....do you want another tf2 ask? 🫣🫣🫣🫣 um maybe like a (gn) reader who's asking Engi and/or Sniper (seperate) for a place to stay headcanons? Sorry for another um engi and sniper ask ig they're js popular characters 😦
of course! Engie and Sniper are on my top 3 so don't worry ^^
Got Room For One More?
Sniper/Engineer x GN!Reader who needs a place to stay.
EDIT: I just realized anon asked for headcanons Im so sorry I got carried away with this but I hope you enjoyed it either way 😞🙏🏻 heads up! kinda long.
(P. S, The mercs are red! You are orange. ¦¦ the bullet point paragraphs are hcs)
SNIPER
The barracks were a circus. You’d tried to tough it out, pillow over your head, earplugs jammed in, but nothing drowned out the thundering footsteps, cackling laughter, and someone (presumably scout) blasting music through the walls. By the time midnight rolled around, you were at your wit's end. Which was how you found yourself standing outside Sniper's van, bag in hand, feeling ridiculous. You knocked once, twice. The door cracked open, and Sniper blinked down at you, hair a wild mess, glasses slightly askew. "..?"
You shifted awkwardly. "Can't stay in the barracks tonight. Too much noise. Thought maybe you'd, uh—have room."
For a long moment he just stared, unreadable. Then, without a word, he stepped back and gestured you inside. "Okay wow did not expect him to let me inside so easy." you wonder to yourself. The van was exactly what you expected,cramped, a little cluttered, but not dirty. A couch folded out into a bed along one wall, maps and shell casings scattered across the counter, a battered kettle sitting on a portable stove. It smelled faintly of dust and coffee. "Not much", Sniper said, scratching the back of his neck, "but it's quiet." "Exactly what I need." You set your things down and collapsed onto the couch with a groan. He watched you for a moment, then moved around the space in that efficient, quiet way of his,tidying a pile of papers, shoving a crate of bullets under the counter, straightening a blanket like he hadn’t thought about it in forever. "Appreciate it,"you said, breaking the silence. He shrugged, busying himself with the kettle." Don’t mention it." The kettle began to whistle, and Sniper poured two mugs without asking if you wanted one. He handed it to you, black, bitter, but warm,and then settled in the driver’s seat, rifle across his knees. For a while, the only sounds were the ticking of the engine as it cooled and the quiet slurp of coffee. You thought he might start talking—about the mission tomorrow, about the others—but he didn’t. And that was fine. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was… restful. Eventually, your eyelids drooped. You set the mug aside and stretched out on the couch. Grabbing the blanket from your bag, you mutter a soft "Thanks again." before drifting off to sleep. When you woke, the van was dim with early morning light. Sniper was still in the driver’s seat, head tilted back, hat over his face, rifle within reach. Softly snoring. For a moment, you watched him, marveling at how someone could be so completely comfortable in their own company. Then you realized,maybe, just maybe,he didn’t mind yours either.
He automatically pours two mugs, doesn’t even ask if you want one. The drinks are always too bitter, but it’s comforting.
Sniper doesn’t force conversation, but the quiet never feels heavy. It’s a calm you don’t get in the base. Sometimes you just sit, listening to the faint hum of the desert outside.
When he does speak, it’s usually about simple things—weather, terrain, the latest mission. But every so often, he drops a line about life that sticks with you, rough-edged wisdom from a man who’s spent too long on his own.
ENGINEER
Engie technically has a bunk with Pyro, but he spends more nights in his workshop than anywhere else. A little cot and a beat-up couch tucked in the corner do the job. He shrugs it off: "Why walk all the way back when I can kip right here?"
The workshop is always softly lit, lamps and blueprints scattered about. The hum of machines and faint smell of oil/gunpowder make the place feel oddly cozy, even homey, despite all the gadgets lying around.
You opened the workshop door and were immediately met with the familiar buzz of machines, the occasional clink of metal on metal, and the low hum of a welder somewhere in the corner. It was loud, but not chaotic. Not like the barracks. Engie glanced up from his workbench, goggles perched on his forehead. "Evenin'. what can I do you fer'?" You sigh, rubbing your temples. "Too much racket back at the base. Thought I’d… uh… see if I could crash here for a while. Somehow much quieter here despite the machinery and stuff." He gave a small, easy smile and gestured toward the corner. "Couch or cot. Take yer pick. Don't mind the noise." The couch looked worn but welcoming. You sank into it, listening to the steady rhythm of Engie's work, the soft clatter of tools, the whir of a small motor, his quiet muttering as he adjusted a gadget. The noise wasn't jarring, it was predictable, almost soothing. Engie poured two mugs of coffee, the steam curling into the air. "Here ya go. Not too strong, I promise. Just enough to keep yer eyes open if th' work bothers ya none." You took it gratefully, letting the warmth seep into your hands. "Thanks." you smile softly. Leaning back as the rhythmic sounds of the workshop continued. It wasn't silence. It wasn't complete peace. But it was calm in its own way, and having Engie nearby, working and humming, made it feel like the world had slowed down just for you.
Engie's talkative but never overwhelming. He'll chat about his projects, share old stories from his homwtown, or ask about your day. The conversation flows naturally.
If you doze off on the couch, he just smiles, drapes a spare blanket over you, and goes right back to his work. He doesn't mind the company, it’s nice to have someone appreciating the quiet in his space.
Sometimes he turns on the radio to an old country or jazz station. He hums along under his breath, sometimes you join in. Leading to a small kareoke session between you two.
When you come looking for quiet, he doesn't question it. Just waves you in, clears off the couch, and asks if you want something to eat. There’s usually a stash of sandwiches or a pot of chili he’ll happily share.
(arghh I'm so happy at how this turned out)











