Levi x Reader Oneshots.

A Death in London [unedited]

Part one. This is the Victorian Era, btw. Really OOC!Levi

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She was a slim, tall woman with [h/c] hair. She was a delicate woman, almost made of china. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open ajar. [F/n] stared on ahead in horror.

There had been a few accidents like this recently. It had been slowly melting into the bitterly cold December days and ice glazed the roads.

"M-mother..." she whimpered. Her delicate body looked crushed and bruise from where she stood, wheels from the hansom marking the ice near her head. "...Mum..."

Citizens collected around her corpse. She got up from the snowy footpath and staggered towards the woman. Her breath hitched, her heart raced and her palms were sweaty. It was almost hard to get through the mingling citizens.

"Excuse me... l-let me through, p-please..." she whispered, shoving a few people aside. "That's my m-mother, let me through..."

She felt herself being pulled back and she began to panic. She fought to break free from this man's grasp but with the help of another citizen, she was pulled back again. They probably didn't want her to see the gruesome sights.

Sobs suddenly began to rack through her body again. For the second time in less than a few minutes, she's really struggling to find the air to breath.

"Mother, no..."

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The man that laid before him had a nasty shiner over his left eye. That was the largest one on his face; his whole body was possibly to be covered from inky contusions from head to toe.

The short man pulled the white cloth from the rest of his body. He dumped the sheet on the ground and hissed. He rubbed his left temple and tapped his foot.

"Ugh." He coughed, taking the pipe out of his mouth. The man had a nasty wound over his chest, blood once splattered staining it slightly. The raven haired man behan to go through his list as he dressed another body as part of his profession.

"Rigor mortis..." he muttered, lifting a hand up an releasing it only for it to flop down again. "Mister Addington, dead by a butter knife to the heart, has been dead for at least twelve hours..."

Mister Addington's eyes had sunk to the back of his head and his hands and feet turned a blue. Obviously it wasn't a nice blue since it was on a dead person. The face of this Mister Addington was no longer recognizable.

"Mister Ackerman, there is another one over here for you. The client is upstairs." A colleague shouted.

"Jesus Christ." He groaned and ran up the stairs.

The room wasn't well-lit. Well, it was a funeral parlour; there would be no need for blinding lights anyway for they woildn't really 'fit'. There was a wooden counter in the middle which was in dire condition. The place, overall, was very dark and lonely-looking. It was like no one lived here.

There was a young woman no older than twenty standing before him. She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks, at least on a bed anyway judging by her messy hair. She had a bonnet on top of her head and had a basket in her hands.

"My Lady, how may I help you?" Mister Ackerman said, voice devoid of any compassion or care.

"I w-wish to have my mother... to have her..." but she couldn't finish the sentence. "Sir..?"

"Yes?" He replied. He walked down behind the counter and sat down. He patted down his pockets, noticing that he left his pipe downstairs. "What is it?"