Make Her Madness Work ⎮ Modern Vikings AU [Ivar X F!Reader], Chapter I
Synopsis: All you're simply asking for, is the chance to learn. Luckily, you've found an ill tempered mechanic who may have gotten more than he bargained for.
Pairing: Modern Ivar x F!Reader
Author's Note: I told you I would re-write Ink Drinker with Ivar being a mechanic. I told you. We're keeping some of the things the same; reader's back story mainly because it set the foundation for what we remember Ink Drinker to be like. Other than that, I have some fun surprises in store! And, more of your bad ass women-powered story lines.
*Do keep in mind there's some American-isms in here when it comes to cars. Reader drives a Ford Bronco because I know a lot about them.
Word Count: 2,500+ words
You’re tired. Impossibly so; you and darkness exist together in the stars behind your eyes and you blink, again, and again, trying to dislodge the ill fitting lights from between your lashes.
There’s no bell to ring, no way to announce your arrival, and worse, your annoyance, as you’re left seemingly forgotten in the iridescent lighting. It fights your eyes, making them water as they try to meet the buzzing bulbs and you only find a headache growing from either the lack on human interaction, or the neon lightening.
The metal bumps of the plated steel on the desk feel cold under your fingers and you believe the men on the other side of the glass either don’t see you, or choose not to. The humiliation makes you want to lash out, putting danger in your senses but you just stand there; a wonderful model of a woman and you wait.
Finally, the door opens, bouncing off the hinges and vibrating as an older gentlemen crosses the threshold with a scowl on his face.
“Appointment?” His dull voice calls to you and you nod back.
“Yes,” You say polity, finding your voice after you had convinced yourself you’d give him more than a piece of your mind. “Y/L/N, I’m getting two new tires put on,”
He doesn’t answer you further, rather he takes grease covered fingers and taps away on a keyboard to confirm your vehicles make and model.
“Can you add them both on the passenger side?” You tell him.
“Both of them on the passenger side?” He repeats. You nod. “Why?”
“It’s a front wheel drive car,” You start. “The front passenger tires is doing most of the work, so when I rotate them, front to back, that side is more worn than the drivers side. I’ll replace the other side in a few months,” You add, looking at how he watches you before his lips crack into a small smile.
“Alright then,” He says, sudden warmth filling his voice. “You know what you’re talking about,”
*
You’re given a time frame; and while you don’t exactly believe they’ll be completed on time, you allow yourself the added minutes. Truthfully, you’d rather sit in the waiting room and watch aimlessly through the glass to see if you could pick up anything. Even that would be welcomed entertainment over what you could find on your phone.
Sitting down against the leather of the sectional that reminds you more of a casting couch than the seating arrangement for a car dealership, you sigh as your eyes glaze over the rows and rows of the same hard tops and colors. You’re lost in watching the traffic, the neighboring world just beyond your reach and in this time without your car, you’ve deemed that you might as well not do anything at all.
With your mind wandering for the better part of an hour, you miss the first call of your last name; before the second announcement, he comes closer to you, catching your attention.
“You’re all set,” The man says to you. “You can head on back, Ivar’s just finishing up with your car. You can’t miss him,”
*
Ivar sort of just stands there, clad in dark earth tones while he checks, and rechecks the small scrap of paper in his hands. Eyes switching to the screen, furrowing his brow, and then back down once again towards to crumpled sheet. There’s a readjustment through his stance and finally, a sigh.
From the waist down, he sports a second layer of clothing, thick and malleable providing an added layer of protection, that he took the liberty to abandon on his upper half. The overalls sag at their sudden cut off point, loosely draping around his middle where the clothes match the over exhausted look on his face.
Delicate traces of grease and dirt stretch across his hairline, from rubbing and re-rubbing the back of his hand across his brow. They nearly match the color of his dark locks, pulled away from his face in a single bun, all reflecting back to his eyes. Azure and light, a stark contrast to the dark colors of his black ink tattoos, standing alone in their own sea of icy waters.
Tattooed fingers tap again on the keyboard and he fakes a high pitched whine, mumbling something in his native tongue as he shakes his head, abandoning the device and stepping around the desk. You watch his arms, mostly; well shaped biceps with rolling hills of muscles and artwork before his eyes meet yours.
Fuck.
He catches you standing there; firm in your stance as you watch him. Yours arms are crossed as you wait, but you’re not there calling attention to yourself in any manner. It’s powerful, he thinks silently, in the middle of this noisy garage. Between the calls of the machines, the sparks that fly, the phone that rings seemingly at the worse times. In the pure chaos, and overwhelm, you’re there, appearing before him, just as you are. Waiting. Resting. Stuck on watching him.
