide it and not look like a degenerate pervert. So sad. Poor him. He hopes he gets kisses for his struggles.
He could feel your eyes on him between sets—that smug little glance you shot his way every time he adjusted the waistband of his shorts, trying to discreetly relieve some pressure.
Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.
Rolling his shoulders, Donovan moved over to the next machine. It wasn't that he regretted anything. The way you gasped his name in the back seat of his Acura, fingers tangled in his hair, that was worth every second of this torture. But it still didn't mean this wasn't fucking torture. Valid and worth it or not.
When the session finally ended and you stepped off the stairmaster with that post-workout flush darkening your blush-prone cheeks, Van was already shuffling toward you like a duckling. Luckily, the gym wasn't too busy since you'd both hit it after your respective shifts, it was pushing past twelve forty-nine in the morning and so it was more or less barren. Which made him a tad bit more…unabashed.
"Baby,” He whines under his breath, discreetly adjusting himself for the nth time that hour. His paws-for-hands found purchase on your hips on instinct, pulling you flush against him before he could even think to stop himself.
"You see what you do to me?" He mutters against your forehead, before dropping his head down to your shoulder with a strangled groan. Then, he peeks up at you through his long, dark brown lashes. Slightly curled at the ends naturally, making them look like thin little shavings of walnut wood glued to his eyelids. He's also totally aware of how pitiful he looks.
“Kiss? Please? Can I have a kiss?”
“But we’re in public?” You squeak, looking away from him in embarrassment. It was a feeble attempt at trying to hold onto your resolve but necessary because it’d be virtually impossible if he kept looking at you with those pretty molten amber eyes.
He pouted with an exaggerated sulk at your reasoning. Why do you have to be so conscious about social norms?
"Pleeease?" he dragged the word out, leaning down until his nose brushed yours. Hands sliding up her sides and rubbing slow circles into your skin. I knew it made her weak because it tickled just right without actually being ticklish.
“But…it’s PDA.”
"PDA?" He repeated, tasting the words on his tongue, blinking at you like the concept was foreign. "Since when do we care about PDA?" His thumb brushed over your cheekbone where that adorable blush lived permanently now.
"I kiss you every day," he pointed out matter-of-factly, as if this were basic math everyone understood. "Like... multiple times."
Leaning in closer until your lips were just a breath apart—close enough to share air but not actually touching yet with his voice dropping to a whisper. "So what's one more kiss? Huh?"
“Hmph..” you mull over his words, with one of your cheeks puffing out in thought. Then, abruptly you jump to your tip toes and press a kiss to his puffy lips. A quick little peck before pulling away. “There. Now let’s hit the showers.”
"Mmm."
The second your lips touched his, he chases after them instinctively—but you’d already pulled away too fast. That tiny peck barely counted as a kiss, and his face scrunches up in disappointment like a kid who got one single gummy bear instead of the whole bag.
Donovan makes an offended noise low in his throat before grabbing your wrist gently to stop you from escaping toward the locker rooms.
"Dude, that was not enough," he whines, dragging out each syllable dramatically while tugging you back against him.
“Yes it was.” You insist, prying out of his hold. “Now, c’mon, I wanna go home. And it’s cold in here. We can kiss more later.”
“Alright.”
Donovan trailed after you like a lost puppy as you headed toward the locker rooms, his arms swinging at his sides. The gym really was cold now that they’d stopped working out, goosebumps prickled along his bare forearms.
But mostly? Mostly he was sulking about not getting a proper kiss.
“You’re mean,” he called after you as you reached the showers area—voice echoing slightly off the tiled walls.
“Womp womp.” You tease, puckering your lips at him while making a heart with your fingers.
“Oh so now you’re cute.”
“I’m always cute.”
"Debatable," he teases, reaching down to pinch your ass and grinning when you gave him an unamused look. His other arm snaking around your midriff to trap his adorably sexy gym partner against him, pulling him against his chest with a smirk.
"You're just being mean to me on purpose," he mutters into your hair, lips skimming down to the nape of your neck while his nose trailed along the soft skin there.
"I did a hard workout for you, y'know."
"Mmhm," he drops lazy kisses down the side of your throat just to see if you’d squirm. His hands sliding lower, wandering across your hips and then back up to her stomach until his arms were wrapped around you again.
"Did so many extra reps, just so you'd think I looked hot today."
He sounded very put-upon while saying it, but the grin on his face betrayes him.
“Oh right?” You hum, appraisingly. “Seems like that backseat fun helped you more than me.”
Donovan’s jaw drops clean off its hinges like the female titan from Attack On Titan at the shameless call-out, face splitting into a scandalised grin. The sudden memory of you gasping in the backseat flashing before his eyes and he buries his face into your hair to muffle his groan.
"Hey," he protests, squeezing your full hips again. "No fair. That was an unexpected detour." "If you really wanna talk 'extra'," he drawls. "I'm pretty sure you still owe me one thing."
“I already said, we can at home.”
"But my lips are so chapped," he whines, poking his lower lip for emphasis. "Like... so dry."
He makes a big show of rubbing them together dramatically before leaning down again.
“Nope.” Is the reply to his winging, in addition to a firm hand planting itself onto his mouth.
“Mmmrp!”
“Quit whining, dummy, at home. You don’t even need to kiss my mouth lips.” Your cheeks flush. “The downstairs ones….”
He blinks.
"Oh."
For a second his brain short-circuited, replaying your words over and over like a broken record. Then, those eyes light up with an expression that could be aptly described as 'giddy'; his usual cocky grin transforming into something almost goofy. He bounced a little on the balls of his feet. Donovan may have been a puppy in a past life. A really excitable puppy.
