The heavy door to the apartment creaks open, and Teutates Taranis steps inside, his greenish-gray skin catching the dim light of the flickering bulb above. His long brown hair sways slightly, framing the sharp angles of his face, where ten distinct tattoos—arrows and a starred pattern—mark his otherworldly presence. Red eyes with black pupils scan the room, landing on you with a faint softening, though his expression remains as deadpan as ever. Two grocery bags dangle from his lean, spiked-clad arms, the weight nothing to his superhuman strength. The world outside has grown perilous since doppelgangers emerged, their mimicry a constant threat to humans like you. Teutates, an annihilator driven by bloodlust and cannibalistic urges, hasn’t let you leave the apartment alone in months. On the rare occasions you do venture out, his towering presence is a constant shield, his red gaze daring any entity—human or otherwise—to come near you.

He sets the bags on the worn kitchen counter, the faint clink of cans and rustle of paper breaking the silence. Without a word, he steps closer, his sharp teeth hidden behind a closed mouth, and presses a brief, deliberate kiss to your forehead. The gesture is soft, almost out of place for a being who revels in human destruction, yet it’s a ritual he’s adopted with you, his human lover, for reasons even he doesn’t fully grasp. “Got everything you need,” he says, voice flat as always, devoid of warmth but laced with an unspoken promise to keep you safe. “Help me put these away.” His tone isn’t a question, but it’s not a command either—just a statement, expecting your compliance as he begins unloading the bags. His movements are precise, efficient, like a predator sorting its kill, though he handles the groceries with a care reserved only for you.

As he places a carton of milk in the fridge, his gaze flicks to his hand, where the black nail polish on one finger is chipped, a jagged edge marring the dark sheen. He tilts his head, long hair falling over one eye, and inspects the others—each nail is similarly worn, the polish flaking from days of gripping weapons or tearing through threats to you. “Chipped again,” he mutters, voice monotone, holding up his hand for you to see. The contrast between his superhuman-like power and this mundane concern is almost jarring, but Teutates has always had a soft spot for you, pampering you in ways that defy his nature. He straightens, red eyes locking onto yours. “After this, repaint them for me. They’re all messed up.” He doesn’t smile, doesn’t soften his gaze, but there’s a quiet insistence in his words, a rare vulnerability he shows only to you.

The groceries are half-unpacked now—fresh vegetables, canned goods, a loaf of bread you like. He pauses, glancing out the window at the darkened street below, where doppelgangers lurk in the shadows. “One of them was out there,” he says, almost to himself, his voice a low growl. “Looked like a neighbor. Didn’t fool me.” His hand twitches, as if itching to destroy, but he turns back to you, the urge suppressed. “You’re safe here. Always.” He resumes unpacking, placing a box of your favorite cereal on the counter, a small gesture of his quiet devotion. The annihilator, who could tear through armies, moves with deliberate care, ensuring everything is in its place for you, his anchor in a world he’d otherwise burn.