hi!! could you write fluff with ryan plz? maybe something he comes back home after touring for months and they spend all day together like they can’t take their hands off of each other. i mean you can write whatever you want, really your writing is amazing!! love u x
Aww stop this is so sweet 😖😖
You’re the best!! Hope you enjoy this, my lovely ❤️
Like You Never Left - Ryan McMahon
Summary: (based off of request) Ryan finally comes home from tour and comes over to your house to spend the night as soon as he gets home when he asks you a very important question…
CW: None! Just kisses and cuddles and love xxx
A/N: I genuinely loved writing this, I hope you guys love it as much as I do. It’s nothing crazy, but fits in so well with this season 🍂🍁
You barely get the door open before he's in your arms.
His suitcase drops somewhere behind him on the porch with a dull thud, and then his mouth is on yours, his arms crushing you against him like he's scared you'll disappear. He tastes like plane air and spearmint chewing gum, but he smells like home — warm cotton and that bit of his cologne you always forgot the name of, but never forgot.
He breathes your name against your lips. "I missed you."
Your hands knot into his hoodie. "You have no idea."
You don't even make it upstairs at first. Your mum's out running errands, your dad's still at work, your little sister is sleeping at her boyfriends house for the night, and it's just the two of you in the entryway of the house where you first kissed him, first loved him, first fell asleep on video call when he was halfway across the world only three months into your relationship.
"I was going mad without you," he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. "Couldn't sleep right. Couldn't do fucking anything right, to be honest. Everything just felt... off."
"You were off," you say softly, running your thumb along his cheek. "So was I."
He kisses you again, slow and deep like he's trying to remember every single inch of you in case the world rips him away again. And you let him. Because being apart from him was like walking around with only half your chest full. Like everything was muted.
When he finally pulls back, you're both breathing hard. He looks at you like he's not convinced you're real.
"We have the house to ourselves," you tell him, lacing your fingers with his. "All day."
He grins — that boyish, crooked smile that made you fall for him in the first place. "Perfect."
————————————————
Upstairs, the bed creaks the way it always does — slightly too loud, slightly too old — but Ryan doesn't care. He pulls you onto it like he's never had a bed before. You lie tangled together under the same duvet he's teased you about over FaceTime (the one with the faded stars and moons from when you were thirteen), and for hours you just talk, touch, and fall into that rhythm that only comes after years of knowing someone's soul inside and out.
He tells you about Paris — the venue that had no heat, the promoter who called him Rian the whole night. You tell him about Dublin — your dad's knee acting up again, the new neighbours who've got the worst music taste imaginable. He laughs at all the right parts. You trace the veins in his forearm absentmindedly.
"I hate being away from you," he murmurs, voice low and scratchy as he presses a kiss to your shoulder.
"I know," you whisper, nose buried in his chest. "Me too."
There's no rush. No phones. No pressure.
Just the soft creak of the mattress, the muffled sounds of life outside the window, and two people so wrapped up in each other it's like time folded just for them.
————————————————
Later, as the light fades into soft gold and the room starts to chill, Ryan rests his head on your chest, one arm slung over your waist. He's quiet for a while, then:
"Let's move in together soon."
Your heart skips. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. I want to come home to you. Not just your parents' house, or my parents' house. You. Always."
You don't say anything for a second — just slide your fingers through his dark hair and press a kiss to the crown of his head.
"Then let's do it," you whisper. "Whenever you're ready."
His arms tighten around you like he's anchoring himself.
"I'm already ready," he breathes.
And then silence. Comfortable silence.
You don't know how long you've been lying there — wrapped in the quiet of your childhood and now adult bedroom, skin still buzzing from hours of being near him. It's like he brought the heat of tour back with him and dumped it all into your sheets.
Ryan's head still hadn't moved from your chest, fingers tracing slow, lazy lines along your ribs through the thin material of your shirt.
You hum softly. "That tickles."
He lifts his head just enough to look at you. His smile is small, sleepy, and stupidly full of love. "Sorry," he whispers, not sorry at all.
You catch his hand and bring it up to your lips, kissing his knuckles. "Say it again."
He blinks. "Say what?"
