Grell x Reader oneshots • Black Butler

Miss Sutcliff

Tw: this is kinda a look into Grells dysphoria so if dysphoria is triggering for you definitely skip this one. Also I AM trans so I'm writing the dysphoria experience from personal knowledge AND research. Also suicide and sh mentions, since you know it's canon.

Also, trans reader x trans Grell? Trans solitary? Ye baby. Also don't bind with bandages, its bad for you. I'm just using it here bc it's period accurate.

How much longer could one take it?

Hundreds of years, crushed by the weight of a body that isn't yours, and everyone around you thinking you're crazy.

The whole reason she'd killed herself was to escape the pain, and here she was reincarnated as a reaper. And while she'd definitely grown into herself more, there's some things she can't escape.

Grell Sutcliff was a woman, but no one believed her.

She grew out her hair, went through vocal training, wore makeup and dresses and constantly called herself the lady she was. And yet, no one around her seemed to understand.

She dreaded taking baths, because she had to see her body. But she hated feeling dirty so she always had to bite the bullet and just do it. So there she sat in the water slowly turning cold, her long hair pulled back into a bun to keep it dry. She tried not to look down and just focus on getting clean, but it was hard to not notice.

How flat her chest was, how her hips were too small, how her hands were too big, how her everything was just... wrong.

Along her arms were the remains of her suicide, all those years ago and they remained. Many scars down each arm and one long one down the veins that killed her. She was covered in scars. Some from her job as a reaper and getting thrown around in fights, like the one right on her chest from undertakers scythe slashing her on Campania. The most recent were across her thighs, self inflicted in a moment of relapse and still healing.

Recently, things has just been getting harder. The longer she was stuck like this, the worse she felt. Especially when no one around her took her seriously.

There were days she looked at her chainsaw and just thought 'what if I just did it myself? Chopped everything I didn't need off?'

She wouldn't die, since she was already dead. But she resisted the urge because that would hurt like a bitch, and ruin her chances of a proper surgery later in afterlife. But those thoughts of self mutilation sat in the back of her mind, eating away at her brain.

She just wanted the right body. That's all. And if someone out there would take her seriously, maybe she'd be able to squash those horrible thoughts a little more often.

Sighing, she finally got the energy to get out of the bath and dry off. She wrapped up in her towel and tried to keep her eyes away from the mirror, and off herself until she was clothed. First was the slip, to protect her skin from corset boning, then was said corset that she pulled tightly to make the illusion of a smaller waist. Her job wouldn't let he wear a dress, so she begrudgingly pulled on her work shirt and buttoned it up. Then bloomers, socks and garters, then vest, pants, bow and finally her signature red jacket.

She's had to stitch up the back recently, after it was torn on Campania. Letting her hair down and brushing it, and finally putting on her glasses so she could see clearly.

It was then she looked in the mirror, but she immediately regretted it. It was like seeing every single thing that was wrong pointed at with big arrows and mean comments.

Hey look at your face, your brow bone is too prominent for a girl.

What is up with your shoulders? They're so broad.