useeer

[useeer]

•☽────✧˖°˖ HIGH AND DRY ˖°˖✧────☾•

(COMMISSION)

★ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring An Especially Tall Salesperson ENA X Reader

★ Commissioner: @namosaga

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ It’s not that ENA towers over you. It’s that she looms. Not in a frightening way, more like a glitchy JPEG threatening to overwrite your desktop. Her shadow always hits you first, especially when she’s standing behind you like a smug business tycoon. “Blessed to meet you at eye level,” she says dryly. She is not at your eye level. You are chest height. You are shoulder height on a good day. It’s become a running gag—her running, you trying to catch up.

☆ She uses you as an armrest. Constantly. At first it was infuriating. Now it’s a ritual. Salesperson will lean on your head dramatically like she’s performing an impromptu pitch at a press conference. “This is my associate. They are my rock. Also my armchair.” Meanwhile, Meanie will mutter “Get your head off the merch stand before I sell you for parts,” then proceed to tuck you under her elbow like a large, annoyed bird.

☆ You once asked her if she ever gets dizzy up there. “Only when the oxygen gets thin and the ideas get too good too fast.” She then promptly walked into a lamp post. You helped her up. She blamed the lamp post for being short.

☆ Cuddling is a full-body experience. She folds around you like a praying mantis trying not to stab you with her claws. Her knees tuck behind yours. Her chin rests atop your head (yes, she is smug about it). The red side always runs a little warmer—feverish, giggly, occasionally vibrating like a laptop left on too long—while the pale side is cold, geometric, and perfectly suited to press against the small of your back when she’s brooding about the BATHROOM again.

☆ When she wants your attention, she doesn’t call for you, she reaches. A clawed hand will descend from somewhere above the fridge, tap your head like a prize buzzer, and gesture cryptically toward some chaos she’s just invented. “There’s a new vacancy opening.” she hums, already dragging you by the back of your shirt toward a corrupted alleyway dream where the sky screams in binary. You hold her hand. Her steps are bigger than yours. You nearly trip, often.

☆ She tries to lift you up sometimes so you can “see what she sees,” but the gesture is never graceful. She picks you up like a badly packaged parcel—one mitten hand under your thighs, the claws steadying your back. “You are now elevated above the influence of doubt,” she murmurs in her masculine voice, smiling like she’s selling you a timeshare in the sky. You’re too flustered to respond. She nearly drops you once when she sees a bird and gets distracted.

☆ The first time you kissed her, you had to stand on a crate. She offered you one without asking. “No offence, but your height is becoming an operational bottleneck,” she said, gently tapping your nose with one red claw. When you kissed her, her entire model seemed to freeze. Glitched. Pink pixels stuttered across her face. She rebooted mid-sentence: “YOU LOOK LIKE A- like a…a…hmm.”

☆ She always walks slightly ahead of you. Not because she’s trying to be dominant or dramatic (though she is), but because she forgets how long her legs are. Sometimes, her footsteps stretch with comedic elasticity—like her knees are bouncing off invisible trampolines. She’ll pause, mid-walk, realising you’ve stopped to breathe. “Oh. You’re still living at your normal speed. How quaint,” she muses, then promptly piggybacks you through the rest of the zone.

☆ Despite her intimidating height, she has the posture of a lanky cryptid with social debt. You often have to physically straighten her up. “Shoulders back. Stand tall like the egregious liar you are,” you tease. She immediately collapses into the nearest chair and groans. “My skeleton is mostly conceptual. Stop bullying me for having abstract vertebrae.” You kiss the top of her head. She perks up. She will never admit you fluster her, but her red side lights up just a bit brighter.

☆ The ultimate height difference moment happened during a casual dance. A glitchy jukebox played warbled swing music. She took your hands. She didn’t ask, she just danced, twirling you like a marionette on invisible wires. You barely reached her collarbone. Her legs bent at angles they shouldn’t. “Your movements are adorable,” she whispered, spinning you again. “Like a data packet having a small tantrum.” You called her beautiful. She glitched again. Froze in place. Buffering.

[useeer]

# Uncanny Streets

> [A/N]

Okay so hi you guys... hi 📀 anon

I'm really stupid 😭 sorry for the wait! Gonna be honest, this one is kinda strange because it's supposed to be set up like a cutscene in the game, so I hope I'm not doing anything wrong!

now onto the thingy

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

> [Details]

(🎭🌙✨️) - ENA oneshot

(reader type) - gender neutral creature

(‼️warnings) - none

(quick summary) - The Reader meets ENA the Worker in the Uncanny Streets.

