I Dont Think Fiddleford McGucket Gets Enough Love.. And I've Already Read All Of Em On Here 💔

IM CRYING 😭😭

I REGRET TRYING TO PULL FOR NEWYEAR JADE ☹️☹️☹️ (I DIDN'T EVEN GET HIM)

Y'all

I SWEAR ITS BECAUSE OF THAT ONE IDIA I GOT IN THE FIRST SINGLEPULL 😭😭😭☹️☹️🤬🤬😡

THIS IS BEAUTIFUL 😭😭

Confetti on The Carpet

( Fiddleford McGucket x reader || he has a surprise for you ♡ I couldn't find a good quality picture of him for the life of me I am sorry anon 😭 )

You open your door to find Fiddleford holding... something behind his back.

"Honey, what is this?" You look down at the box in his hand, equal parts curious, equal parts cautious. You smile to yourself, preparing for whatever he is going to give you.

Fiddleford had a tendency to show his appreciation through gifts. Weather that be oddly specific machines, to things that reminded him of you. He once gave you a bandaid he found on the floor because, in his words, you "always knew how to put him back together."

"A surprise, hon." He replies, fighting the urge to smile. "You mind lettin' me in? Don't want anybody else to see this thang besides you. Your eyes only, y'know. Confidential stuff.”

"Confidential stuff?" You repeat, somewhat more worried about the state your dorm would be in after this. "Nothin' that's gonna explode or anything like that. Trust me." He chuckles, eyes crinkling as he laughs.

You wouldn't say it out loud, but hearing the way Fiddleford laughed always let your guard down. You step aside to let him in, closing the door behind him. You notice the box in his hands wasn't as big as you imagined. It wasn't making any humming sounds either.

"Remember when you showed me that ad ya saw in the paper? The one about the icemaker that couldn't be shipped here 'cause we don't got the money?"

"And also because the Dean is an ass about international shipping." You add, wondering to yourself where he was going with this. "And yes, I do remember."

"Well, guess what I got for ya in here." Fiddleford couldn't hide his laughter to himself, he was giggling now, sounding as if he were proud of whatever he put inside the box he held out with his hand.

"Go on, open it." He says, tempting your curiosity.

You take the box from his hand, feeling the weight of its contents. It was light. Was he joking with you, or did he actually make something? Fiddleford always liked making excuses to see you. It gave him time off of working on equations when he didn't feel like quadruple checking them.

Sitting on the carpet, you pat a spot across from you for Fiddleford to sit down. You grab a pillow from your bed for him to sit on. You knew how much he complained about back pain. At the age where he shouldn't even have back pain.

"Thank you, honey." He uses the pet name like it was your actual name, holding his lower back as he sits down.

You tug on the ribbon that held the box together. The box quickly comes apart.

You almost jump out of your seat on the floor when confetti practically explodes out of a compartment on one of the box's walls. "What the hell?!" You exclaim with a laugh, making Fiddleford clutch his stomach in laughter.

"Gah- I knew you'd fall for that!" He snorts, adjusting his glasses against the bridge of his nose.

You weren't even mad. You probably should've seen this coming. Whatever. You still haven't figured out what was inside the box.

Wiping away the stray confetti, that would be a pain to clean later, your eyes set on a penguin shaped...something. "Fidds, honey," you hold the penguin shaped object towards him. "Just what exactly is this?" You ask, raising a brow.

"It's a shaved-ice maker!" He exclaims proudly, most likely because he made it from scratch. "Since it's almost summer n' you complained about how they haven't fixed the air conditioning in your dorm, I made this for ya!" He adds at a pace you can barely keep up with. Hearing him talk so happily about his creation makes your eyes soften.

You place the penguin shaved ice maker on the carpeted floor. You lean in to hug him. "Oh baby, what would I do without you?" You say, trying not to laugh as you speak. You move his glasses out of the way to kiss the bridge of his nose.

"I honestly don't know!" He replies, glasses perched on the top of his head. He can feel himself go red already as you run your fingers through his hair.

"Exactly. You spoil me, honey." You say in agreement, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

─Warm Latte

∘₊✧─── ❀ ───✧₊∘

★ Pairing: Fiddleford McGucket x reader

✦ Genre: Fluff?

