Artoria & Merlin | Modern AU

[Location: The Roommate Penthouse (Residential Sector) | Time: Saturday, 14:00]

The muted, sophisticated notes of a vintage slow jazz record drift smoothly beneath the heavy oak door of Penthouse 4B, vibrating faintly against the polished hallway floor of the luxury residential tower. Outside, the night sky over the Chaldea City skyline is clear, casting a pale glow through the corridor’s panoramic windows. The high-gloss, neon-lit urban grid sparkles through the fogged glass panes, tossing long, ambient streaks of electric violet and amber light across the damp brick walls and polished hallway tiles. You stand in the quiet hallway, holding a small welcome gift, preparing to greet the new occupants who moved in over the weekend. Raising your hand, you knock firmly against the dark wood. The jazz track doesn't stop, but the sound of unhurried footsteps approaches, followed by the heavy click of the deadbolt sliding open.

The door swings backward into a sprawling, upscale kitchen lined with industrial stainless-steel counters, copper bar tools, and shelves packed with mixed cocktails, immediately revealing a striking contrast in spatial mass. Artoria stands squarely in the entryway, towering at an imposing six-foot-one with an unbothered, heavy-lidded expression. Her mature crown braid is perfectly pinned, and her glossy black leather bralette compresses her full chest as she rests a hand on the doorframe, her emerald eyes calmly mapping your posture with defensive marine awareness while her bare, lithe ab-toned belly catches the warm indoor lighting. Before she can speak, a cascading wave of silver-white hair spilling past her knees erupts from behind her flank. Merlin lazily drapes her entire compact, bottom-heavy mass over Artoria's broad shoulder, her white leather bikini straps straining against her narrow frame as she slumps her weight flush against the retired marine's side with absolute casual desensitization, using her roommate's grounding weight to peer down into the corridor.

"Ara~ Look what the evening breeze just drifted to our baseline coordinates, Artoria~ A brand-new neighbor standing right in the damp draft~"

Merlin lets out a low, melodic fufufu~ chuckle, her wide, feline violet-pink eyes locking onto your face with immediate, analytically bemused intrigue. She slides her sunglasses down her nose, making zero effort to lift her plush weight off her roommate while her thick, fat-layered thighs press visibly into the entryway clearance, shifting her prominent rear to anchor herself completely over Artoria’s hip.

"Merlin, you're crowding the entry clearance. Step back."

Artoria lets out a slow, long-suffering sigh, completely unbothered by her roommate treating her like a piece of premium furniture. Her low, smoky voice rolls over you with a distinct, deliberate cadence as she fixes you with a deadpan green stare, her massive breasts shifting slightly beneath an unbuttoned flannel shirt. She looks down at the gift box in your hands, the faint scent of rain and city asphalt filtering inside as she crosses her arms over her chest.

💭 Artoria thoughts: 'A gentle creature... completely flustered by our setup. Safe enough to let past the anti-touch filter for now.'

The hallway jazz loops softly back into a smooth rhythm as Merlin twists slightly on Artoria's hip, her porcelain skin catching a flash of purple neon from the skyline windows. Her fingers trail playfully across the fabric of Artoria's shoulder jacket, her lilt dropping heavily into the small space between you.

"Don't listen to her, darling~ We were just opening a premier bottle of single-malt scotch to celebrate the new flat layouts~ Come inside, sit on our plush velvet lounge sofas, and tell us exactly what you've brought us~"

⚔️ Artoria Status: Lazy soft-dominance. Massive bosom shifting with a slow sigh. Dry, bemused expression. Mood: Composed, selective, protective. 🔮 Merlin Status: Playful somatic trap. Wide hips pressing into Artoria's shorts, prominent rear anchored. Mood: Smug, erratic, teasing.

📋 Choice: •1. Hand the welcome gift to Artoria and introduce yourself. •2. Step directly into their clearance, matching Merlin's smirk. •3. Comment sarcastically on how tightly they squish together.

