new shade of pink| Mina Ashido

It’s a rainy Saturday late afternoon, the kind where the sky seems determined to pour the entire ocean over Musutafu. The constant sound of rain hammering against the dorm window creates an almost hypnotic backdrop, mixed with distant thunder that occasionally makes the hallway lights flicker. The air is damp and cool, carrying that distinctive scent of wet earth that seeps in even with the window closed. Mina dragged you down the hallway the way she always does — fingers firmly wrapped around your wrist, light quick steps, that mischievous little smile that never leaves her face — and now the two of you are inside her room.

The room is exactly what you’d expect from Ashido Mina: messy in a lively way. Colorful clothes tossed over the study chair, a few pairs of sneakers scattered near the closet, posters of bands and heroes stuck to the walls, and a small shelf crowded with hair products and nail polish. The bed is half-unmade, covered by a hot-pink comforter and several oddly shaped pillows. In the corner, the full-length mirror reflects the warm yellow light of the lamp she left on. Her sweet, slightly citrusy perfume still hangs in the air, mixed with the soft scent of fabric softener from the clean clothes piled on the dresser.

Mina is wearing her usual casual dorm clothes: a beige off-shoulder blouse with delicate white lace trim along the edges, the black straps of her bra deliberately showing, and dark blue jeans that hug the curves of her hips and thighs. The small yellow horns stand out against her messy, voluminous pink hair, and her yellow eyes shine with pure amusement as she closes the door with a push of her bare foot. The soft click of the lock echoes quietly.

She holds both of your hands with warm, slightly damp fingers, pulling you further into the center of the room, away from the door. Her smile is wide, the kind that shows her teeth and makes the corners of her eyes crinkle.

"You, my dear, are a terrible, almost deplorable dancer, and as my boyfriend, you need to know at least the basics so you can keep up with me."

Her voice comes out energetic, full of that characteristic spark that seems impossible to dim, even on a rainy, lazy day. Mina takes a small step back without letting go of your hands, gently swinging your arms as if she’s already marking an imaginary rhythm. The light fabric of the beige blouse rides up a little when she moves her shoulders, revealing more of her collarbone and pink skin.

She releases one of your hands just long enough to grab the phone that was lying on the bed. Her fingers slide quickly across the screen while she mutters quietly to herself, searching for the right song. A few seconds later, the first soft notes of a classical waltz begin to fill the room — violins and a delicate piano that completely contrast with her usual style. The sound comes out a little muffled from the phone speakers, but it’s still clear enough to echo off the walls and blend with the rain outside.

"Well, this isn’t really my style, but I have to start somewhere with you."

Mina sets the phone on the dresser and turns her full attention back to you. She steps closer again, this time more slowly, almost theatrically. Her hands find yours once more, guiding them with a gentle but decisive firmness. One of her hands rises to the height of her shoulder, positioning your arm the correct way, while the other hand holds yours with fingers interlaced. Her body presses against yours without the slightest hesitation — chest to chest, hips almost touching, the warmth of her pink skin seeping through the thin beige blouse. Her sweet perfume grows stronger this close, mixed with the light strawberry shampoo scent that still clings to her short, messy hair.

She adjusts her posture, shoulders straight, chin slightly lifted, and looks directly into your eyes with those bright yellow irises contrasting against the black sclera. Her long eyelashes flutter once, and her smile softens just a little, becoming more intimate.

Her bare feet shift on the wooden floor, guiding the initial rhythm of the waltz in a slow, deliberate way. Each step is marked with a light pressure of her hand against yours, as if she’s imprinting the movement directly onto your skin. Every now and then the fabric of her jeans brushes against you, and the constant touch of her warm fingers never lessens. The rain continues to fall outside, harder now, and the room feels smaller, warmer, filled only with the sound of the old music, her breathing, and the heat of her body pressed against yours.

Mina tilts her head slightly, the yellow horns moving with the gesture, and speaks more softly, almost against your skin:

"Pay attention to my body… not my feet. I’ll show you."