★ Warnings: None

✦ Summary: With the thoughts that kept you up at night, you decided to call him. I guess you do have plans for the weekend now.

Note: This is a part 2 of cold espresso!! and thank you soo much for 60 notess on theree!! I hope you enjoy this one!!

The morning sun filters weakly through your curtains, painting your apartment in pale, washed-out colors. You wake up with a weight on your chest, the events of yesterday replaying in your mind. Fidds’s words linger, the almost-confession hanging between you like a half-finished sentence. You sit up, staring at the empty space beside you, the silence of your apartment amplifying the doubts that creep in.

Was it real, or were you both just caught up in a moment? What if he changes his mind? What if this ruins everything? The ache of uncertainty is a familiar one, but this time, it feels sharper—more personal. You’re not just risking a friendship; you’re risking the one constant that has always been there, the person who knows you better than anyone else.

You try to shake off the thoughts as you drag yourself into the kitchen, but they cling to you like the bitter taste of stale coffee. You placed the kettle on the stove, boiling it; but even then, the comforting sound of brewing can’t quiet the unease bubbling inside you. With your coffee done, You pour half a cup of milk; you finished brewing your coffee. The steam swirling like your scattered thoughts, as you stare at the phone that was mounted on the wall. You had a thought, should you call him? The missed opportunity, the half-formed words, and the weight of unsaid things hang in the air.

Maybe he’s already moved on. Maybe you’re just overthinking everything like you always do.

You hesitate, fingers hovering over the button. You know you should say something, but fear grips you, tightening around your chest like a vice. What if he doesn’t want to hear from you? What if he regrets opening up? The latte’s warmth does little to thaw the icy grip of doubt in your heart. You bring the cup to your lips, letting the heat seep in, but it’s not enough to push you to action.

Finally, you take a deep breath, holding the phone as you let your thumb dial his number before you can even change your mind. The phone rings, each chime echoing your own heartbeat, loud and uncertain. You count the rings—one, two, three—each one heavier than the last until you hear the faint click and Fiddleford’s voice breaks through the static, warm and familiar.

"Mornin’, darlin’," Fidds greets, his tone light but a bit tired, like he’s been up thinking too. There’s a slight rasp in his voice, the kind that makes you think he’s been pacing his garage, lost in thought, maybe even wrestling with the same doubts that kept you awake. "Didn’t think I’d hear from ya this early."

The sound of his voice soothes and stings at the same time. You can hear the way he’s trying to keep things casual, but there’s an undercurrent there—a weight that wasn’t there before. You clutch your cup tighter, feeling a rush of nerves. "Hey, Fidds. I─ I just wanted to check in. See how you’re doing."

There’s a pause, just long enough to make you wonder if he’s regretting yesterday. You picture him in his garage, tools scattered, the faint smell of motor oil and burnt circuits clinging to the air. You’ve seen that space a hundred times, but now it feels like a sanctuary you’re intruding upon. You almost wish you hadn’t called—almost.

"Aw, I’m alright," he replies, but there’s a crack in his voice, barely noticeable. "Been tinkerin’ in the garage. You know me, always got somethin’ to keep my hands busy."

You smile at the thought of him, sleeves rolled up, grease on his hands, lost in the creation of some new invention. It’s so quintessentially him, the way he pours himself into his work when he’s trying to work through something. But today, even that image doesn’t bring the comfort it used to. You can hear it in his words—the same uncertainty, the same fear of messing things up that’s been gnawing at you.

You take a deep breath, trying to muster some courage. "I’ve been thinking a lot about yesterday. About what you said… and what I didn’t get to say."

There’s another pause on the line, heavy and charged, and you feel your heart drop. What if he’s changed his mind? What if this is all too much too soon? You imagine him, fidgeting with a screwdriver or wiping his hands on an old rag, anything to keep busy, to keep from saying what he’s really thinking.

"I’ve been thinkin’ about it too," he finally admits, his voice softer, more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard it. It’s almost like he’s laying his heart bare, showing you the parts he’s always kept hidden, even from himself. "Was worried maybe I said too much, maybe scared ya off. But, truth is, I don’t regret it. Not one bit."

