Cold As Ice (Demon Slayer x M! Ackerman Reader)

Prologue

The first encounter with death that left a large scar on my memory happened when I was merely eight years old.

However, the most haunting aspect of that fateful day was the realization that I was utterly defenceless.

The day went like any other, my family spending time together. As we always did.

Allow me to show you...

We sat around a weathered wooden table, in the cosy kitchen area of the connected living room and kitchen.

"Mommy, Daddy, look at my drawing!" I eagerly exclaimed, presenting my artwork, a drawing of our family.

My mother's eyes lit up, a smile gracing her face as she stared at my drawing.

Meanwhile, my father scoffed at the sight, remarking, "Is that what you call a drawing?"

"What? You think you can do better?" I retorted, a playful smile on my face.

"You don't know until you see it," he replied, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

Challenged by his response, I eagerly stated, "Then let's have a contest to see who can create the better drawing!"

"Alright, you two. This will be the ultimate test to determine who's the best," my mother declared, her gaze shifting between us.

With a blue pencil clutched in my left hand and a red pencil firmly held in my father's right hand, we prepared for the artistic showdown.

"On your marks, get set, GO!!!" my mother's voice resonated through the room, igniting the creative frenzy within us.

Without delay, we both began scribbling on our sheets of paper as my mother laughed at how the both of us were so serious about the drawing.

"Aaaaaaaand, I'm done!" I proclaimed triumphantly, slamming my pencil onto the table.

"Ah, ah, ah. Remember, quality over speed," my father teased, his competitive spirit evident. 

 "What if you can have quality and—"

In an instant, three urgent knocks rapped against the front door, severing the flow of my sentence.

All three of us instinctively shifted our gaze toward the door. And with that, a sinking feeling came to my stomach.

My mother glanced at my father, her expression puzzled. "Huh? Are we expecting anyone today?" she asked, her attention then returning to the door.

"No..." My father's response was accompanied by a furrowed brow, his eyes fixed on the door. "I'll answer the door, you two stay here..." His tone held a note of caution.

"Alright?" My mother's voice conveyed her confusion at his unusual behavior.

"Please! Help!" The loud voice from outside carried an edge of desperation.

My father approached the front door with measured steps, his posture tense.

"Mom, my stomach hurts," I interjected, holding my abdomen with both hands. Despite my discomfort, my voice maintained its usual vibrant tone.

"You're probably just hungry. I'll make you some food! What would you like?" My mother's response was accompanied by a fond smile.

"Steak!" I answered, my enthusiasm undiminished.

"Why do I even ask at this point?" My mother chuckled softly. "I'll get it started once your father's done. Why don't you continue drawing?"

"Alright, Mom," I agreed, picking up a pencil once more.