ooo maybe if you could incorporate one of my favourite songs which is “hard to say i’m sorry” by chicago in the minific. It’s definetly a great song for after a fight, especially if they sing together.
Ok so Amalroid asked for the next combo:
H. Mutual pining idiots
H. After a fight
G. Emotional confession
Also, they asked me to incorporate the song Hard to Say I’m Sorry by Chicago. This one gave me a bit of a hard time at first because I wasn’t sure how to weave it in, but with how everything turned out, I think it ended up being my favorite so far. I had so much fun writing this—just a little fluff and comedy to pass the time. I hope you enjoy it!
Hard to Say I'm Sorry
⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆
“C’mon, Carrots, at some point you have to forgive me.”
The words came out sharper than she intended, but not by much.
Judy didn’t slow down. If anything, she walked faster, feet hitting the pavement with just a little more force than necessary, like that might help her outrun him. It didn’t. Of course it didn’t.
Nick Wilde was many things—annoying, infuriating, way too charming for his own good—but one thing he definitely wasn’t was easy to shake off, especially not tonight.
She could hear him behind her, keeping pace effortlessly, like this was just another casual stroll and not the aftermath of him saying something that had completely derailed her plans.
Three weeks of desk duty.
Three weeks stuck behind a computer, buried in paperwork, logging reports, answering calls—while the rest of the precinct was out there actually doing the job she had fought her entire life to have.
All because Nick couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
That morning at roll call, right after their usual debriefing, he’d decided to make a catastrophic life choice. He leaned back in his chair, wearing that usual sly smirk, and— for reasons completely beyond her—tossed out one of his infamous yo’ mama jokes.
Directed, of all mammals, at Chief Bogo.
The moment she heard it, she squeezed her eyes shut for half a second, still not entirely sure how much longer Nick had left to live.
The room had gone silent. Completely silent.
Well. Let’s just say Bogo hadn’t found it funny.
“Look, I said I was sorry,” Nick went on behind her, and she could practically hear the half-smile in his voice. “Multiple times, might I add. Very heartfelt apologies. I’m pretty sure I almost cried.”
Judy exhaled sharply through her nose.
Because the worst part? She hadn’t even done anything! She hadn’t laughed. Hadn’t encouraged him. Hadn’t even been standing that close.
But none of that had mattered, because she was his partner and apparently that meant she got dragged down with him.
“Desk duty. Three weeks,” Bogo had said, voice flat, eyes burning. “Both of you.”
Judy’s ears flicked back at the memory.
“Nick,” she warned, not even glancing back.
That should’ve been enough, it usually was.
But tonight? Tonight he just… kept going.
She spotted the bar up ahead—the familiar neon sign flickering, the low hum of music and laughter spilling out every time the door opened. Precinct One’s usual spot.
“Okay, wow,” Nick muttered behind her. “That bad, huh?”
She didn’t say it. Instead, she stopped just short of the entrance, forcing herself to take a slow breath.
By the time she spoke again, her voice was controlled. Tight, but controlled.
“We’re not doing this right now,” she said. “We’re here to see everyone, and I’m not in the mood to make things awkward.”
“Got it,” he said. “Professional mode. Smiles, small talk, pretend I didn’t ruin my entire life for three weeks—business as usual.”
Her ears snapped back. “Oh, you mean my life too?” she shot back before she could stop herself, turning just enough to glare at him. “Because last time I checked, I’m the one stuck doing paperwork for three weeks over a joke I didn’t even make.”
“No! Don’t you ‘Carrots’ me,” she cut in, lowering her voice as a couple of zebras passed by. “I’m stuck spending three weeks behind a desk because you couldn’t not insult the Chief’s mother.”
“…In my defense,” he started carefully, “it was a really good setup—”
Judy scoffed. “That’s it! You know what? Just—ignore me. I don’t want to talk to you right now. Not tonight. So please, go hang out… somewhere I’m not.”
Nick blinked, ears twitching slightly as he studied her.
“Damn,” he said, a little more careful now,“You’re really mad, aren’t you?”
Judy didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at him.
She just pushed the bar door open and stepped inside.
Warmth hit her first—then the noise. Music, laughter, the low hum of overlapping conversations filling the space. It wrapped around her instantly, familiar and loud and easy in a way she desperately needed.
