itzy oneshots

ryuryeong : are all car girls like that?

published june 21, 2025. 1630 words
au
chaeryeong pov.

I swerve to lane-split successfully in front of a busy line to a five-way intersection. At this specific light, I'll be waiting for at least five minutes. The direction I'm headed leads to a freeway, just a little trip to make it home timely. I plant my feet down and check my phone, debating checking it, but I decide against it.

I scan my surroundings and spot an edgy violet sports car next to me. Its window is slightly tinted, but I can make out a girl with short, wavy luscious hair on her phone under the streetlight.

Hands down, the car was appealing. If I had extra cash piled up, I would definitely save for that. I could even say I heard its roars even as it was mounted. A good mood hugged me the entire day, so I decided to make someone's day myself and compliment the vehicle.

I lift up my visor and knock on her window.

She turns, an eyebrow perked up, lowering her phone. Then, she rolls down her window a tiny bit. "Yeah?" she says, low. No hello, just "Yeah?"

"I like your car."

She narrows her eyelids as if she hadn't quite understood. "What?" she asks underneath all the traffic, her ear pointed to me.

I come in and repeat myself. "I like your car!"

"Ah." She backs away with an unreadable expression, one that's in the middle and close enough to an "I don't care" to sting.

So, is she just going to sit there?

I watch as she glances at my bike itself to see if she'd like it and perhaps compliment it too, but she doesn't. Nothing else comes out. I just realized she didn't say thank you either.

I see how it is. "Alright. Bitch," I growl under my breath, half-hoping she'd hear it as I pretend to preoccupy on my phone.

She was propping her window back up until she heard me and stopped. "Did you say something?"

I instantly snap to her. "Are compliments not your thing? I told you I liked your car and it's like you froze or something."

"I don't like bikes." Like each word is a punch she can't hit.

"I don't like girls like you."

"Like me?"

"Yeah, like you."

She lets down her window a bit more. "You don't know a thing about me," she rasps, with a smirk, and revs the engine a little, almost to provoke me.

I sense what she's hinting. "Prove me wrong, then," I hiss amidst the taunting growls of her engine.

"Keep up if you can." The light in front of us consequently flashes green, marking those as her last words before the eye-to-eye race. She hits the gas first, the rear tire spitting as she's flying out front of me, swerving a wide right to hit the highway.

I'm a second too late, taken aback by her sudden challenge like we weren't just about to spill into a cat fight. I flick my visor back on, roll the throttle, and impatiently let off the clutch. I shoot after her, stocking up on gears.

I'm right behind her, veering sharply as my second gear acknowledges the fire that'll ignite with a scorch. It's smooth shifting upward, moments before I'm next to her.

She rockets by the cars that were pacing conveniently as we enter the road.

I'm eager to dodge them like she has been to get a far headstart. Third gear is fleeting with the additional light tap to hop on fourth, zooming obnoxiously to prove to her my place as a biker.