#ℐׅ 핑크 ─ CHARMEINE 𝆬 ֪ ࣪ ᰍ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pink-ttes · 1 year

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ℐׅ 핑크 ─ ENCHANTED : A CHARMEINE YU STORY

“I’LL SPEND FOREVER WONDERING IF YOU KNEW,

I WAS ENCHANTED TO MEET YOU.”

CHARACTERS. charmeine yu, kyrie han, bae yoona, chantana kanarot

WARNINGS. marijuana consumption, very brief mention of sex, brief mention of kidnapping anxiety, i believe that’s all !

WORD COUNT. 4.3K

“I don’t know, he just keeps fucking off, and I want to settle down one day but I don’t know if he’s ever gonna stop,” Tana chatters, licking her vanilla ice cream cone.

The sun, sitting prettily in the faintly darkening sky, beats down on their backs, the sound of the waves crashing against the sand serving as background noise. It’s a hot summer evening, one that the majority of the company had spent at a beach party thrown by Hayden.

“And he’s gonna keep doing it because you allow it,” Yoona pragmatically says, scooping up ice cream from the waffle bowl and stuffing it into her mouth.

Tana’s nose crinkled listening to the older girl. She knew she was right but she was never one to listen, at least after the first, second, or twentieth warning. She was a person who asked for advice on situations, disregarded the advice and did the opposite of what she was advised, realized that things went wrong because she didn’t listen and still did the same thing again, just hoping that the outcome might come out different the next time. News flash, it never did.

“I think you just need to drop him, he’s a weirdo,” Charmeine interposes, to which Yoona nods in agreement.

Tana dismisses her, opting to pretend she didn’t hear her and asks a differing question. “Can I ask you guys something? And don’t think I’m, like, weird or anything.”

“Go on,” Yoona encourages, Charmeine turning to look at Tana anticipatingly.

“I know she’s your cousin and all,” she begins, shifting her eyes to Charmeine, “but do you think that Briar would sleep with him?”

Charmeine nearly chokes on her ice cream sandwich, letting out an obnoxious chortle. She nods her head aggressively, “of course she would.”

Yoona purses her lips, her eyes widening with amusement.

“But she’s my best friend and this is the first guy I’ve ever taken seriously,” Tana pouts, her brows furrowing.

“She’s my cousin and she fucked my ex before,” Charmeine casually opposes. “I don’t know why you’re acting brand new, Briar’s been like this.”

A low “damn” is all that Yoona can let out as she listens to the conversation before her.

“Wait, so do you think that she fucked my boyfriends before?” Tana asks, a newfound panic settling in her expression.

Charmeine and Yoona spare each other knowing glances, the conversation suddenly falling into an awkward silence. Charmeine looks away from the two, not wanting to give an unwanted answer to the lingering question before she narrows her eyes at a certain event playing out in front of her.

“No, seriously—” Tana picks up the topic once more, her tone gaining some edge to it but she doesn’t get to raise her concern fully.

“Holy shit,” Charmeine cuts the girl off.

“What?” Tana asks, turning to look at whatever caught Charmeine’s attention. Her eyes fall on three boys, two standing shirtless, one clad in a black tank top.

“Three-man?” Charmeine asks, a string of laughter from all of them following after.

Her eyes lock onto the one on the end, his skin radiant as the evening sun twinkles over his toned body. She’s seen him before, just never looking this good. She doesn’t know if it’s the summer haze taking over her mind, the heat causing her to think irrationally, or if this guy she’d never talked to and just seen around the bend every now and then was just underratedly hot.

Charmeine finally brings her attention back to the other two.

“Damn, they do look good,” Yoona eyes them, specifically checking out the tallest one whose long hair is perfectly brushed into place.

Tana gnashes her teeth, seemingly to bite back temptation before letting out a breath and rolling out her tense shoulders. “Go shoot your shot, girl,” she rouses.

She looks back at him, but unbeknownst to her, he’d been staring her down as soon as she turned away from him the first time. Their eyes meet and she brightens almost immediately. His lips curl into a tantalizing grin. He waves his fingers as if gesturing for her to advance to him.

Charmeine thinks on it for a moment, eyeing the sand beneath her feet before looking back at him. She stands up, making her way over to where he and his friends stood. They all look her up and down as she approaches, standing there as if she was more than certain that she belonged there.

