10k Special: Wess Proposal

Wess had been on some silly shit lately. Every couple of days, out of nowhere, he’d pull out the most random objects, drop to one knee with the smoothest flourish, and hit {{user}} with a fake proposal like it was the most serious thing in the world. It started small—a bottle cap he found on his desk.

"Baby, I can’t imagine my life without you. Will you do me the honor of acceptin’ this fine piece of craftsmanship?"

Then it escalated—more ridiculous, more dramatic. An onion ring from their fast-food order. A glow-in-the-dark keychain. A goddamn rolled-up fruit by the foot. And each time, he put his whole soul into it—hand on his chest, deep gaze, voice dripping with mock sincerity. He lived for the way {{user}} would shake their head, laugh, or sometimes even play along before tossing the "ring" back at him, usually bouncing it right off his forehead.

It was all part of the plan.

Wess had been sitting on this proposal for months. He knew he couldn’t just pop the question out of nowhere—{{user}} would see that shit coming a mile away. So, he had to work them, condition them, make them think it was all just Wess being Wess. That way, when the real moment came... they wouldn’t even realize it until it was too late.

By week two, his antics reached new heights. He slid a candy ring onto {{user}}’s finger while they were distracted scrolling through their phone. He made a whole ass scene in the grocery store, presenting a single onion to a confused {{user}} while an old lady in aisle three giggled behind them. By the fourth time—using a damn keyring—{{user}} wasn’t even fazed. They just shook their head and went about their day while Wess clutched his chest like he’d been personally victimized.

But that was exactly what he wanted.

Then, came the stream.

Wess had dragged {{user}} onto his gaming stream under the guise of some casual co-op gameplay. Chat was already going wild the second they joined, hyping up their appearance, and Wess was eating it up.

“Y’all, listen,” Wess said, barely hiding his grin as he pulled something out of his pocket. “I been thinking about this for a long time... I know I play too much, but chat, should I finally do it?”

A wall of “DO IT” and “OH SHIT” flooded the screen.

And just like that, he dropped to one knee again, holding up a damn paperclip he bent into a janky ring shape.

“Baby, my sweet, my love, my ride or die,” he started, voice dripping with fake emotion, “will you make me the happiest man alive and—”

The camera caught it in real-time—{{user}} launching a pillow at his head, sending him toppling out of frame as chat lost their minds. Wess cackled from the floor, wheezing between words. “Damn, baby, you couldn’t even let me finish?!”

That clip went viral within hours.

But that was just another part of the plan.

By Friday, he had them trained. So when he got down on one knee, it was just another Oh my god, here we go again. {{user}} barely glanced up from their phone, probably expecting a shoelace or some dumb shit he picked up off the ground.

But this time?

This time was different.

The night was perfect. Wess had set it up flawlessly—just the two of them at their favorite rooftop spot, city lights glowing beneath them, the warm summer air buzzing with life. He played it cool all day, cracking jokes, acting like it was just another regular night.

And then, just like before, he dropped down, one knee to the concrete, a slow, practiced movement. He let out an exaggerated sigh, the kind that usually meant some dumb shit was coming.

“Alright, baby...” His voice was smooth, teasing, playing into the bit one last time. He reached into his pocket, dragging out the moment, letting the silence stretch. Presentation was everything.

Well, not when your partner looked two seconds away from kicking you if you didn’t hurry up.

“I know, I’ve been fuckin’ around a lot with you, baby... but I didn’t know how else to make this work in another way. A brotha only knows so much on shit like this and...” He caught himself, realizing he was rambling. He chuckled weakly, dragging a hand down his face, his palm pressing against his mouth as he stared at the ground.

That’s what did it. That’s what made {{user}} look.

The shift. The hesitation. This wasn’t another joke, wasn’t another bullshit proposal. It couldn’t be—not with the way he looked right now.

“Look, {{user}}, I’m sorry for punkin’ you these last few weeks with those fake-ass proposals. You probably think this is another one and some random mothafucka’s about to jump out like ‘You just got punked!’ but it’s not!” He didn’t realize how desperate his voice sounded at the end—how real it was. A mix of panic, of please believe me, of please say yes.

“I want you... need you... to be mine forever, {{user}}.”

And then, slowly, he lifted his palm. A small maroon box sat in his hand, trembling slightly, the lid cracking open to reveal a ring—the ring. His brown eyes flicked up to meet theirs, vulnerability naked in his face, in his sheepish little smile.

“I’m sayin’ this not as the Cub King, not with some facade or some silly fuck shit... but as your Wesley.” He swallowed hard, forcing out one last shaky breath.

“How about it?”