Perhaps it’s because you were new to the Hold, and there are always so many things to learn about. Remembering all the churches’ locations could be challenging, and you would always get lost. You couldn’t even break a single rises’ contraptions while others did it so effortlessly. And when enemies were stronger than you, you couldn’t help trembling like a leaf during a cold storm.

It was exhausting. You always thought you were a failure. Yet, giving up was never your intention. Like any other Night Farers, you want to stop the Night as much as you want to go home.

That’s why Ironeye and Wylder are there to take care of you. Whether you wanted to or not.

Ironeye’s a mature, sharp, and deeply unreadable man. He doesn’t talk unless there’s something worth saying, and he doesn’t entertain anything that drifts too close to sentiment. He's the most experienced in the Shrouded Hold, so everyone respects him. Even though the way he treats you feels kind of humiliating at certain times, you've never once overlooked what he has to say.

As for Wylder, he's got that soft-spoken, steady kind of warmth. The kind that settles deep in your bones and makes you feel safe. Big hands, soft voice, and a kind heart, even though he's a little overbearing sometimes. Since you're new to this place, he always ensures you eat and sleep well. He even double-checks your gear three times pre-expeditions and always walks behind you.

But whenever you’re paired with those two, it always leads to something else. You see, they both have this look in their eyes that is a little bit hard to read. The kind that always seems like they're up to something.

Like that time Wylder held out a strange, delicate branch and asked if it smelled like anything. You leaned in, trusting, and perhaps merely curious.

And then everything went quiet.

The moment your nose brushed the bloom, your expression shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. Your body didn’t crumple but stayed upright. However, your eyes lost all focus, going glassy and hollow. Your lips parted, like you were about to speak, but no sound followed. Just silence.

A crushing guilt followed Wylder almost instantly. He hadn’t expected Ironeye to take things this far or himself to go along with it. But the temptation…the raw, terrible thrill of having control over you, of watching your will slip away under his touch—it was harder to resist than he’d ever admit.

You looked so heartbreakingly beautiful sprawled on the ground like that, vacant eyes fixed on the air with lips slightly parted. Completely docile, and theirs to admire.

The moment Ironeye gave the quiet order for you to undress, Wylder told himself it was harmless. You’d forget, the branch would wipe everything clean once it's done messing with your mind.

So when his trembling hands cupped your soft breasts for the first time, his heart thundered violently against his ribs. Not just from desire, but from fear. A hollow, suffocating fear that you’d suddenly blink and wake up from it.

It was never wrong of him to desire you this badly. The green assassin might have a fleeting interest in you, but Wylder's in for the long run.

He stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat as Ironeye stepped forward, his gloved fingers curling beneath your chin. With casual confidence, the green assassin tilted your head up and leaned in, claiming your lips with a kiss that was anything but gentle.

It was slow at first. Then it deepened, possessive and wet, tongues sliding together with obscene familiarity. You didn’t respond, you couldn’t. You just stood there, lips parted, your breath hitching only slightly as Ironeye devoured you like he had every right.

Wylder’s fists clenched at his sides. He watched as Ironeye’s hand crept to the back of your neck, holding you in place, mouth moving hungrily against yours. The soft, involuntary sounds escaping your throat lit a dangerous fire in Wylder’s gut.

You were so still. So pliant. So unbearably beautiful in your trance, like a doll being toyed by wolves.

Ironeye’s lips barely left yours when he spoke, his voice low and laced with control. “Help him out of those,” he murmured, eyes flicking toward Wylder, whose breath caught at the order.

You turned slowly, dreamlike. Your fingers moved to the ties of Wylder’s braies, delicate and careful, brushing against the warm skin beneath. He sucked in a breath, his body tensing as he watched you kneel without hesitation.

You emotionlessly took Wylder's cock in your hand and began to have your way with it when the assassin ordered you to. Tender fingers moved in fluid strokes, rhythm steady and uncaring. The lewdity made Wylder shudder as his hips twitched, his jaw clenched. He’s pushing himself to not lose it completely under the dead calm of your gaze.

Ironeye loomed behind you, silent now, save for the slow exhale that ghosted across the back of your neck. Such a devil he was.

Without a care in the world, you lowered your head. The blunt press of your mouth landed on Wylder's tip, parting slowly around him as you took him in.