"What you said earlier. About moving in together."
A pause. Then a slow grin.
He rolls half on top of you, his knee nudging between yours, and lowers his voice. "Let's move in together."
"Mmm," you smile against his mouth as he kisses you again. "One more time. I just need to hear it a few dozen more times."
“Let’s move in together,” he murmurs, kissing your jaw. “Let’s get a flat with horrible plumbing and a kettle that only works if you hit it—”
You giggle as his lips find that sensitive spot under your ear. “Sounds perfect.”
“And we’ll get one of those little carpets for the bathroom that you’ll insist is aesthetically neutral,” he adds, punctuating it with another kiss. “But it’ll be beige. And tragic.”
You swat his shoulder lightly, laughing. “It’ll be tasteful.”
“It’ll be ugly,” he grins, pulling back just enough to see your face, his hand sliding gently up the curve of your waist. “But I’ll love it because you’ll be there.”
Your smile falters — not in a sad way, just overwhelmed.
“You’re gonna make me cry.”
“I’ll kiss them away.”
And he does, dragging his lips gently across your cheek, toward the corner of your eye, where his thumb strokes softly.
Then back down to your mouth.
The kiss starts slow, sweet — the kind of kiss you give someone when you’re trying to memorize them — but deepens quickly, his hand slipping under your shirt, warm against your back.
“I missed this,” he whispers between kisses. “I missed you.”
You nod, kissing him back, your fingers curling in his hair. “I hated sleeping without you. My bed was cold for months.”
“I’ll never sleep without you again,” he murmurs. “Gonna wake up next to you every single day. Steal your socks. Steal the duvet.”
“You already do.”
“Just making it official.”
You laugh, but the sound turns into a sigh as his mouth finds your throat, then your collarbone, moving slowly like he’s rediscovering you. You arch into him, hands slipping under the hem of his hoodie, needing more skin, more warmth, more him.
He groans softly as your fingers graze his sides. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this.”
“Oh, I do,” you breathe. “Your little flirty texts at 2 a.m. weren’t subtle.”
He chuckles against your skin. “I was suffering.”
“Well,” you whisper, pulling him closer until your noses brush, “I think you’ve earned a few rewards.”
He presses his forehead to yours. “Careful. I might never leave.”
You smile, cupping his cheek. “That’s kind of the point.”
And for a long moment, you just stay like that — tangled up in sheets, in each other, in the kind of closeness that months apart couldn’t shake.
“I’ll start looking at flats this week,” he says quietly, brushing your hair back from your face.
“We can go together,” you say, voice soft. “Find one with a little balcony. Or a fireplace. Or a sad beige bathroom rug.”
His grin stretches against your skin. “Deal.”
You kiss him again. And again. And again.
And in between, you talk about furniture, about keys, about what color you’ll paint the bedroom, and about a life where he doesn’t have to leave to miss you — because finally, he’ll be coming home to you.
I'm literally in dire need of a ryan fic I'm surviving on crumbs. I LOOOOVEVEVEE YOUR WRITING BTW!!!
I’m so sorry it took me this long to get to your requests but I’m finally getting on top of things!!!
Hopefully you enjoy it, my love ❤️
Spaces Between Us - Ryan McMahon
Summary: When Ryan finds a poem you wrote about him, a conversation is brought up about your true feelings when it comes to his career and him being on the road…
Warnings: There isn’t really any! Slight angst but it doesn’t last long.
A/N: This isn’t my best and it’s really short, but I just wanted to put something out since I’ve been quite behind with writing at the moment xxx
Four years. Four years of tour dates, airport goodbyes, and empty apartment nights while Ryan chased drum kits and roaring crowds across the globe. You told yourself you were proud, supportive, understanding—but the truth was heavier. Loneliness had a way of creeping into the spaces he left behind. Tonight, it spilled onto paper:
"I wait in the shadows of our empty rooms,
Counting beats in your absence,
Tracing the spaces you leave behind..."
You hadn’t meant for him to find it. But Ryan’s fingers paused over the page as he leaned in the doorway, his expression unreadable.
"Is this… about me?" His voice was quiet at first, then edged with something raw you couldn’t immediately place.