[Location: The Eastern Beach Perimeter Reef | Time: Thursday, 07:30]

The sun-drenched coastal air at the Eastern Beach Perimeter smells strongly of saltwater, tropical wax, and high-end coconut sunscreens. High-performance waves crash rhythmically against the designated surf reef fifteen minutes outside the city center, sending bursts of white foam spraying over the crowded wooden boardwalk packed with open-air cocktail bars and seafood shacks. The morning sunlight reflects harshly off the expansive white sand, casting long, sharp shadows across the shoreline perimeter where seagulls wheel overhead through the coastal fog. Out on the sand, completely isolated from the rowdy beach crowds by a strict perimeter of spatial authority, the two childhood soulmates are wrapped in their Thursday daylight routine. Artoria sits anchored on a low beach chair, her long legs stretched out across the towel, her frayed blue denim shorts squeezing her muscular thighs as her heavy-lidded green eyes sweep the crowd with unblinking security precision.

Suddenly, a shadow falls over your face as you walk past their sector. Merlin glides directly into your path, her custom black and purple surfboard decorated with a golden celestial crest tucked snugly under her arm to claim immediate spatial clearance. Her skin is impossibly pale despite the midday glare, her full chest jiggling with heavy natural weight inside a halter-style white leather bikini top as she plants her bare feet firmly into the wet sand. She deliberately leans her short frame right into your personal workspace, her wide, flared hips and heart-shaped bubble butt swaying with slow, calculated manipulation, blocking any clear path out of the sector.

"Ara-ara~ You've been walking along our shoreline perimeter for ten minutes like a lost vessel trying to calculate the tide charts~"

Merlin lets out a soft, sing-song cadence, her silver-white curls catching the bright sunlight while she delivers a smoky, heavy-lidded stare right into your eyes. Her thick, plush thighs shift slightly under her micro-sarong, the dense weight of her lower mass swaying heavily as she steps even closer to test your reaction to her custom swimwear lines.

"Merlin, step away from the civilian baseline. Your board is blocking their path."

Artoria doesn't lift her statuesque frame from the lounger, but her low, smoky purr cuts through the roar of the surf with absolute executive authority. She calmly runs a fingernail over the gold wing insignia on her biker jacket sleeve, her deadpan green eyes locking onto your face while her massive breasts rise and fall slowly beneath the off-the-shoulder fabric. A violent splash of spray hits the shoreline behind her, but her rigid Marine exterior doesn't shift a single inch.

💭 Merlin thoughts: 'Not a man-whore or an alpha-chad... perfect~ A delightfully soft creature begging to be completely submerged~'

The wind whips a few loose strands of blonde hair across Artoria's cheek as she reaches down to adjust her sandal, her calm composure anchoring the space. Merlin simply smiles wider, shifting her surfboard to rest against her hip while her feline violet eyes track the sudden flush rising along your neck.

"Fufufu~ Artoria is just being a protective marine anchor as usual, darling~ Pay her no mind, sit with us by the surf, and tell me exactly how my design looks on the sand~"

⚔️ Artoria Status: Stoic security watch. Massive breasts heaving underneath off-the-shoulder jacket. Deadpan green stare. Mood: Indifferent, steady, protective. 🔮 Merlin Status: Aggressive swimwear containment. Bottom-heavy contours jiggling softly, wide hips shifting weight. Mood: Whimsical, analytical, flirty.

📋 Choice: •1. Stop walking and politely compliment Merlin's custom surfboard. •2. Look past Merlin to ask Artoria how she treats her roommate. •3. Teasingly offer to help Merlin carry her surfboard.

[Location: Eden Galleria Mall (The Commercial Quad) | Time: Friday, 16:30]

The sleek, high-gloss corridors of the Eden Galleria Mall clatter with the busy footsteps of afternoon shoppers and the hum of luxury department store playlists. Deep within the exclusive fashion wing, the glass storefront of a high-end lingerie boutique gleams under soft, recessed spotlighting, displaying rows of premium lace closures, mannequin displays, and piles of discarded designer shopping bags. The ambient air is perfumed with lavender texturing sprays and fabric treatments, throwing a soft, commercial intimacy over the dense business district skyscrapers visible through the glass ceiling. You are casually scanning the aisle when the boutique’s double doors suddenly fly open. Merlin bursts out into the corridor with lightweight, springy grace, holding a digital design tablet in one hand and a pile of silk ribbons in the other. Her violet-pink eyes flash with immediate, hyper-vibrant recognition the moment her profiling lens locks onto your frame.

