NOVPUB
Chapter 69: Ch-69: Men should be merciful (R-18)
Later that evening, Tian Shen and Feng Yin return from the pork dinner, alone under the moonlight in a quiet pavilion.
The night air shimmered with a gentle breeze, brushing through the pine boughs like a whisper.
Somewhere in the distance, a flute played, its melody lazy and slow, drifting across the Feilun Sect’s lantern-lit pavilions.
Tian Shen leaned against the railing of the quiet overlook, gazing at the stars, his stomach full and his mood warm.
He heard soft footsteps behind him—light, measured, and somehow teasing.
Feng Yin’s presence was unmistakable. She didn’t announce herself, but he could feel her there, standing just close enough to touch.
"You’re quiet," she murmured, her voice silk over steel.
He tilted his head. "Too full to talk. I think I’ve been ambushed by pork and... by charm."
She gave a small snort of amusement, stepping beside him. Her robes rustled faintly, and the sleeve of her arm brushed his.
The contact lingered.
"Charm, huh?" she asked, brow arched. "Yueru’s or mine?"
He turned toward her slowly. The moonlight caught her face just right—those soft lips, the faint smile tugging at their corners, the wind tousling strands of her raven hair.
He didn’t answer. Not with words.
Instead, he reached up, his hand brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. "Yours," he said quietly. "Always yours."
For once, she didn’t tease. Her breath hitched slightly, and her eyes fluttered shut for a moment under his touch. 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘱𝘶𝑏.𝑐𝘰𝑚
"You’re getting bolder," she whispered.
Tian Shen leaned in, his voice low and warm.
"Maybe I learned it from someone much more bolder."
Feng Yin’s hand found his chest, fingers splaying slowly across the fabric.
"Careful. Bolder women tend to bite."
"I’m already bleeding," he said softly. "You just can’t see it."
She laughed quietly.
"Poetic now, are we?"
And then, with the softest movement, she rose on her toes and brushed her lips against his.
It was light at first. A breath shared. But when he didn’t pull back—when instead his hand moved to her waist and pulled her gently closer—it deepened. Slowly. Irresistibly.
Feng Yin’s fingers curled into his robes. His arms circled her more firmly, until there was nothing between them but heat and racing heartbeats.
Her kiss was like fire in moonlight—sweet, yet bold. He matched her with a quiet hunger, pulling her closer with each breath, as if afraid she’d vanish with the wind.
When they finally broke apart, lips flushed and breaths uneven, she rested her forehead against his.
"You always talk big," she murmured. "But you kiss like you mean it."
"I do," he said. "Every word, every second."
She looked up at him, her cheeks tinged faintly pink. "And if I don’t want to stop?"
He smiled.
"Then don’t."
...
They slipped inside the nearby rest room—empty and quiet. The walls glowed faintly with lantern light.
He sat first, knees drawn together, watching her silhouette approach.
Feng Yin stood before him silently, then knelt, straddling his lap in one slow, fluid motion.
Her hands rested on his shoulders. Her scent—mist and moonflowers—was intoxicating.
"You still think I’m irreplaceable?"
She whispered against his neck, her lips grazing skin.
His breath caught.
"I know you are."
She kissed beneath his jaw—once, twice—trailing soft fire down to his collarbone.
He pulled her tighter.
Their lips met again. Hungrier now.
Hands explored. Robes loosened. Skin brushed against skin, raising goosebumps. Her weight on him. His warmth against her. Breaths shallow. Hearts pounding.
She laughed low in her throat as he fumbled with the clasp of her sash.
"Hero-sama’s hands are shaking."
"I-it’s cold," he muttered.
"Liar."
She kissed him again, harder this time. His arms wrapped around her back, and their world narrowed to just each other—the heat, the closeness, the trembling anticipation.
Words melted into sighs. Teasing into tenderness. Tension into surrender.
And somewhere between breathless kisses and soft gasps, the moon slipped behind a cloud, cloaking them in shadow and silence.
...