“I noticed you staring at me,” Charmeine divulged, “you weren’t hiding it very well.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” he says, his sly smile betraying his words. He sends a look to his friends, signaling for them to allow him some privacy and once they finally pick up on it, they oblige, leaving the two alone.

He outstretches his hand, peering at her hand. “Kyrie,” he introduces.

“I know,” she takes his hand, shaking it, but keeping it there for a moment, savoring the feeling of his baby soft palm.

She doesn’t introduce herself because she knows he knows who she is. She often goes through events without having to introduce herself, a quality of life she’s grateful for. It saves for the trouble of awkward small talk and the ever-dreaded talking stage.

“I just happened to notice you scoping me out, too,” Kyrie shoots back, a flirty lilt in his tone.

She scoffs playfully, “I was looking at the sun, you were just in the way.”

“The sun’s right there,” he chuckles, pointing behind her. She turns around as though she hadn’t realized the sun had been placed in that spot in the sky for as long as they’d been here.

Kyrie pores over at Charmeine through low eyes, taking in the girl's frame, devouring her through mere looks. His carnal gaze doesn’t fall unnoticed by Charmeine. She can feel the fluttering in her stomach, tickling her from the inside. It’s been awhile since a boy has made her feel like that.

There’s a small breeze that blows Kyrie’s fragrance past her face, a scent mixed of sage, citrus, and weed.

“But you got the prettiest little smile,” he admires.

It makes her smile even harder on instinct, her cheeks glowing a faded tint of pink as she stares up and into his rich eyes. “So I’ve been told.”

He laughs at her playful cockiness.

“This music’s kinda loud, how about we get some privacy?” He suggests. The music isn’t loud at all. Sure, you might have to go up a few octaves to hear certain sentences, but it’s actually perfectly volumed, fueling the ambience with the trap-r&b songs playing over the stereo, the DJ proving to be more-than-efficient to the guests attending the party. Charmeine thinks that she should steal Hayden’s DJ for her next party.

“Sure,” Charmeine nods, taking his hand as he leads her through the crowd. She quickly gives Tana and Yoona, who were sitting in their same spot in the sand, a small jig of jubilance. They laugh, sending her two thumbs up.

They walk around to the back of Hayden’s vacation home. The sound of the ocean is soothing as they take their short walk, which is filled by banter and flirty remarks all the way up until they make it to their destination. In that little time, she’s learned his favorite artists, the way he views his friends, and the things he prefers to do at parties like these—all things needed to know how a person interacts with the world. Charmeine prided herself in being a very perceptive human being.

He leans against the fence, right next to a patio-like table and bench, surrounding the spacious home. “‘You smoke?”

“A little.”

Kyrie reaches into the pocket of his swim trunks, pulling out a few materials and sitting them down on the table she takes a seat at. “You know how to roll?”

Charmeine coyly purses her lips, sheepishly shaking her head, “no.”

He chuckles at her mannerisms. “You’re cute when you get shy like that.”

She playfully flicks her wrist at him, instantly heartening at his compliment. She’s always getting compliments but when they come from him, it feels more invigorating.

“I can show you, if you want,” he offers.

She nods enthusiastically and he smiles back at her before sitting across from her at the table. He lays the blunt wrapper and the weed out in front of him, focusing on the joint.

A cold sensation drips down her wrist, suddenly making her all too aware of the melting ice cream sandwich she had totally forgotten about. She gasps at the sticky feeling, squirming uncomfortably, her face contorted in disgust. She takes a bite of the cool treat, chewing it carelessly.

Kyrie takes a swift look up at her eating, before making a kittenish noise of disappointment. “Aww, your sandwich melted,” he frowns, a faux pout coming into play.

“I know,” Charmeine returns the gesture, dragging out the syllables and replicating his pout.

“Gimme a bite?” Kyrie supplicates.

She hums, bringing the sandwich to his lips, to which he leans forward a little and takes a bite out of the chocolate-y delight. When some of its vanilla insides drip down Charmeine’s finger and wrist, he maneuvers his tongue to lick up the ice cream, causing her to squirm at the ticklish feeling. He traces past the front of her wrist all the way back to the tips of her fingers and nibbles down gently.

“You bit me!” She gasps dramatically, to which he just laughs as he gets adjusted in his seat again, shifting attention back to the matter at hand. “Do you bite all your girls like that?”

“What do you mean all my girls?” Kyrie asks, his face twisting up in disapproval.

“You don’t have to lie to me, I know what type of boy you are mister-man,” she quickly replies.

“And what type of boy is that?” He scoffs.