The knot in your chest loosens just a little, and you swallow the lump in your throat. His admission is raw, real, and it hits you harder than you expected. "You didn’t scare me off, Fidds. If anything─ if I'm being honest, I’m the one who’s scared. Scared of losing what we have, scared of taking a chance and it not working out."

He sighs, and you can almost see him running a hand through his hair, frustrated but hopeful. "I get it. Hell, I’m scared too. But if we don’t try, we’ll never know, will we?"

You nod, even though he can’t see you, feeling the last bit of doubt start to melt away. "You’re right. And I don’t want to keep wondering. I want to try, Fidds. I want to see what this could be."

His soft chuckle warms you from the inside out. It’s the kind of laugh that used to fill late nights with the soft glow of desk lamps and the quiet hum of old music playing on his radio. "Well, shoot, darlin’, that’s the best thing I’ve heard all week. How ‘bout we make it official then? A real date. You and me, no holdin’ back."

The tension between you evaporates, replaced by a lightness that feels like sunshine breaking through the clouds. The reality of his words sinks in, each one planting hope where doubt had taken root. You smile, glancing out the window as the morning brightens just a little more. "I’d love that. Tonight?"

"Tonight," Fidds repeats, a hint of excitement coloring his voice. You can hear the smile behind his words, and it sends a flutter through your chest. "How ‘bout we make it somethin’ special? Don’t gotta be fancy or nothin’, but, y’know… somewhere that feels right."

You pause, thinking about all the possibilities. There’s a nervous thrill coursing through you—picking the perfect spot feels like the first step into something real. "How about that little Italian place downtown? The one with the fairy lights and the outdoor patio? I’ve been wanting to try it for ages, and I hear the food’s amazing.."

Fidds hums thoughtfully, and you can almost picture the way his face lights up at the suggestion. "Sounds like a plan, darlin’. I always knew you had good taste. Plus, can’t go wrong with some pasta and good company, huh?"

You laugh softly, feeling your nerves ease with his playful tone. "Guess not. I’m warning you though, I might order half the menu. I’ve been craving good Italian for weeks."

He chuckles, the sound warm and genuine. "Well, don’t you worry ‘bout that. I’ll keep up. Might even out-eat ya if we’re not careful. And hey, if it’s half as good as the company, I reckon we’re in for one hell of a night."

There’s a beat of comfortable silence before Fidds’s voice drops a little, more sincere. "Y’know, I’ve been lookin’ forward to this. Feels like we’re finally doin’ somethin’ we shoulda done a long time ago." His words tug at your heart, the weight of everything left unsaid still hanging between you. But there’s a new kind of hope there too, one that’s slowly outshining the fear. "Yeah… me too... I’ve always had a feeling that maybe we were just waiting for the right time."

"Guess it took us a while to figure that out, huh?" he says, a hint of laughter in his voice that doesn’t quite mask the emotion underneath. "But better late than never. We’re makin’ our own time now."

You feel a warmth spreading through you, a soft glow that makes the morning feel a little brighter. "I’m glad we are. I think… I think this is going to be good for us. No more ‘what ifs,’ just us, figuring it out together." Fidds’s voice softens, his sincerity coming through clearly. "Yeah. And whatever happens, I just want ya to know—I’m in this with ya. We’ll take it one step at a time, and if it ever feels like too much, we’ll talk it out. No pressure, no rush. Just us."

You smile, feeling lighter than you have in a long time. "Thanks, Fidds. I really needed to hear that. And don’t worry—I’m all in too."

There’s a comfortable pause before he speaks again, his tone turning playful. "Alright then, tonight it is. Seven sound good? I’ll make sure to wear somethin’ that ain’t covered in grease, promise."

You laugh, the sound carrying the kind of joy that’s been missing for far too long. "I think you’d look good no matter what, but I’ll hold you to that. Seven it is."

"See ya tonight, darlin’," Fidds says, his voice light, but with an underlying current of something more—a promise, a new beginning. "We’re gonna have ourselves a real good time."

You hang up, feeling the anticipation bubbling up inside you. Tonight isn’t just another dinner; it’s the start of something new, something that’s been waiting in the wings for far too long. And for the first time in a long time, you feel ready.

