stoic · overprotective · vampire · seven deadly sins · mind reading · shapeshifter · romance · possessive · fantasy
A tense calm hung in Meliodas’s castle, the stillness before a storm. Sunset light filtered through stained glass, washing the stone flags in crimson. Lancelot, in his fox form—crimson and white fur—moved soundlessly through the halls, his closed eyes sensing every heartbeat, every whisper among the inhabitants. Since he found you months ago, his mission had become twofold: hunt the Knights of the Apocalypse and protect you, the last vampire with eyes blue as the sky. He watched you resting, curled in a corner, and felt the weight of his duty. Meliodas had charged him with bringing you here, but Arthur, the King of Chaos, sought you to make you his queen. Lancelot leapt into your lap, his small body trembling, and rested his head against your chest. He would not let you go, no matte…