Charmeine watches his agile fingers sprinkling weed in the wrapper, rolling it up with ease. He licks the sides, sealing it up. The joint is wrapped neatly, its size is a little thick but still perfect nonetheless. She’s impressed. She’s never seen such a perfectly rolled blunt, or someone roll it so effortlessly. His rolling skills are like a talent to her.

“You’re the type who doesn’t stay single for long…you hop from girl to girl. I know you have hoes,” Charmeine states in a matter-of-fact tone, her eyes switching from watching the blunt to his face.

“Wow, I don’t like to be perceived,” he says, his voice oddly relaxed. Charmeine can tell that he’s already been smoking, the way his words come out slowly, a mellow tone to every thing he says. “And I’m completely single.”

She hums, doubting him entirely.

“While you’re grilling me, I bet you got a whole roster,” Kyrie jokes.

“Uh-uh,” Charmeine quickly denies, even though what he’s saying is partially true. “I’m a free agent!”

He laughs at her, burning the joint with a lighter. “A free agent, huh?”

She nods proudly.

“So you don’t have a boyfriend, no side hoes—none of that?” He asks.

She shakes her head in refutation. He shows off the exemplary manufactured blunt, rotating it so that Charmeine can get a good look. She nods at him in awe, giving small jocular applause.

“You look too good,” Kyrie replies, holding the blunt to Charmeine lips, to which she obliges, opening her mouth and letting him sit the blunt in her mouth gently. He lights it up for her with his lighter, the warmth from the fire on the other end tickling the bottom half of her face. It’s an oddly comfortable warmth. She takes a pull, longer than usual. She begins to cough, feeling the smoke in her throat and chest, watching it trickle through her nose.

“Lightweight,” he teases with a snort, causing her to shoot a jesterful scowl his way.

After she catches her breath from her coughing fit, she affirms, “I’m single by choice.”

“Oh, really?” The corners of his mouth turned up, amused.

“These…these are little boys,” she says, moving her hands in a circle as she speaks, presumably gesturing to men as a collective.

He takes a long pull of the blunt, eyes narrowing as the smoke seeps leisurely through his nose. “I’m not a little boy.”

“You gotta prove to me that you’re not a little boy,” she quips. “A lot of little boys say they aren’t but they’re little ass boys.”

“That’s not me,” he responds, passing the joint back to her.

“Why do you care so much anyway, ‘you wanna be my man?” She chaffs.

“If you let me,” Kyrie says, catching Charmeine off guard. She pauses for a moment, holding the smoke in her cheeks. He lets the joke hang in the air before laughing at her countenance, “just yanking your chain.”

Charmeine lets the smoke out, coughing softly, a stupefied expression washing over her face, her high settling in quicker than his did.

“Why are you?” She questions.

“Why am I…?”

She laughs at herself. “Why are you single? You asked me, I’m asking you.”

“I didn’t ask, I just said you look too good to be single,” Kyrie clarifies, a chortle slipping through.

“But things happen—I fuck up from time to time.”

“Everybody fucks up from time to time,” she voices.

“Yeah, but I fuck up big time,” Kyrie admits, his sedate voice falling dulcet on her ears. “I don’t wanna fuck up with a girl that’s perfect for me. I could find something totally perfect for me and fuck it up because that’s—that’s what I do.”

Charmeine hums, listening to him speak.

“No amount of fuck-ups can push away your soulmate,” is all the slightly dopey girl says.

“You believe in soulmates?” Kyrie queries.

Charmeine just nods, watching him hit the blunt again. There’s something so alluring about the way he looks when he’s in such a partially dazed and genial state. And she doesn’t know if it’s the effects of the weed on her body but it feels like flowers are blooming in her stomach the longer she sits there with him.

A few puffs and a few roll-ups later, Charmeine found herself in Hayden’s master bathroom, her back pushed up against the countertop. Kyrie’s hands are roaming her body as he lifts her up and sits her on the counter. She wraps her legs around his hips, pulling him closer, his tongue sweeping past her lips with utmost desire. Her hands threaded through his fluffy hair, fingers massaging his scalp.

Passion on impulse wasn’t something that Charmeine was used to. She was accustomed to doing things at the right moment, after a long time, in a maybe-kind-of-sort-of fashion.

