Levi x Reader (ONE-SHOTS)

Levi X !Tattoo Artist! Reader (AU) (Genderfluid)

"Don't mind me, either. I have to get a little close." You scoot closer to the table, raising your arms up to rest on his chest/arm in order to tattoo properly. "I don't mind." Levi quietly replies, as if afraid to move and throw you off, possibly messing you up. Concentrating, you lower your left/right hand closer to his chest until the needle begins penetrating his epidermis into the dermis to deposit the ink. You take your time maneuvering your elbow, following the curved lines, eventually whipping out the needle to leave a clean finish where you can start again. "How does that feel so far?" You ask as you lean back up, gently patting the recently inked skin with a paper towel in your free hand. "I barely feel it." Levi answers without giving a second to think about it, his eyes glued to the ceiling, not bothered by the bright lights. Snickering to yourself, you lean back over him to continue. "I knew you could take it. Let me know if you need a break, though." You start again a few centimeters before you ended the first stroke to continue a seamless line.

Levi takes the session like a champ, not at all complaining or even chatting. He lays beneath your arms completely still, being cautious of his breathing as not to inhale too deeply and ruin a line. He takes gentle and slow breaths, allowing the subtle buzz of your quiet machine to put him into a bit of a trance. To him, it feels quite therapeutic and relaxing.

About halfway through, though, you lean up again, patting away the excess ink from his reddened skin. "Hanging in there, Levi?" You muse, wiping more Vaseline onto your gloved-pinky from the scoop you have on your tray. "Yeah, I'm fine. You can keep going." He drags his eyes away from the ceiling to meet your own. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, smiling down at him. "Awesome! That means you'll be back on my table for more." You joke, smearing more Vaseline onto his skin to finish the rest of the outline. He's one of the best clients you've had in awhile. Lately, you've been cursed with long or multiple sessions because the person couldn't sit still enough or cried too much. Levi, though? He's taking it like an unbothered champ and you admire him for that.

Some more time passes in a comfortable silence, the background filled in with your favorite playlist, as well as Sasha, Conny, and Jean's laughter from his station, all of it a white noise. You don't even notice a rowdy Hange and Reiner show up for work. After completing the outline, you begin filling it in with the same black ink, excited for the outcome and Levi's first impression. You almost fail to notice the shift in his breathing and heartbeat thumping against his chest the longer you permanently mark his pale flesh. Every time you move to get a better, more comfortable angle, he reminds himself to zone out. He's more worried about you noticing his anxiousness from you, rather than the tattoo itself.

As for yourself, you begin to feel the same way the deeper you get into your thoughts, becoming more aware of the man you're working on. There hasn't been one particular thing he's done to catch your eye, it just happened over time. The more time you spend with him, the easier it is to be around him. You feel like you've known him for months already, subconsciously hoping you can continue getting to know him.

Time seems to speed up because you find yourself finished with Levi's very first tattoo, almost forgetting how you went on autopilot towards the end. Turning off the machine, you set it down on the tray to get a fresh clump of paper towels, gently wiping off his irritated skin, even if Levi can't feel the pain. "All done!" You exclaim, finishing cleaning the area. "Already?" Levi questions, not noticing how much time had passed since you started. "Sit up slowly and give yourself a few seconds before looking in the mirror. I don't want you to pass out on top of me." You chuckle, scooting your rolling chair out of his way.

Levi follows your directions, pushing himself up from the table, swinging his legs over the side and sitting idly for a few short moments. Then, he rises off the table to approach the mirror, quietly inspecting the fresh ink. You pull out a new piece of second skin wrap, your (color) eyes darting up every few seconds to guess what's going through his mind. For the first time since your apprenticeship, you're nervous to hear his response. Will he critique your work? Hate it? Hate the placement? Regret it? You can only imagine what this neat person thinks of your art. Hell, you're not even on his level of perfection.