When morning came, Tian Shen stirred awake to find Feng Yin nestled against him, her hair cascading across his chest like night spun into silk.
Her expression was peaceful, her breathing steady.
He smiled, gently brushing a finger along her cheek.
"Still terrifying," he whispered fondly.
She stirred, mumbling sleepily, "I heard that."
He chuckled and kissed her temple.
"You didn’t deny it."
She smirked without opening her eyes. "That’s because it’s true."
Later that very Night.
The night air shimmered with a gentle breeze, brushing through the pine boughs like a whisper. Somewhere in the distance, a flute played, its melody lazy and slow, drifting across the Feilun Sect’s lantern-lit pavilions.
Tian Shen leaned against the railing of the quiet overlook, gazing at the stars, his stomach full and his mood warm.
He heard soft footsteps behind him—light, measured, and somehow teasing.
Feng Yin’s presence was unmistakable. She didn’t announce herself, but he could feel her there, standing just close enough to touch.
"You’re quiet," she murmured, her voice silk over steel.
He tilted his head. "Too full to talk. I think I’ve been ambushed... by pork and charm."
She gave a small snort of amusement, stepping beside him. Her robes rustled faintly, and the sleeve of her arm brushed his.
The contact lingered.
"Charm, huh?" she asked, brow arched. "Yueru’s or mine?"
He turned toward her slowly. The moonlight caught her face just right—those soft lips, the faint smile tugging at their corners, the wind tousling strands of her raven hair.
He didn’t answer. Not with words.
Instead, he reached up, his hand brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. "Yours," he said quietly. "Always yours."
For once, she didn’t tease. Her breath hitched slightly, and her eyes fluttered shut for a moment under his touch.
"You’re getting bold," she whispered.
Tian Shen leaned in, his voice low and warm. "Maybe I learned it from someone dangerous."
Feng Yin’s hand found his chest, fingers splaying slowly across the fabric. "Careful. Dangerous women tend to bite."
"I’m already bleeding," he said softly. "You just can’t see it."
She laughed quietly. "Poetic now, are we?"
And then, with the softest movement, she rose on her toes and brushed her lips against his.
It was light at first. A test. A breath shared. But when he didn’t pull back—when instead his hand moved to her waist and pulled her gently closer—it deepened. Slowly. Irresistibly.
Feng Yin’s fingers curled into his robes. His arms circled her more firmly, until there was nothing between them but heat and racing heartbeats.
Her kiss was like fire in moonlight—sweet, yet bold. He matched her with a quiet hunger, pulling her closer with each breath, as if afraid she’d vanish with the wind.
When they finally broke apart, lips flushed and breaths uneven, she rested her forehead against his.
"You always talk big," she murmured. "But you kiss like you mean it."
"I do," he said. "Every word, every second."
She looked up at him, her cheeks tinged faintly pink.
"And if I don’t want to stop?"
He smiled.
"Then don’t."
...
Feng Yin’s body moved with practiced elegance, but her breath was no longer steady.
Each slow roll of her hips coaxed quiet, unguarded sounds from Tian Shen—groans swallowed into the crook of her neck, soft gasps buried in her hair.
His hands gripped her thighs, his arms firm around her back, as if anchoring himself to something real, something divine.
She was fierce and fluid above him—controlling the rhythm, testing his restraint. Her smirk wavered every time he thrust up to meet her, harder, deeper, answering dominance with burning reverence.
"Still so obedient," she murmured, her voice a shiver of silk. "I could command you to beg."
He shuddered. "I’d do it. For you."
Feng Yin faltered—just slightly. Her next breath caught.
The teasing light in her eyes dimmed for a heartbeat, replaced with something warmer. Deeper.
She leaned in close, forehead pressed to his, strands of hair falling around their faces like a veil.
"You’d really kneel for me?"
She asked, quieter now. Not mocking. But Curious, nervous.
Tian Shen didn’t hesitate.
"I will."
She kissed him—desperate this time. Lips trembling, hands cradling his face as if it were the only thing holding her together.
