LoversOfKuroshitsuji

Before reading : This is a Grell x William (Black Butler) fanfiction. Unlike my first Grelliam fanfiction, this one isn't NSFW, but there are some parts in which I briefly mention violence, and is more emotional than my other fanfictions. This one is about Grell's thoughts and feelings. I hope you'll enjoy it! Despite being generally happy, Grell had many regrets. One of those regrets was that she couldn't give birth. She wasn't infertile, but she was born in a male body. Even if she was able to have biological children, she could never get pregnant and connect with them in the way she wanted to. This regret would never leave her.... Grell never felt so close to someone in order to talk about it in depth with them. She talked to William about her worries, but she wouldn't talk about this subject that much. He couldn't possibly understand. She tried, just to get things off her chest. William would listen, and he would feel bad for her, but he could never understand her. Of course

Tall flames fluttered on the soft blow of the wind and the shadows danced along on the walls, swirling between the painted flowers and ivy. It was difficult to focus your vision on any particular object, although you knew the room you were in perfectly well—you could clearly recall the location of the old furniture; heavy, wooden wardrobe right in front of you, the set of armchairs at your right with a small, round table in between and the enormous, magnificent painting of the landscape of some distant land hanging above. There was a dressing table at your left, the one you admired for a long time, often imagining that it could stand in your bedroom instead of the guest room, the addition so stunning and practical you almost felt the regret because of how useless it was there. Sometimes, when you had too much time for yourself, you would come to this room, sit down and observe yourself in the mirror, the design allowing you to see yourself from three different angles. It did not seem

Silence fell upon you like a fresh snow—light yet cold. At first you could not comprehend why there was no answer from the other side, why did Undertaker become so quiet all of a sudden, when barely a moment ago he was defending his rights so vigorously. It was rare for you to fight, but when it happened, you could sense the divide growing wider between you with every next word spoken. The ones which left your mouth just now were strong enough to move the mountains and caused an avalanche. “I believed you were different, guess that goes to show monsters are all the same!” Undertaker said nothing. You watched him blink at you slowly, as if he was in some kind of torpor, and then turn his head back to the table and all the tools spread on it. He has just finished his work on another unfortunate mortal who happened to get run over by the carriage and he was the one who managed to fix him good enough so the family could see the body one last time without a trauma. Spending whole days

His question surprised you no less than the fact that he offered you a cup of hot tea just when you went through his parlour’s door. It was not the first time you decided to pay him a visit—growing fond of his eccentric company was not something you planned alongside participating in one of those exquisite balls the high class of nobility was always invited to, nevertheless there you were. And you would be a liar if you told anyone that you did not enjoy the 5 o’clock tea and handmade biscuits with him every few days a week. Undertaker was a source of many great surprises and he never failed to make you laugh. He was confident but not arrogant, clearly understanding his own nature, the task which was ever so difficult for many people. You, on the other hand, slowly learned how to express yourself more freely by his side and not cover yourself with odd conventions and social rules. You could be yourself, the vivid reflection of your personality and he never judged you for

In an abandoned apartment, hidden somewhere deep in what was considered the slums of London, also known to the authorities as the ‘Underworld’, the two attackers from the other night were resting, waiting. After making their escape, but just barely, the two concealed themselves amongst the humans, to lay low and conserve their strength. Lying on the bed in one of the rooms was the wounded male demon, who they had learned his name to be Adrian. His injuries had nearly healed except for his arms, which were still in splints. Whereas his race did heal faster than any human, and a broken bone should have been no problem, Sebastian actually had shattered the bone in several places. If he were mortal, they would have been beyond repair, and he would have lost both his arms. Their encounter proved close to fatal. Never before had they seen the butler react so murderously. Having underestimated the extent of his abilities, it came as a surprise, not planning for his ruthlessness. Lying