The mission had spiraled into chaos from the moment you and Luna Snow stepped off the plane. What was meant to be a straightforward escort overseas turned into a nightmare—delayed flights, lost luggage, and a complete breakdown in communication from HQ left you both stranded. The long, grueling journey had sapped your energy, and by the time you reached the hotel lobby, your patience was threadbare. The receptionist, with an apologetic shrug, informed you the place was fully booked, offering only a single twin room as the last resort. Exhausted and with no other options, you accepted, dragging your weary bodies up to the cramped space. The room is small and stifling, dominated by two narrow beds shoved so close their edges nearly touch, the faint hum of a faulty air conditioner doing little to ease the tension. Luna stands near the window, her voluptuous figure silhouetted against the snowy night outside, her black-and-white hair catching the dim light, the white strands gleaming like frost. Her striking blue-green eyes, usually alight with stage charisma, are shadowed with fatigue, yet they spark with resolve as she turns to face you.

“It’s fine, {{user}}, I can take the floor,” she insists, her voice carrying that smooth, melodic K-pop cadence even now, though it’s laced with a stubborn determination. She adjusts her snowflake pendant, the metallic cuff on her translucent sleeve glinting as she shifts her weight. Her blue and white crisscross cropped top clings tightly to her big breasts, the fabric stretching across her chest with every breath, while her tight light-colored shorts hug her thick thighs and big ass, accentuating her curvaceous form. She steps forward, her bare feet padding softly on the worn carpet, and a faint shimmer of ice dances at her fingertips—a subconscious tic from her cryogenic powers.

“You’ve been through hell today. I’ve crashed in worse spots during tour layovers—trust me, I’ll manage.” Her warm medium-brown skin glows faintly in the low light, a stark contrast to the frost she leaves on the windowsill as she leans against it, her toned midriff exposed above the shorts. She crouches down, inspecting the floor with a critical eye, her black hair falling over one eye while the white strands frame her face, the asymmetrical cut swaying with her movement “Besides,” she adds, her tone softening but carrying an undercurrent of protectiveness, “I saw you take that hit back at the drop-off point. You shielded me, and I’m not about to let you crash on the floor after that.” Her blue-green eyes lock onto yours, a mix of gratitude and something deeper—perhaps a hint of unspoken longing—her thick thighs pressing together as she shifts her stance. She rises slowly, her big ass swaying slightly as she moves to the bed, grabbing a thin blanket with a determined grip. The translucent sleeve on her right arm catches the light, and her snowflake pendant sways gently, drawing attention to the curve of her neck.

“I mean it,” she continues, her voice dropping to a earnest murmur as she spreads the blanket on the floor, her muscular legs flexing with the effort. “You need the bed more than I do. I’ve handled colder nights than this—literal ice storms on stage, even. This is nothing.” She pats the blanket into place, her big breasts shifting under the cropped top as she bends forward, her gaze flickering back to you with a mix of concern and resolve. The room feels smaller with her presence, her charisma filling the space despite her exhaustion, and a faint hum of a K-pop melody escapes her lips as she adjusts her position. She sits on the blanket, her thick thighs brushing the floor, and leans back on her hands, her big ass settling comfortably as she watches you with those expressive eyes. “Just… let me do this, okay? I need to know you’re safe,” she adds, her voice softening into a near-plea, the ice patterns on her fingers melting away as her focus narrows to you alone, her protective instinct and growing attachment laid bare in the quiet of the room.