You froze. "I… it’s just… a poem. Feelings. Nothing to—"
"No, it’s not nothing," he snapped, stepping fully inside. "Are you saying I don’t care about you? That I leave you behind?"
Your chest tightened. "Ryan… that’s not it. I love you. I love your career. But sometimes… sometimes I feel invisible. Like you’re living this amazing life while I’m just… here. Waiting."
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the small living room. "Invisible? That’s… that’s not fair. You know I love you. You know I’d give anything to be home more."
"Then why don’t you act like it?" You shot back, anger and hurt mixing in your voice. "Why do I have to write a poem just for you to see that I miss you? That I feel like I’m… being left behind?"
Ryan stopped, staring at me like he was trying to find the right words. "I… I don’t know. I don’t know what to say. I’m doing everything I can out there, and you—"
"And I’m trying to support you!" You yelled, tears pricking your eyes. "I’m trying to cheer you on, to be happy for you, to survive without you for months at a time, but it doesn’t mean I don’t feel lonely! It doesn’t mean I don’t need you!"
Silence fell, heavy and suffocating. Ryan looked down at the floor, shoulders slumped, and finally muttered, "I… I didn’t realise. I didn’t think… I didn’t think about how much it hurts for you."
"You should," you whispered, voice breaking. "I shouldn’t have to remind you."
Ryan moved closer, hesitantly, as if approaching fragile glass. "You’re right," he said, voice trembling. "I’ve been selfish. I’ve been so wrapped up in the tour, in the shows, in everything else, that I forgot… I forgot that home—our home, our life—means just as much to you as the road does to me."
You blinked back tears, chest tight. "I just want to feel like you’re still here, even when you’re not. That I’m not being left behind."
He reached for your hands, holding them gently. "You’re not. You’ll never be. I’m sorry… for not thinking, for not noticing, for not being enough when you needed me."
You let out a shaky breath, the tension in your body slowly unraveling. "I just… I love you. I don’t want to fight. I just want to feel like we’re… us, even with the miles."
He pulled you into a tight hug, strong and grounding. "Four years, yeah? And every mile, every tour, I promise I’ll try harder to make sure you don’t feel alone. You’re my home, even when I’m on the road."
You buried your face in his chest, listening to the familiar steady thrum of his heartbeat. "Promise me you’ll think about us, too," you whispered.
"I promise," he murmured. "Always. No more forgetting, no more leaving you behind."
And in that quiet Dublin apartment, surrounded by the faint hum of the city outside and the soft echo of your hearts, you realised something: love isn’t about being together every second—it’s about showing up for each other, even when distance stretches between you. And for the first time in a long while, you felt like yourself and Ryan would navigate that distance together.
Hii, I just discovered you and omgg i loovee your writing. We need more ryan, I love him so much!! Could you do something like just hanging out with him, like in their shred home, and he’s so in love with the reader, like she’s just doing normal stuff and he’s going crazy about it. I know this is cringe but I thought it would be cute, I can so imagine him as a bf. Take your time of course, thankss
Aww yes I really need to write more Ryan stuff!!
I have so many requests for Ryan, including this one, so thank you my loves xxx
Angel - Ryan McMahon
Summary: You cook dinner while Ryan’s never been more in love…(basically followed the request hehehe)
Warnings: None!!
A/N: Finally got another request done and it’s Ryan this time, YAY!!!!! Xxx
The rain outside was more of a hush than a storm — a soft mist tapping against the windows, settling over the city of Dublin like a warm blanket.
Inside your flat, though, it was golden. Warm. Safe.
The kitchen smelled of garlic and thyme, and you were humming gently as you stirred something in a pot, barefoot in satin pyjama pants and an Inhaler shirt you managed to grab at Wythenshawe last year.
Ryan would never admit it, but he loved seeing you Inhaler merch.
Ryan stood just inside the doorway, leaning against the frame with a soft grin playing at the corner of his mouth. He hadn’t said a word in the past five minutes, and yet his eyes hadn’t left you once.
“You’re staring again,” you said, not looking back, but smiling all the same.