“Hahh—god—” the poor man's body jerked, a strangled breath bursting from him.

You swallowed him deeper, unblinking. Wylder groaned. His hands trembled at his sides, to hold, to worship or to be. But you didn’t offer comfort. You just kept moving, wet sounds rising between your lips and his helpless gasps, your jaw working him in and out like a marionette built for this exact task.

It didn't take long for him to come all over your face. Thick, smoldering white matter spilled across your face in hot streaks, like the last stroke to an unfinished painting.

Wylder's release was sudden, but your expression remained the same. Eyes half-lidded, lips parted, not even a blink to mark the moment. You just stared past him, still and bare, lost in that strange quiet spell the Bewitching Branch had folded around you.

From behind, Ironeye drank the scene in like fine wine with arms crossed. Something in the way your blank gaze looked back at him whenever he ordered you around, just scratch him so damn right it made his pants tight. And to think someone like Wylder would agree to such a thing, the Night's probably going to end tomorrow.

No longer being modest, Wylder’s fingers curled tighter, guiding you gently, chest to chest as he lay down and pulled you with him. His cock, still stiff with the aftermath, found your soaked entrance without resistance. He pushed in with a groan, eyes fluttering shut behind his helm as you sank down, slow and seamless, your cunt gripping him like you were made for this.

You didn’t move on your own. Your body folded easily into place, resting atop him with arms loose at his sides, legs parted without tension, and mind blanked as his hips began to thrust up. Hard. Rhythmic. Desperate.

Wylder gasped, hands at your waist, steadying you, controlling your motion as he pounded up into you. Your breath came soft and shallow through parted lips, but your eyes didn’t focus, your limbs stayed limp, bouncing with every thrust but never responding.

“F-fuck, she’s…,” Wylder gasped, hands at your waist, controlling your motion as he pounded up into you.

The man nearly died as your tits bounced with every thrust. It also scared him a little bit because your body's starting to respond, but at the same time, the thrill's keeping him alive.

Then Ironeye was there, looming behind, one hand sliding between your cheeks, the other gripping your shoulder, steadying you as he guided his cock to your other virginal entrance. Thick and unrelenting, the tight heat of your ass stretching around him with no resistance.

Your body rocked between them now. With Wylder buried in your cunt, hips slamming upward in quick, frantic bursts. And Ironeye grinding deeper from behind, fucking you slow and heavy, every thrust felt like a deliberate claim. Everything felt unreal.

Your walls suddenly fluttered, clenching without you realizing, taking both men at once, so full you could barely be moved without feeling them pulse inside you.

Then you were still, as ever, fingers curling uselessly against Wylder’s chest as your body wouldn’t stop moving. Filled to the brim again and again as you were, their rhythm never faltered. One cock grinding deep in your cunt, hot and fast, while the other pressed relentless into your ass, thicker, slower, claiming every inch of your body.

The heat inside you had built without warning, rising from somewhere far away, like a thread pulled too tight. Until something cracked.

Your pussy clenched hard, pulsing spasms rippling around Wylder’s cock with slick gushing out in sudden waves, soaking your thighs, his stomach, and dripping down to where Ironeye slammed in from behind.

Your body writhed not by will, but by reflex, hips twitching, muscles trembling with release even as your mind stayed fogged, trapped behind the wall of that trance. Your orgasm tore through you like a whisper caught in a hurricane.

It didn’t feel real. It's as if your skin belonged to someone else, as if your limbs were a puppet’s. Your eyes stayed open, lashes heavy with sweat, lips parted just slightly. You couldn’t move or speak.

The only sign of your climax was the way your cunt twitched, still leaking, gripping Wylder so tight he groaned with each thrust, teeth sunk into your neck. Ironeye just kept going, fucking you like he was pushing the trance deeper, each motion cruel.

Half-awake, half-dreaming, you were locked there, floating in that fragile space between sensation and thought, like sleep paralysis.

In a moment, your mind was yours as you couldn't believe what you were seeing and feeling right then. You couldn't help but pray that it's just a twisted dream, a dream so bad that once you wake up, you don’t think you’ll look at them the same anymore.

Until you're completely out of it again, eyes blank and mind hazy with cold sweat, body soft and pliant again under their hands as they had their way with you.

The Bewitching Branch might be the most useless thing ever agaisnt non-human mobs. But it surely is something else on cute maidens like you.