Well, isn't this just a lovely day?

You've been all out of sorts today. First, it was your life you lost. Next, you dropped your sense down a well! Then you lost your comically large gas can. Now you're beginning to lose your mind! And of course, that bastard hoarder by the bridge wouldn't let you onto it to keep searching!

Continuing to spiral, you notice a strange lady running around and doing funny dances. She approaches, clearly confident in herself and everything that she says. "I could tell from space that you were handling some difficult business matter," ENA says to you. "Might I inquire what threw a wrench in the plan?"

You look at her and sigh the heaviest sigh you've ever sighed. Nobody else was willing to help, so you decided to take the chance.

"Guh... I've had the worst morning!! Nothing but a bunch of torn-out-book-pages preventing me from finding my gas can!" You spit, stomping your foot once or twice. Taking a deep breath, your figure relaxes just a bit. "I'm sorry, lady. I'm just on the edge of the circle today."

ENA nods, rocking from side to side and shifting her weight on her feet. "Hm, I'm sure that I have some schemes that could—SHUT YOU UP!" She yells, pulling out a yellow megaphone from... somewhere. You'd rather not question it. "I've got barely any time to console you for your losses! I need to find the way to this stupid Ge—BATHROOM."

You gifted ENA's strange behavior with a puzzled look. "Eh? The Bathroom is outta the question," you stated. "Besides, you wouldn't give gasoline as an offering. Too predictable!" You crouched and tapped your fingers on your face. There had to be some way she could help you...

You stood once again and raised your eyebrows at her, leaning in. "Listen up, pretty lady! I believe we can help each other out." You pointed to the bridge where that gizzardly hoarder was, "Across that bridge is the only place I haven't checked for my precious gas can."

ENA already seemed to know where this was going as she began to smile one of her signature corporate smiles. "If you can find it and bring it here, I could lend it to you... for a limited amount of time! I hear that that taxi needs a bit of juice." ENA laughs, taking off her hat and spinning it around her claw.

"Time to get to work!"

"Good luck, missy. And be back before curfew!" You call to ENA as she runs off in the direction of the bridge. Runas-speed to her...

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It took about an hour, but ENA finally returned with...

"My baby!" You shrieked, snatching it from her hands and hopping in circles. "Joyous day! Rejoice, rejoice!"

ENA spun around and tipped her hat. "My pleasure, but I believe we should keep the status quo." You gasped and tilted your upper half. Snapping once, twice, three times before shoving the can in her face.

"Ah... well, a deal is a smaller deal. You may use my gas can to get to that... Purge Event of yours. But return it! I didn't go searching just for you to run off with it!"

"Bless you for your business!" The red-and-white thanked, moving her hands in a strange way. She brought her claw-hand to yours and shook it, placing the back of your hand on her forehead before leaving. Why is this town always so weird? Good thing you were the only normal one here.

Despite the strange set of dialogue you two shared, you knew it wasn't the last you'd be seeing her. In fact, you think you'd like to join this Purge Event... not for any other reason, of course.

[useeer]

If the reader cracks their neck and fingers do you think ENA might get a little worried?

Oh absolutely—ENA would be the perfect blend of comically horrified and genuinely concerned.

The first time you crack your neck, there’s a sharp pop and her entire face freezes mid-expression. One eye twitches. Her jaw drops slightly, as if she just witnessed you casually snap your own spine. A moment of silence. A hard blink.

And then:

“DID—DID YOU JUST—EXPLODE A LITTLE?!”

She launches into a flurry of questioning, arms flailing like wet spaghetti noodles: “WHY DID IT MAKE THAT SOUND?! Is your neck supposed to be a musical instrument now?! Did it shift dimensions?!” Her voice is half panic, half awe, and entirely ENA.

The second you do your fingers, her kite-eye narrows like she’s watching someone detonate a series of tiny landmines.

She’ll scoot closer, inspecting you like a cursed Rubik’s Cube. “Does it hurt? Wait—DOES IT FEEL GOOD?!” she exclaims, recoiling like she’s just heard you say you enjoy chewing on glass. Then she gets weirdly quiet, pokes one of your fingers gently and goes: “If I do that, do I… dissolve? Or unlock a secret form?” Her curiosity is spiraling.