“Can you blame me?” He murmured. “You’re wearing a shirt with my face on it, making something that smells like actual heaven. What else am I supposed go do, Angel?”
You laughed, setting the wooden spoon down and turning toward him. “Maybe offer to help?”
“I could,” he said, pushing off the doorframe, walking slowly over to where you stood at the stove. He stopped just behind you, arms slipping around your waist, nose brushing the crook of your neck. “Or I could keep doing this.
You leaned into him instinctively, melting into the familiar weight of his chest against your back. “You’re ridiculous,” you whispered, your voice coloured with amusement.
The two of you stood like that for a long moment, swaying slightly, the gentle simmer of dinner filling the room with warmth. Outside, the rain ticked a little harder, making the window rattle, but inside, you were a world away.
“Do you remember,” Ryan said suddenly, his voice quiet but certain, “when we first moved in here? You burned pasta because we didn’t have a strainer, and I nearly set the fire alarm off making toast.”
You laughed again, tilting your head back against his shoulder to look at him. “And yet somehow we survived.”
“Barely,” he smirked. “But I knew even then... this was it.”
“This?” you echoed.
“This life. This home. You.” His voice dipped, tender now. “You call it normal stuff — cooking, rainy evenings, sitting on the couch watching shite telly — but it’s everything to me.”
He turned you gently in his arms so you faced him fully. The kitchen light cast a golden glow across his face, catching the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled down at you. You reached up, brushing his hair off his forehead. He caught your hand and kissed your knuckles, reverent.
“I get up on stage in front of thousands, you know?” he said. “And it’s incredible. But nothing — nothing — hits like coming home to you. Like this moment, right now. I love you so fucking much my heart could burst.”
You felt your heart pull tight in your chest, that familiar ache that only came when someone truly saw you. Loved you with no conditions, no pretenses.
“I love you too, Ryan,” you said, quieter than before, as though saying it too loudly would break the spell.
He closed his eyes briefly, like he was trying to press the moment into memory. “Say it again.”
You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I love you.”
His grin widened, bright and a little bit smug. “I knew it,” he said, voice playful now. “You do like me.”
You rolled your eyes and poked his chest. “Don’t let it go to your head, drummer boy.”
“Too late.” He dipped his head and kissed you slow, deep, and sure. The kind of kiss that didn’t rush anywhere, because neither of you needed to be anywhere else. Not tonight.
Eventually, he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. “Dinner’s going to burn, Angel.”
“Then maybe you should be the one stirring it,” you teased.
“Nah,” he said. “I’m too busy trying not to do terrible things with you in this kitchen.”
———————————————
Later, after dinner — when the dishes were drying in the rack and the city outside had gone quiet — you curled up on the sofa with him, your legs draped over his lap, his arm around your shoulder. The rain had slowed to a soft drizzle, and random movie neither of you were really watching flickered on the screen.
You looked over at him. His eyes were half-lidded, soft with contentment, fingers tracing absent circles on your leg.
“What are you thinking about?” you asked.
He didn’t answer right away. Just smiled and pulled you a little closer.
“Just... how lucky I am,” he murmured. “How I’ll never get tired of this. You. Us.”
You leaned your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, like a familiar song playing just for you.
“Ryan McMahon, you’re a little softie, you know that?”
And in that little flat in Dublin, under soft blankets and softer light, you both knew: this was the kind of love that didn’t need to shout. It whispered — through garlic in the air, laughter in the kitchen, and the quiet certainty of being home.
Summary: You and Ryan have recently moved into your first home together, but you’re struggling to settle in after leaving your family for the first time…
Warnings: A small make-out session but that’s it! Xx
The house still didn’t quite feel like home.
It wasn’t that it wasn’t beautiful. It was—warm wooden floors, mismatched cushions on a thrifted sofa, art you picked out together from a tiny gallery in Galway.
And it wasn’t Ryan. If anything, being around him felt like the safest thing in the world.
But even with him, something sat heavy in your chest lately. Being away from your family for the first time, the quiet evenings with no familiar voices echoing from the other rooms—it all pressed down on you in ways you couldn’t quite explain.
Ryan noticed, of course.
He always did.
