Item one: a billiard set.
The one she'd gotten him for his birthday.
He remembered coming home, following the strains of Sinatra from his den, seeing her sitting cross legged on the gleaming Mahogany. A whiskey sour in her hand, a smile on her face. Lace barely covering anything, the Newports she thought he couldn't smell lingering in the air.
He remembered more: Fucking her on the felt, her screams droning out the Blues, hands digging into the netted pockets for better stability. After, she complained that her back hurt and when he looked, he saw the beginnings of bruises forming: imprints of ivory spheres she'd been pounded onto leaving marks.
Her lilac lace was everywhere: some on the ground, some on the table, some still hanging off her shoulders. He remembered her rising from her sprawl, rising on her tiptoes, pressing her naked body flush against his fully clothed one. "Happy birthday, Laxus." Mirajane said with a sweet, lingering kiss. He remembered the sourness of her drink on her tongue, never to be tasted again. He hated whiskey sours now.
lmao me thinking im done with fanfiction