His Little Brat. {Levi x Reader}

The Mechanic. (Worker!Levi x Rich!Reader)

-It's been ages guys, I hope you guys enjoy this oneshot!-

  The leathery scent of the car surrounds you as you sit upright in your limousine. The engine hums softly as it is driven along the roads with utmost care by your butler. He's a stoic man that had little to say most of the time, but he does his job immaculately and you have a hard time finding something to critique. Your eyes trace around the scenery outside the tinted windows as they flash by, and you can't help but feel a little sad. You don't know why you do, you literally have everything handed to you on a silver spoon. But the emptiness inside your heart can't seem to be filled with anything materialistic. Just as you start to wallow in your own self-pity, your quiet butler starts to speak.

"I'm sorry, ma'am." he apologises discreetly before continuing on. "We seem to be low on gas, do you mind if we stop by a gas station before heading off to your appointment with the senator's son?"

  You shake your head no softly before displaying a reassuring smile to ease his anxiousness. After all, even your butler of many years can make mistakes like forgetting to fill the car with gas beforehand. Besides, you want to prolong the time you have as much as possible. Just thinking about the arranged marriage sends you into a deep state of depression. You'd rather not think about it anymore. But reality catches up to you rapidly, and soon enough, you're going to have to just accept that this is the fate of the daughter of a rich man.

  The car halts to a soft stop, and you decide to step out for a breather while you're here. It's a very disorderly workshop with loud machinery blaring in the back, accompanied by occasional bursts of shouting and hollering. The men working there are dirty. Their skin is measled with gunmetal and grub, but they seem to have a certain light around them that washes a sense of admiration for these people. Unlike the higher class snobbery you're used to seeing, they conduct themselves with such dignity and precision. A couple of the wiry workers with pencil stubs balanced between their ears turn their attention to you while busily cranking up the camshaft to the oscillating crank. Your heart starts to sink as they don't seem too welcome. In fact, you see the blaring hatred in their eyes and have to quickly turn away with fear creeping up your back. You end up whirling around so quickly that you run smack into a sweaty chest.

"Oi, watch where you're going, woman." a deep verbalisation has you shrinking backwards until you look up to look eyes with his intimidating gaze.

  The man is surprisingly short, but unlike the rest of his crew, his body is built like a god's. Muscles cut through his damp and stained shirt, and you have to turn the other cheek before your cheeks start to flare up and make things too obvious for him. His skin has a glossy shine from the sweat, and the droplets drip off his hair to invade his silvery eyes. His large hands reach up to wipe at the perspiration before returning to the wrench and brass bits laying around on the ground. He grits his teeth and ends up clicking his tongue in major annoyance as he begins to side-step out of the way, but then he stops when you finally squeak.

"I-I'm sorry." you curtsey respectively.

"You shouldn't have come here, we don't take too kindly to you stiff-necks." he gruffs tactlessly, and you struggle to keep composed. "If you were smart, you'd go straight back to that shitty ass car, and go back to wherever your palace may be."

  You refuse to repute to his spiteful remarks, instead you obey and do as your told. That's all you've been doing with your entire life anyway. Just as the tears threaten to overflow, you turn your head just in time to see something being hurled at you with incredulous speed.

"You fucking grubstakers!!!"

 The metal pliers end up reflecting off your brow bone, and it hits the ground with a sonorous clang. Your body freezes up and the adrenaline starts to pump through your veins. You shut your eyes tightly as your hand reaches up to where the pain intensifies, and when you open them again, all you see is red. Your fingers feel slick with warmth and stickiness as the vital liquid streams down the side of your face and on to your cream dress. Footsteps resonate around you, and you hear your butler drilling through your head with voices of concern and horror. Instead of answering his furious questions, you clutch on to his shoulder with blood-stained hands to steady your feet. You are on the verge of collapsing, and just as your knees buckle,a strong grip from your left saves you from crashing into the dirty floor below. The presence's strong arms are tucked underneath your shoulders and your thighs, and you see the sliver of his jet-black hair before blacking out completely.

  You spend the next few days at the hospital with a major concussion. Your father is furious and demands to have every single one of his men out there searching for whoever hurt his precious daughter. But you ease his wrath with subtle intellectualism. You can't really blame them for hating the aristocrats. You take everything from the unfortunate, and you are powerless to stop it from happening. It's just the way capitalism works, and you just happen to be born into the cursed bloodline. You make sure your butler doesn't spill a single sentence about the incident, and that was that. You didn't want to even remember that day again, but the odds are thrown against you as you hear the hospital door creak open one day.

  His face fills your mind as he stands right at the foot of your bed. The man from a few days ago sets down a bouquet of daisies before crossing his bulging arms across his tight chest. He seems to be examining you, and his eyes falter at the thick bandage around your head. His thin lips the start to part, but you stop him from saying anything.

"It's fine. You didn't have to come here." you whisper under your breath softly as you wring your hands. "What would your co-workers think if they found out you came here?"

"That doesn't really matter." he sighs. "The way they acted, I'm just here to apologise on their behalf. You know damn well that they'd never come to say it themselves."

"I figured as much. Thank you." you nod again.

"I didn't do it for you." he states and you look up in surprise.

"What?"

"I didn't come here for you." he repeats himself. 

  His words heavily imply that he came here to make certain that his workshop and his people wouldn't be affected drastically by the consequences of their actions. You know this, yet your heart pangs with pain. However, you handle it with grace and strength as you smile up at him reassuringly. 

"Don't worry about it. I already made sure my father wouldn't do anything."

"That's not what I meant," he murmurs as he draws closer to lean over you. "I came here for myself."

"I'm sorry, I don't really understand what you mean." you grimace uncomfortably, and his eyes seem to glisten with emotion before returning to it's original tranquility. He coughs a little awkwardly before motioning towards the clumsily placed bouquet on the dresser beside you.

"It's nothing. Well, I better get going." he nods slightly. "I do hope you come over to our station again. I'm afraid we left a very discouraging first impression though, I'd gladly reimburse you with whatever I can when you do decide to pay us a visit." He shuffles his feet before turning around to walk out. 

"I never got your name, sir." you hum and his footsteps falter. "Well, i-in case I do visit, I'd have to ask around for-"

"It's Levi. Levi Ackerman."

You finally know the name of the mechanic that corrected your deformed ideals of love.

~~~

Salute Cadets! *accidentally shoots self with flare gun*

    I feel like this oneshot wasn't really good. This plot was an idea that came to me in my literature class as we learnt about a poem regarding mechanics and such.But I just feel discontented with this one! IDK WHYYYYYY. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and I'd love to hear your feedback.

Love,

Winnie.