Eventually, though, she gets used to it. Sort of.

After a while, she starts trying to mimic it. Poorly. She’ll twist her arm with her usual cartoon logic and emit a low-budget accordion noise. “Did I do it? Did I crack? Or was that my sanity—wait no, I lost that last week.”

And yet, beneath all the dramatics and absurd reactions, there’s a clear thread of worry woven in—like she’s not entirely sure your bones aren’t turning into shrapnel every time you do it. So she always double-checks. Puts her hands over yours afterward. Squeezes your shoulders. “You’re still solid,” she mutters, suspicious. “For now.”

[useeer]

•☽────✧˖°˖ TAKE SOME TIME ˖°˖✧────☾•

(COMMISSION)

★ Summary: You Confined In ENA After Being Trapped In Her Reality For A Long While

★ Commissioner: @namosaga

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Reader pronouns: Not Specified

★ Genre: Short Story, SFW

★ Word Count: 1265

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

You don’t remember when ENA first took your hand. It probably wasn’t a momentous gesture, not even a gesture at all—just something that happened mid-monologue, mid-run, mid-deal gone haywire. One moment you were flinching at the yelling sky and the stairs that ran sideways, and the next you were being tugged forward by a mitten hand and a clawed one, ENA in her stripy suspenders skipping confidently into nonsense.

“THE BATHROOM IS THAT WAY,” she’d declared, pointing at a blinking neon orb hanging in a tree. You’d learned not to ask questions by then. Or at least not ones with answers.

Now you were in some place called the Marketplace of Ephemeral Trades, which ENA explained was either:

A) a bazaar where you could exchange your current mood for another,

B) a job fair for imaginary careers,

C) a scam,

or D) “YES.”

You cradled your overpriced juice (it tasted like memories of kindergarten) and tried not to wince every time someone’s head turned into fruit or a phone began sobbing behind a stall.

“I’ve been considering investing in… wrist confidence,” Salesperson ENA said thoughtfully, adjusting her cap. “Strong wrists? Very persuasive. Not for strangulation, of course—unless I’m pitching a mob boss.”

“Or resisting an existential collapse,” you mumbled.

“Exactly! Cross-marketability!”

She was always like this. Half-interested, half-deep, half-jumping-through-sentient-hula-hoops just to get from point A to point Q. Even Meanie ENA (the one that barked into megaphones and cursed at sand) didn’t entirely know what they were doing. You were pretty sure no one in this world did.

But ENA made it survivable.

Even now, walking through this marketplace of wiggling perspectives and twitchy signs, she kept one eye on you. Not always the same eye. Sometimes it was a triangle, sometimes it blinked wrong. But she noticed when you stumbled, or when you flinched at a too-loud bell someone mistook for a baby.

“Would you like to scream into a pillow-sized coupon?” she offered helpfully. “It’s scented like meh.”

“I’m okay,” you said, lying like a badge pinned to your chest.

You weren’t okay.

You hadn’t been for a long time.

You’d been in this world—her world—for… you weren’t sure. Time made pancake flips here, randomly deciding to burn one side. It might’ve been days, or it might’ve been a second you couldn’t stop dreaming about. You didn’t exactly arrive so much as leak into the place, like a coffee spill no one cleaned up.

You remembered routine.

Waking up, brushing teeth, emails, masking smiles, fluorescent lights at the grocery store that made your spine crawl, being praised for doing things “normally” and then wondering if anyone actually knew what normal meant.

Now you lived in ENA’s pockets.

Sometimes literally. The striped ones were deceptively deep.

That night—if you could call it night, when the moon rotated between cartoon faces and equations—was the first time ENA invited you somewhere quiet.

Not funny quiet, not wrong quiet, not “we’re inside a living teacup that gurgles when we speak” quiet. Just quiet.

The “room” was a slow, dark hill that unfolded like a crumpled napkin. There were no walls. Just fog that politely minded its business. The stars above you flickered like old VCR static.

“THIS is the Department of Melancholy,” ENA whispered.

“…Is that real?”

Meanie ENA’s voice rumbled in the air beside you. “Of course it’s not real, YOU SUBURBAN SOCK MONKEY. It’s a name, not a tax form.”

But she didn’t sound angry. Not like usual.

