Dragon Ball One Shots Chapter 18 - NSFW
Request for @sh3epwhx
Pairing: Granolah x fem!reader
Summary: After your relationship has only developed more, you and Granolah decide to take it a step further.
Tags: loss of virginity, fluff, riding, fingering, handjobs
Words: 3.3k
A/N: This is a sequel to my other Granolah one-shot! It is not necessary to read that one to enjoy this, though.
Read on my ao3
Monaito was out for the evening. 'Retrieving the Dragon Balls', he had claimed. Granolah had made dinner, and now the quiet between you felt even heavier than the earlier clink of cutlery. The dishes were done, everything was clean, and the night was still young. Here you both were, standing in the low candlelight of his room, the warm air full of tension and the promise of more.
He lingered near the bed, not quite sitting, not quite moving closer. His fingers twitched against his side as though they wanted to reach for you but didn’t know exactly where to go. He glanced away when your eyes met, as if holding your gaze might make his thoughts too easy to read.
This was new for him. You could feel it in the air. Not just the situation, but the closeness, the trust, the intimacy. His shoulders stayed tense, like he wasn’t trying to guard himself from you, but trying to guard you from his own uncertainty.
“Don’t be nervous,” you said softly, inching closer.
His lips twitched in a faint smile. “Easy for you to say.”
You tilted your head. “Why? Do I look like I bite?”
“No,” he said quickly, then softer, “I mean…I wouldn’t stop you, but just go easy on me, alright?”
You brushed your fingers over the back of his hand until he let you hold it. “Noted. No biting. Yet.”
He let out a small huff of a laugh before he exhaled, gaze dipping to the floor. “I just… I want to be good. I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“Don’t even worry about that. Just focus on me, yeah?” you murmured.
With a gentle tug, you brought him down to sit at the edge of the bed. The shift put you over him, your thighs saddling his lap, the skin of your knees brushing against the soft material of the bedsheets beneath them. His firm thighs were warm against the backs of yours.
Your fingernails curled into his top, drawing the fabric held taut against his muscular chest and shoulders away from his skin, pulling your body tighter against his. He went still, like the closeness startled him. You could feel the change in his breathing—shorter, heavier. His hands hovered at your sides, almost touching, until you gave him a reassuring nod that broke his hesitation like a stone thrown into still water.
He wasted no time.
Those first touches were light, thumbs gliding along your curves as though he were trying to memorise the shape of you he loved so dearly. Every so often they stalled, grip flexing like he was trying to ground himself. His palms grabbed handfuls of your hips before resting over your ribcage, where they savoured the warmth of your skin. They soon shifted, moving to cup your breasts reverently. His eyes, crimson and mint, followed his hands everywhere, their contrast as vivid as the admiration they held.
The way he looked at you already had you squirming to get your hips closer to him.
You leaned in, your lips brushing against his–testing, as if to ask a question. His response was hesitant at first, lips moving as if finding their way, until something in him gave way, and the kiss settled into a slow, sensual rhythm. Your hands gripped at his shoulders for purchase, and you hummed contentedly against the softness of his lips.
He pulled away slightly, forehead resting against yours, before he whispered your name, the sound full of longing. It lingered in the small space between you, like a delicate tether pulling you even closer.
He didn’t stay separated from you for long.
It was as if he couldn’t resist tasting your skin, following the curve of your jaw with his lips, tracing the slope of your neck. Each kiss was slow, uncertain, a gentle question pressed to your skin. You felt the warmth of his breath catching in the hollow of your throat, teasing, tickling, sending shivers of arousal crawling up your spine. Every tiny exhale of his against you seemed to steal your breath away in tiny increments, leaving you quietly gasping under the weight of him.
Moonlight spilled through the window, painting fractured pale shapes across his broad frame. The black fabric of his shirt clung to him, and the silvered edges of his shoulders, arms, and chest were a sight previously reserved for your private fantasies. Yet here he was, in the flesh, and all yours.
