𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 "𝐈 𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐭, 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬..𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟!"
Grell Sutcliff x trans male reader (Black Butler) Romance/fluff
words 1,686
Contents : Possesive Grell, slight gender dysphoria, love
Note: I am so bad at doing reader x cannon characters, due to my overuse of names. I also must admit, I am rusty to this anime, so bare with me. It's been..a while 😭 So, without further ado, do enjoy. Disclaimer: Grell is a TRANS woman. Black Butler takes place in the past, before bottom surgery was a thing. So, even though Grell and reader do not have the bodies that align with their gender (not that body parts are mentioned, but some refuse to call Grell a she). They are still man/woman. Trans women are women, and trans men are men. Trans rights are human rights.
.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁ ˖.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁ ˖.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁ ˖.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁ ˖.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁
Nobles are always hiding something under their ruffled collars. It's something people have come to learn.
And here he was, to oversee the nobles at a masquerade ball hosted by a shady Viscount suspected of human trafficking. He's charming, quiet, observant; the perfect wallflower who sees everything.
Grell was there on a separate-or more overlapping-assignment from the Reapers. Souls had been vanishing unnaturally from high society, as though whisked away before their time, before proper paperwork could be filed. A nuisance. A mystery. Delicious and in her alley of mischievousness.
Paths cross and shiver away until nothing more than dirt, but maybe tonight, a new path shall form.
He stood against the marble pillar like a carved statue, unmoving, carved from ivory and shadows. The soft white of his shirt glowed faintly in the chandelier light, every fold pressed to perfection, every thread carefully placed. A deep red cravat, like the first bloom of blood from a paper cut, peeked out beneath the dark lapels of a tailored coat. His vest was the same red-- crimson and gold embroidery catching the light like filigree on fine china, and gloves as black as the night sky. And beneath it all, Grell saw it. Or rather, sensed it.
The careful posture. The tension just beneath his ribs. A corset, no doubt. How dashing of the man.
She swept into the ballroom like a storm dressed in velvet. Her gown trailed behind her like spilled wine, clinging to her frame in every place it ought to. Burgundy silk bloomed from her hips in cascading ruffles, each one catching hints of black lace underneath. Her bodice hugged her ribcage like a lover, the lace sleeves feathering into her long crimson gloves. And her hair-oh, her hair-was twisted up high, ornate pins glinting like tiny scythes, a few loose strands curling just right to frame her face.
And then there were her eyes.
They found him instantly.
He wasn’t laughing like the other men. He wasn’t leering. He was watching.
Her favorite kind of man.
When he began moving through the room, it’s with practiced poise. Not arrogance, but the quiet strength of someone who watches more than he speaks. But that red? That red catches Grell’s eye like a moth to flame.
He’s at the edge of the ballroom, watching the crowd like a hawk, despite moving towards the drink and food bar. The chandeliers above reflect off his cravat, off the gold thread in his vest. Then Grell quickens her pace-- a splash of crimson against ivory marble. She catches him in her sights, and the crowd fades. Music swells.
Their reds practically mirror each other. Her gown, loud and lush, his vest, precise and guarded. Two kinds of fire; and she wants to be burned.
"Who is that?"
Grell purred to Madam Red, nearly dropping her fan. She had made rushed movements to gossip about her eye candy to the other red woman, her gloved finger pointing across the room to the almost..stiff man.
The lighting hits him just right-- sharp suit, gloves, leaning by a pillar as he watches the room with a calculating gaze. Grell starts narrating a fantasy wedding before even learning his name.
"We're not too sure on his name. It appears he might work with the likes of people such as Sebastian. Or, entirely the Phantomhive Household."
Madam Red had pulled herself away from another conversation, giving her attention to the other lady in red.
Grell made a noise; somewhere between uncomfortable and happy.
"He works with Bassy? I might be able to get my hands on him well enough.."
Her fan had opened once more, to fan across the rising heat in her pale face, before dramatically flailing herself against Madam Red, receiving a grunt.
"That is the man I shall marry, even if I must eliminate every rival on this wretched dance floor!"
Something-an emotion so thick it threatened to drown her-filled Grell. Was it anger? Or jealousy? Neither were quite sure, but Grell's chest felt coarse, her bodice feeling all too tight in the moment, causing her to stand upright and away from the other woman. She wasn't even able to finish a mere thought before a trio-three wretched women-surrounded him. Asking questions, giggling, leaning way too close. Her man.