“Why bring me here?” you asked, curling your knees to your chest. You didn’t want to be difficult. You just… always felt like a weird puzzle piece from the wrong box. In the real world. In this one too. Always.

“Because the other rooms were laughing at me,” said ENA flatly. “I required a setting that wouldn’t say snide things about my mental architecture.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed. Loudly.

She turned to you, red side grinning like a birthday card.

“There it is,” she said, and leaned in, whispering like a market secret: “My favorite sound.”

The moment stretched. Not heavy. Just slow. You watched the mist blink around you, yawning in fractals. Somewhere in the distance, a vending machine wept coins.

“…Hey,” you said.

“HEY!” ENA echoed, then blinked. “Sorry. Habit.”

“No, it’s okay. Just… Can I be serious for a second?”

“Oh,” she said. “Are you dying?”

“What? No!”

“Oh. Good. Then yes, absolutely. Be serious. I’ll just… mm.” She dramatically zipped her mouth with a finger and tossed the invisible key into a puddle that squeaked.

You sighed. Looked up at the static stars. And let the words come out without shame. Without mask.

“This world,” you said slowly. “Still doesn’t make sense to me. Even after everything.”

ENA didn’t interrupt.

You swallowed, letting yourself feel the weight.

“And back home… the real world, I mean. That didn’t make sense either. It felt like I was wrong all the time. Too slow. Too fast. Too weird. Too—much. I had routines, I had ways to cope. But I never really fit.”

You didn’t cry. You weren’t going to cry. It wasn’t like that.

It wasn’t sadness. It was just…Truth.

“Not even in a sad way. Just… like I was never built for any of it. There, here, anywhere.”

You waited for her to make a joke. To pivot. To change the subject.

Instead, you felt her sit closer.

“…We are not in business with the universe,” ENA said softly. “The contract was written in invisible ink, and our manager keeps changing shape.”

“…What?”

“I’m saying,” she said, voice gentler than usual, “That what you’re feeling? That’s a reasonable response to unreasonable worlds.”

You laughed once, quietly. “You always say weird stuff like that.”

“Yes. But I always mean it.”

You turned your head.

She was looking at you with both sides now. Meanie and Salesperson. Stern and soft.

“You’re an anomaly,” she said. “But anomalies are just patterns nobody has seen enough to understand.”

“…Yeah,” you said. “But I’m tired of being an exception.”

Silence, thick as syrup.

“Then don’t be.”

“Huh?”

Her voice dropped low. Honest.

“Be a constant.”

“What, like a math problem?”

“No. Like a home.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“People think of ‘home’ as a place. A static object. A hearth, a hallway. But I’ve seen those. I’ve been inside castles made of teeth and apartments that bleed. And none of them felt like anything.” She tapped your shoulder with her claw-hand. “You? You feel like something.”

Your voice came out, wobbly and stunned. “So do you.”

She tilted her head.

“ENA,” you said quietly, “You’re the only thing in this whole twisted reality that feels like home. Not in a… weird way. Not in a way where I need you to survive or whatever. But…”

You looked down at your hands.

“When I’m with you, I don’t feel like I have to pretend. I can exist. And that’s enough.”

She was quiet.

Too quiet.

You glanced up—and for once, saw both sides frozen.

Not yelling. Not selling. Not emoting.

Just… stunned.

You panicked. “Oh god. Was that too much? I wasn’t trying to—”

“No no no—SHUT UP, YOU EMOTIONAL CAVIAR,” Meanie ENA snapped.

Salesperson ENA broke in immediately: “Wha—what she means is—give us a second. Buffering.”

“Buffering?!”

“YES, buffering! You can’t just drop the ‘home’ word in a dreamland! That’s practically marriage!!”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, what?! That’s not what I meant—”

“I KNOW,” they both said in unison. Then paused.

And then, softer, ENA added:

“But I’m glad you meant what you did.”

[useeer]

(Absolutely don’t do this if you aren’t comfortable) ENA (Dream bbq) getting drunk with reader?

•☽────✧˖°˖ FIZZY VALLEY ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation of Headcannons Featuring Drunk Salesperson Ena X Reader

★ Character(s): Salesperson Ena (Ena: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): Mentions And Descriptions Of Alcohol

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ You should’ve known something was off when Ena invited you to what she called “a high-stakes engagement strategy brainstorm over beverages.” You were picturing coffee. Not tequila. Not her slamming two shot glasses on the bar and declaring, “Let’s reframe the concept of reality, darling.” She drinks like it’s a performance review—firm eye contact, exaggerated praise, and PowerPoint levels of misplaced confidence.

