▪︎ Ellie ▪︎

writer ♡ I don't write smut ^_^ I write fluff & angst

[pink-ribbunz]

𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

@ 𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚁𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚢

@ 𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗 𝙼𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚑

Angry lunch

@ 𝙺𝚢𝚕𝚎 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔

@ 𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚎

[pink-ribbunz]

𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘓𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝜗ৎ

Soap x Fem! Reader – He is used to your lunches made with love. What happens when he makes you mad?

Oneshot Fluff ♡ I tried my best ><

520 words.

Soap pushed his chair back from the small kitchen table at the base. The morning sun spilled through the window, warm and pale, touching the floor in soft stripes. He thought about her as he did most mornings, the way she always made his lunches. They were never simple. Sandwiches stacked carefully with layers of meat, cheese, and vegetables, fruits sliced and arranged like tiny works of art, small notes tucked into corners with jokes or a heart. She had a way of making even something ordinary feel like a gift. He could still picture last week’s lunch, the orange slices shaped like little suns, the way the notes made him smile without her even knowing it.

This morning had been different. They had argued before he left. Not about lunches, not about anything important, really. Just a misunderstanding, words said too sharply, tension lingering in the air long after they both had wanted it to end. He had left the apartment with his shoulders tight, chest heavy, and a small part of him worrying she was still upset.

Now he sat at his work table, lifting the lid of his lunchbox, expecting the usual careful spread. Instead, he froze. A single slice of bread lay neatly on a plate, unadorned and flat. Beside it sat a cucumber, whole, unpeeled, staring up at him like it had a purpose he could not understand. In the corner of the container was a juice box, perfectly upright, a sticky note folded over it that read, “Enjoy.” The handwriting was precise and neat, familiar and mocking at the same time.

Soap stared for a long moment and then let out a low, incredulous laugh. He held the slice of bread in his fingers and examined it as if it were a rare artifact. The cucumber felt cold and stiff, entirely inappropriate for lunch. The juice box seemed absurdly cheerful in the corner. And yet, he could almost picture her in the kitchen, biting back a laugh, eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief, enjoying the moment she knew would make him react like this.

He shook his head, a grin spreading slowly across his face. Even angry she had thought about him. Even upset she had still made lunch. It was ridiculous and infuriating and completely her. He tucked the sticky note into his pocket and leaned back in his chair, trying not to laugh too loudly and draw the attention of the others around him.

Soap imagined how she would react when he got home. He would tease her relentlessly, but he knew it would be met with her rolling her eyes and a smirk, that subtle pride in what she had done. The argument from that morning already seemed lighter, almost trivial, washed away by her humor and the careful thought she always put into the little things she did for him.

He took a small bite of the bread, sipped the juice, and smiled to himself. She had made him laugh even when she was angry. She had reminded him, as she always did, why he loved her so much.