You snaked your hand down the contours of his lower abdomen, fingertips exploring the hard planes of flesh before sneaking past his waistband. There he was: warm, heavy and hard. The feeling of his cock in your palm almost made you gasp. You wrapped your fingers around him and squeezed experimentally, feeling full veins underneath thin, silky skin. A restrained moan that was equal parts desire and desperation escaped from him at the contact, and you couldn’t help the way your lips curled in satisfaction at the knowledge that you were the one responsible. The sound made love to your ears, curling tight in your chest before weaving itself into a knot of thick, warm anticipation between your legs.
You tried not to lick your lips.
His hands trembled slightly as they found your hips, anchoring you in place as your movements teased and explored. You trailed your other hand up his stomach, feeling the tense ridges of muscle, each flex beneath your touch drawing another quiet, ragged breath from him.
You began to move your hand with purpose, sliding along his length, feeling him respond—hardening, twitching lightly in your palm. Every tiny sound, every almost-imperceptible shiver he gave you only spurred you on, sparking alight a string of excitement in your core. He relaxed under your touch, his head falling back against the pillows, eyes fluttering closed as he let out a strained, soft groan that vibrated straight through you.
Your thumb traced over the sensitive underside of his cock, your fingers adjusting their rhythm, learning his body in the hush of moonlight. His thighs twitched beneath your lap, hips bucking up into your hand.
When you leaned down, lips brushing against his jaw and the corner of his mouth, his hands tightened over your hips, guiding you closer, silently pleading for more. The taste of him—the slight salt, the warmth, it was intoxicating, and his sharp inhale at your touch set your pulse racing.
“God, yes… please… more,” he breathed against your hair, every word trembling, each groan carrying both need and hesitation. His body shivered, muscles tensing as if trying to absorb every sensation you were giving him.
You pressed a kiss to his cheek, letting your lips brush over his sensitive skin, and he whined. It sent a jolt through you.
“You’re driving me crazy… I—I’ve never… felt like this,” he admitted, voice breaking between gasps. His hands pulled you impossibly closer.
“Then feel it,” you whispered, thumb teasing his tip, fingers sliding along his length in languid, steady strokes. “Feel me… take it, take what I give you.”
His hips jerked violently against your hand, chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven breaths, his handsome features caught in a delicious mix of bliss and restraint. A strangled groan tore from him, and he suddenly froze, his expression full of pleasure and panic. “Wait… wait, gods , I… I can’t…Stop! Please…” he gasped, clutching at your wrists, his eyes wide and pleading.
You paused immediately, concern and arousal warring in your chest. “Too much?” you asked, your fingers drifting to draw soft patterns on his thigh.
“Yes… not like this,” he admitted, voice breaking, chest heaving. “I’ll… I’ll lose it if you don’t…”
You bit your lip, heart hammering, before pulling back slightly, letting him catch his breath. The flush in his cheeks, the desperate glint in his eyes, made your own desire flare hotter. “Alright… your turn, then,” you whispered, teasingly brushing a finger along the side of his jaw as you shifted closer to his ear. “Time for you to show me how much you want me.”
His pupils dilated, colourful irises shining with a mix of anticipation and nervous excitement. “M-me? Y-you…?” he stammered, voice shaking.
“Yes,” you murmured, sliding your hand down your body, letting your fingers graze the curve of your own hip before tracing the edge of your waistband. “I want you to feel me… touch me… show me how much you need me.”
That small spark of encouragement seemed to ignite something in him. His shoulders squared, chest rising and falling faster, a flame of determination lighting behind those dual-coloured eyes. He moved fast, sitting up and removing your clothes with eager haste, until you were bare before him, save for your underwear. He leaned in, knuckles brushing against your thighs as he slid the delicate garment down your legs.
You smiled against his ear, cupping the back of his neck, feeling his uncertainty begin to submit to the ego you knew so well. His fingers traced the curve of your hips, thumbs pressing into your flesh, exploring your skin with gentleness and care. Then, his broad palms moved lower, splaying across the curve where your ass met your thighs. A teasing pressure spread you open, and you instinctively arched into him, letting him find the angle that he was going to pounce on you from.
His fingers trailed down, slipping between your folds, where the evidence of your arousal was hard to ignore, slick and warm. He paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “You’re so beautiful…” he murmured, voice husky, reverent.