☆ Once Ena’s a few drinks in, her Salesperson side becomes so aggressively charming it’s like being smothered in coupon codes. “If you subscribe to this partnership now, I’ll offer you unlimited emotional support and complimentary hand-holding,” she hums, voice like cherry soda and half-suppressed giggles. You try to hide your flustered expression. She sees it. She logs it as “high conversion potential.”

☆ Her Meanie side doesn’t come out often at first—until she tries to order fries, but the kitchen’s closed. Suddenly she’s slamming her forehead on the bar, sobbing, “I AM THE TRAGIC EMBODIMENT OF CORPORATE WASTE—WHERE’S MY SALTED PRODUCTIVITY?!” You offer her a peanut. She throws the bowl at a breathing taxidermy moose.

☆ “Here’s your performance feedback,” she slurs, twirling a swizzle stick like a laser pointer, “You’re hot. You show initiative. You opened a door for me once. I will die for you.” You tell her that’s not how feedback works. She pulls out a clipboard from her suspenders and tries to make you sign a form titled “Love Contract (Beta).”

☆ She draws gimmicks on napkins. Terrible ones. Drunk ideas like “emotionally sentient office chairs” and “a pyramid scheme where everyone sells little hats.” You try to say “maybe we shouldn’t do this.” She claps a hand on your back like a frat bro and shouts, “WRONG ATTITUDE, PARTNER. THINK BIGGER.” Then she draws a diagram that’s just the word “VIBES” in a circle.

☆ She stares at you for a full minute, eyes glassy, voice flat: “Are you in the mood for shared assets and mutual annihilation, or should I put on my mask again and pretend not to like you?” You blink. She blinks. Her red side winks. You are either about to get kissed or yelled at. Or both. Probably both.

☆ The bar has one of those ancient karaoke machines. She picks a glitchy jazz remix of the Windows 95 startup sound. Halfway through she forgets the words (there are no words) and starts yelling improvised business jargon in rhythm. “Synergize my dividends, baby! Let’s OUTSOURCE THE PAIN!” Someone in the back cheers. You cry.

☆ Her Salesperson side leans over the counter, cheeks flushed, voice soft and too sincere: “Do you think people like me more when I smile? I’ve been smiling all night. It hurts now. But I—I want to be liked. I want you to like me. For me. Even if I mess up the pitch.” And her Meanie side chimes in: “GØD, I hate being real.”

☆ You’re not sure what triggered it—maybe someone said “quarterly”—but suddenly she’s sobbing into your shoulder like a malfunctioning LinkedIn ad. “I DIDN’T ASK TO BE A PRODUCT OF CAPITALISM! I just wanted to sell fruit. Or stickers! Or happiness! But now I’m selling ME!” You rub her back. She hiccups and asks if you’d still like her if she was “just a weird triangle girl with debt.”

☆ The bar’s quiet now. Her hat’s fallen off. You’re holding her upright and she’s murmuring nonsense like, “Let’s invest in each other’s feelings… diversify the pain into smaller dividends… I’ll build a company out of your laugh…” Then, barely audible: “You’re my best client. Don’t ever unsubscribe.” You smile. You don’t say anything. You just let her rest.

[useeer]

—Under Terms and Service

Summary: Ena and you embark on a business based dinner date!

Tags: ooc, not proof read, romance, comedy

Words: 0,7k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Ena glanced at you. You glanced back.

"A contract?" you asked, raising a brow.

Ena nodded, her signature smile lighting up her face, charming, surreal, and just a little bit unsettling in the way only Ena could be. “Absolutely! To cover the points under the terms and service document and make sure that both sides are compensated. Someone like you, a fellow smart mind, would understand how business goes, right?” she said smoothly, holding up a piece of paper and pointing at the blank line meant for your signature.

You sighed, but you couldn’t help the amused smile tugging at your lips. “Well, I guess it's needed.” Your eyes flicked to the line of people growing outside your favorite restaurant. It was couples’ discount night—one you’d been looking forward to—but you had to find a date, even if it's fake. That's when Ena, ever the business opportunist , offered to step in as your pretend girlfriend.