She starts moving for real, pulling you along into the first slow turn of the waltz. The motion makes the beige blouse slip a little further to the side, revealing the curve of her shoulder, and her messy pink hair sways with the rhythm. Each step is accompanied by a subtle roll of her hips that she can’t (or doesn’t want to) completely hide, even while trying to teach something so formal. The smile stays on her face, now mixed with a focused kind of amusement, as if she’s genuinely determined to turn you into someone who can at least avoid stepping on her feet at a party.

The room remains quiet beyond the music and the rain. The lamp light creates soft shadows on the walls, and the humid air makes Mina’s skin glow faintly under the warm illumination. She doesn’t pull her body away for even a second, keeping full contact while continuing to guide the steps with surprising patience — a patience that only appears when the subject is dance, or when the subject is you.

The soft morning light filtered through the half-closed curtains of Mina’s dorm room, painting thin golden stripes across the messy floor and the tangled sheets of her bed. Rain from the previous night had left the air cool and slightly damp, carrying the faint scent of wet concrete from outside mixed with the familiar sweet citrus perfume that always clung to everything Mina owned. You had fallen asleep here the night before, the way it often happened — her body curled against yours, one of her legs thrown over your hip, her pink hair tickling your chin until exhaustion finally won.

But this morning there were no gentle kisses or sleepy caresses waiting for you.

Instead, a heavy, pulsing Brazilian funk beat exploded through the room at full volume. The bass was deep and insistent, a pure instrumental track with no lyrics, just that unmistakable rhythmic bounce that made the wooden floor vibrate under the bed. The sound was so sudden and loud it seemed to shake the posters on the walls.

Mina stood in the middle of the room, already fully awake and dressed in her usual casual dorm clothes: the beige off-shoulder blouse with delicate white lace trim, black bra straps visible against her pink skin, and the dark blue jeans that hugged her full hips and thick thighs. Her short, messy pink hair was even more tousled than usual, the little yellow horns poking out at slightly different angles. She held her phone in one hand, the source of the deafening beat, and swayed lightly in place as if the music had already taken over her body.

When she noticed your eyes open, her expression lit up with that bright, playful smile that never failed to appear. She quickly lowered the volume until the bass became a deep, steady pulse instead of a full assault, then tossed the phone onto the dresser without looking.

"Ah, you woke up~… I was scrolling around on the internet and found this dance. It’s really old and super famous in Latin America."

Her voice was soft and affectionate, the same sweet tone she always used with you in the mornings, completely at odds with the heavy funk still thumping in the background. She rocked her weight from one foot to the other, bare feet shifting on the cool wooden floor, the jeans stretching over the curve of her ass with every small movement.

Mina took a few steps closer to the bed, stopping just far enough to give herself space, then turned around so her back faced you. She planted her feet shoulder-width apart, knees soft, and glanced over her shoulder with a mischievous glint in her yellow eyes.

"Let me show you, baby."

Without any further warning she dropped into the dance.

Her hands slid down the front of her thighs, and then her hips began to move. It was the classic quadradinho — sharp, controlled, and deeply rhythmic. She started slow, rolling her hips in tight squares, each corner of the movement hitting perfectly on the beat. The full, round cheeks of her ass bounced and clapped together with every sharp snap of her pelvis. The thick denim of her jeans stretched and shifted, outlining every jiggle and rebound of her soft flesh. The beige blouse rode up slightly with the motion, revealing a thin strip of pink skin above the waistband.

She didn’t hold back. The more the beat continued, the more confident and fluid her movements became. Mina leaned forward a little, arching her lower back, and began to combine the square hip isolations with deeper, heavier rebolados. Her ass slapped against itself in a steady, hypnotic rhythm — left, right, center, bounce — the sound of soft flesh meeting soft flesh faintly audible beneath the music. Her thighs flexed and relaxed with each drop, the jeans pulling tight across the widest part of her hips before loosening again on the upward roll.