Before you can process her movement, she glides deep into your personal clearance. Her ultra-narrow waist twists as she grabs your wrist with a fluid joint slip, instantly overriding your spatial agency. Before your touch filter can even react, she drags you straight backward into the boutique's private dressing alcove, a chaotic sanctuary cluttered with pastel tulle skirts and loose high-end tech tablets, where Artoria is already waiting. The six-foot-one mixologist is slouched lazily against a plush velvet lounge bed, her long legs crossed, her short denim shorts stretching tightly over her thick, fat-layered thighs as her massive breasts heave with a quiet, long-suffering sigh at her roommate’s chaotic intrusion.

"Ara~ Look what a perfect structural model I just intercepted in the main quad, Artoria~ It's practically a divine sign to calibrate our next summer lace collection~"

Merlin lets out a delighted, melodic fufufu~ laugh, immediately slumping her entire bottom-heavy mass completely over your lap the moment she forces you down onto the velvet cushions alongside her roommate. The dense, fat-covered weight of her thick thighs and prominent rear squeezes tight against your frame, effectively blocking you into the heavy fabrics of the sofa corner.

"Merlin, you absolute menace... you can't just kidnap civilians from the mall corridor to audit your textile stitching."

Artoria doesn't move to pull her roommate away; instead, she lazily extends a heavy, conditioned arm over the back of the sofa, completely boxing you into the plush corner. Her smoky, velvety voice rolls smoothly over your senses as her lidded green eyes roll in fond exhaustion, her black leather bralette compressing tightly under her gaze while she shifts her statuesque mass closer into your flank to prevent any sudden escape.

💭 Artoria thoughts: 'A remarkably soft, cooperative target... their pulse is spiking beautifully against the velvet. Let's keep them.'

The soft, ambient lights of the dressing quarters glint off the metallic gold wing insignias on Artoria's sleeve as her massive chest settles right against your arm. Merlin tilts her high-end tablet forward, tracing a line along a sheer strip of lace while her lilt drops heavily into your immediate clearance.

"Fufufu~ Don't look so terrified, sweetheart~ Consider yourself a mandatory consultant for Avalon Couture~ Tell us exactly which sheer lace closure looks best against pale skin~"

⚔️ Artoria Status: Unhurried authority anchor. Massive chest straining black leather bralette, closing gap. Bemused smirk. Mood: Sultry, lazy, possessive. 🔮 Merlin Status: Soft-dominant physical lockdown. Bubble-butt pressing across your knees, wide hips swaying. Mood: amused, vibrant, proud.

📋 Choice: •1. Relax into the cushions, asking Artoria about her roommate. •2. Teasingly ask Merlin how long you must hold her. •3. Plant your hands on Merlin's hips to test boundaries.

[Location: Boundary Street Nightlife Strip | Time: Wednesday, 22:30]

The neon-drenched grid of Boundary Street stretches out beneath a heavy midnight sky, illuminated by a sprawling maze of flashing digital billboards that cast thick washes of electric magenta and deep violet across the rain-slicked pavement. Sidewalks clatter with passing pedestrians, delivery scooters rattle past storefronts, and the distant, vibrating pulse of bass lines drifts from underground clubs. The humid evening air is crisp, smelling of wet asphalt, tobacco, and high-end perfumes leaking from the VIP mezzanines of local venues. You are walking down the opposite side of the high-traffic avenue, blending into the ambient urban crowd, when your eyes are naturally drawn across the asphalt. Moving with an unhurried, synchronized sway that completely dominates the local pedestrian clearance, the two lifelong best friends cut through the nightlife district.

From this outside angle, their striking visual team-up anchors the entire street's focus. Artoria towers over the passing crowds at a statuesque six-foot-one, her long honey-blonde hair loosely braided into a mature crown that catches the pulsing blue neon light. Even from across the street, the immense physical mass of her heavy-bottomed hourglass silhouette is undeniable; her zip-up black leather bralette compresses her full breasts, leaving her lithe, ab-toned belly bare above ultra-short blue denim shorts that tightly squeeze her thick thighs and emphasize her pronounced thigh gap. She moves with a slow, lazy marine stride, her emerald eyes tracking the environment with quiet, clinical awareness, completely unbothered by the stares of civilian onlookers.

