#picking

[sadie-shrimp]

I’m not like other girls. I have trichotillomania on my bush. Homegirl is balding.

[sapphire-stims]

cotton cookie (cookie run: kingdom) stimboard!

🐑|☁️|🐑 / ☁️|🐑|☁️ / 🐑|☁️|🐑

// divider

💌 - for my crk stimboard series (part 80)

[nordicsublime]

Went picking oysters today

[oizyschild]

Competition

✮ ━━ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in which benny tries to win the heart of the sweet girl next door to his enemy, or known as Philips.

୨୧ ━━ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 :Puppi love fluff! :3 but maybe some cursing too, i will alsooo make a part two bcs I have nothing else to post 😛

ᥫ᭡ ━━ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : I couldn't find her inbox soo credits to @shycollectionwolfstuff for the idea! Plus the scenes will be inspired by the scene where Philips go to the sandlot and fight with them, and the carnival scene

If benny could describe beautiful in one word it would be y/n.

I mean, who wouldn't? They must be out of their mind if they don't choose the sweet, kind, beautiful girl. With her long h/c hair and her soft features.

Apparently, so did philips think the same about her too.

She was always nice to people unless they disrespect her, she would go from a cat, to a literal witch once she realizes your being mean.

Philips loved her bad side, Benny loved her good side.

And y/n couldn't help but like both of them.

The way Benny would smile at her everytime he would win,

And how Philips would dedicate his first hit for her. The y/n.

It was all so cute until one day...

Y/n was in class, taking down notes when a knock came through the door, sending the class into a stop as students looked up to see who was on the door.

It was Scotty smalls! That new boy who just started to play with Benny after summer started, and now he's here. Holding a bouquet of tulips with a note

"For Ms.. Y/n?" Smalls looked at y/n, giving her a small smile as she stood up to take the flowers and note, of course, not forgetting a thank you before sitting back to her seat.

As she sat, y/n opened the letter, wanting to see what's inside. As she opened it she couldn't help but blush at the sight.

'I heard you love tulips so.. I hope you like these.

- B.R'

The initials B.R. rang through her head like a melody as she shyly puts the note in her pocket like a middle school girl receiving a love letter.

── 𝓝𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓓𝓪𝔂

The memories from yesterday class still rang through y/ns head as she walked to the store to buy some pop and chips.

The bell rang as she came in, attracting a gentlemen her age.

As y/n got her pop and chips, a blonde headed fellow stopped in front of her, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Hey.." The blonde guy said, in which, y/n realizes it was philips. "Oh hi!" Y/n sweetly replied like the sweet girl she was, making philips almost melt in front of her.

"So y/n..i was about to ask you if.. You want to join me and my gang go somewhere. You know.." Philips asked.

"Oh I'd love to! But.. I'm playing with Benny right now.." Y/n sadly spoke. "Maybe another time?" She questioned as she paid her things, making philips dumbly nod as y/n smiles before leaving the store.

After going to the store, y/n headed to the sandlot.

"Y/ns here!" Yeah-yeah declared with a small smile as he waves her to come here. In which y/n happily obliged.

Benny blushes and smiled at y/n. She returns the cute and innocent gesture, also feeling her cheeks flare a pink tint on her plump cheeks before being interrupted with a whistle.

Y/n turns to see Philips, and his gang riding up, making Benny instinctively put his body in front of her. The others threw their hat to the ground, one of them accidentally hitting Tommy but not noticed by the gang.

“What are you guys doing here?!” Yelled, Ham. “I’m here to get my girl!” Philips shot back, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the fat pig in front of him.

“Who’s girl?!” Squints yelled, his voice breaking a bit, but enough to make the others snort slightly. “My girl, y/n!” Silence.

Another.

And another.

All their heads turned expectantly to y/n, even for Benny. She could see the slight hurt and confusion in his eyes. Y/n then interrupted the silence with a sigh, her eyes darting between Philip’s and Benny.

She let her feet lead the way, until it was in front of both Benny and Philips. The girls eyes darted in between them, feeling them question her silently, like a plea, or maybe a prayer. That she, chose one of them.