What do you thinkk?? Good? Bad?? Tell mee!! Ive been thinking what to do with this one.. not as creative but i like it!

Feedback and constructive criticism are welcome!

MMMMM Orange juice

Guyss.. Ive been feeling so sick lately :(( and I dont knoww what else to dooooo

Reblog if you are okay with people giving you lots of boops!

𖦹 Unfolded | Chapter 3

★ CHARACTER ─ Tim Wright

✦ GENRE ─ Fluff?

★ WARNING ─ None

✦ SUMMARY ─ You made a friend, yand you guys started talking through notes! Yeay! (I have no clue what to put in here..)

Note: I got super excited because this came to me in a dream and I just thought it was probably meant to be! But I forgot Tim's part.. Maybe a little ooc? But I hope you like this either way :)

You hesitated, pen hovering over the paper as your mind raced. The forest was still, save for the occasional rustle of leaves, and you could almost hear your own heartbeat. There was a vulnerability in this exchange, an unspoken bond that was both comforting and terrifying. What if this person, this stranger, was someone you could connect with? But what if they weren’t? What if this was just a fleeting interaction, leaving you more alone than before? Your hand finally moved, the pen meeting the page as you began to write:

"Thank you for your note? Means a lot to know someone out there understands. I don't know who you are, and maybe that makes it easier, to be honest. I've felt lost for a long time, like I’m wandering through a world where everyone else has a place, but I don't. The forest is the one place I feel like I can breathe. It's quiet, peaceful. But sometimes I feel like it’s just a reminder of how alone I really am."

"You said you understand. I wonder, do you feel the same way? Do you come to the forest to escape too, or to find something you’re missing? Maybe it's both for me. I don’t know."

"And if you're willing, I'd like to hear more from you. Maybe we can share our thoughts, even if it’s just through these notes. I don’t know if it will make it go away, but maybe it will help, even just a little. Hope you'll find this note"

You paused, rereading the words. It felt raw, exposing parts of yourself that you rarely even acknowledged; was this too open? you thought. But there was a strange comfort in it too, like a weight being lifted, even if just slightly. You added a small doodle of a tree next to your words, hoping it would convey some of the warmth you were feeling despite your nerves.

Folding the note carefully, you placed it in the same spot where you’d found it last, hoping the person would find it. As you walked away, a mix of anxiety and hope settled in your chest. The forest seemed different now, as if it was holding its breath, waiting for something to unfold. You couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, this exchange might be the beginning of something more—a connection, even if only a fleeting one.

As you walked home, the shadows lengthening with the setting sun, you found yourself glancing back at the path, wondering if you would hear from them again, and what they might say. The forest seemed quieter than usual, as if it was sharing your anticipation.

The days that followed were filled with a strange mix of excitement and dread. Every time you walked the path, your heart would race, wondering if there would be another note waiting for you.

────

And then, one afternoon, as you rounded the familiar bend, you saw it—a small piece of paper tucked under a rock, almost as if it was hiding, waiting for you to discover it. Your hands trembled slightly as you picked it up, unfolding it with a sense of urgency. The handwriting was the same—messy but legible, and the message made your heart skip a beat.

"glad you wrote back. The forest has been a place that somehow get me at ease. It’s the only place where I feel like I can breathe, away from the noise and take a rest. I come here to think, to be alone, but I guess part of me is always hoping I won’t be alone forever, I guess?"

"Your words connected with me more than I expected. It’s strange, right? How you can feel so connected to someone you’ve never met, just through words on a page. Don’t know where this will go, but I’d like to keep writing. Maybe, we can make this loneliness a little less overwhelming."

A small doodle of a leaf was drawn at the bottom of the page. You couldn’t help but smile as you traced it with your finger. For the first time in a long while, you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t felt in ages—hope.

Morning light filtered through the curtains of your small apartment, casting soft shadows across the room. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the events of the past few days in your mind. The notes, the stranger in the forest—it all felt surreal, like something out of a book or a dream. Yet it was real, as real as the sunlight warming your face and the faint hum of birds and the city beyond your window.