"Really?" all the whiny protests gone in the blink of an eye.
“Yeah, you munch.”
♡︎.ᐟજ⁀➴ Donovan Kerrigan Who’s such an eager little giver. The second you two stepped through the door of his Vancouver townhouse, he was already backing you toward the couch, hands gripping your waist as he dropped to his knees like a man possessed with the ghost of Lord Byron himself.
"Okay. Okay." The words tumbled out between eager presses of my mouth to your plush inner thighs, his fingers dimpling the flesh from how hard he was pressing down on them. "Just—here—let me just—"
My fingers hooked under the waistband of your leggings, tugging them down in one swift motion before nuzzling against the soft skin of your rounded stomach.
"Missed you," I muttered, half-delirious already. My lips trailed lower.
“How do you mean? We were together—“
“Not talking to you, baby. I’m talking to this sweet thing down here.” He makes you gasp with the way he presses a tender kiss to your pussy through the material of your panties.
Donovan shakes his head, lips already curling into a smirk before pressing another open-mouthed kiss right over the thin fabric.
"Nope. Told you—I'm a munch."
His fingers hook into the sides of your lace, peeling them down slowly just to watch goosebumps rise on your thighs from anticipation. The second they were off, he didn’t hesitate. Just dives in like a dehydrated camel at a lake.
Suckling and tugging and biting while also rubbing. Donovan was a glutton. An insatiable fucking glutton.
The noise you made when his tongue flicked over your clit had him groaning into you, hips grinding down into nothing against the couch as he worked you over like his life depended on it.
"Fuck—fuck," he rasped between licks, fingers digging into her thighs to keep them spread. Those lips were already swollen from how relentless he was being, but he didn’t care. The way your back arched off the couch, the little whimpers spilling from your lips—Christ, he could do this for hours.
And he planned to.
One hand slid up your stomach to palm at your chest, thumb brushing over a nipple through your sports bra just to feel you jolt.
"So pretty like this," he coos against her, breath hot. "Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own name." It was salty-sweet on his tongue, addictive in a way that had him licking deeper between kisses and bites and slow sucks; all bordering on obscene.
Donovan pulls back just enough to admire the glistening mess he’d made of you, of himself. His lips are slick and his chin wet.
"Look at you," He thumbs at your clit in slow circles while watching your face twist with pleasure. "You taste so fucking good, baby. Could eat you out for every meal."
The way your hips jerked under my touch, the way your breath hitched—nothing compared to this. Nothing ever would.
Leaning back in, he sealed his mouth over you again, sucking hard enough to make your thighs tremble against the sides of his face. You muffle his appreciative grunts and groans by squeezing your thighs hard around him, suffocating him. His eyes borderline roll back in a blissed-out expression, hands perching on either plush thigh and working the flesh under his palm.
"Come on," he urges between licks, after prying out of the headlock you put him in. "Let go for me."
You whimper, digging your nails into both the fabric of the couch and his hair. He loved when you got grabby like this.
“Oh my God, ‘Van, slow down please. It’s so much.”
"Too much?" He murmurs, pulling back just enough to press soft, apologetic kisses along your inner thighs, over the plum-coloured love bites. His fingers replace his mouth for a moment, rubbing slow circles instead of the relentless tongue lashing he’d been giving.
"Better?" He asks, watching your face closely. His thumb kept up that gentle pressure, but the other slid up to cradle her hip. He’d wait—no matter how badly he wanted to dive right back in.
"Tell me what you need," he coaxes, pulling away to nuzzle against your knee. "I'll go slow. Promise."
Easing into it again, he laps and strokes you, rolling the tip of his tongue over your clit, making it twitch. Your thighs shake while the man between your legs holds them up high over his shoulders.
“Taste. So. Good," his fingers dig into the soft, pliable flesh just to feel you twitch. His eyes are hooded, as if the feeling is more than intense for you too. "Can't get enough," he confesses, his voice raspy. "You taste so sweet. I could eat you alive.
“Oh, God. I’m so close, ‘Van.”
Donovan groans softly. The words seemed to make his tongue work harder—determined to get you there and fast. And he was so close to getting you there.
"You're doing so good," he assures in between licks; his words barely intelligible between the pressure. "So, so good. You're so close. Just—ah, just try and relax, baby. Focus on me."
The moment your body tensed, back arching off the couch, Donovan felt the gush splatter in and around his mouth. Your silent cry of ecstasy punches straight through him, while his lips stay sealed over you as you come. Lapping gently through the waves of pleasure to draw it out longer.
Refusing to pull away until your breathing evened slightly, until the tremors in her legs softened into little twitches instead of full-body shakes, only after did he press a tender kiss to each inner thigh and finally lift my head—chin glistening but face alight with pure adoration for what just happened.
"Hi," I whispered after swallowing hard.
"Ow—Good God, (reader), ow" he whines, though the grin betrays him. He catches your wrist before you can pull away completely, pressing a sloppy, overdone kiss to your palm just to make you wrinkle your cute nose at him.
"Mean," He mutters, rubbing at the sore spot with an exaggerated pout. "I give you the best orgasm of your life and this is my thanks?"
He drops his body weight over her like a weighted blanket, face shoved into his chest. "Ungrateful," he declared to the ceiling, though the grin tugging at his lips ruined the act entirely.
You laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of his head. His pout softens instantly at your kiss, melting into something stupidly fond.
"Mm, there's my thanks," he sighs, tilting his head up to catch your lips properly this time—slow and lingering, no rush left in him now that you were satisfied.
When he pulls back, his thumb brushes over your bottom lip just because he could.
"Now that's how you kiss someone.”