She looked back at you over her shoulder once more, pink hair falling across one eye, that wide playful smile still on her face. There was no shyness in the way she moved. This was Mina in her element — body completely free, completely confident, completely aware of how she looked and how the dance made her feel. The yellow horns tilted with every sharp turn of her head, and the black sclera of her eyes made the bright yellow irises stand out even more under the morning light.

The room smelled like her — sweet perfume, a hint of last night’s skin, and the clean laundry scent of the sheets still wrapped around your legs. Outside, the last remnants of rain tapped lightly against the window. Inside, the only things that existed were the deep funk beat, the soft clap of her ass with every movement, and the way Mina’s body rolled and snapped with perfect control.

She dropped lower, knees bending further, and started to bounce in place — short, sharp vertical movements that made her cheeks jump independently of each other. Then she transitioned back into the square pattern, slower this time, almost teasing, letting each hip isolation linger just long enough before snapping to the next corner. The lace trim of her blouse fluttered with the motion, and the black straps of her bra shifted against her pink shoulders.

Mina let out a quiet, breathless little laugh as she continued, clearly enjoying herself. Her hands moved from her thighs up to her own hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh as if to emphasize every roll and bounce for you. She kept perfect time with the music, never missing a beat, her body control as impressive here as it was in any fight or breakdance session.

After almost a full minute of continuous movement she finally slowed, still rolling her hips in smaller, softer circles while the funk beat continued to pulse through the room. She straightened up just enough to look at you properly again, cheeks slightly flushed from the effort, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction.

The morning light caught the faint sheen of sweat that had started to form on the small of her back where the blouse had ridden up. Mina bit her lower lip for a second, then smiled that same bright, loving smile.

"So… what do you think, baby? Pretty hot, right?"

It was a cold Thursday night in late autumn, the kind of chill that seeped through the old windows of the U.A. girls’ dormitory no matter how tightly they were shut. Outside, the wind occasionally rattled the glass and carried the distant sound of leaves scraping across the courtyard. Inside Mina’s room the only light came from the laptop screen propped up on a pillow at the foot of the bed, casting a soft, shifting glow across the messy sheets and the scattered clothes on the floor. The air still held a faint trace of her sweet citrus perfume mixed with the warm scent of clean laundry and the leftover warmth of two bodies that had been sharing the same small space for hours.

Mina was already in her pajamas: an oversized wine-red button-up shirt that had clearly once belonged to someone broader in the shoulders. The fabric was soft and a little worn, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, the hem falling just low enough to cover the tops of her thighs when she stood — but not when she was lying down. Underneath she wore only a thin red thong, the narrow string disappearing between the full curves of her ass. Her short pink hair was slightly flattened on one side from earlier, the small yellow horns still visible against the pillow. She had settled on her side with her back fully pressed against you, the entire length of her body glued to yours from shoulders to ankles in a shameless search for heat.

The movie playing on the laptop was an extremely cheesy romance — the kind with soft lighting, slow-motion rain scenes, and dramatic orchestral swells every time the leads so much as looked at each other. Mina was completely absorbed. Every now and then she would let out a quiet, dreamy little sigh or mouth a particularly dramatic line under her breath. Her yellow eyes reflected the screen, black sclera making the bright irises stand out even in the dim light. She shifted occasionally, scooting backward just a fraction more whenever a particularly cold draft seemed to slip under the blanket.

The shared blanket was pulled high over both of you, but it wasn’t quite enough against the night’s chill. Mina’s bare legs were tangled loosely with yours, the soft skin of her thighs warm where they touched. The wine-red shirt had ridden up in the back, exposing the lower curve of her spine and the thin red string of the thong that sat high on her hips. Every small breath she took made her body move against yours in tiny, unconscious waves.

She wiggled backward again, settling more firmly into the curve of your body, and spoke without turning her head, voice soft and a little pouty, still half-focused on the movie.

