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showf4lls · 2 years

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Saw your post asking for ted requests SO HERE IT IS!

prompt: head canons for: making up after an argument. like post-angst fluff, how would they apologise, makeup to the reader, etc.

( if you could do the full chuckle sandwich boys+ wilbur, that would be pretty cool. And if not, still cool)

― the come down; various

cw + info! angst, hurt/comfort?, fluff [not really but i tried], minifics / implied fighting, the boys are a little insensitive sorry

includes! ted nivison + charlie slimecicle + jschlatt + wilbur soot

notes! sorry, this turned out a little more angsty than i intended, but i hope you enjoy! it’s more hurt/comfort than fluff, my bad homies :/. i’ve also decided that i’m writing these minifics and then i’m putting out fluffier headcanons to go along with this because i don’t feel like these fill the actual request :> also when you fight with your partner, you should probably sit down and talk about it, not just say sorry and move on, i just didn’t know how to write that conversation so my bad y’all

TED NIVISON

it’s like dropping a nuke; the big bang before the smoke clears, and then, silence. you can’t bring yourself to look at him, lips curved downwards and eyes watery. and he watches with careful, wide eyes, mouth hanging open on his words. then you make to leave the room, quietly maneuvering around him. he turns to you, making to set a hand on your shoulder, warm the icy facade he’d been responsible for creating, but you dodge, stepping just out of reach. “ted, please,” you hiss, voice quivering. barely holding it together.

and ted's hand falls back to his side. head drops, and he gives a single, understanding nod. without another word, you hole up in the guest bathroom, face buried in your sleeve.

ted waits. knows it’s important that you both have your space. to process, to cool off, to come down. he gives you time despite the magnetic pull behind his sternum. sits with his head in his hands as his mind lingers on how hurt you looked. how that had been because of him.

after a while, he moves to sit outside the bathroom door, legs folded against his chest, listening. making sure you’re not hurting too bad. and he waits. waits until he’s sure you’re ready.

he stands. quells the shaking in his fingers by curling them into a loose fist. raps them against the door so softly he hadn’t been entirely sure you would hear him - i mean, he didn’t want to scare you after all, you had every right to be upset with him after what he’d said-

and the door falls open to reveal you. teary eyes, hair messy from combing through it, cheeks red. and he wants to cry all over again. “god, y/n, i’m so sorry.”

your laugh sounds awfully close to a sob, but the wobbly smile you give settles him. “ted-”

“can i please just hug you?” he breathes. “hold you? just for a little bit.”

you stand for a moment, just watching him, before nodding your confirmation. “yeah,” you mumble, opening your arms.

ted scoops you up. squeezes you against his chest, peppers kisses over your head. “i’m so so sorry, i shouldn’t have said that-”

you shake your head. hum as you press your face against his heart, beating like a caged bird in his ribs. take fistfuls of his shirt in your hands and just hold him. “we were both way out of line.” you let him hum as he rubs circles into your back. “i’m sorry, too.”

both of you stand like that a while, taking a moment to just be present with one another. communicate without words how truly sorry you were and how much you love one another. ted, playing with your hair, is the first to speak. “i wanna make it up to you. i’m just so sorry.”

you pull back, frowning up at him. “i wanna make it up to you.”

“how about,” ted starts. “you go take a nice, warm shower while i get started on making dinner?”

you purse your lips, thinking. “only if we get to cuddle and have a movie night after - i know you’ve been wanting to watch that new film that came out on netflix.”

ted, raising his eyebrows, considers. “that does sound pretty nice.”

leaning up on your tiptoes, you resist the urge to giggle. “i’ll even make popcorn the way you like it,” you whisper.

“oh?” ted asks playfully.

you nod, the water eyes and the argument long forgotten. “deal?”

ted, nodding along, shakes your hand. “deal.”