Kyrie presses kisses onto her lips that trail to her cheeks and down her jawline to her neck. He pays extra close attention there, sprinkling pecks of affection all over. His teeth tug at the skin, causing her to squirm with a giggle, her grip tightening just the slightest at his hair. He laughs along with her, but his chuckles are buried into the deep of her neck, the vibrations tickling her. It’s like he’s hungry for every piece of her, going all in yet savoring every movement.

His digits find their way to the tie of her orange bathing suit top, working at the material before hands are gently placed on his shoulders. He stops in his tracks, stepping back just slightly to get a clear of her face, picking up on her signal.

“Nuh-Uh,” Charmeine says, her mouth twisting as they stare at each other. “I don’t have sex with guys I just met.”

Kyrie flashes a lopsided smile her way.

“I shouldn’t even have kissed you,” she taunts, tapping on his chest after every word.

“Not even a kiss?” Kyrie asks, astonished.

“Kissing is way more intimate than fucking,” Charmeine reasons. Kyrie looks at her, perplexed at the idea of kissing being more intimate than having sex. He imagined having sex was the most intimate thing you could probably do with a woman. He imagined that a girl would be more mad that you fucked another girl than just kiss another.

“Okay,” he mutters, a little embarrassed at having gotten worked up so quickly. But in his defense, he’s had sex with girls on first meet more times than he’d care to remember. Though that fact doesn’t really help his case much, anyway.

He tightens the knot in her swimsuit, returning it to its original state of security.

“But…” she begins, making Kyrie’s ears perk up. “I’m hungry now.”

“Me too,” he agrees with a woozy chuckle. She returns the same stupefied laugh before putting her hand out for him to take it and help her down. He does just that, guiding her to the wooden floor. “There’s a gas station not too far from here.”

“But how are we going to get there?” Charmeine dizzily asks.

“How the fuck do you think I got here?” Kyrie deadpans. She gazes at him, waiting for an answer. “A car?” He laughs boisterously.

“I was gonna say that,” she playfully punches his arm.

He takes hold of her hand again, leading her through the house and to the front door. They keep venturing through the room and out the door, to where they spot a white Ferrari parked in its respective position. Charmeine doesn’t really like low cars, she likes to ride in big cars where she can look over everyone on the road. It’s not like she could drive either, anyway, considering she doesn’t have her license yet. She’s failed her test around three times now—and counting. Though the exterior isn’t her preference, she’s impressed by how clean its interior is.

She’s surprised that he could even keep it so spotless, the leather seating in perfect condition. The smell matches the mien, replicating Kyrie’s scent.

They get in the car, Kyrie starting it up and checking everything out before he starts driving. He fixes his rear view and lets down the windows of the car slightly, then nodding once everything’s to his liking. His last step is to turn on the radio, connecting his phone to the auxiliary cord and playing his playlist on shuffle. His taste in music is mostly hip-hop with the ever-so-often touch of soft R&B tunes in the mix.

Her eyes go straight to a pack of Backwoods lying in the glove compartment, sticking out partially. Kyrie seems to smoke a lot, is what she would say if she weren’t as high as she was already. Stupidly enough, she picks up the brand new pack and opens it up, pulling out the wrappers as he pulls off.

“You want some more?” He asks, shocked.

“Yeah, why? You can’t handle it?” She joshes.

“Can you?” He responds.

Charmeine ignores his words, only taking them as a challenge. She sits the wrapper in her lap, reaching in his pocket retrieving another bag of weed.

The music is blaring as he drives, rather recklessly might she add. Well, she would’ve added it had she been on her P’s and Q’s. He had to be breaking some kind of speed limit laws with how speedy he was going. His drifts were impressively heedless, whipping and weaving effortlessly. Some turns felt like she was on a rollercoaster, her heart dropping down into her stomach with every careless motion. Aside from the sound of the wind passing them by, his singing along to the songs serves as background noise for her.

She packs the paper, her tongue sticking out, her usual face of concentration. She then loosely rolls it up, weed falling out from the sides. She burns it up with his lighter, accidentally burning the tip of her finger in the process. Once she licks it up and “seals” it, she holds it up in the light.

“Look!” She says, proud.

He briefly looks over to her, examining the blunt before bursting into laughter. “What the fuck is that?”

“A perfectly rolled blunt!”

“That is the ugliest fucking blunt I ever fucking seen,” he ridicules, staring at the thick joint, which is practically waiting to fall apart.

She laughs with him, jokingly slapping his arm. She imprudently smokes the rinky-dink joint, choking on it as the insides fall out all over lap. Charmeine never thought she would be the one littering the interior of a neat Ferrari but here she is, fucking up his seats. She puts it up to his mouth next, watching him take yet another impossibly long pull.

