You're Strange || C!Technoblade x Immortal Reader
The day you appeared was quiet. You weren't here for anything in particular.
Wandering around the forest the past decade had been peaceful.
No fear of being seen as a weirdo, no questions about your lack of aging, no friends or lovers dying of old age.
You had grown tired.
The snow on the ground was nice.
Snow was beautiful. Delicate.
You loved snow. It's always been pretty to you.
The first time you saw it you can remember was when you were in northern Greece 500 BCE.
It was cold, the mountains held more snow then anywhere else.
You floated around the ground as if weightless, moving with practiced grace. The delicacy of an immortal.
The care of someone who has been walking the way snow fell, silently and beautifully.
As you moved gracefully you felt the forest grow quieter.
Coming to a halt you knew you weren't alone anymore.
Pushing up against a tree you stood silently.
The movement of a piglin hybrid a quiver on his back, bow in hand and sword at his waist.
Your breath stopped. Heart stilling.
He was tall. Broad shoulders, very muscular.
He held no armor, a loose drawn linen over his chest, a red fabric hiding the top of his brown pants.
The crown and cape he wore reminding you of royalty.
His hair was beautiful.
You stood mesmerized as he stalked slowly against a tree.
His steps frozen as he turned his face in both directions.
He knew something was there, you recognized that look.
You didn't dare to breathe, but soon his steps begun again and you watched him leave the area.
Looking down at yourself you took into account your attire.
Your hair flowed softly, 10 years of length it reached as far as your mid thigh.
Thankfully though your immortality seemed to extend to your hair for the most part as it was healthy, untangled and still just as soft and adorned in flowers.
The dress you wore was in good condition still too.
An off white flowing dress, it reached to the tops of your shins, not constricting your movements. Flowers decorating it peacefully in places.
The forests sounds didn't return though.
You'd seen hunters, soldiers, and kings. They didn't listen like this predator did.
This was different.
Unknown.
You eased carefully from the tree moving softly a few feet.
You felt your magic hum beneath your skin, the disruption in mana clear, he was behind you.
As you turned to face him a twig snapped and an arrow thumped into the tree beside you.
You were careful.
You didn't scream, you didn't panic. Age had taught you control.
Your eyes went to the arrow, dead center of the trunk, good aim.
It was embedded well too. Powerful.
“Yeah,” he said calmly, voice carrying through the trees, “I thought so.”
You raised your hands slowly, palms open. Not surrender. Just acknowledgment as you turned around.
“You’re very loud,” he added, tilting his head. “For someone trying not to be.”
“You’re also dressed like a forest spirit.”
You blinked once.
“I am neither hostile nor lost,” you said, voice quiet but steady. Accented by centuries, smoothed by time. “And that arrow was unnecessary.”
“Bold words for someone who didn’t dodge.”
“I didn’t need to.”
That earned you his full attention.
Your eyes met, his were bright and red. Beautiful.
Like berries or blood on snow.
“You don’t smell like a mob,” he said. “And you didn’t flinch.”
“I’ve had practice.”
“With… arrows?”
"With being shot at."
Silence fell between you both.
"What are you?" he asked. He spoke with ease.
Men like this were not to be trifled with.
Men like this were the ones who changed history.
His crown isn't for vanity, cape not for show. He holds both violence and discipline, someone in control.
“I am very old,” you said at last. “And very tired.”
He took steps forward his breath fanned your face for a second.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “That tracks.”
He reached up and tugged the arrow free from the tree with a sharp jerk. Bark splintered. He glanced at the tip, satisfied, then slid it back into his quiver.
“You’re either immortal,” he continued stepping back, “or suicidal.”
“Those are not mutually exclusive,” you replied.
He huffs a small almost laugh.
A grin plays to your lips.
“You didn’t dodge,” he said again “Which means you knew I wouldn’t miss.” his voice taking on a more quizzical tone.
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t scream.”
“No.”
“And you didn’t run.”
“I’ve run before,” you said. “It never helped.”
You both stand there facing each other silently.
"You're... strange."
You gave a small shrug.
"I'm good at patterns... and you don't fit any of them?" his voice leads.
You shrugged a bird flying to the branch of the recently assaulted tree.
Your eyes followed it softly holding a hand out softly.
You'd held this bird before, seen it grow.
It carefully landed in your hand.
Your finger danced softly over its head.
“What are you doing here?” he finally asked.
You shrugged, "Resting. Hiding from humans."
“…War,” he guessed.
“Always.”
That did it.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I hate that too. You can stay,” he said after a moment. “For now.”
Your eyes danced from the bird back to him.
"That's not how territory usually works."
"Normally I kill trespassers."
“And you won’t?”
He tilted his head, studying you with sharp, curious eyes.
“Haven’t decided yet.”
The moment gave you all you needed to know, “If you wanted to kill me, you’d have tried already.” his voice hummed.
You met his gaze.
“So would you.” you stated voice quiet.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Fair.”
You saw the world encase in the darkness of sunset.
The dark was peaceful.
"There are others not far from here." he states voice gruff.
You stood there silent.