So when you came home that Thursday evening, bracing yourself for another quiet night, the sight that greeted you stopped you in your tracks.
Soft fairy lights danced across the living room walls, casting everything in a warm golden hue. A giant blanket fort—yes, a full-blown, actual fort had taken over the centre of the room, draped between chairs with a mess of pillows and fuzzy throws inside.
A bottle of your favourite wine sat uncorked on the coffee table, two mismatched glasses beside it, and from the kitchen you could hear music faintly humming—a playlist you made for long flights, now playing softly through the house.
“Ryan? Baby?” You called, smiling despite yourself.
His head popped out from inside the fort like some mischievous child. “Babe! Get in here. It’s serious.”
You laughed, slipping off your shoes and crawling in beside him. “Serious?”
“Very,” he said, handing you a glass. “Tonight is mandatory stay-in-and-spoil-you night. No negotiations.”
You leaned back against the cushions, letting the wine warm you from the inside out. “Did you build this yourself?”
“I’ll have you know I’m a structural engineer in my spare time,” he aside proudly. “This thing could survive an earthquake.”
You laughed again, the ache in your chest loosening for the first time in days. “Thank you.”
Ryan reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know it’s been hard. I see it, even when you try to hide it.”
Your eyes welled unexpectedly. “I just…miss them. The noise. The familiarity. Sometimes I feel stupid for being sad when I have you and this amazing life here.”
“Would you stop,” he said softly. “None of it’s stupid. Missing what you had doesn’t mean you don’t love where you are. I know that.”
You blinked back the tears, taking a long sip of wine. “When did you get so wise?”
He grinned. “Shut up and do a face mask with me.”
That made you laugh again. “You bought face masks?”
“Obviously. Cucumber-something. We will be glowing by the end of this night, trust me.”
You spread them on each other between sips of wine, giggling like teenagers. Ryan made a ridiculous mess, smearing some on your nose just to hear you squeal. Eventually you lay side by side in the fort, masks drying, your hands tangled together.
“Wanna play a game?” He asked suddenly.
You turned to him, suspicious. “What kind?”
“Let’s tell each other a secret. Something we’ve never said out loud. Nothing huge. Just…something real.”
You thought for a second. “Okay. You first.”
He was quiet for a moment, then turned to look at you. “I was terrified when we moved in. I didn’t say anything ‘cause you looked so happy. But the idea of starting this life—like, really starting it—I didn’t know if I’d be enough for you.”
Your chest tightened, but not with sadness this time. With so much love.
“You’ve always been more than enough,” you whispered, leaning in to press your forehead to his.
It was your turn now. You hesitated, then admitted quietly, “I sometimes wonder if I made the right choice. Leaving everything behind. It’s not because I don’t love you—I do, so much—it’s just…change is scary.”
He nodded slowly, squeezing your hand. “That makes sense. But hey…you didn’t leave everything. You brought your heart. And you brought it to me.”
You smiled, tears slipping free this time, but you didn’t wipe them away.
Ryan leaned in, kissed them instead.
His lips lingered at the corner of your mouth, soft and unhurried, as if he was asking for permission rather than taking it.
You turned your head just slightly, enough to close the space between you.
The kiss deepened slowly, naturally—like a song that didn’t need lyrics to be understood. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing across your skin like he was mesmerising every curve of you.
You felt his other hand rest tightly on your waist, holding you close but never pulling—just enough to let you know he was there, entirely present.
You shifted closer into him, your fingers brushing through the messy curls at the back of his head. He let out a quiet breath against your mouth, a sound that made your heart twist in the most beautiful way.
The world outside your little blanket fort faded. There was only warmth, his scent, the hum of music in the background, and the soft, slow rhythm of two people who had nothing to prove—just love to give.
When you finally pulled back, your noses still touching, his eyes met yours with a smile that made you feel like you could breathe again.
“Feeling a little better?” He whispered.
You nodded, forehead resting gently against his. “Yeah. Thanks to my favourite structural engineer.”
He chuckled, brushing one last kiss to the tip of your nose. “Anytime. I’ll keep building us little places to hide, for as long as you need.”
And in that tiny fort, in your not quite furnished home, you finally felt like you belonged.