“The tire installation for the Bronco?” He finally says to you, causing you to nod at him.
“Yes,”
“Well, she’s all set for you…”
“Y/N,” You interject.
“Well, Y/N—wait, you’re the one who requested them on the same side?” Ivar asks.
You blink in response.
“It’s a front wheel drive car,” You start. “I rotate the tires, front to back—are you really going to make me explain it, again? I already told the other guy,” You all but groan.
“See, when he was explaining to me all of what you said…I kind of pictured you to be a dude,” Ivar suddenly teases, a cheeky grin coming across his lips as he looks down at you, crossing his arms.
“It’s really funny you mention that,” You smile softly, “When I heard your name, I though you might have been a dude, too,”
Ivar stares back at you silently, only blinking as if the entire interaction has suddenly stopped his brain.
“Uh,” Ivar starts, unable to offer something of significance. He laughs suddenly, scratching the back of his neck as he looks down at you, “Wow, I think I love you?”
“Oh, baby,” You hum softly. “That’s what they all tell me,” You say before you can stop yourself. You step around him then, trying to brush of the interaction as you look at your car, still on the lift. “Wow, so you can actually fit under here?” You then mock at him.
“Yeah, shocked me too,” Ivar answers, turning to face you as he puts his hand on the tire. Your eyes catch his fingers gripping the side of the rubber, dusting an imprecation from the tread as he looks over at you.
“How tall are you, exactly?” You ask, because you know he’s sick of it.
“I’m six foot five, and a half,” Ivar deadpans, “You do realize you bought different treads than the other side, right?” Ivar says.
“Mmm, yeah that extra half an inch really is the most important factor,” You hum. “Yes, I do,” You reply. “These ones have a higher speed rating than the ones the car came with,” You answer, turning to look at him. “And, while I don’t plan to out run the cops in my fucking Bronco, if they can handle higher speeds they tend to be a little bit more durable in everyday life,”
Ivar watches you and scoffs.
“You know more about tires than some of the employees that have come through here—and granted, I’m not here every day,” Ivar then adds.
“I am my father’s daughter,” You hum.
“Remind me not to get into a pissing match with you,” Ivar says.
“You’d lose,” You hum, “But it would be cute to watch you try,”
“You know,” Ivar starts suddenly, “You said that you only rotate them front to back, right?” You only nod in response. “If you ever want them rotated side to side, you can bring her in here and I’ll do it for you,”
“Oh yeah?” You answer. “And what would that cost me?”
“I…wouldn’t charge you,” Ivar replies.
“I find that hard to believe,” You mock. “You’re working for a dealership. I passed two of your other locations just to get to this one,”
“First off,” Ivar starts, “I’m only here to fill a spot—one of my brothers is giving me another nephew,”
“Congratulations,” You interject.
“Eh, the first two turned out to be little shits so I’m not really holding out hope that the third will be any better with his parenting,” Ivar bluntly remarks. “So when he’s back in a few weeks, I’m get to go back to my garage,” He adds, eyes looking back to yours.
“And you wouldn’t charge me at your garage?” You all but sigh, trying not to feed into the challenge.
Truthfully, you’re not sure how far you would be able to take it before you ended up breaking some company policy about the lack of clothing in the work place environment. You couldn’t imagine this man working under your car when you’re too busy imagining him under you.
“Atta girl,” Ivar smiles at you, breaking your thought.
“Well, that’s awfully nice of you, Ivar,” You tell him, rounding back to where you originally stood. “But it wouldn’t be very fair,”
“Well then, how would we make it fair?” Ivar suddenly asks. You snort some in response. “What?” Ivar laughs. “You can buy me dinner?” He tries.
“There it is,” You say, shaking your head. “Gods, it’s like you all read from the same script,” You round the underbelly of the car and stalk against the equipment on the wall.
“You knew I would ask say that?” Ivar asks. You nod casting your eyes to meet his.
“Father’s daughter,” You remind him.
“Well, then, what would you like instead? How would you make it fair?” Ivar asks again and your smiles fades as you look at him. An idea leaps forwards in your mind, and before you can reel it back, its across your tongue.
“You really like what you do, don’t you?” You find yourself suddenly saying. The question catches Ivar equally off guard as he adjusts his stance and leans against his work table.