Your breath caught, chest rising and falling as his gaze drank you in like he’d never seen anything so perfect. You shivered under his touch, arching closer to him.
“Is that all for me?” he asked, eyes glinting with tease, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“You’re one to talk,” you grin, poking his chest.
“If you can make fun of me I’m not doing this right,” he said, voice low, teasing, but there was a thread of vulnerability beneath it that made your heart flutter.
Before you could process his words, a surprised squeak escaped your lips as he sank a single, precise finger inside you. The sensation was sharp and sweet, a mixture of teasing and sudden heat that made your back arch. Your fingernails dug crescent moons into his flesh as he held you steady, eyes watching you like a hawk.
Every subtle reaction: your whimpers, the tiny shiver running up your spine, the way your eyes fluttered closed, he catalogued it all, as if learning the language of your pleasure. His thumb brushed teasingly over your clit, coaxing small whimpers from you, while his finger inside you moved just enough to make your thighs clench.
“How do you even know how to do that?” you breathed, voice breaking with a shaky gasp.
He hesitated, lips twitching like he was deciding whether to tell you, then muttered, “I… may have asked Toronbo.”
It took you a second to process. “You what ?”
“I gathered the Dragon Balls,” he said simply, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Your mouth dropped open, torn between horror and laughter. “You’re insane…what is wrong with you?”
“Hey,” he murmured, pressing his thumb down just right, pulling a moan from your throat before you could stop it, “I don’t hear you complaining.”
You rolled your eyes, heat still simmering low in your stomach. “We’ll talk about this later,” you said, your voice unsteady with pleasure.
“Later,” he agreed, though the smirk on his face told you he wasn’t even thinking about later right now.
He withdrew his hand slowly, his fingers glistening, before shifting between your thighs. You felt the warm, solid weight of him as he wrapped one hand around himself, guiding his cock to your entrance. The blunt head brushed against your wetness, sending a deep, involuntary shiver through your body. He paused there, watching you with that same hungry, searching look, like he needed your permission to move forward, but was already imagining exactly how it would feel.
You gave him a small nod, the desire swirling in your eyes mirroring his own.
When he pressed in, you felt the sweet stretch of him, the bittersweet burn as he rubbed himself against you, skin to skin, and a deeper, almost primordial closeness bloomed in your chest. Every inch brought you closer, more entangled, as if the moment itself could fuse the two of you together.
Then, with a slow, careful push, he was sheathed fully inside you. Your hands found their home, cupping his jaw, anchoring him to you as a soft, involuntary moan escaped his lips in tandem with your own. His shoulders tensed immediately, embarrassed, but you held his gaze, smiling gently, reassuringly. He blinked up at you, eyes bright with vulnerability and trust, and exhaled, basking in the sensation of your warm, soft walls wrapped around his cock.
Then he started to move.
He remained quiet at first, but the intensity of your connection made him more present, attuned. Every motion became a careful, measured dance of give and take. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you against him, feeling the way your body responded to his thrusts, adjusting instinctively to maximise your pleasure. The room seemed to shrink around you, every sigh, every heartbeat, every shiver drawing you impossibly closer until it was just the two of you, bound by heat, desire, and a fragile, tender intimacy.
His movements became steadier, more deliberate, each slow rock of his hips, each time his cock brushed against your sweet spot, it carried a weight that went beyond the physical. One arm circled your waist, pulling you close, while the other guided your hips with quiet determination, making sure you moved with him. His grip alternated between tender and greedy, fingers sometimes caressing your sides like he didn’t know if he wanted to savour or devour.
The press of your chests, the mingling of your uneven breaths, the way his eyes stayed locked on yours as if you were the only thing that mattered in his world. You held his jaw in your palm, thumb brushing over his cheekbone, and in that look between you there was trust, connection, and the electric thrill of discovery.
You could feel the tension coiling in him: the restrained push and pull of someone fighting the urge to lose himself too quickly. His shirt was clinging to his back, the damp fabric dragging faintly against your fingertips as you dug them in.