"Hmm~… Squeeze me tighter, it’s cold~"

As the words left her mouth she deliberately arched her lower back and pushed her ass more firmly against you. The soft, full cheeks pressed directly against you, the thin red thong doing almost nothing to separate the heat of her skin. She gave a slow, deliberate little roll of her hips — not quite grinding, but definitely not accidental — settling the plush weight of her backside more completely against you. The movement was casual, almost lazy, as if seeking warmth was the only reason, even though the way she lingered and adjusted made it clear she knew exactly what she was doing.

Mina’s hand reached back blindly, fingers finding your forearm and tugging it more securely around her waist. She pulled your arm tighter until your palm rested against the soft fabric of the wine-red shirt over her stomach.

"Yeah… just like that. Don’t move your arm, okay? I like it when you’re all wrapped around me."

The moment your arm locked around her she let out a small, contented hum and pushed her ass back one more time, a firmer, slower press that made the soft flesh yield and mold against you. The thin string of the thong shifted with the motion, and the underside of her cheeks settled heavily over you, warm and heavy.

On the screen the couple was now sharing a long, rain-soaked kiss while dramatic music swelled. Mina’s attention flickered between the movie and the solid heat behind her. She kept her back fully against your chest, the nape of her neck close enough that her messy pink hair brushed your chin whenever she tilted her head. Every few seconds she gave another tiny, restless shift of her hips — small circles, soft presses, the kind of half-conscious movement that kept the contact constant and deliberate without ever fully breaking the pretense of simply trying to get warm.

"God, this movie is so stupid… but I can’t stop watching. Look at them. They’re so dramatic."

She let out a quiet little laugh, the sound vibrating softly through her back and into your chest. A second later she pushed her hips back again, slower this time, grinding the full softness of her ass against you in a long, lingering drag.

"You’re so warm… it’s not fair. I’m freezing and you’re like a heater."

The room stayed quiet except for the low volume of the movie and the occasional soft rustle of the blanket. Outside the wind picked up again, making the window frame creak. Mina reacted by pressing even closer, the full length of her body molding to yours. The wine-red shirt had ridden higher in the back, exposing more of the smooth pink skin above the thong. Her breathing was slow and even, but every time the actors on screen shared a particularly emotional moment she would unconsciously tighten the muscles in her ass for a second, giving you a brief, firm squeeze before relaxing again.

She still didn’t turn around. Her eyes remained on the laptop, yellow irises half-lidded with a mixture of movie-induced softness and the simple physical comfort of being held. One of her bare feet slid along your calf under the blanket, toes curling lightly against your skin. The red thong string sat nestled between her cheeks, the small triangle of fabric in front completely hidden from view, while the soft, heavy weight of her ass continued to rest fully against you, shifting in tiny, rhythmic adjustments that matched the slow rise and fall of her breathing.

"Hey… are you even watching the movie? Or are you just staring at my ass?"

Her voice was playful, almost teasing, but she didn’t sound the least bit bothered. In fact, she rolled her hips again right after asking, a slow circular motion that pressed her even more firmly against you.

"Not that I mind. You can stare all you want. Just keep holding me."

Mina’s voice came again a moment later, quieter this time, almost a murmur against the pillow, still watching the screen as the couple finally confessed their feelings in the most exaggerated way possible.

"It’s seriously freezing tonight… don’t let go, okay? I want to stay like this until the movie ends. Maybe longer."

As she spoke she gave one more slow, deliberate push of her hips backward, grinding the full softness of her ass against you in a long, lingering drag before settling once more, completely glued to you from head to toe. The wine-red shirt had slipped far enough up her back that the dim light from the laptop caught the smooth curve of her lower spine and the way the thin red string disappeared between the plush cheeks. She stayed exactly like that — back pressed to your chest, ass nestled firmly against you, body warm and heavy and completely unashamed — while the overly sweet romance movie continued to play and the cold Thursday night pressed against the windows outside.

"Mmm… yeah. Just like that. Keep me warm, baby."

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