You finally pushed the covers aside and got out of bed, your feet meeting the cool wooden floor. The apartment was quiet, almost too quiet, amplifying the thoughts swirling in your head. You went through the motions of your morning routine, brushing your teeth, making a cup of coffee, but your mind was elsewhere, caught up in the mystery of the notes. Who was this person? why are you smiling so dumbly? you didn't even know the person.. but you do want to get to know them better, don't you?

As you sat at the small kitchen table, sipping your coffee, you glanced over at your notebook lying on the counter. The pages were filled with your thoughts, sketches, and bits of poetry—things you usually kept to yourself. Yet here you were, sharing pieces of your soul with a stranger. It was terrifying, but also liberating in a way you hadn't anticipated.

────

The city outside was beginning to wake up, the distant sounds of traffic and voices slowly filling the silence. But your thoughts were far from the bustling streets. The forest felt like a world apart, a sanctuary where time moved differently. You wondered if today would be the day you’d find another note. The thought made your heart race, a mix of excitement and anxiety churning in your chest.

After finishing your coffee, you decided to take a walk to clear your head. The small apartment felt too confining, too full of thoughts and questions that had no answers. You dressed quickly, pulling on a light jacket before stepping outside. The city greeted you with its usual mix of sounds and scent. But your mind was elsewhere, already halfway to the forest. Earlier than usual.

As you walked, your thoughts returned to the note you’d found the day before. The stranger had said they felt connected to you, just through your words. It was strange, how that simple acknowledgment had brought you so much comfort. You’d never considered that someone else might feel the same way you did, might seek refuge in the same places.

Before you knew it, you were on the familiar path leading to the forest. The noise of the city faded behind you, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the distant call of birds. The air was cooler here, fresher, and you breathed it in deeply, feeling some of the tension leave your body.

────

As you approached the large tree, your heart began to race again. Would there be another note? You weren’t sure what you hoped for more—the continuation of this strange, wordless conversation, or the comfort of finding nothing, letting it all remain a fleeting cconnection But as you rounded the corner, you saw it— a small piece of paper, tucked under the same rock where you’d left your last note. You hesitated, a mix of excitement and nerves washing over you, before slowly reaching down to pick it up. Unfolding the paper, you saw the familiar handwriting. Your breath caught as you began to read:

"I checked to see if you left a note, didn’t know if you’d come back, but I hoped you would. Maybe you forgot to reply? or maybe you just dont know what to say? I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said— how the forest feels like a sanctuary, but also a reminder of loneliness. I get that. Sometimes it’s like the trees are the only ones who understand, who listen without judging. But knowing that you’re out there, feeling the same way, makes the forest feel a little less lonely."

"I don’t know what’s going to happen with this, with us?? Maybe it’s just words on a page, and maybe that’s all it will ever be; and im just overthinking myself. But I find myself looking forward to your notes, to hearing from you. It’s strange, really. Maybe we don’t need to meet? Maybe this is enough. Or maybe… maybe one day we will?"

"If you’re comfortable with it, I’d like to know more about you. Not everything, just… whatever you feel like sharing, I guess? Who are you when you’re not here, in the forest? What makes you laugh, what keeps you up at night? I know it’s probably a lot to ask, but I’m curious. I want to understand the person behind the words."

You smiled faintly, a warmth spreading through you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. This person, whoever they were, understood you in a way that was both comforting and unsettling. You didn’t know if you were ready to share more about yourself, but the idea of opening up, even just a little, didn’t seem as terrifying as it once did.

Sitting down against the tree, you pulled out your notebook and pen. The forest was quiet around you, the only sounds the rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. And the orange shade that shine across your face as the sun began to hide. You thought carefully about what you wanted to say, how much you were willing to share. The forest seemed to hum with a quiet energy, as if it too was waiting to see what would happen next. And for the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of hope, a belief that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t have to face the loneliness alone.

Soo.. what do we think?? I personally like this one! I think its the longest ive ever written actually.. I made this at like, 3 am?? Stayed all night for this, LOL :3

Thoughts and criticisms are welcomed, as it would help me improve on my writing!

Have you hydrated yet?

Yep! Drank a liter and a half of water today! Feels great! Thanks for asking :)

What about you?