The kiss broke only when she gasped his name, trembling around him.
He flipped them gently, pinning her beneath him on the polished wood, the remains of her robe pooling beneath her like spilled moonlight.
His hands braced on either side of her, and he looked down at her like she was sacred.
"You okay?"
He asked softly, brushing hair from her temple.
She smiled—small and real.
"I’m yours for the picking," she said.
Tian Shen didn’t speak. Words felt too fragile.
Instead, he kissed her neck, her collarbone, her chest. He took his time—each movement deliberate, lips and hands charting her like an ancient map.
His fingers found their way to her twat, preparing it for the hardships that was about to began.
"AAGHH~"
"AAAAHH~"
Every sigh from her lips fueled his devotion. Every flutter of her lashes, every arch of her back, burned itself into his memory.
With just a bit of foreplay, she was ready. Ready to let him inside.
Tian Shen, already rock hard, didn’t waste another minute as he slowly let his d*ck slip inside her.
"AAAGGHH~"
Slowly, he began to thrust, jackhammering her to the point where her eyes rolled up and tongue out.
"Slo-AAHHH~, Slow-AAHH~, AAGHHH~ down-"
But he wasn’t in the move to obey. Everytime he thrust his d*ck inside her again, it was faster. Deeper.
Feng Yin clung to him, her body open, vulnerable, her dominance momentarily surrendered in the quiet intimacy of his arms.
He kissed her fingers. Her shoulder. The hollow of her throat.
"You don’t have to be strong for me," he whispered. "Not always."
Her eyes fluttered open—stormy and soft all at once.
"Then, AAHH~ don’t you- AAHHH~ dare let go!!"
He didn’t.
He moved with her—gentle, but with purpose.
The room filled with soft, breathless sounds—gasps, murmurs, the creak of the floor beneath them.
Heat built slowly, not like wildfire, but like a hearth—steady, consuming.
"UGGHH"
*SPLURT**SPLURT**SPLURT*
"AAAGGGHHHHH~"
*SQUIRT**SQUIRT**SQUIRT*
When the climax came, it wasn explosive. That left Feng Yin shaking.
Taking few deep breathes, she said.
"That was-HAH~, That was great!"
Feng Yin buried her face in his shoulder, her breath stuttering against his skin. He held her through it, but still smugly replied.
"Was? The night is still long, my dear."
Tian Shen stroked her back slowly, feeling the rise and fall of her chest against his.
"Y-you can go on?"
She questioned, surprised.
With a deadpan look, he retorted, slightly annoyed.
"I always can. I just didn’t because you looked too overcooked after one round."
Feng Yin blushed, ashamed, but didn’t admit defeat. Though tired, still stubbornly said.
"T-then, bring it on."
But she forgot that she just climaxed and was still sensetive.
Tian Shen, provoked successfully, thrusted as deep as he could.
"AAAGGHHH~"
*SQUIRT**SQUIRT**SQUIRT*
...
Morning.
When the sun filtered softly through the paper walls, the room had quieted to a tranquil hum.
Tian Shen stirred first, blinking slowly into the warm glow.
Feng Yin lay curled against him, bare skin tucked beneath scattered folds of fabric. Her hair fanned across his chest like silk spun from night.
She looked peaceful.
So very unlike the sharp, cunning storm she was to the world.
He reached up, brushing his fingers along her cheek, memorizing the curve of her lashes, the faint flush still lingering across her face.
"Cute," he whispered fondly.
She didn’t open her eyes, but she winced.
"It hurts."
He laughed, low and warm, then kissed her temple.
"You provoked me."
"Hmph," she pouted, shifting lazily against him.
"Can’t you show some mercy to this poor little lady."
Tian Shen wrapped his arms around her more tightly.
"But my poor little lady, who is the one who always try to one up me, huh? Tell me."
This time, she opened her eyes.
Her gaze met his—tired, soft, and incredibly present.
She whispered, blushing, almost becoming tomato.
"I am."