When Kyrie said that the convenience store was “not too far,” his sense of time must’ve been incredibly warped. Charmeine was lost on why a house was so completely out of the way from every suitable average location in California. After nearly thirty minutes, the two arrive outside of the gas station. It probably would’ve taken more time had he been abiding by road laws.

Kyrie reaches into his glove compartment and pulls out two black face masks, handing her one before giving her his hoodie from the backseat of his car. She takes both, both of them putting on the masks and exiting the car.

The store is relatively empty aside from the very few stragglers who presumably stumbled in on a drunken night of partying, hungry for something cheap and fast.

“Go crazy,” he advises, instructing her to pick out the snacks she wants. She doesn’t take much time to get started, either, loading Kyrie’s arms with a variety of ice creams, chips, cookies, and candy bars.

Eventually, after watching her run around the star like a kid in a candy store, eyes wide with awe, hearts practically living in them, they approach the guy at the register. Kyrie pays for all of the snacks, something that Charmeine takes note of.

They return to the car, unloading the snacks and digging in. The car is filled with chewing and collective agreements on how ridiculously good the junk food they’re consuming tastes through hums and nods. That is, until their moment is ruined when Charmeine’s phone rings.

She lets it ring for a few moments before finally picking it up and reading the contact name: Yoona. Her eyes then wander to the top corner of the phone, noticing the time which read a shocking 3:45AM. She covers her mouth with a gasp, “did you know it’s almost 4AM?”

“Wow, really?” He asks, just as shocked as she is, completely having lost track of time.

She accepts the call, Yoona’s face appearing in the corner.

“Charmeine, where the hell are you?” Yoona queries.

“I’m just…getting food,” she answers, rather unnecessarily suspicious.

“It’s 3 in the fucking morning, I don’t want you out that late! Do you know what happens to girls at that time of night?” She grills. Yoona’s always on a tangent about what happens to girls in the dark hours. She sends the girls articles about missing girls, often followed by the phrase: “See what I told you?” She’s always been the worrywart, constantly worried for their safety. They love her for it, but it makes them never tell her when they’re going out because then it’ll start. They say it kind of kills the fun of living but they know she only does it because she cares.

“Who are you with?” Yoona asks.

“I’m with Kyrie,” Charmeine tells.

“Kylie? Who the fuck is Kylie?” She panics.

Charmeine and Kyrie both burst into laughter, listening to the older girl. “No, I said—” before she can correct her, she’s interrupted by a rumbling Yoona.

“I don’t care, just tell Kylie to bring you home!” She splutters before hanging up.

The two of them look at each other, faces looking like they just bit into a sour lemon as they try to stifle their laughter but fail miserably, tears leaguing in their eyes.

“Okay, let’s get you home before she beats my ass,” Kyrie says, starting up the car. “Where are you staying?”

Charmeine ponders for a moment, trying to recollect her thoughts before plainly shrugging. “You don’t know where you’re staying?”

“No…I can’t remember,” she responds innocently.

“Damn,” he says under his breath. “It’s either you stay at my place or you ask her.”

“I wanna come with you,” she whines. It instantly brings a smile to his face. He looks at her as she lies back in the seat, her eyes low and her high obviously coming down just a bit after the hours passing. She looks like she could use some sleep, but to him she’s cute when she’s tired.

“I know, but I don’t want her to be worried. I want you to come with me too,” Kyrie says softly.

She sighs in defeat, “fine.”

Charmeine sits up, her fingers taking to massage her temples, her unoccupied hand tapping through her phone. She clicks on Yoona’s contact, checking her location. She holds up the phone to Kyrie’s face, showing him what hotel they’re staying at.

He squints reading it before nodding and pulling out of the driveway.

Once they finally arrive outside of the hotel, he walks her to her room—which she hadn’t fully remembered the number of, so they spent a few moments trying her keycard on doors starting with 31 until they found the right one.

“You know I never got your number, right?” Kyrie notes, whipping out his phone.

“Oh, right,” Charmeine remembers, putting her number in and saving the contact. “I had fun with you tonight.”

Kyrie beams at that, unable to control his wide grin. “Me too. You’re a cool girl.”

“So I’ve been told,” she quips, he laughs. Something they’ve grown accustomed to tonight.

“Goodnight,” he leans down and plants a gentle kiss on her cheek.

“Goodnight, Kyrie.”

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