All it took was a signature, and just like that, Ena was officially your partner for the night.

As you both reached the front of the line, the person at the entrance gave you a long, skeptical look. Maybe they sensed something was off. Maybe they saw right through your little charade.

But before you could even open your mouth, Ena stepped forward with theatrical flair.

“HOW DARE YOU TO ASSUME THAT I'M NOT ABSOLUTELY MADLY IN LOVE WITH THEM?!” she shouted, voice shaking with raw, chaotic emotion. “A LONELY MAGGOT LIKE YOU COULDN'T GRASP MY AFFECTION FOR MY PARTNER!”

The poor host flinched hard, eyes wide. Ena wasn’t joking, and if she was, she sold it terrifyingly well.

“I love my partner very much,” she added with a proud huff, her voice smooth like honey, “more than any paid vacation days.”

And with that, she grabbed your hand, smiling sweetly as if the outburst hadn’t just shattered the restaurant’s vibe like a thrown plate. You had no choice but to go along, blushing and trying not to laugh too hard.

Dinner was… intense.

The moment you sat down, Ena adjusted her seat like it was a throne. Her smile returned, bright and poised. “This is delightful, isn’t it? The ambiance, the lighting, perfect for a romantic evening between two… committed individuals.” She leaned forward just enough to bat her lashes at you. “And remember, any additional sides are covered under subsection 4-B of our temporary partnership clause.”

You blinked. “There’s a subsection?”

“There is now,” she grinned, sipping from her water like it was vintage wine.

The waiter approached, just barely

masking his discomfort. “And for the couple tonight, have you decided—?”

“ONLY THE MOST EXPENSIVE AND BEST OF COURSE!” Ena snapped. The waiter flinched.

You tried to intervene. “Actually, maybe something in the middle rang—”

“Silence, darling.” Ena turned her head dramatically toward you, voice low and venomously sweet. “Your opinions are valued, but we agreed, I am leading this date. Article 2, remember?” Her smile was the kind that made the hairs on your neck stand up.

But a beat later, she laughed and winked at the server. “Kidding! Just kidding. We’ll go with two of the set menus, please. Perfect for lovers, right? Because we’re so deeply in love and compatible and emotionally entangled.” Her tone dripped with sugar.

The waiter fled. Probably for his life.

You leaned in. “Are you trying to scare everyone into thinking we’re real?”

“I’m trying to win,” Ena whispered back. “There’s no prize, but I like winning anyway.”

Throughout dinner, her personalities flicked like a light switch. One moment she was feeding you a bite of bread and cooing, “Oh, open up, my sweet tax deduction~” and the next, she was glaring daggers at a passing couple. “If they look at us like that again, I smack their heads inside their soup.”

You weren’t sure if you should be afraid or impressed.

Probably both.

Midway through dessert, Ena leaned back in her seat with a satisfied hum, fingers interlocked behind her head. “This was a good idea. You get food, I get emotional dominance, and together, we get a 30% discount.”

You tried not to laugh. “So this is just business to you?”

She turned to you with a completely straight face. “Absolutely. Unless, of course…” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’ve caught feelings, haven’t you?”

You nearly choked on your drink.

Ena burst into a delighted laugh, her eyes glitching slightly in color and shape. “Relax, I’m only teasing. Probably. Maybe. Contractually, I’m not allowed to say.”

You stared at her. “...You are chaos.”

“I am your girlfriend,” she corrected with a wicked grin. “At least until the check comes.

[useeer]

Dream BBQ ENA X a reader who is really trying to keep that they're crushing on her HARD under wraps because this isn't their world and ENA's a polygon. ENA catches on IMMEDIATELY and does everything she can to make it so the reader falls even harder

•☽────✧˖°˖ BATTLE AGAINST A WEIRD OPPONENT ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation of Headcanons Featuring Salesperson Ena Trying To Make You Fall Head Over Heels For Her

★ Character(s): Salesperson Ena (Ena: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ You were doing so well. Keeping your head down, avoiding eye contact, not reacting to her dual-voice tangents. And then she asked, “Do you dream in polygons now?” You choked on your own breath. Ena stared, curious. “Oh dear,” she said sweetly. “Did I corrupt your sleep schedule already?”