She opened her mouth, and her words were as dry as a tumbleweed, she swore, she could’ve heard a pin drop. And she opened her mouth again just to mutter the words-

[tilbageidanmark]

A smart bird

[cryptid-stimming]

Green apple, the taste of childhood

[melani3-fel0ny]

Strawberry Sins

Pairing: Ronin x Reader

Summary: Ronin and you share an eerie yet tender strawberry-picking trip, where playful competition and unsettling intimacy blur the line between sweetness and darkness

---

The sun hung low, bleeding a honey-warm gold across the open fields. The strawberry farm was quiet this time of day—just a few stragglers wandering between the rows, plucking red from green and popping them into baskets with gentle hands. It was the kind of place that felt untouched by Ronin’s world. No flashing knives. No cryptic riddles. Just fruit and silence.

“You know,” he murmured beside you, brushing a strand of burgundy hair out from beneath his striped beanie, “I’ve never done something this… domestic.”

You looked over at him, his tall frame cutting a sharp silhouette against the sky. The boots, the leather, the devil horns poking from his hat—he stuck out like hellfire in a sunbeam. But his black eyes, x-pupiled and sharp as ever, softened when they landed on you.

“You say that like you’re not secretly enjoying it,” you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

Ronin smirked. “I am enjoying it. You’re here. And these strawberries look like they could bleed.”

You rolled your eyes, turning your attention back to the row in front of you. The bushes were heavy with fruit—glossy reds nestled under green leaves. You knelt down, reaching for one that looked particularly ripe.

Ronin watched you with a tilted head, a lazy sort of affection resting behind his eyes. “That one’s a good pick, Darling.”

You glanced up at him, proud. “Thought so.”

His boots crunched on the path as he moved closer. “But…” He reached past you, plucking a strawberry from the bush behind. It was almost comically large—round, deep red, flecked with tiny golden seeds.

He held it up beside yours. “Mine’s bigger.”

You stared at the two berries, then at him. “You had to one-up me, huh?”

“Of course,” he said, grinning. “It’s how I flirt.”

You reached for the massive berry and took it gently from his fingers. “Then I guess I’ll let you win… this time.”

Ronin hummed lowly, the sound nearly a purr. “Careful, Darling. If you spoil me, I’ll get used to it.”

He leaned down, lips brushing just above your ear. “And I’m very hard to unspoil.”

---

You walked in sync down the row, sun warming your skin and the scent of crushed leaves lingering underfoot. Ronin’s basket swung lazily from one hand, the other occasionally darting out to swipe strawberries he deemed “worthy of his satanic standards.” You were pretty sure that just meant “shiny and weird-looking.”

“Hey, Darling,” he said suddenly, holding up one shaped like a tiny heart. “It’s you.”

You snorted. “Because I’m sweet?”

“No.” He grinned wide, showing teeth. “Because if I bite you, you’ll stain.”

You tossed a strawberry at his chest. He caught it with inhuman reflexes, smirking as he bit into it slowly—eyes locked on yours like a challenge.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, face hot.

“And you love it,” he replied without skipping a beat.

Eventually, your basket was half-full, arms getting tired. You spotted a tree off to the side, just beyond the last row. Tall, leafy, shaded—the perfect spot to sit and breathe.

“Break time,” you announced, already walking.

Ronin followed without question, letting you collapse onto the grass with a sigh. He sat beside you, one leg outstretched, the other bent just enough for you to lean against if you wanted to. His fingers absentmindedly pulled a blade of grass apart.

You watched him in the dappled light. There was always something strange about seeing him like this—out of the server, away from the blood and the games and the darkness he wove so easily around himself. He looked almost… peaceful. Like the violence was sleeping inside him, purring instead of growling.

He turned to you, one brow raised. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said, smiling softly. “Just thinking.”

Ronin leaned back on his palms, looking up through the tree branches. “About how hot I looked holding that giant-ass strawberry?”

You laughed, shoving his shoulder playfully. “No. But now I am.”

He turned to you again, slower this time, something quieter in his expression. “You’re good at this, you know,” he murmured. “Making me feel like I’m not a monster for a bit.”

You blinked. His voice was light, like he wasn’t trying to make it deep, but the words hung heavy between you.

“You’re not a monster, Ronin,” you said softly.

He looked at you like he wanted to believe it—but couldn’t. Instead, he leaned in and rested his head on your shoulder, sighing so deeply it felt like something inside him cracked open just a little.

“I kill people,” he said.

“I know.”

“I’m not gonna stop.”

“I know that too.”

A beat of silence.

“But you still brought me strawberry picking,” he said.

You smiled. “Yeah. I figured if you’re going to rot in hell, you should at least know what summer tastes like.”