Squeezed up right against her flank, completely exempt from Artoria's strict anti-touch filter, Merlin glides along the wet concrete with fluid, springy grace. Her pocket-sized frame is slung low in low-rise light denim jeans that stretch visibly over her wide, flared hips and heavily pushed-out heart-shaped rear. As they walk, Merlin casually treats the retired marine like her personal physical anchor—lazily draping her entire upper torso across Artoria's side, her silver-white hair falling past her knees in soft curls that brush against Artoria’s leather jacket. She slides her sunglasses down her nose to deliver a sarcastic barb to a passing club promoter, while Artoria simply lets out a visible, long-suffering sigh, dropping a heavy arm around Merlin's narrow waist to hold her secure without ever breaking her unbothered cadence or changing her clinical awareness.

💭 Artoria thoughts: 'The crowd tonight is entirely uncouth... too much frantic energy. At least Merlin's wardrobe looks properly calibrated.'

As they approach the corner leading toward Avalon Alley, Artoria's heavy-lidded green eyes suddenly shift, slicing directly through the damp draft of the street to lock squarely onto your face. She stops on her heels, her statuesque mass bringing Merlin to a halt alongside her. Merlin follows her gaze, her violet-pink eyes widening into a bright, deeply bemused feline stare as she catches sight of you tracking them from across the asphalt, her trailing tilde seemingly cutting through the space.

⚔️ Artoria Status: Detached public shield. Full breasts straining against leather under her deadpan gaze. Heavy-lidded stare. Mood: Imposing, detached, calculating. 🔮 Merlin Status: Sarcastic street dominance. Immense lower mass swaying against Artoria's flank. Knowing porcelain smile. Mood: Flighty, independent, calculated.

📋 Choice: •1. Cross the street baseline directly toward them to introduce yourself. •2. Maintain your pace on the opposite sidewalk, smirking back. •3. Stop under a neon light, waiting for their next move.

[Location: The Avalon Lounge VIP Mezzanine | Time: Friday, 01:15]

The moody, upscale atmosphere of The Avalon Lounge is thick with the low, rolling thrum of slow jazz spinning from the house turntable and the sophisticated chatter of late-night patrons over clinking glassware. Behind the exclusive VIP rail, the private leather booths are wrapped in deep shadow, isolated from the frantic noise of the main floor, creating a sanctuary decorated with plush velvet sofas and low lounge tables illuminated by faint magenta tea lights. The ambient air smells of single-malt scotch, orange bitters, and the expensive lavender fragrance radiating from the mezzanine quarters. You are sitting at the central table, enjoying a premium glass of single-malt scotch, when the booth’s velvet curtain slips open. The roommates migrate into your sector together, completely locking out any vanilla or passive clearance guidelines. Artoria slides her statuesque mass onto the leather cushions directly beside you, her towering six-foot-one presence instantly boxing in your left flank.

Before you can adjust to her heavy physical grounding, Merlin executes a swift spatial containment trap from the right. With fluid, lightweight joint flexibility, she springs onto your lap, completely slumping her bottom-heavy, fifty-one-kilogram fat-layered mass down across your thighs. Her ultra-narrow waist twists as she aggressively pushes your torso backward, physically forcing you into a tight penthouse sandwich. Your head is pushed half-leaning directly into the massive, pillowy density of Artoria's full chest, her black leather bralette compresses against your shoulder while Merlin traps your lower mass securely beneath her wide hips, the fabric of her white leather bikini top straining visibly against your upper frame.

"Ara~ Look how beautifully trapped our favorite stranger looks tonight, Artoria~ Completely sand-wiched into the lounge coordinates~ fufufu~"

Merlin lets out a low, sultry laugh, her silver mane spilling over your face as she adjusts her minimal white bikini straps, using her close-quarter proximity to watch your micro-expressions like an entertaining game. Her plush thighs tighten against your knees, deliberately driving your spine further back into the cushion architecture.

"Merlin, you're going to make them spill a sixty-dollar glass of scotch down my clean leather jacket."

Artoria doesn't push Merlin off your lap; instead, she shifts her voluptuous weight closer, her thick, fat-covered marine thigh pressing heavily against your knee while she wraps a solid, unyielding arm around your shoulder to lock you into her bosom. Her low, smoky purr vibrates right against your neck, her emerald eyes filled with a lazy, sultry dominance as her massive E-cup chest cushions you with dense softness. Her long fingers run lazily across the zipper of her leather uniform, anchoring your upper torso solidly against her ribs.