“Yeah,” Ivar says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Working with my hands and building things has helped me immensely. I can’t imagine myself doing anything else,”
“That’s good,” You reply, watching the ease in his expression as he talks. “I’ve always wanted to learn more about cars,” You hum, suddenly moving to busy your hands with the loose tools across the bench. “I even thought about joining a program, you know? But I want to try before I’d go all in. Yeah, I change my own oil and rotate my own tires, but, that’s pretty basic stuff, though. I’ve always told the guys I work with and even my own father that the next time they’re fucking around with their cars, to tell me, just so I can watch and maybe learn myself. But no one ever takes me seriously,” You stop for a moment, swallowing the sadness the grabs you quickly, “And in those moments, I’m always reminded.”
“Reminded of what?” Ivar asks softly. The brazenness of his voice is gone.
“That, no matter how hard I try to prove myself, or how much I accomplish, or over come, I’m always going to be…a girl. I could be commanding troops through war, and I would still, to some people, just be a girl. They always say it like it’s a curse,”
And sometimes, it feels like one.
You stop suddenly, the ache of what’s real lingering on your lips for too long of a second and in a quick motion you wish you could take it back. Not a word of it is a lie; you’re tired of being perceived as a concept. Something small, docile, and delicate. In those moments you’re left on your own, reminding the world around you that your delicateness doesn’t dance like petals or broken glass thrown carelessly around the shattered bottle. You’re delicate like a bomb. Your womanhood is not a puzzle that’s meant to be solved; but a wildfire meant to be witnessed. This ache isn’t something you need to heal, it’s something that needs to be worshipped by your own two hands.
Ivar looks at your silently.
“I don’t like that,” Ivar says bluntly.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t tell it to you because I particularly enjoy it myself,” You mutter, trying to hide your emotions behind sarcasm.
“Fuck your tires,” He suddenly says and you look over to him. “I’ll gladly rotate them for you, that’s not the point—I have a project car that I’m working on—not really a project per se—” and Ivar stops, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, I took apart an old rusted Chevelle and I’m basically rebuilding the car from the ground up. So, uh, everything,”
“What year?” You ask him.
“1970.”
“SS?” You ask.
“Yes, an SS—my brothers and I like to race,”
“What kind of engine? 350 or the 396? Or 454 V8?”
Ivar inhales sharply, hit with a rush of sudden ecstasy.
“Oh, you do know,” He whispers to himself. “I’m thinking the 454 big block V8,” Ivar says as he smiles.
“And you’re building one?” You clarify.
“I am building one,” He nods. You only smile. “And if you would like, I would be more than willing to teach you as I go along,”
“You’re not serious, are you?” You ask, readjusting your stance and crossing your arms.
“I am dead serious,” Ivar tells you, straightening. “If you want to learn about cars I would like to help you. Look, working on cars saved my life, and if you’re that serious about trying—well, you won’t know until you try.”
You toss the idea around in your head quickly, letting it linger in the air between the two of you for just long enough for Ivar to think otherwise.
“Three conditions,” You say, stepping closer to him.
“Oh, boy,” Ivar mumbles, eyes catching yours as you close the space.
“It has to be here, and during normal business hours, when other employees are here,”
“That’s…very fair,” Ivar says, with a nod.
“It has to be on your days off, I don’t want to take you away from your work,”
“Deal,” Ivar says firmly. “And the third?” He’s almost afraid to ask.
“I’ll let you know when I think of it,” You smile up at him.
“Don’t uh, well, try not to bring this attitude with you to the first class,” Ivar says, hands motioning to the air in front of you.
“I won’t,” You tell him. “I have a very different one to bring for you, Ivar,”
Ivar looks back down at you, almost in challenge, but somewhere you can see behind his blue eyes that this man would eat out of the palm of your hand if you asked him to.
Tags:
@smileysam13579 @dreamtherapy @angelofthenightposts @unbetaedimagines @readsalot73 @queen-sarang @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @prettyinpayne @quantumlocked310 @xbellaxcarolinax @mighty-ragnarssons @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @queen-of-upshur @nanahachikyuu @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @fatedwithmbc @hashimily @youbloodymadgenius @love-all-things-writing @theanxietyqueen17 @trip2themoon @tgrrose @synnersaint @kataphine @prepare4trouble @abbiii72 @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @93xdiagonxalley @ivarisms @nordicshieldmadien @ironynoticony @ivarsgard @cosmicmerbabe @smears-and-spots @kaybee87 @t4medicroe @noway4u @southernbe @anakindoesntlikesand @mymindfuckery @noonespecial90 @hypocrtic-trash-baby @tessakate @ivarlover @chrisriddlesoup
*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*
full masterlist can be found here.