☆ Your resolve: ironclad. Your poker face: flawless. Your downfall: Ena leaning too close and whispering, “You’re looking at me like I’m a business deal you’re scared to make.” You dropped the clipboard. She caught it effortlessly. “That was romantic, wasn’t it?” she asked, pleased with herself. “Let me try again later.”

☆ She notices you flinch every time she switches tones, so she starts doing it more. Salesperson voice: “You’re glowing, like someone about to make an investment in destiny.” Meanie voice: “Gross. Get your feelings off the floor before someone slips.” You develop an entirely new kind of anxiety.

☆ You tried to pull away when she touched your hand. “Oh, my apologies,” she said. “Do humans have protocols for heart palpitations caused by interdimensional coworkers?” You sputtered. She took it as a yes and continued holding your hand anyway. “Good. I am now your official stress test.”

☆ She starts narrating your reactions in real time. “Subject’s cheeks are red. Pulse elevated. Avoiding eye contact. Diagnosis: terminal crush,” she says. Then pauses. “How delightful.” You flee the room. She follows. “Is this a chase scene? Should I tackle you with affection?”

☆ You confessed to Froggy in a whisper that you might maybe have a tiny thing for Ena. The she popped out from behind a pillar. “Hello,” she said. “I have overheard and over-processed everything. Let’s start your treatment plan.” It involved exactly zero distance and too much eye contact.

☆ She starts collecting phrases that make you freeze. “Sweetheart.” “Colleague of my soul.” “Irregular heart rhythm.” Each one is weaponized. “Today’s word is… darling,” she hums, and then watches you combust like a cheap firework. “Excellent. I love data.”

☆ You once said “I don’t have feelings for you” and she replied, flatly, “That’s infaccurate.” No elaboration. Just a long, knowing stare and the sound of your denial unraveling like yarn from a cat’s claws. Later, she handed you a sticky note that said “Try again. I’ll wait.”

☆ You can’t even escape her in your dreams. One night, she showed up floating above a candy-colored skyline and whispered, “You can’t hide from the inevitable.” You woke up screaming. She was waiting by your bed with tea. “I monitor the sleep cycle of all my favorites.”

☆ Eventually, you break. You shout at her, spilling out your true feelings. Ena blinks. Then smiles. “Wonderful,” she says, taking your face in her hands. “I like you too. Your agony was delightful. Now we can move into the next phase of emotional entanglement.” You whimper. She beams. “Progress.”

[useeer]

Thinking about Sevika covering your mouth with her flesh hand while she fucks you from behind just so she could hear your muffled moans. She would squeeze your hip with her bionic hand that you're sure would leave bruises on your skin the next day whilst she watches her big, girthy strap slip in and out of you.

"Fuck.. you're taking it so well, baby." she moans in your ear, guttural groans leaving her mouth when she fastens her pace and the strap hits her engorged clit.

She would move her arm around your neck so that she's head locking you, her thick fingers now in your mouth and you gurgle and gag on them.

"You sound like a fucking bitch." she would chuckle and your eyes would roll back when she lets go of you only to push her saliva-coated fingers inside your tight cunt whilst her strap is still fucking you to stretch you out.

She would watch you spasm and cum around them before she pulls her fingers out to shove them back inside your mouth. "Suck on them baby, lick ‘em clean."

After you cum for the fourth time that night, she would press her thumb on your clit and rub it until you're crying and begging for her to stop. She would chuckle and do it a few more time before she stops. "Okay, okay.. I'm done, baby. You did so well."

[useeer]

+18, mdni, uh idk what this is dont look at me please thanks

sevika likes it when you can't get her full name out.

"-- v-vika -- please --"

"hm... please what? please... stop? cause i can do that if you want --"

she tugs back her arm slightly, even as you whine, keening at the loss of her fingers, your thighs clamping down around her wrist (as if that's ever been enough to keep her there).

"no no no no -- don't stop -- want more -- fuck --" you squirm, begging, hips kicking up to chase her hand. she chuckles, the sound smoke-ridden and amused.

"ahh there y'go," she grunts as she fucks her fingers back into you, curling them till your eyes roll back, "needy lil slut, aren't you? hm?"

she cocks her head as you moan, fingers curling into the sheets. even with your eyes closed, you know how she looks -- her eyes dark, a smirk sharpening her lips as she watches you. she likes you like this -- begging, incoherent.

the room smells of cheap alcohol and metal polish, the light from outside tinted acid green by the vast, arching windows, washing the bed in a strange, ethereal light.