The bar itself was small and cozy, with a long counter running along one side and scattered tables filling the rest of the room. Mammals of all sizes crowded the space—some perched on stools, others gathered in tight-knit groups, drinks in paw, voices rising and falling over one another.
Toward the back, pushed together around one of the larger tables, her coworkers had already claimed their territory in their usual spot.
Behind her, she heard Nick.
“Carrot cake—c’mon, don’t do that,” he started, slipping in after her. “You can’t just—okay, wow, silent treatment now? That’s cold, even for you.”
She kept walking and ignored him completely. It took effort not to react, not to roll her eyes, not to snap back. But she forced herself to keep her focus forward, weaving through the crowd like she had a destination, like she wasn’t hyper-aware of the fox trailing right behind her.
She walked towards the cluster of familiar faces gathered on one of the corners of the bar—uniforms traded for casual clothes, drinks already in paw, laughter loud and unrestrained.
Clawhauser was there, of course, animated as ever, gesturing wildly as he told some story. A few other officers were gathered around, fully invested.
Judy straightened her posture as she approached smiling, like nothing was wrong.
“Hey, guys!” she said brightly, stepping into the circle like she hadn’t just been arguing outside two seconds ago.
A chorus of greetings met her immediately.
Clawhauser lit up the second he saw her. “Judy! Oh my gosh, you have to hear this—”
Nick slipped in beside her a second later.
Ugh. Couldn't he just go somewhere else?!
“…and then he just drops the tray—like, completely—” Clawhauser continued his story, oblivious to everything.
Judy laughed right on cue. Nick shifted beside her. She could practically feel him trying to get her attention. Like he was deciding whether to say something.
Judy nodded along to the conversation, adding a comment here, a laugh there, slipping seamlessly into the rhythm of it all. If anyone noticed anything off, they didn’t show it. And for a moment it almost worked.
“Hey, Wilde,” one of the officers—Wolfard—chimed in with a grin, glancing between them. “Heard you pissed off Bogo big time today.”
Judy rolled her eyes before she could stop herself.
Nick, completely unfazed, just smirked. “Oh, you know… some mammals just don’t appreciate my refined sense of humor. I’m a deeply misunderstood soul.”
Judy huffed under her breath.
Wolfard’s grin widened as his gaze shifted to her. “Too bad you dragged down the missus with you.”
Wait. Was he referring to her?!
Judy’s head snapped toward him so fast it almost hurt.
“I’m not his missus,” she said sharply.
Why did their coworkers always make those pointed little comments whenever it came to her and Nick—like they were one shared lunch away from making out and filing joint taxes?
They were clearly just teasing her and trying to get under her fur. She was absolutely not going to take the bait.
“Ohhh,” Wolfard dragged out, turning back to Nick with a wicked grin. “The missus is really mad.”
Oh, sure, Nick—encourage him. Why don’t you?
A couple of the others snorted making her ground her teeth, her ears burning from pure embarrassment.
She crossed her arms, shooting Wolfard a look that should’ve wiped that teasing little smile right off his face. It didn’t.
“Okay!” Clawhauser suddenly chimed in, a little too loudly, clearly sensing the tension in the air.
“So—uh—who’s ordering food? Because I’m starving, and if I don’t eat soon, I’m going to start making bad decisions.”
A couple of officers laughed, and just like that, the conversation shifted. Judy let out a quiet breath as she nodded along, pretending to listen.
She kept her eyes on Clawhauser, nodding at something about mozzarella sticks like it was the most fascinating topic in the world.
“C’mon… I’m sorry,” Nick whispered beside her, his voice low, almost brushing her ear.
“I’ll bring you lattes,” he tried again, quieter. “Every day. For the entire duration of the sentence.”
Judy reached for one of the beers on the table like she hadn’t heard a single word.
“Fluff, please.” Her grip tightened slightly around the glass.
“Cotton tail.” Still nothing.
“You know I have abandonment issues. If this keeps going,” he murmured, making her want to throttle him, “I’m gonna go nuts. I’m gonna die.”
Judy didn’t even blink at that, because if there was one thing she had learned about Nick Wilde, it was that the more attention you gave his dramatics, the worse they got, so instead she turned calmly and leaned toward Clawhauser like she hadn’t heard a single word.