Why is this important.
“Settlements?,” you ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “A server.”
That word is meaningless to you, but the way he says it is not.
“They build,” he continues. “They claim things. They decide who belongs where.”
You’ve heard this before.
Different language. Same rhythm.
“Kings,” you say.
He snorts.
“They’d love that.”
"Disgusting." you mutter.
“Yeah, and if you stay here,” he says, “they’ll come eventually. With laws. With prisons. With ‘for the greater good.’”
You think of Athens. Of Rome. Of London. Of Washington.
“Always the same,” you murmur.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Different banners.”
"I don't like banners."
"That might be a problem." He says voice amused now.
"And you?" You question.
"I don't bend." he responds not a question, a statement, "I don't negotiate with systems that need people smaller then they are."
“So what happens now?” you ask.
He shrugs.
“You can leave. Stay hidden. Live quietly for a while longer.”
“And if I don’t?”
His lips curl into something almost amused. “Then you’ll be involved.”
"What have you chosen?" you ask voice questioning.
“I chose not to be ruled,” he says finally.
It’s not loud. It’s not dramatic.
It’s absolute.
“I chose not to be owned. Not by kings, not by presidents, not by ‘the greater good.’”
"I can agree with this."
“I chose to burn the cages instead of decorating them.” his voice edges sharply.
Your breath leaves you slowly.
“And the cost?”
He glances back at you, eyes sharp and honest.
“Everything that tries to keep me,” he says. “And most things that try to stop me.”
“I won’t kneel,” you say. “Not to them. Not to you.”
“Good,” he replies instantly. “That’d be awkward.”
A corner of his mouth lifts.
You almost laugh.
“Then what does that make us?” you ask.
"Unclaimed,” he says. “Which is about as close to free as it gets.”
Your eyes follow over his face once again, the beauty in his hair and eyes.
"Then i'll stay."
"My place isn't far. You don't have to come."
You give a soft nod and follow him.
After a few minutes of silence, your voice finally cut through.
“You fight,” you said softly, “and yet you call yourself unclaimed. You kill, burn, and disrupt, but you think you are free?”
He glanced back, red eyes catching the starlight. A small smirk tugged at his lips, amused rather than offended.
“Freedom isn’t a philosophical debate,” he said. “It’s surviving on your terms. You think bending your spine for someone else counts as freedom?”
“Freedom is more than survival,” you said. “Freedom is knowing the consequences of power and choosing restraint anyway. It’s not merely the absence of a master- it’s the wisdom to act responsibly with what you can do."
His steps stop and you halt behind him.
“I like to think I shape my own path,” he said finally. “Not to serve a flag or a throne. Not for fame or gold. That’s all freedom that matters to me.” then his steps begin again.
When you reach his home the first thing you see is the fence.
His steps are soft, the snow crunching beneath him here.
“You move like you’ve been walking for a long time,” he said, not looking at you at first. His tone was curious, not accusatory.
“I have,” you said quietly, almost matter-of-fact. As he moves to open the door for you. Your eyes flicked to the fire in the room, then back to him. “Long enough to know where it’s safe to step, where it’s not, and when to speak.”
“So,” he said after a pause, “you’re not exactly from around here. Not in the usual sense. That much I can tell.”
“I move often,” you said. “Sometimes to rest. Sometimes to hide. Sometimes to watch.”
“You’ll need to rest,” he said simply his voice wavering as if he has more questions, as if it were obvious how late it is. He moved toward the corner, tugging a thick blanket from a chest. “Bed’s not much, but it’ll keep you off the snow.”
You sit softly on the bed and watch as he walks out of the room.
When he's gone you feel how your mana is moving, touching everything.
He steps back into the room, a bucket of water in hand.
"For the morning. Sleep now."
You lay down, pulling the blanket up over yourself.
Feeling warm for the first time in months.
When the morning rustles you're awake.
You're quiet walking outside, to the edge of the fence.
You step up onto it.
Using the fence posts as spots to leap from.
You move carefully dancing softly across them, welcoming the morning and getting rid of the stiffness in your old joints.
You hear the door open once the sun is up.
The piglin hybrid walking over quietly.
As you stop to look at him, you drop down gracefully into the snow.
"You're strange."
You shrug, "I get that a lot."
The sound of wings disrupts you though.
You spin on your heel a man flying quickly at the fence line.
Your fingers twist carefully, gathering mana.
Your leg drops behind you softly hands in front of you.
Ready to take down this new found threat. You move one hand and the wind stops on one side, moving from beneath his wing, he hovers in mid air for a second on one wing.
Your hand contorts and your new found friend moves fast a hand to your shoulder pulling you back, "Stop. They're a friend."
Your hands relax and the man with wings regains his place in the air.
“Morning,” he said casually. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” he says landing softly on the fence.
“She’s… careful,” your friend beside you says quietly.
“Good,” the new man replied replied. “You should be.” He looked at her directly now. “I’m not here to hurt anyone.”
“Hurt anyone?” you asked, voice even, ancient in its cadence. “That’s… an interesting concept. How do you define it? By intent, by result, or by survival?”