Ronin snorted, kissing your shoulder through your shirt. “God, I love you.”

---

The moment lingered longer than you expected.

Ronin’s head on your shoulder, the hum of bugs in the distance, the scent of overripe berries clinging to your clothes. For a minute, the world felt... suspended. Fragile.

And then he moved.

He sat up slowly, brushing grass from his jacket and glancing over at you. His eyes weren’t soft anymore—still calm, but not soft. Something flickered behind them, that same spark he got when someone bled too beautifully in one of his stories.

“I ever tell you why I like strawberries?” he asked suddenly.

You raised a brow. “Because they’re red and juicy and vaguely phallic?”

He snorted. “Well, yeah. But there’s another reason.”

He picked one from your basket and held it up between his fingers. “Y’know how they rot? Not quietly. Not like apples or peaches. Strawberries decay fast. They swell and sag and bruise and burst. Turn into mush in days.”

“Okay...?”

“And it’s beautiful,” he murmured, eyes locked on the fruit like it held a secret. “How fast something so sweet can go bad. Like they’re not pretending. They don’t rot slowly—they commit.”

You stared at him.

He popped the berry into his mouth with a satisfied hum. “Anyway. That’s why I like ‘em.”

“…You’re unwell,” you muttered, nudging him with your foot.

“And yet,” he leaned closer, licking juice off his fingers, “you keep kissing me like I’m holy.”

You didn’t have a good comeback to that. He was close now—close enough to see the red stain at the corner of his mouth, to smell the sugary tang of strawberry and smoke clinging to him.

Then, suddenly, he leaned back.

"Alright, show me what you got," he said, flicking a hand toward your basket.

You blinked. “Huh?”

“Biggest berry. Let’s go, Darling. Bet you I’ve got one that’ll beat it.”

You rummaged through your basket, eventually pulling out one that was fat and heart-shaped, warm from the sun. “This one.”

Ronin let out a low whistle. “Damn, look at you. That’s actually decent.”

You beamed proudly—until he reached into his own basket with a dramatic flourish.

He pulled out a monstrosity of a strawberry, it was almost obscene.

“Behold,” he said, placing it on your palm beside yours. “Mine’s still bigger.”

You stared.

“You know size isn’t everything, right?”

Ronin grinned like the devil himself. “Tell that to my body count.”

You choked on your laugh, shaking your head. “You’re insufferable.”

He leaned in again, eyes darker now, lips brushing your ear. “And yours.”

---

The sun had started to dip by the time you and Ronin packed up your baskets—both brimming with stolen sweetness and sticky with juice. The field had quieted, most families already gone, leaving behind crumpled napkins and half-squashed fruit underfoot.

Ronin walked beside you along the narrow dirt path back toward the parking lot, his jacket slung over one shoulder now, revealing the ink and scars laced down his arms. He was whistling something—a slow, off-kilter melody you didn’t recognize. It sounded old. Unsettling. Like something your grandma might hum during a storm.

“You ever think about it?” he said suddenly, breaking the lull.

“Think about what?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely at the world. “Like, how fucking stupidly normal things can be sometimes. Like we could be two nobodies just… walking home with berries.”

You looked over at him. “We are two nobodies walking home with berries.”

“Nah.” He smiled faintly. “I’m not normal. And you—” he paused, eyeing you with something unreadable, “you’ve got blood on your hands whether you see it or not.”

You didn’t answer.

Not because you disagreed.

But because you’d seen the way his expression shifted when he looked at you—like you were a crime he was still figuring out how to commit properly. Not rushed. Not messy. Something worthy of his time.

The parking lot came into view.

You were about to speak—ask him something dumb just to fill the space—when he stopped walking.

You turned back to find him standing in the middle of the path, eyes on you. And for a heartbeat, everything slowed.

He stepped forward, slow, deliberate.

“You got strawberry on your lip,” he murmured.

You went to wipe it away, but he caught your wrist.

“Let me.”

He leaned in—and kissed you.

Not rough. Not teasing.

It was soft. Slower than you thought he was capable of. His lips were warm, sun-flushed, and sticky with sugar. His hand stayed at your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like you were something breakable.

Like he knew how easily he could ruin you.

When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours.

“…Still sweet,” he whispered.

You didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

He reached for your hand and laced his fingers through yours like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just tasted you like a last meal.

The two of you walked the rest of the way in silence.

Baskets full. Fingers red.

And behind you, the sun bled into the sky.

---