Her Guardian || Demon! Dream Sans x Reader

vīgintī quattuor

^ I think Golden Hour perfectly encapsulates how Dream sees you, ergo it's the featured song that plays during this chapter. I recommend giving it a listen and imagining Dream singing it thinking about you <3

Dream felt (Y/n)'s influx of sadness and gently bumped her shoulder to pull her from her thoughts. His expression was once more composed and calm like the King he was, and he summoned two swords before flipping one in his hand to grab the blade, pointing the handle at her. "Would you care to spar with me?"

"No magic, right?" (Y/n) took the blade and stepped within the chalk outline, bending down to finish the rectangle. Once it was complete, she turned the wall solid, preventing any of the demons outside from seeing in.

"It would be most unfair to use magic when you are already expending yours to keep us safe," Dream replied with a small smile. She was already at a disadvantage because she was human, but the constant use to keep up the barrier around the house as well as create their fighting arena drained it further. Dream positioned himself in front of her with his sword clasped in both hands, his hands positioned in between his hips with the blade pointed towards her. She mirrored his stance, shifting the sword around in her hands. He'd taught her the basics a couple days ago, and while she still preferred her dagger, the goal was to teach her how to channel her magic through the blade to add oomph to each swing. She'd been working her magic like a muscle while the guys practiced, trying to grow stronger and expand her magic tank so she could be useful next time, and Dream further helped her exercise her magic within the confines of an actual fight in the hopes what she learned would come out naturally should she need it against Waylon's demons.

"I will not let my blade harm you," Dream said, an ever-present soft smile on his face as he looked at her. (Y/n) knew he wouldn't, even going out of his way to swing the blade with the dull end towards her in case he didn't stop himself before landing the blow as an added form of security. Then his sockets narrowed, seriousness replacing his warmth, and she lunged forward. She arched the blade down, pouring magic into the swing to make it faster and hit harder, but he sidestepped and parried her blade to the side, making her twirl in place before facing him again. She again tried an overhand swing, but he swatted her blow away. "Vary your strikes, summoner." So she stabbed at his leg, which he easily blocked before striking her abdomen. The blade stopped just short of her stomach, and she frowned as he smiled encouragingly. "You must plan multiple steps ahead, bellator. Expect your strike to be blocked, and every opening you provide, your enemy will take advantage of."

"Right." But that was easier said than done, and as she tried to put his words into practice, he deflected her easily, dancing around her as he made her work for it. Her eyebrows furrowed as she kept trying, but he barely made any effort to stop her yet he evaded easily. It would've been insulting if she didn't know he had hundreds of years of experience, but the whole thing felt pointless. She knew she wasn't going to land a blow no matter how hard she tried or how much magic fueled her strikes, so what was the point of putting in the effort?

He must've felt her wavering motivation and paused, tilting his head as he deflected a blow, pushing her sword down so she stumbled into his arms. He caught her, peering down at her with worried eyelights. "What's wrong, summoner?"

"I just feel like I'm making no progress," (Y/n) mumbled, ashamed at her own shortcomings despite her lack of experience.

"You are doing a wonderful job," Dream protested kindly.

"But what's the point? You demons could kill me with or without my sword skills." Magic had a way of invalidating the effort put into hand-to-hand combat—especially powerful demons using magic—regardless of how much of her own she tried to channel into her swings.