“So what were you saying about the mozzarella sticks?” she asked, faking excitement.
Clawhauser answered her excitedly, already wondering how many orders they should put in—considering he’d probably end up eating at least five all by himself.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught it anyway.
Weaponized and deployed at full force. Nick had gone completely still, his head tilted just slightly, ears lowered a fraction—not in submission, not really, but in that careful, calculated way he knew made him look softer, cuter, just a little unfairly vulnerable. His green eyes were wide, impossibly bright in the low light, the usual sharpness gone, replaced by something open, almost pleading, like he was asking without actually saying a word.
And then there was the mouth—soft, just barely parted, the lower lip pushed out in a subtle, deliberate pout. It was ridiculous. Manipulative. Super intentional. And worst of allP it was devastatingly effective.
But right now? Right now she was mad. So not today, Satan.
So you wanna play dirty, Slick. Cool. Unfortunately for you, I’m not that easy to break, she thought, with just a hint of vengeance curling through it.
Judy kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, posture composed, expression carefully neutral—so convincingly unbothered it bordered on performance art. If anyone had asked, she would’ve sworn under oath there was absolutely nothing of interest to her right. No fox, no red fur. Just empty space. A void.
That seemed to do it at last. Nick must’ve realized his most lethal weapon wasn’t working—because when she didn’t so much as twitch in his direction, when not even a flick of her ear acknowledge him—she heard it. A soft, quiet defeated sigh. And just like that—
A few minutes passed like that—where she nodded along absently to Clawhauser and his enthusiastic monologue about the best appetizers on the table, offering the occasional “mm-hm” and polite smile while only half listening. And then, without really meaning to, her eyes flicked sideways.
Just a quick glance. Just to confirm. But—Nick wasn’t there anymore.
The space beside her—where he’d been leaning, hovering, trying every trick in the book just seconds ago to get her attention—was empty now.
Her smile didn’t falter, didn’t even flicker, but she couldn’t help the small, unexpected twinge of disappointment in her chest, which she brushed aside quickly.
Because good, honestly? Very good—he’d finally taken the hint. He'd finally backed off and stopped lurking around her like she was going to magically forgive him if he just stood close enough. About time.
She took a sip of her drink, doing her best to tune back into her coworkers’ conversation about the department’s wildly competitive office potluck—apparently Francine had been dethroned, and tensions were high.
“Ahem. Ladies and gentlemammals, may I have your attention, please?”
Judy froze mid-breath. She knew that voice.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, she turned toward the source of it, and there—under the dim lights near the back of the bar, standing on the small makeshift stage with a microphone in his paw like this was the most natural thing in the world—was Nick Wilde.
Her brain stalled for a full second.
What on earth was he doing?
“Is that Wilde?” Johnson said.
She looked around as if searching for answers from the others, only to find a sea of confusion and helpless shrugs.
“Good evening,” Nick continued smoothly, far too comfortable for someone who absolutely should not be up there. “My name is Nick Wilde, officer of the ZPD, Precinct One—”
He pointed casually toward their table, and immediately their coworkers erupted into cheers and whistles, raising their drinks like they were part of some official introduction rather than… whatever this was.
Judy just stared at him, equal parts horrified and baffled, because this didn’t make sense—Nick didn’t do this, didn’t draw attention to himself like that unless there was something in it for him, and right now there was absolutely no angle she could see.
“And,” he went on, glancing around like he was about to deliver very serious news, “I have a confession to make.”
“Today, I was a complete idiot to my partner, Judy Hopps.”
And then he looked at her.
Every single mammal in the bar followed his gaze, and just like that, all the attention shifted, landing squarely on her in a way that made her ears heat instantly as she shot him a look that could only be described as: what the hell are you doing.
Nick, of course, only winked at her. Because naturally.
“So,” he continued, entirely unbothered, “to properly express how sorry I am…”
He gestured toward a zebra sitting behind a laptop at the corner of the stage. “Hit it.”
Judy blinked, her brain trying—and failing—to catch up. Hit what?
A soft piano melody filled the bar. And suddenly, everything clicked into place in the worst possible way.