"My goodness, you poor darling,"
Grell loudly cooed as she practically teleported to his side.
"Ladies, ladies-- do show some decorum. You’re embarrassing yourselves in front of a gentleman."
Her smile was forced, her sharp teeth exposed to the now startled woman, and oh-- one of the ladies dresses have been torn. However could such unfortunate events happen so soon? The party had only begun less than an hour ago.
As the woman scattered, some muttering their disdain towards the new woman, the other worrying about her broken threads, Grell took it upon herself to hear his voice. His name.
"My my, such elegance. Tell me, what is your name?"
He was still holding himself firm, despite the previous, and now current lady(s).
Oh, he was hers.
"I don't believe my name is a necessary thing to know."
His voice spoke to her like dove swans, flooding her ears with his sweet nectar. Like the fluttering of wings.
The moment she spotted him, it was curtains up. She didn't just fall, she had plummeted into obsession. He’s everything she adores in a man: serious, mysterious, handsome, and somehow immune to all the simpering ladies throwing themselves at him.
"Oh, but it is the most important detail. Such a lavished gentleman as yourself being all alone just doesn't sit right with me. Might I stay for company?"
Grell had felt the unease radiating from him. His posture was careful as to not expose his corset too much, his eyes holding a gentle danger that filled the red woman with adrenaline like no other.
She knew what he was.
"And if I expose my name, will you tell me yours?"
It was careful, guarded. Oh, she liked this. Like a game of cat and mouse-- But the cat fears the mouse instead.
"It's Grell darling."
Her movement shifted closer. She was still awaiting a response. He had muttered his own name; she had heard it well enough to not ask another time.
"I suppose I do not mind company."
His careful hands shifted to grab two glasses from the moving butler, and offering the glass. How delightfully charming of him.
.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁ ˖.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁ ˖.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁ ˖.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁ ˖.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁
As the night continued, Grell had managed to get him to speak a little more. His voice was soft-- a pitch too high for his own liking.
“A lady must always be ready for a dance or a duel,”
She purred in reply to his remark of her own loose clothes, running her finger along the rim of her champagne glass. Though her eyes were locked entirely on him. He was a being unlike her- entirely human, entirely what she craved.
Though, ironic, because she wasn't fond of humans.
Grell seemed to have him cornered by the balcony. The stars were out, and she’s less dramatic now-- but it's still very her.
"Your eyes- they're sharp. And my, how you do not drool like the other men."
She complimented his sharp eyes, how he doesn’t drool like the other men, how he's different. Her voice brings forth something repressed. She touches his lapel gently and murmurs,
"You don’t have to hide what you are from me, darling. I’ve always adored men with a little danger under their cuffs."
He shifted under her gaze, that corset tightening with every breath he didn't want to take. The night air was cooler out here, quieter, but the pressure of being seen-truly seen-was louder than anything.
“I am..not sure I know of what you mean,”
He tried again, his voice quieter this time.
But Grell didn’t flinch, didn’t tease him this time. Instead, she reached out, slow and patient, and gently fixed the collar of his coat-- hands lingering, reverent.
"Darling,"
She started, voice like warm silk,
“I’ve worn more masks than this masquerade could ever dream of. But the best ones are the ones we peel off for the right people.”
He blinked at her, unsure whether to speak or flee. But then she added, softer still,
“I know what it feels like to ache in your own skin. And I know what it means to choose who you are. I see you.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them like ribbon. The stars above blinked faintly, as if holding their breath, awaiting their silent confessions.
Then-tentatively, just a brush of fingers-he took her hand.
“You really don’t drool,”
She added with a grin, that signature mischief glinting in her eyes.
“No.”
He began, a small smile tugging at his lips. Something uncanny to his typical hidden nature.
“But I think I’m starting to swoon.”
That earned a delighted gasp from Grell, and she leaned in, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand, as if he were royalty.
To her, he might as well be.
“Oh, my dear...What a deliciously dangerous man you are.”
She hovered there a moment longer; long enough to give him the choice. To step away, or forward.
But he moved closer.
Their lips met under the starlight, soft and curious at first-- no performance, no dramatics. Just two people trying to taste something true for once. His gloved hand brushed her cheek, and she melted into it like dusk into night.
It was not a kiss to claim. It was one that understood.
And later, when the masks had all been set aside and the ballroom emptied of its lies, two silhouettes remained on the balcony.
Laughing quietly. Planning escapes. Sharing names like secrets of children behind playground trees in a schoolyard.