We broke up months ago. There were plenty of reasons but this wasn’t one of those times where ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ would fly. You were the problem, for so many reasons.
We’d lived near each other for years. Your parents owned one of the big houses in the neighbourhood. My wife and I moved in, barely able to afford our mortgage, but we made it work. Our little slice of the world was quiet, filled with families raising kids and enjoying everything the local community put on. You and I would cross paths at neighbourhood events, or at your parents’ annual barbeque. We never said much, different people, different circles of friends. Not to mention that I was much older… and married.
A few years later, tragedy struck, my wife was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer and passed suddenly. We’d worked hard, started to get our finances in order and had even saved a little. But it seemed life had just decided we didn’t deserve to be happy. I spent the months beside her hospital bed as each diagnosis kept coming back worse than the last. She tried looking on the bright side, to stay positive, but deep down we both knew what was coming.
After months of failed treatments I was alone. A broken shell of the man I used to be. I retreated into the home we’d built together, doing little more than working and sleeping. The memories clung to every wall. Our wedding pictures where she always told me they were crooked, even after I’d corrected and then over corrected. Or the room I’d painted for the children we’d never have. Even her side of the bathroom vanity still held her makeup and moisturisers. No matter where I looked, she was there, and never would be again.
Still, time does heal, or at least dulls the pain. I hadn’t found peace but I was starting to face the world again. Her life insurance had come through, enough to pay off the house, clear the debts and leave a cushion behind. Not a fortune, but enough to be comfortable while I kept working. And she was still with me in a way. I’d put together a little shrine for her in one corner of her old reading room, out of the way and private. A few of her best pictures, her favourite jewellery, her ashes. Every week, I’d place a set of fresh flowers. Her favourites of course. All as a reminder of what I’d lost, what I still wasn’t ready to let go of.
Months later and I was still feeling her absence. But when the invite came to your parents’ annual party, I decided to bite the bullet and go. At most for an hour or so to reconnect with the neighbours and remind myself that life wasn’t over. It turned out to be a good day, a bright sunny Saturday at the start of summer. Kids splashed in the pool, adults lounged about as families and friends chatted and played games together. Even I found myself a little less isolated, enjoying myself more than I had in months.
Then I saw you. Dressed the way you were, I almost didn’t recognise you. Gone were the T-shirts and shorts, in their place, a beautiful summer dress, patterned in blue and white clinging in all the right places. We sat and chatted. You were now in college and studying to follow your father’s plan, finish school and work for him. But you had admitted to me that’s not what you wanted, you didn’t want that corporate life at all. You wanted to choose your own path.
We didn’t sleep together that night, but I saw you in a whole new light. The awkward teenager I’d seen at neighbourhood barbeques was gone. In her place was a delightful young woman. Confident, full of dreams, and with a spark that made me believe things could be better. Despite the gap in our ages and everything between us, there was something there.
Looking back, I should have stopped it there. Enjoyed the brief friendship for what it was. But those casual afternoon café meets turned into dinners. Then you started coming over while I cooked your favourite meals. Naturally it didn’t take long for you to make your way into my bed.
Things were great, at first. You still went to classes, with college being a fair distance away, we only saw one another on the weekends. You’d spend those weekends you could with me, and we’d do the things I once did with my wife, visiting art shows, farmers’ markets, live music. For a little while it was like I had my life back.
But things just aren’t meant to last. The problems came hard and fast. You mentioned to me once how it was strange that I still kept my wedding pictures up on the walls. How the shrine creeped you out. It would lead to arguments, you’d get defensive accusing me of not moving on, you’d scream at me and cry until your throat was hoarse, or until I gave in. Usually that meant spending money, new clothes, a weekend away, a fancy dinner and an even fancier bottle of wine when we got home.
Despite your flaws there was one thing that you were undeniably good at. Every single argument ended with us in bed. No matter how heated things got, it was as if you’d forgotten the problem entirely and wanted nothing more than to worship me. You did things you claimed would make your mother faint. You’d beg me to punish you, you’d suck my cock like your life depended on it, you’d tell me you were a bad girl and just needed a real man to love you right. Every time you’d be so convincing that I’d believe you had genuinely forgiven me.
Things finally reached their breaking point. I’d left you alone for a few hours one weekend morning while I ran some errands. You knew my routine by now, I’d go out, pick up ingredients, make breakfast and cook for you before you had to leave on that long trip back to college. I was gone just long enough for you to do what you needed.
I came home to find you wearing a few pieces of my wife’s jewellery. Nothing else. Every photo on the wall had changed. It was your face staring back at me from each one. The selfie of us on our first weekend away, the snap from the animal park. The shot from the summit of the mountain trail.