“You feel so perfect around me,” he muttered, voice rough and close to your ear. “Every time I push in, it’s like you’re holding me there on purpose.”
Your lips parted, a soft gasp escaping when his hips rolled just right, dragging him against that aching spot inside you.
“That’s it,” he breathed, watching your face like it was the only thing that mattered. “Show me what feels good. I want to see it. I want to hear it.”
One hand slid down your spine to your ass, gripping firmly, while the other cradled your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “You have no idea what you do to me… the way you squeeze me, gods, I could stay like this forever.”
The slick heat between you made each thrust melt into the next, a wet, rhythmic sound that filled the space along with your broken noises.
Your skin burned where it touched his, and you could feel the way his abs tightened with every buck of his hips. His breath caught when your walls fluttered around him. “Do that again,” he purred, his control starting to crack. “You’re gonna make me lose it.”
When you shifted in his lap, grinding down with deliberate pressure, his voice turned ragged. “Gods, don’t stop….don’t you dare stop–”
The next thrust was deeper, rougher, the sound of skin meeting skin sharp in the quiet room. His hands clamped around your hips, fingers digging in as he pulled you down to meet him with each sharp, needy drive.
“I’m close,” he panted, forehead pressed to yours, his breath hot and uneven, pupils blown wide.
You nodded frantically, clinging to him like a lifeline. Your moans broke and stuttered with every thrust, each one pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy.
The friction was relentless, dragging against every tender, desperate nerve inside you. You writhed and squirmed in his lap, hips shifting to take him deeper, chasing the release building low in your belly. Your walls tightened involuntarily, fluttering around him in erratic pulses, and your orgasm crashed into you so suddenly it sent you reeling. Stars crashed behind your eyelids as his name left your lips in a high-pitched cry. Your thighs trembled, pleasure wracking through your body relentlessly.
That was all it took.
A deep, guttural moan tore from his chest: raw, unrestrained—as his rhythm faltered. He pulled you down hard against him, burying himself to the hilt, holding you there as his release spilled hot inside you. His arms locked around your waist, the tremor in his muscles betraying just how much he was feeling it.
You could feel his heartbeat hammering against your chest, fast and unsteady, as he pressed his forehead to the curve of your neck. He stayed inside you, still pulsing with the aftershocks, as if letting you go too soon would break something between you.
Your breathing slowly steadied, the frantic rhythm of before melting into something softer, quieter. Neither of you moved right away, his arms stayed snug around you, your legs still tangled around his hips, the warmth between you making it hard to tell where one ended and the other began.
He finally eased back just enough to see your face, brushing a few damp strands of hair away from your eyes. His touch was reverent now, every stroke of his fingers a silent reassurance. You leaned into it, letting your forehead rest against his, relishing the way his chest rose and fell in sync with yours.
“You okay?” he murmured, voice low and threaded with concern.
You smiled, small but certain. “More than okay.”
The corner of his mouth lifted, relief softening the lines of his face. He wrapped his arms around you again, pulling you into a proper cuddle this time, your cheek pressed to his chest. The moonlight was still shining through the window, but now it felt gentler, silvering the edges of the moment rather than igniting it.
For a long time, you just stayed like that, your fingers idly tracing lazy circles over the muscles of his back, his own hand occasionally stroking your thigh. There was no rush to speak, just trust, warmth, and the quiet comfort of being exactly where you wanted to be.
Then, unable to resist, you broke the silence.
“I still can’t believe you asked the dragon for sex advice.”
His chest shook with a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling against your ear. “Hey, you can’t say it didn’t work.”
You groaned and swatted lightly at him, though your lips were already curving into a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” he said, tightening his hold on you like he never wanted to let go, “but I’d say it was worth it.”
“Worth it, huh?” you murmured.
He dipped his head until his lips brushed your temple. “More than worth it. You’re worth it.”
Your chest tightened: not in the heady, overwhelming way from earlier, but in something gentler, more enduring. You tipped your head back just enough to meet his eyes. There was no teasing there now, only a quiet sincerity that made your own smile soften.
You stayed wrapped up in him, moonlight still spilling over both of you, and thought that maybe this was your new favourite place in the universe.