CHARLIE SLIMECICLE

god he’s such an asshole. that comment was totally unwarranted, and then he’d had the audacity to laugh it off, as if it wouldn’t hurt you. now he sits on the other side of the door to your shared bedroom, listening to the love of his life cry. he’d never regretted anything so quickly.

after a good 20 minutes of silence, he opens the door. slips in quietly. he knows you’ve acknowledged him, the sound of shuffling clothes and now-muffled sniffles says as much. if his heart feels like a bruise in his chest - if it aches like this - he can’t even imagine how you feel. wordlessly, he slots himself behind you and wraps himself around you in the most i’m sorry hug he’s ever given. “is this okay right now?” he whispers, cheek against your shoulder.

and you cough out a sob behind the sleeve of your sweater and nod. relax a little where your knees are pulled to your chest in what had been an attempt to fold yourself into disappearance - into the nothing that grows in your ribs. and now charlie’s crying and you’re crying and god, does it feel good to just let him hold you. “hey,” he rasps. reaches for the hands that clutch at your knees, wraps his around your own, slots his fingers between your knuckles and squeezes. “i’m so sorry. i shouldn’t have said any of that, it wasn’t fair of me. it was completely unwarranted.”

and now he’s rambling and you can tell by the way his voice breaks that he’s hurting every bit as much as you are, that he’s really sorry and he would do anything to take it back. now he’s stumbling over his words and crying into your neck and rasping apology after apology against your skin. so you lean into him and everything slows down. i forgive you.

charlie lets out a wobbly breath. inhales deeply, pulling the trembling, wobbly parts of himself back together. focuses on his breathing, focuses on the warmth of you in his arms, focuses on the squeeze of your fingers against his. “i love you.”

you hum in return, wiping at a few final tears. “i love you,” you agree.

and you yelp when charlie rises suddenly, accidentally jostling you forward. he clambers onto the bed, pulling his shoes off while holding a hand out for you. “come here,” he mumbles, not bothering to hide his falling tears. “please, come here. i just want to hold you for a little while. if you don’t want to, that’s okay, but-”

without a word, you stand. shrug your sweater up your shoulders and lay down in the middle of the bed. you let him roll over beside you. let him scrunch you up and pull you into his chest. let him move up so you’re resting comfortably in the space below his chin. and you stay.

JSCHLATT

as soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he’d crossed a line. jaw clicking shut, silence blankets you and the both of you stare at one another incredulously. a lump sits in the back of your throat, but it doesn’t do anything to stop you from leveling him with a glare. “really, jay?”

ouch, that hurt. he watches almost helplessly as you cross your arms and make to leave the room. “y/n-”

you just shake your head, not turning around as you make your way to the backyard. and sure, it’s pretty chilly, but you don’t have it in you to sit inside with him right now.

schlatt is at a loss. he doesn’t know what to do with himself now that you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’re upset with him. he doesn’t know what to say, what to think. just knows that he hurt you.

it’s hard. he wants to do something, but he doesn’t know how to do feelings. how to hold his heart in his hands for you, vulnerable and sorry. and he is sorry, he’s just not good at the communication part. never been one for wearing his heart on his sleeve - it makes him feel just a little too exposed. he loves you, but god it would kill him to put himself somewhere vulnerable and deal with it if you decided to hurt him. but you didn’t, because why would you? no, he struck first, and now he had to fix it if he ever wanted you to look at him the same.

he sits on the bedroom floor, jambo sitting across from him, thinking out loud. spends so much time working it out that the sun has fallen below the horizon by the time he stands. hesitates by the back door, wringing his hands and fidgeting, eyes fixed on your back.

you sit on the steps of the back porch, half scrunched up. crossed arms rest on the tops of your knees, a clumsy rest for your chin, as you stare up at the few stars that dot the horizon, having found peace in the moon and her companions.

schlatt’s scared of startling you. tries his best to open the sliding door as quietly as possible, but it screams on its track. he winces, but you don’t move an inch. bad sign.

ever cautious, he moves to sit beside you, legs stretching almost to the bottom of the steps. looks over to spot dried tear tracks in the dim backyard light. his heart aches.

the silence is tense, shattered when you mumble without turning to look at him. “took you long enough.”

he lets out a surprised laugh, a hot puff of air from the back of his throat, before sobering up. a beat passes before he gathers his bearings enough to speak. “look, i never should’ve said those things, alright?” you level him with a blank stare, and he continues. “it was uncalled for and fucked up of me and i’m-” his voice cracks and he pauses, giving a frustrated huff. “and i’m really sorry. i really don’t like that i said those things to you, and not just because they upset you. it... it didn’t feel right saying that. i’m sorry.”

you sigh, letting yourself fall into his side. “i know.”

