The chest thief
Levi Ackerman x Y/n
Enjoy kittens!
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Levi Ackerman had never imagined that warmth could feel like safety. For most of his life, warmth meant vulnerability — a distraction, a weakness, something that could be taken from him. But you changed that. You were the first person he ever allowed close enough to share a bed, the first person whose presence didn’t make him tense or restless. Sleeping with you curled against his chest became the one part of his day untouched by fear.
And then your newborn arrived.
The first night home, the baby cried endlessly. You tried everything — rocking, humming, pacing — but nothing soothed him. Levi watched quietly, eyes sharp but soft, until finally he stepped forward.
“Give him to me.”
You didn't hesitated -since levi rarely wanted to hold the new born to afraid tp hurt the small thing-, then placed the tiny bundle into Levi’s arms. Levi held him against his chest, steady and sure.
The crying stopped instantly.
The baby sighed — a tiny, contented sound — and burrowed into Levi’s shirt like he belonged there.
Levi froze.
Not in fear.
In awe.
The baby’s warmth seeped through his shirt, small and gentle, like a living ember pressed to his heart. Levi lowered his head slightly, breathing in the faint, sweet scent of newborn skin — milk, softness, something impossibly pure. His fingers brushed the baby’s hair, impossibly fine and silky, softer than anything he’d ever touched.
You watched Levi’s expression shift — something tender, something reverent.
“He likes you,” you whispered.
Levi didn’t look up. “He’s warm.”
You smiled. “So are you.”
Levi didn’t answer, but his hand kept stroking the baby’s soft hair, slow and careful, like he was afraid to disturb something sacred.
That was the moment everything changed.
Because from that night on, your baby refused to sleep anywhere except Levi’s chest.
---
At first, you thought it was adorable. Levi would sit against the headboard, baby sprawled across him like a tiny king claiming territory. Levi’s hand would rest protectively over the baby’s back, thumb brushing gently through the soft hair he’d become obsessed with. Sometimes he’d lean down and breathe in the baby’s scent, subtle and sweet, and you’d see his shoulders relax in a way they never did during the day.
But then Levi started falling asleep like that.
Every night.
With the baby on his chest.
And you… were left without your usual place in his arms.
You didn’t realize how much you missed it until one night when you stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching Levi settle into bed with the baby already asleep on him.
Levi glanced up. “What’s with that face?”
“I don’t have a face,” you muttered.
“You do,” he said flatly. “It’s the ‘I’m jealous but pretending I’m not’ face.”
You huffed and climbed into bed, turning your back to him. “I’m not jealous.”
Levi raised an eyebrow. “Hn. Sure.”
But he knew you. He always knew you.
You lay there, staring at the wall, listening to the soft breaths of your baby and the steady heartbeat of the man you loved. You wanted to be happy — you *were* happy — but you also felt something sharp and petty twist in your chest.
You missed him.
You missed being held.
You missed being the one who slept on Levi’s chest.
You missed the way he wrapped his arms around you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.
You missed the quiet moments where he whispered things he’d never say in daylight.
You missed him.
And you were a little jealous that your own baby had stolen your spot.
Levi shifted slightly, adjusting the baby. You peeked over your shoulder. The baby was sprawled across Levi’s chest, tiny lips parted, tiny hand clutching Levi’s shirt. Levi’s fingers were buried in the baby’s soft hair, stroking gently. He leaned down, breathing in the baby’s scent again, eyes half‑closed.
You sighed.
Levi smirked. “You’re sulking.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re sulking,” he repeated, voice low and amused. “And it’s ridiculous.”
You turned fully to face him. “He likes your chest too much.”
“He’s warm,” Levi said simply. “And he smells good.”
You blinked. “He… smells good?”
Levi shrugged slightly. “He smells like… peace.”
Your heart melted a little — but not enough to erase the jealousy.
“I used to sleep there,” you muttered.
“You still can.”
“No, I can’t. He’s hogging it.”
Levi sighed — that quiet, amused sigh he only used when you were being dramatic in a way he secretly loved. “Come here.”
You hesitated, but he reached out with his free arm, hooking a finger under your wrist and tugging you gently toward him. You settled beside him, your head resting against his shoulder, close enough to feel the warmth of both him and the baby.
It wasn’t the same as being wrapped fully in his arms… but it was something.
Levi pressed a kiss to your temple. “You know,” he murmured, “I can hold both of you.”
You swallowed. “I just… miss you.”
His voice softened. “I’m right here.”
You looked down at your baby, peacefully asleep on Levi’s chest, tiny lips parted, tiny hand curled. Levi’s fingers brushed through the baby’s hair again, slow and gentle.
You couldn’t stay mad — not really. But you could stay jealous.
Levi nudged you lightly. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it,” you whispered.
“Tch. Unfortunately.”
He shifted, carefully maneuvering the baby so that the little one rested partly on his chest and partly on yours. The warmth was immediate — soft, comforting, perfect. The baby’s scent filled the space between you, sweet and calming.
Levi wrapped both arms around you — finally — enclosing all three of you in his hold.
Your jealousy melted instantly.
Levi rested his chin on your head. “Better?”
You nodded, eyes closing. “Much.”
“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not letting either of you go.”
---
But the habit didn’t stop.
Every night after that, the baby insisted on sleeping on Levi’s chest. And every night, Levi insisted on holding both of you. Sometimes you woke up with the baby sprawled across Levi and Levi’s arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Sometimes you woke up with Levi’s hand resting on your hip, fingers curled protectively. Sometimes you woke up with Levi’s forehead pressed to yours, his breath warm and steady.
But sometimes… you woke up alone.
Because the baby would fuss, and Levi would get up to soothe him, pacing the room with slow, steady steps. You’d watch from the bed, heart aching with love and and something deeper — something tender and fragile.
One night, after a particularly long day, you found Levi sitting in the rocking chair, baby asleep on his chest, Levi’s eyes half‑closed. His hand was buried in the baby’s soft hair, stroking gently. His nose rested near the baby’s head, breathing in that faint newborn scent like it grounded him.
You approached quietly. “You okay?”
Levi opened one eye. “I’m fine.”
“You look tired.”
“I’m fine,” he repeated, but his voice was softer this time.
You knelt beside him, resting your head against his knee. “You don’t have to do everything alone.”
Levi looked down at you, expression unreadable. “I’m not.”
“You act like you are.”
He exhaled slowly. “He’s warm.”
You smiled. “So am I.”
Levi’s lips twitched. “Not like him.”
You laughed softly. “He’s a baby, Levi.”
“He’s… comforting.”
You swallowed. “I know.”
Levi hesitated — a rare thing. Then he nodded.
You lifted the baby gently, cradling him against your chest. Levi watched you, eyes softening in that way that always made your heart flutter. You rocked the baby slowly, humming under your breath. Levi stood, stretching slightly, then wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.
The baby slept peacefully.
Levi whispered, “See? He likes your warmth too.”
You smiled. “Maybe he just likes being held.”
Levi’s arms tightened around you. “He gets that from you.”
You leaned back into him. “You’re getting sentimental.”
“Tch. Shut up.”
But he didn’t let go.