His eyes twitched slightly at the edge of her words, and he tilted his head. “By context,” he said slowly. “And by the people who live to tell the story.”
His expression softened slightly. “I can tell you’ve seen more than most could imagine. But you’re not… reckless. That’s rare.”
You shrug slowly, turning on your heel and heading back into your friends cabin.
They follow behind for a few minutes before talking outside.
You leave them be as yous sit by the fire.
Weeks progress like this.
Technoblade your friend asks questions sometimes, occasionally Philza shows up and they speak.
It's becomes normal and nice.
Soft.
Then one day he doesn't really ask a question.
"You're immortal aren't you."
“That’s a dangerous question,” you say calmly. Poking the fire for a second.
He hums. “Yeah. Figured.”
“What made you think that?” you ask.
He snorts quietly. “Take your pick.”
You raise a brow.
“You don’t age,” he continues. “Not like people do. You move like someone who’s had centuries to perfect balance. You talk about history like it personally inconvenienced you.” A faint smirk. “And you don’t react to danger like someone who expects death to stick.”
You shrug. "I'm strange remember?"
"So you're immortal."
“People hear that word,” you say softly, “and they stop seeing a person. They see a resource. A weapon. A myth to be owned or destroyed.”
“I’m not people,” he says immediately.
You look at him again.
“No,” you admit. “You’re not.”
Another pause. This one isn’t heavy. It’s thoughtful.
“I don’t want control over you,” he adds. “And I don’t want your past. I was just… curious.”
“Curiosity gets people killed,” you say.
He grins. “Yeah. That’s kind of my brand.”
You laugh to yourself lightly. "Then yeah, i'm immortal."
Your hand tightens on the fire poker, "You’re not… upset?”
“Why would I be?” he shrugs. “Everyone’s got something weird going on. Yours just happens to involve not dying.”
“…You’re taking this remarkably well,” you say.
He smirks. “I live in a world where people respawn. Immortality’s just commitment issues with death.”
Your hand softens on the poker and you set it down beside the fire.
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” he says. “You can stay as long as you want. Or leave. Or vanish for a century and come back.” A pause. “Just don’t lie to me if you don’t have to.”
You nod slowly.
“That,” you say quietly, “is more mercy than most kings ever offered.”
He shrugs again. “Kings suck.”
With that you both end your night.
When you wake again you dance.
You dance sharper. Stretching more and moving both more fluid and faster.
“You’re… at it again,” he said, voice low, teasing, but not unkind. You almost stumble, having been so wrapped up in your own thoughts.
“I’m… stretching,” you replied, tilting your head, letting a wisp of your hair fall across your face. “The morning demands it.”
He leaned against the fence post, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Stretching or showing off?”
You let your fingers trail along the air, following the rhythm of your movements. “Depends on who’s watching.”
He's silent for a while and you take more notice to him standing there watching as time moves on.
“You know,” he said finally, stepping even closer, leaned off the fence post now “I could watch you all day.”
You froze for a heartbeat, then let yourself tilt your head toward him, letting your gaze meet his. The forest felt smaller somehow, the snow softer. “Could you?” you asked, voice calm, almost teasing.
He shrugged, smirk softening into something warmer. “I might not leave.”
With that he puts a hand out for you.
You jump down gracefully landing silently.
A hand reaching to his.
His hand is warm. Much larger then yours. Rougher.
“Stay for a moment,” he said, voice low, almost careful. “The world… the snow… it’s better with you in it.”
You let yourself lean slightly into his hand, and the dance you both start became a shared rhythm, subtle and unspoken, a quiet intimacy that neither of you rushed, but both recognized.
As the sun moves through the sky you dance together in perfect rhythm.
When the sun begins to set he speaks, “I… like being near you,” he admits, voice low. “More than I expected.”
You let a smile tug at your lips, feeling the centuries of solitude slip a little. “I like being near you, too,” you confessed, quieter than a whisper, but enough that he heard.
Finally, he leaned just slightly, brushing a loose strand of your hair behind your shoulder. “Does that… count as something?” he asked, a teasing edge to his tone, though his eyes held sincerity.
You tilted your head toward him, heart beating a little faster than it had in decades. “I think it… counts as a beginning,” you said.
As you spin he leads you closer to him.
Holding you firmly. Not letting you glide out of his embrace.
“Then maybe I can… take a step closer,” he said softly, voice almost a whisper.
You tilted your head to the side slightly to see him, letting your hand hover over his, heart hammering. “Maybe you should,” you said, voice steady, but your chest fluttered with anticipation.
You feel his hand squeeze yours lightly and he turns you around between his arms.
A hand moving to brush back some of the hair that's come in front of you.
His fingers touch your cheek softly.
"You're warm." you say, "For someone who fights so much, you're so very warm."
His hand moves further against your cheek, "Is that a bad thing?"
You move a hand up to his face, "No it's not." Then you push yourself up onto your tippy toes and put a hand on his shoulder to stabilize yourself.
Pulling him just down enough that you can kiss him lightly.
"I've been cold for a long time, it's nice being warm with you."