He had a habit of making fun of the precinct’s monthly karaoke night—roasting both the eager volunteers and the poor souls who got dragged into it. He’d even said he’d rather die than make a fool of himself like that. So why was he…
Judy stared at him, eyes widening despite herself, one incredulous thought echoing in her head.
Nick closed his eyes like he was about to deliver the performance of a lifetime. He looked so confident. So serious.
Oh my God… was he actually good at this? Since when was this a hidden talent? How did she not know about this?
And then, opening his green eyes, he started singing.
“Everybody need a little time away, I heard her say, from each other… Even lovers need a holiday far away from each other”.
Sweet cheese and crackers, that was horrific.
Painfully off-key, slightly off-tempo, delivered with a level of confidence that somehow made it worse, like he genuinely believed he was doing something impressive instead of sounding like—
Well. Like claws against a chalkboard.
“Hold me now…” he sang—looking at her. “It’s hard for me to say I’m sorry… I just want you to stay…”
Judy snorted. She couldn’t help it.
“After all that we’ve been through…” Nick continued, pointing directly at her like she was the only mammal in the room. “I will make it up to you… I promise to—”
Oh. Oh, he was serious. He was really singing Hard to Say I’m Sorry by Chicago. No, scratch that. He was butchering Hard to Say I’m Sorry by Chicago.
Judy pressed her lips together, as she fought to keep a straight face.
Their coworkers, who were apparently deaf, started cheering like he was singing with the voice of an angel instead of commiting an auditory crime.
Judy blinked, still trying to process the fact that Nick Wilde—never let them see they got to you Nick Wilde—was currently serenading a room full of strangers.
He landed with an easy little hop, never missing a beat, and started making his way through the tables, still singing—still looking straight at her.
“And after all that’s been said and done… you’re just the part of me I can’t let go…”
The officers lost their minds.
“Wilde, please have my babies!” Johnson practically roared, half out of his chair.
“Take off your shirt, Wilde! Show us your tits! Give the people what they want!” Wolford howled with zero shame.
“Oh my God, is he finally confessing to Hopps?” Fangmeyer whisper-shouted excitedly like this was premium reality TV.
Someone wolf-whistled. Someone else started banging the table like they were at a concert. And Judy very seriously considered transferring precincts.
She looked around. As thrilled as the ZPD officers were, the rest of the bar? Not so much.
Because while the precinct table was absolutely thriving, every other table was slowly turning to look at Nick like he’d personally wronged them—expressions ranging from mildly annoyed… to deeply offended… to viscerally disgusted. A few mammals were already covering their ears.
Nick, blissfully unbothered, kept going.
“Couldn’t stand to be kept away, just for the day from your body—”
A chorus of boos started rising from somewhere in the back.
“Wouldn’t want to be swept away, far away from the one that I love—”
“Shut it, fox!” someone yelled.
“Get out of here!” another voice said.
From a nearby table, a goat launched a crumpled napkin with surprising accuracy, smacking Nick right on the side of his head.
Nick reached down, picked it up off the floor and kept singing—
“Hold me now, it’s hard for me to say I’m sorry—”
Then, with perfect timing, he snapped his wrist and sent the napkin flying straight back, hitting the goat square in the face.
“I just want you to know…”
Nick kept moving toward her, making direct eye contact.
Judy lasted… maybe two seconds. Her paw flew up to her mouth, shoulders starting to shake as the laughter finally broke through. Because there was just something about seeing Nick Wilde willingly make a complete fool of himself as some kind of over-the-top apology that hit her right in the chest.
Yes, it was ridiculous and embarrassing. But it also was… weirdly, painfully adorable.
“Hoooold me nooow, I reeeaaally waaant to teeeell you I’m soooorrry… I coooould neeeever leeeet you gooo—”
Oh no. He held it, he really held it. Badly.
Judy physically winced, her ears flattening as the note went from questionable to a full-blown attack on her ear drums.
Finally he reached her and dropped dramatically to one knee.
The precinct erupted into cheers—loud, obnoxious, completely on his side—while the rest of the bar answered with an even louder chorus of boos, whistles, and exaggerated groans.
A fresh wave of crumpled napkins came flying in his direction, not just one or two now but a full-on barrage, pelting his back, bouncing off his shoulders, some missing entirely and hitting nearby tables. One clipped his ear. Another hit him square between the shoulder blades.