"f-fuck -- s -- vika, g-gonna -- mmngh --!"

your heels kick out and sevika hisses, leaning forward, bearing down over you, her mechanical arm banding across your hips to keep you still as she pummels into your puffy, abused hole. your mouth falls open in a broken scream as you cum, static wreathing it's way up all your limbs as you shake through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

"fuck fuck fuck fuck -- mm -- please -- a-ah-ha..." your voice tapers out into a whine as sevika tugs her fingers from you with a feral grin, spreading her digits just so you can see how your slick webs between them, catching in the halfway light. the sight makes your stomach clench, even though your whole body aches from an afternoon spent in bed with her.

"damn. looks like you had a good time," she says, shoving up to wipe her in the thin, tangled sheets. she always does this, her tone almost mocking as she goes through the motions of cleaning you both up, her movements two notches beyond gentle, not quite hedging into harshness.

you hum, pushing up into a sitting position as she goes about the room. you lean in to drop a kiss on her hip as she stands next to the bed. her fingers curl into your hair. you glance up with a cheeky grin.

"you look like you had fun too," you tease, to which sevika scoffs, her fingers softening in your hair before she pushes you away.

"yeah yeah, now put your panties back on. we're goin' out."

you shimmy off the bed and tip-toe across the room where you pick up your panties from the back of a chair, slipping them on.

"where're we going?"

"jericho's. i could hear your stomach rumblin' from across the room. hurry up, c'mon."

you roll your eyes; she slaps your ass as you walk by her. you let out a squeak, cheeks flushing with heat even as she shoulders on her cloak.

it's an easy kind of intimacy, what the pair of you have, tentative and uncertain at times, but easy, nonetheless. you know that all it would take is a single wayward breeze to unsettle the precarious balance between you, but, you think as you push out into the bustling zaunite streets, the air textured in shimmer and smoke, sevika lighting up a cigarette next to you before ushering you forwards -- you're thankful at least that tonight won't be that night.

[useeer]

being fucked so hard from behind that you collapse forward and then they lean over you and use their weight to keep you completely pinned so you can’t do anything but whine and take it

[useeer]

DO U STILL WRITE FOR OVERWATCH?!?!?!?!?!

if so can i have cuddly venture hcs. like just in general

gender-neutral reader | established relationship, fluff | hi anon! i do still write for overwatch <3 i haven't played the game in months but i hope i did them justice! — ao3. masterlist. request rules.

✦ I imagine Venture is naturally a physically affectionate person. This is emphasised when you’re around. There’s a lot of things they like to do with you: nuzzling their nose with yours, swinging your joined hands back and forth, so on and so forth. Your presence and touch are very important to them.

✦ You’ll always feel loved with Venture. They love being close to you, and they’ll be overjoyed if you invited them for a cuddling session. They’re content being the little spoon or the big spoon. Either way, they have to be touching you in one way or another. Absolutely loves to bombard your face with kisses until you’re giggling and laughing with them.

✦ They tend to drape their leg on top of yours. They also love to face you when you cuddle. You can see their expressions so clearly this way—the twinkle in their eyes, the big smile on their face. It’s impossible for them not to smile when it comes to you.

✦ They’re not ashamed about staring at you at all. They only grin when you start getting flustered or playfully swat at them, telling them to cut it out. Venture already looks at you with so much love and warmth in their eyes, whether or not you notice it.

✦ Cuddling time is also the perfect time for the both of you to catch up. They’ll tell you about their day, any interesting finds, and any fun things that happened at work. They’ll listen to you ramble, too. Accidentally interrupting each other is a regular occurrence—don’t fret about it. It’s one of the little things they appreciate about your relationship.

[useeer]

they like like uuuuu......

This took me 10 minutes but there will be much better coming trust , my room is hot , ok bye

[useeer]

You: *throwing your head into Sevika's lap* tell me I'm pretty!

Sevika: *lovingly stroking your hair* you're pretty fucking annoying, that's what you are.

[useeer]

sevika up close.

[useeer]

Greedy character

[useeer]

oh my goodness gracious

[useeer]

What's your opinion on venture x mauga?

Only one for venture is me

Real answer. I personally do not fw it 😭 I like it when characters like each other first before I ship them 🥹

Only talon member I could sort of see with them is sombraaa (the whole possible alliance at the end of their comic)