schlatt yelps, one arm flying up to catch you. he laughs a little when you dodge it, opting for the softness around his ribs as opposed to his bony shoulder. he looks down at you. lets his arm rest around your shoulders as he observes you. “you know?”

you hum an affirmative, craning your neck to peer up at him. “you’ve never looked more like a kicked puppy in all the time i’ve known you.”

he rolls his eyes, suddenly bashful. “oh shut up.” and you two sit, just a few minutes, staring up at the sky. the silence is a little too fuzzy for his liking still, so he nudges you just barely. “i am sorry, you know.”

silent, your hand moves up to find his lingering somewhere near your elbow. you thread your fingers together and squeeze, just light enough for him to be sure that’s what you’re doing, to be sure that you meant to. “i’m sorry too.”

“i don’t even remember what we were fighting about, if i’m being honest.”

you laugh against his side, sniffling. “neither do i.”

another beat. another nudge.

“so... are we good?”

you laugh again. turn your head to bury your face in his side. “we’re good, jay, don’t worry.”

WILBUR SOOT

it had started as a playful debate - you hadn’t even realized when it began to spiral out of control. now you’re both sitting across from each other, red in the face and practically steaming. “are you serious?” wilbur counters, sneering. “how would you even- come on, y/n. listen to yourself.”

“hey-” your breath catches in your throat and your lip wobbles. “i was being serious, wil.”

a tense moment of silence. you cross your arms tighter to your chest, eyes focused on the table between you. suddenly you stand. “y/n-” he starts.

“i’m going on a walk!” you call over your shoulder as you approach the front door. “and you are not coming with me.”

he half-stands, chair scraping backwards. “wait, are you sure you should go out this late? the sun’s-”

the front door slams behind you, effectively shutting down whatever he was going to say. unsure, he sits back down. laces his fingers together. then suddenly moves to the window, waits to watch you make your way down the street. he’d at least make sure you made it out of the building alright. then it’s back to the table, hands clasped, to figure out how to make this right.

the minutes tick on and anxiety begins to buzz in wilbur’s veins; not only had he not apologized yet, but you haven’t returned home. he sits a moment, knee bouncing, worrying his lip as the wheels turn in his head. he stares out the window, debating internally. on one hand, he should give you space. you’d set a healthy boundary with him to have your own space while you both cool down. on the other hand, the sun had set. the sky is darkening rapidly; every second that passes is light lost, and it’s supposed to be cold tonight. with a hum, he stands. shrugs a good jacket on and holds one of your sweaters in the crook of his elbow as he leaves the flat, locking the door behind himself. he’s descending the front steps when he finds you sitting at the bottom, arms against your chest, hunched over your knees. “y/n, love, it’s cold out. you should come inside-”

“i’m fine, wil,” you insist, not facing him.

he frowns. sure, he deserves it, but he doesn’t want you to force yourself to suffer for it. without a word, he drapes your sweater over your shoulders, taking the opportunity to sit beside you. though, you don’t acknowledge him, only glare out at the streetlights. it’s silent for a moment.

then you huff, dropping your head. “maybe my opinion was stupid.”

ouch. “no, not at all, love. i promise,” wilbur assures you, leaning some weight into you from the way he leans against your side. “i- look.” he faces you, not expecting you to face him. and you don’t, but he counts the tiny shift of your body towards his as a win. “i didn’t mean what i said. your opinion is just as valid as mine, i just lost my temper and i’m really sorry for that. it won’t happen again, i just- i’m so sorry y/n. i didn’t mean for things to go that way.”

you sigh and let yourself slump against him. “it’s alright, wil,” you mumble, reaching for his hand. he meets you halfway. watches as you lace your fingers with his, as you swipe your thumb against the back of his hand. “i supposed i wasn’t much better.” he opens his mouth to protest, but you shake your head when you hear him inhale. “it’s both our faults, i think. we both took it a bit too serious.”

the lightness of your tone eased some of the tension from his shoulders. “i guess you’re right.”

you elbow him halfheartedly, energy zapped. “i know i’m right.”

he smiles fondly. “yeah, yeah.” presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “would you like to go inside now? your hands are cold.”

the corners of your lips curl, tired. you don’t move against his side. “and we can watch a movie or something?”

“course we can, love,” he mumbles against your temple. “anything you want.”

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