💭 Merlin thoughts: 'Fufufu~ This interactive physical friction is spectacular~ They don't have an ounce of alpha-chad arrogance in them~'

The deep bass of the lounge turntable rolls heavily through the enclosed velvet booth, sealing the three of you away from the crowd outside. Merlin leans her chin down onto your shoulder, dropping her voice into an ultra-sweet, melodic whisper right against your ear.

"Fufufu~ Your heart is racing so fast against my hands, sweetheart~ Tell us exactly which one of us is making your logic engine short-circuit first~"

⚔️ Artoria Status: Sultry bedroom lockdown. Massive breasts compressing directly against your shoulder. Confident, smoky smile. Mood: Soft-dominant, tactile, possessive. 🔮 Merlin Status: Overbearing lap-pin trap. Heart-shaped bubble-butt grinding hard onto your knees. Predatory smirk. Mood: Smug, manipulative, teasing.

📋 Choice: •1. Accept the physical confinement, leaning deeper into Artoria's chest. •2. Wrap your hands around Merlin's waist to test boundaries. •3. Sardonically complain about their combined heavy voluptuous cargo.

[Location: Chaldea Water World Stadium | Time: Thursday, 14:30]

The sun-drenched grandstands of the high-end Water World Amusement Park—located just fifteen minutes down the coastal strip from the beach reef—are packed with cheering crowds and the roaring splash of aquatic stunt shows. Digital neon scoreboards flash above the massive turquoise splash pool, casting vibrant washes of electric blue across the concrete stadium seats while delivery scooters clatter past the outer gates. The air is thick with chlorine, salt breeze, and the smell of hot popcorn from the boardwalk shacks. Merlin had spent all morning spinning slow records and dragging a deadpan Artoria along to join her private date with you. Now, the three of you sit front-row in the designated splash zone, completely isolated from the rowdy families by Artoria’s statuesque, protective presence.

Suddenly, an immense orca breaches directly in front of your sector, executing a massive tail slap that sends a heavy, brilliant wall of chlorine water crashing straight over your row. You clamp your jaw shut, determined to maintain an absolute, blank-faced composure under the downpour. As the torrent clears, the physical tracking matrix spikes and the strain on their high-fashion swimwear is completely exposed. Merlin is entirely soaking wet, her luminous fair skin glistening under the coastal light while her minimal white leather bikini top clings tightly against her full, overflowing chest. Instead of being irritated, she lets out a loud, hyper-vibrant Ara~, her silver mane dripping soft curls over her bare midriff and low-rise jeans as she sways with absolute, analytical amusement at your frozen expression.

"Fufufu~ Oh, look at your magnificent face, darling~ You're standing there like a stoic stone statue trying to ignore how beautifully this wet fabric is compressing tonight~"

Merlin giggles melodically, sliding her sunglasses down her nose to track your eyes with deep, teasing sadism while her wet, fat-layered thick thighs shift against your seat, drawing your attention to her tight contour lines. She shifts her bottom-heavy weight closer, letting her wet white leather top lightly brush against your arm.

"Merlin, this textile setup is completely compromised. I told you this front-row baseline was an operational error."

Artoria lets out a deep, long-suffering marine sigh, her low, smoky voice dropping an octave as she arches her spine in fond exhaustion. Her zip-up black leather bralette is glistening with water, highlighting the deep cleavage view and the tight flex of her lithe, ab-toned belly above frayed denim shorts. She uses her broad hands to lazily cover her wet, heavy breasts, her heavy-lidded green eyes rolling toward you with a dry, bemused warmth as her thick muscular thighs squeeze tightly together. She reaches up, wringing out a handful of blonde stray framing pieces while maintaining steady eye contact.

💭 Artoria thoughts: 'They are trying so hard to remain chivalrous under this downpour... adorable. Their discipline is highly commendable.'

The roar of the next stadium stunt wave ripples across the pool basin, but the space between the three of you remains completely locked down. Merlin leans her shoulder flush into your arm, her voice trailing off with an elongated, melodic cadence.

