Monster Tamer is the Worst Class

The moon filtered through the twisted branches of the enchanted forest, casting silvery beams over the dome of webs that Morwynn wove with silent precision.

High above, where only the wind dared to reach, she had constructed something new — a lace-like platform, firm enough to hold their bodies, yet as flexible as a suspended breath.

Eren watched with his usual calm, but his eyes couldn’t hide the curiosity. The structure gleamed like an improvised altar, elevated, where only she decided what was revealed — and what was not.

Morwynn beckoned him with a subtle gesture, her clawed finger tracing a semicircle in the air.

"Lie down, Eren. This dance begins with me."

He obeyed without words, lying down on the tangle of living silk. The surface was cold at first, then warm. It vibrated, as if each thread pulsed with anticipation.

Morwynn moved above him with animalistic grace. Her slender body, outlined by the silvery light, was of a strange beauty — long-limbed, elegant, with discreet curves and small breasts that barely moved as she took a deep breath. Her arachnid legs enveloped the platform soundlessly, as if she walked on the void itself.

"Do you think you’ve seen pleasure, Eren?" she whispered, lowering herself to him. "I am made to hunt."

Without real force, but with symbolic firmness, she bound his wrists with warm threads that seemed to kiss the skin. It wasn’t imprisonment — it was provocation. The silk touch molded to his contours like heated ink.

Eren remained still. He didn’t need to fight against it. The vulnerability she offered was, at its core, control — and he understood that better than anyone.

Morwynn slid one of her legs across his chest, and the soft hooks of her joints touched his skin with the gentleness of feathers, tracing invisible lines. A slight shiver ran through Eren’s torso, more unsettling for its precision than for the contact.

Then she "stitched."