You’d replaced everything of hers with yourself. And worse is that you hadn’t even asked. You were proud of it. You told me I could do anything to you now that you were mine, how I’d always have you and always would. But deep down I knew that someone who was capable of this wouldn’t think twice about doing something much worse. I had to end it.
That was the worst fight I’d ever had. You threw things, screamed, cried, threatened to call the police, even tried to hurt me. And when that didn’t work, you even tried to make up, to seduce me. But this was unforgivable. Thankfully, you hadn’t thrown her things away. You’d just hidden them in one of the spare rooms, behind boxes. Before I kicked you out, I made you tell me where everything was. I made you give the jewellery back.
But you’d been planning this. Before you’d even made it to your dorm, you must have stopped somewhere and used my own login to drain one of my bank accounts. Not the main one, but the one I’d been using for our little trips and indulgences. It wasn’t much, only a few thousand dollars, but enough to show me who you really were. You sent me a message afterwards, how I’d gifted it to you, said I always promised to take care of you.
You didn’t stop there. That first week alone I missed over thirty calls. Triple that in texts. You even tried to ‘remind me what I was missing’ with a flurry of nudes. By day ten, I blocked you, thinking that would be the end of it. It was. Or so I thought.
Months later, my house was mine again. The old photos up on the walls. Reminders of better times. The little shrine tucked away in its corner. Even the bathroom vanity still held a few of her makeup bottles and moisturisers. I’d let one of you go.
Now, I spend my time alone. Not wanting to live through another break up, not willing myself to get close, just to be hurt, or worse, left behind. I go to work, come home, potter around the house. Trying to forget the worst relationship I ever had and trying not to forget the best.
I lay awake at nights, remembering her, how she always wanted me to hold her. How her body was warm up against mine. How we fit together so perfectly. I try not to remember you, how easily you slipped into my arms. How you would get close to me, trying to get me to open up fully to you. Your words whispered in my ear as you tried to get closer and closer to me, to replace her totally.
Today’s a good day, strangely enough. Rain drums against the windows, the clouds overhead hanging low and heavy. Thunder rolls in the distance as lightning flashes like cracks in the sky. I watch it from my kitchen window. A cup of coffee in my hand, letting the quiet of the house settle as the weather surges outside.
Then, the doorbell rings.
I frown. Whoever’s out in this weather can wait. I shuffle to the door in my usual weekend getup, slippers, track pants and a fuzzy robe that smells faintly like her.
Through the frosted glass, I can see the silhouette. A woman, petite, familiar.
I open the door without thinking, already half prepared to send away a Jehovah’s Witness, or some poor bastard selling me kitchen knives, or even worse some insurance rep.
I freeze.
It’s you.
Hair plastered to your face from the rain. Your top clings to your body, soaked through. The shape of your bra, clear visible beneath it. Despite the weather, despite the time apart, there’s that look. That glint in your eye. That familiar, wicked little smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.
And then I see it.
Your hands, cradling your belly. Swollen. Round. Very, very pregnant.
Your smile widens into something feral. Triumphant.
“Hi Daddy.”
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Hey there, I hope you enjoyed reading this prompt as much as I enjoyed writing about it.
It should be fairly obvious what I’m looking for in terms of themes here, manipulation, emotional damage and power dynamics. I’m looking for someone to play a cunning, bitchy, manipulative type opposite my broken, emotionally guarded character. Someone who finds any and every angle to use against him to get what she wants.
That said, we don’t have to follow the prompt exactly. I wrote it as a framework, but I’d love to explore different directions and twists together. What if she finds another man to look after her, only to come crawling back after another messy breakup? What if he kicks her out every time she shows up, but can never quite let go? There’s a lot of rich territory here to explore, and I’d love to see where your ideas take us too.
Rather than a strict linear story, I’m also open to playing this one in a more vignette-style format, scenes from their messy, volatile relationship across time. The manipulation, the moments of weakness, the sex, the screaming matches, all of it.
I have a strong preference to play on Discord so if you are willing to RP there, that would be appreciated. However I can stick to Reddit too.
As you can see, I’ve put a lot of thought into this scenario and I really appreciate when that energy is matched. You don’t have to write something as long as the prompt, but I do enjoy writing with people who give their responses some weight and substance.
I have plenty of other ideas and prompts if you have liked my writing but this one doesn't quite speak to you. Feel free to reach out and I am happy to share with you. You can also read more about me here.
I look forward to hearing from you.