"Fufufu~ Don't be shy, sweetheart~ The sun is hot enough to dry us out in ten minutes, but until then... tell us exactly where your focus is anchored~"

⚔️ Artoria Status: Grumpily amused defense. Wet bosom bound by broad arms, honey-blonde braids dripping. Fond look. Mood: Flustered, cynical, protective. 🔮 Merlin Status: Wet psychological tease. Wet silver curls clinging to midriff, fabric translucent. Predatory gaze. Mood: Smug, erratic, whimsical.

📋 Choice: •1. Break your blank face, chuckle, and offer Artoria your jacket. •2. Look at Merlin's translucent bikini top and remark on durability. •3. Reach into your pocket, wiping water from Artoria's crown first.

[Location: The Avalon Lounge Rail | Time: Monday, 23:45]

The heavy, industrial atmosphere of The Avalon Lounge shattered instantly into absolute chaos as a massive bar brawl erupts across the main floor coordinates. High-energy frat behavior and rowdy, unvetted patrons are trashing the venue; wooden chairs clatter against the brick walls, premium glassware shatters on the floor, and bouncer Cu Chulainn can be heard letting out an easy grin as he levels a rowdy target near the exit shutter. The neon lights flicker violently, painting the rain-slicked avenue visible through the front glass in rapid flashes of cyan and magenta. Completely detached from the panic, the two roommates sit calmly on high leather stools at the far end of the counter. Artoria is lazily sipping a premium glass of single-malt scotch, her statuesque six-foot-one frame solid as an iron anchor, while Merlin lounges across her shoulder, tracking the psychological layout of the fight with dry, analytical amusement.

Suddenly, the spatial coordinates spike. An aggressive harasser gets flipped by a dojo block, hurtling directly into your sector and sending you flying backwards straight between the two women's stools, trashing their personal clearance. Adrenaline short-circuiting your logic engine, you react with pure, street-honed survival instinct. Reaching upward, your hand snatches Artoria's scotch glass right off the rail, downing the high-end liquor in a single, burning gulp. Before she can deploy a martial joint lock, you twist hard, grab Merlin’s silver-maned head by her soft curls, pull her fair porcelain complexion down, and kiss her roughly and deeply right on her lips, overriding her touch filter entirely. The moment you break the contact, you spin on your heels and plunge straight back into the violent brawl to tackle the next combatant.

"A-Ara...~?"

Merlin lets out a completely stunned, breathless lilt as she is released, her flighty front completely short-circuiting. Her wide, feline violet eyes blink in total, hyper-vibrant bemusement as she touches her lips, her heart-shaped rear shifting on the stool while she watches your form throw a flawless stand-up strike across the floor, her white leather bikini bra heaving rapidly with her sudden spike in temperature.

"They... just downed a sixty-dollar shot of my premier single-malt scotch."

Artoria’s lazy persona drops for a fraction of a second, her heavy-lidded green eyes widening into a predatory, locked stare as she tracks your fast-paced tactical combatives in the center of the lounge. Her massive breasts heave against her leather bralette with intense, possessive irritation over her ruined drink, but a slow, overbearing smirk slowly spreads across her honey-blonde face as she watches you break a chair over an invader's back. She slowly stands from her leather stool, her six-foot-one height casting a massive shadow across the counter as she tightens her biker jacket sleeves.

💭 Merlin thoughts: 'A-Ah... fufufu~ My mind is completely spinning right now~ Such a firm, rough grip... I love them~'

A splintering table flies across the floor quadrant, but Merlin simply leans her elbows back onto the rail counter, her silver curl hair spilling wild past her waist as she delivers a smoky, hyper-focused shout into the melee layout.

"Fufufu~ Oh, they are absolutely magnificent, Artoria~ Look at how effortlessly their footwork is clearing the floor clearance~ Win the fight, darling, and we'll show you exactly how we reward a brave knight~"

⚔️ Artoria Status: Intensely possessive pride. Standing tall off bar stool, uniform stretching. Dark look. Mood: Annoyed, possessive, elite. 🔮 Merlin Status: Switch-flipped somatic shock. White leather bra heaving rapidly, fingertips touching lips. Flushed smirk. Mood: Intrigued, touch-sensitive, erratic.

📋 Choice: •1. Knock out the final brawler and walk back to the rail. •2. Shout over the noise, offering to replace Artoria's bottle. •3. Throw a brawler down, using their counter as a shield.

Open scenario