Come back to bed- Arch manning
Absolutely had to jump on this bandwagon
Arch manning x reader
The house is quiet in that special Christmas way—not silent, but softened. Like everything has been padded with warmth. The kind of quiet that comes from a full day of laughter, too much food, wrapping paper still half-stuffed into trash bags, and people finally letting themselves rest.
Arch is asleep when you slide out of his bed.
You do it carefully, like he might shatter if you move too fast. His arm is heavy around your waist, hand relaxed against your stomach, breath slow and even against the back of your neck. You pause for a second, just to feel it. Him. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The faint smell of his shampoo and something clean and familiar that is just... Arch.
You ease his arm away, replacing it with a pillow so he doesn't wake up. He shifts, frowns a little, but doesn't open his eyes. Mumbles something under his breath that sounds like your name.
You smile, quiet, and lean down to press a soft kiss to his cheek.
"I'll be right back," you whisper, even though he can't hear you.
The hallway outside his room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of Christmas lights strung along the banister. The Manning house feels even bigger at night, all high ceilings and old wood floors that creak if you don't step just right. You pad down the hall barefoot, phone in hand, following the faint light spilling from under May's door.
You knock once, quietly.
"Come in," May says immediately, like she was waiting.
Her room is exactly how you left it earlier—messy in a way that feels lived-in, not chaotic. Clothes draped over the chair, an open suitcase still half-unpacked from when she flew in. Christmas pajamas piled at the foot of her bed. A small lamp on her nightstand casts a warm yellow glow over everything.
She's stretched out on her bed, back against the headboard, scrolling through her phone. She looks up when you come in and grins.
"Lover boy out?" she asks.
"Out cold," you say, closing the door gently behind you. "I think I could've set off fireworks and he wouldn't have noticed."
She laughs. "Yeah, that tracks."
You climb onto the bed with her, lying on your stomach, chin propped on your hands. Your phone buzzes with a notification, but you ignore it for now.
For a minute, you just exist there together. Comfortable. Easy.
It's almost midnight.
"So," May says, locking her phone and tossing it aside. "Tell me something. Anything. No Arch. No football. No family obligations."
You snort. "You're the one who just spent the last hour talking about Aunt Ellen's weird obsession with Christmas village figurines."
"She has like forty tiny ceramic people," May says defensively. "It's unsettling."
"They're festive."
"They're watching us," she says, deadpan.
You laugh, burying your face in her pillow for a second. "Okay, fine. Something about me."
She raises her eyebrows expectantly.
"I've been thinking about moving my desk," you say.
She stares at you. "That's what you came up with?"
"You said anything!"
"I said something interesting."
You roll onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. "Okay, okay. I've been thinking about... I don't know. The next year. Like, what it's going to feel like."
May hums. "That's better."
"I feel like everything keeps speeding up," you say. "Not in a bad way. Just... faster than I expected."
She nods slowly. "Yeah. That happens."
"I always thought I'd feel more panicked about it," you admit. "But mostly I just feel... curious."
"That's a good sign."
You glance at her. "You sound very wise right now."
She grins. "Older sister energy."
You scroll through your phone absentmindedly, not really reading anything. "Do you ever miss when things were simpler?"
May shrugs. "Sometimes. But then I remember I was also way more insecure and broke."
"That's fair."
She laughs, then looks at you more seriously. "I like who you are right now, you know."
Your chest warms. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," she says. "You seem... settled. Not boring-settled. Just... grounded. The first time we met, you looked like you weren’t breathing."
You blink. "That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. Sorry I was nervous."
"Get used to it," she says. "I'm very complimentary."
You both go quiet again, scrolling, the sound of your fingers tapping glass filling the space. Outside, you can hear distant laughter from somewhere down the street, maybe another family still awake, squeezing every last second out of Christmas.
May suddenly snorts.
"What?" you ask.
"My ex just posted a 'soft launch' with someone new," she says, turning her phone so you can see. "He's wearing the sweater I bought him."
"Oh no," you groan. "That's criminal."
"I know," she says. "I should sue."
"For emotional damages."
"Exactly."
You both laugh, loud and unrestrained, then clamp your hands over your mouths instinctively, listening for movement in the hall.
Nothing.
You shake your head. "He sleeps like the dead."
"Must be nice."
You glance at her. "You okay? You know with the whole ex situation?"
She nods, but it's a thoughtful nod. "Yeah. I think so. I'm at that stage where I don't miss him, but I miss being... known."
You get that. "That part comes back," you say gently.
She smiles at you. "You always say the right things."
"Only sometimes."
The clock on her nightstand clicks over to 11:59.
"Almost midnight," May says. "Make a wish."
You close your eyes without thinking too hard about it.
When you open them, she's watching you with a soft smile.
"What?" you ask.
"Nothing," she says. "I'm just really glad you're here."
"Me too."
The door creaks open behind you.
Neither of you hears it at first.
It's only when May's eyes flick past your shoulder that you realize something's changed.
She freezes.
Your stomach flips.
You turn.
Arch is standing in the doorway.
Shirtless. Hair a mess. Eyes half-lidded and unfocused, like he woke up and followed some invisible string straight here. He's wearing pajama pants low on his hips, one hand braced against the doorframe like he's still figuring out where he is.
He looks at you.
Doesn't say a word.
"Uh," May says. "Hi."
“Baby.” He ignores her.
Walks straight toward the bed.
"Arch—" you start, laughing quietly, "what are you—"
He bends down, hooks an arm under your knees and another behind your back, and lifts you like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"Arch!" you whisper, startled, grabbing his shoulder.
He presses your face into his chest, warm and solid, heartbeat steady under your ear. You feel his chin rest briefly on the top of your head.
Still no words.
May stares at the two of you, mouth open.
"I—okay," she says finally. "I'll just... see myself out of this moment."
Arch turns slightly, glancing at her for half a second.
"Thanks," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
She waves him off. "Take her. Please."
He carries you down the hallway without another word, bare feet silent against the floor. You wrap your arms around his neck, laughing softly, completely melted.
"You didn't even ask," you whisper.
He hums, low and content, like that's answer enough. “Come back to bed please.”
Back in his room, he sets you down gently on the bed, crawling in after you immediately, pulling you into his chest. The blankets are still warm from where you left them. He tucks you in like he's done it a hundred times before, arm snug around your waist, hand sliding up and down your back in slow, sleepy strokes.
You nestle into him without thinking, cheek against his chest, one leg hooked over his.
"There you are," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
"I was gone for like... twenty minutes," you say softly.
"Too long," he says.
You smile into him.
His hand keeps moving, grounding, familiar. He kisses your hair again, then your temple, then just rests his lips there like he doesn't need to move anymore.
"I woke up and you weren't there," he says quietly. "Didn't like it."
Your chest tightens. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," he says. "I just—" He exhales. "I love you."
It's not rushed. Not dramatic. Just honest.
You tilt your head up enough to look at him. His eyes are closed again, but his brow is relaxed now, peaceful.
"I love you too," you whisper.
He hums, smiling faintly, and pulls you closer, like he's making sure there's no space left between you.
His breathing evens out quickly after that, but his hand never stops moving, thumb tracing lazy patterns against your side.
You lie there, listening to his heart, the house quiet around you, Christmas lights glowing softly through the crack in the door.
And you think—this. This is what it feels like to be home.