Aggressive little paper missiles.
And still—Nick didn’t even look at them. He just lifted a paw toward her, finally lowering the mic from his mouth.
“Judith Laverne Hopps, I was a complete ass today.”
She bit her lip, trying to hold back the smile that was already threatening to break free.
“I solemnly swear to permanently retire all yo’ mama jokes directed at our boss.”
Judy broke. A laugh slipped out—then another.
“And I promise that for the next three weeks we’re stuck on desk duty, I will be your humble, hardworking, extremely underpaid servant. You can ask for anything.”
He tilted his head just slightly—and there it was again.
Wide, bright, and just a little too soft, the usual sharpness dialed all the way down—replaced with something so painfully, strategically vulnerable it should’ve come with a warning label. His ears dipped just a fraction, his whole expression smoothing into that look that hovered right on the edge between innocent and please don’t abandon me outside in the rain like a sad, soggy stray fox with no home and no hope.
“So… can you forgive me?”
That was his final attack. And apparently, she’d severely underestimated her opponent, because whatever comeback she thought she’d made earlier? Gone.
If she’d won the last battle… Nick had just won the war.
Judy shook her head smiling despite herself, pretending to think it over while the entire bar hovered somewhere between joy, anger and emotional investment.
A few seconds of suspense. Then—
She nodded and placed her paw in his.
Around them, their coworkers lost their minds—cheering, clapping, whistling like they’d just witnessed the most important historical event since the founding of Zootopia.
Meanwhile, the rest of the bar?
“Leave his ass, bunny! He's a terrible singer!”
Nick pushed himself to his feet, set the mic down on the nearest table, and shot her a crooked grin.
“The things a fox has to do to get forgiven.”
Judy scoffed, folding her arms. “Please. This is the direct consequence of your actions and your terrible yo’ mama jokes.” She tilted her head, giving him a pointed look. “And just so we’re clear? I am absolutely taking you up on that offer.”
Nick’s ears twitched. “...That sounds dangerous.”
“For the next three weeks,” she continued, her tone turning dangerously sweet, “I am not lifting a single paw. Not one. You, Officer Wilde, are doing all the desk work.”
She paused just long enough to let that sink in, her eyes narrowing with quiet satisfaction before she leaned in the slightest bit closer.
“And when I say all,” she added, voice soft but absolutely merciless, “I mean all of it. Every report, every form, every painfully boring, soul-crushing piece of paperwork that crosses that desk…”
A tiny, triumphant smile curved at her mouth.
Nick winced. “Okay. Yeah. That’s… fair.”
“And,” she added, raising a finger, “you’re bringing me lattes. Daily.”
Nick nodded solemnly, like a fox accepting his fate. “And,” she said, barely holding back a grin now, “we’re going to watch the recording of this moment every single day.”
Nick blinked. “...What recording?”
Judy didn’t even have to answer—she just pointed. Across the room, Higgins stood there, phone out, very obviously filming.
She turned back to Nick, smiling way too innocently. “He started recording the second you got on stage. So yeah… we’ve got the whole thing. For posterity, handsome.”
Nick looked at her horrified. “Carrots… you can’t do this to me.”
“Sorry.” Before he could argue, she stepped closer, grabbed his tie, and tugged him down just enough to press a quick kiss to his cheek.
Nick froze. Actually froze. Eyes wide, mouth slightly open.
Judy pulled back, satisfied. “Don’t worry. If you behave, I might let you delete it…”
She paused, letting it hang. “...after 48 hours.”
Nick huffed a laugh, shaking his head, a slow grin spreading across his face.
Judy smiled right back. Somehow, in the middle of the chaos—the cheers, the boos, the napkins still flying, the bar on the verge of collective mutiny, it all seemed to fade.
He stepped closer, closing the distance between them, and she placed her paws against his chest. Their eyes met, and just like that they both broke. Laughter spilled out of them at the same time, easy and unrestrained, the kind that dissolved whatever tension had been lingering between them, leaving something lighter in its wake.
And in that moment—caught in the warmth of it, in him, in them—she realized something. Maybe… just maybe—
Nick insulting their boss hadn’t turned out so bad for her after all.
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