Hi!! Not sure if you accept romantic head canons (if not you can just make it platonic! I don't mind either) But I was wondering if you could write some Ciel x childhood fem reader that's actually unattractive? The reader was also kidnapped and abused by the cult and traffickers. Maybe she's the daughter of a servant or Tanaka's granddaughter (up to you!) she has a lot of scars on her body due to the abuse and a big burn mark on her left face hidden beneath bandages. Hopefully you can accept my request ❤️ (if I broke any rules or boundaries just lmk instantly)
You didn’t break any rules or boundaries! Thank you so much for the ask, luv!
Where The Shadows Don’t Reach
Contains: Ciel Phantomhive x Fem! Reader, hurt/comfort, fluff
You had always been quiet.
A shadow tucked behind the grand drapes of the Phantomhive estate, half-forgotten by the bustling nobility who never noticed the butler’s granddaughter. You were the girl who read more than she spoke, who whispered through the hallways with books clutched to her chest, who sat beside the young master not because you were ordered to, but because you were like him.
Observant. Guarded. Constantly underestimated.
In those early days, you and Ciel were only children. Your silence never made him uncomfortable. If anything, it complimented his own. You would sit together in the garden or the library, often saying nothing at all. The others assumed you were shy. The truth was simpler. You both understood that words were not always necessary to be understood.
Then the screams and the ash and the ritual you couldn’t forget, no matter how many times you closed your eyes. They took you too. You were meant to be another offering, another forgotten thing to be sacrificed. They burned you, scarred you, shattered something that would never quite grow back.
When you were rescued, it was weeks after the boy had already returned home. The manor had been rebuilt. The servants whispered of the young Earl restored to his rightful place. You were brought back wrapped in bandages, your name spoken like a ghost that didn’t belong in daylight.
At first, Ciel didn’t recognize you.
You’d expected that. You were unrecognizable even to yourself.
But then he saw your eyes. The way you sat curled into yourself, quiet and watchful. The way your hand trembled when the nurse brushed past. The way you looked at the fire in the hearth like it might rise up and devour you all over again.
His fingers gripped the edge of his desk, knuckles paling. His voice cracked through the silence.
“You… You were there, too?”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. But you nodded.
He didn’t ask to see your face. He didn’t rush to touch you. He simply sat beside you in silence. You didn’t look at him, but you felt his presence like a steady weight—something real, something solid. You had once been children together. Now, you were survivors.
From that day forward, you were simply there. Not out of obligation, but because the only place that felt remotely safe anymore was near him.
You rarely left your room, except for the library or his study. The silence between you, once merely comfortable, became something deeper. A shared language. Neither of you could sleep properly anymore, but the night felt less cruel when he was nearby. He would work at his desk while you sat curled in a chair, reading books you barely absorbed. Sometimes when he you sat close to him your hands would brush. You flinched when they did.
“You can,” he said softly. “If you want.”
Your fingertips brushed again. His touch was cool and hesitant. You both stayed still, letting it settle like dust in the quiet.
One evening, eyes lowered and voice brittle, you asked the question that lingered like smoke in your lungs.
“Why would you want someone like me?”
“Because you’re not ‘someone like you.’ You’re you. You’re everything.”
He never called you beautiful. Not because he didn’t believe it, but because he knew you didn’t need that kind of praise. He called you strong. Called you brave. Called you his.
When nobles whispered cruel things behind fans and teacups, he said nothing at first. But once, when one sneered at your scars during a ball, Ciel turned to him with icy disdain.
“How shallow they must be, to see scars and think it makes someone lesser.”
The man never returned. Sebastian made sure of that, with a polite smile and a swift word.
The servants watched over you like family. Mey-Rin helped you choose dresses with high collars and soft sleeves, but never treated your injuries like something to hide. Finny left flowers on your windowsill. Baldroy cooked you enough food for two and pretended not to notice when your appetite came and went. Tanaka never said much, but his soft eyes told you everything. And Sebastian, with all his terrifying perfection, brought you tea just how you liked it on nights when he could sense your dreams had gone dark.
Ciel never tried to fix you.
He simply stayed. Offered you space in his world, not as a charity, but as someone who had stood beside him before the fire.
He let you sleep in his bed when you couldn’t bear the nightmares alone. He never crossed a line. He just held your hand above the sheets. Sometimes you let go. Sometimes you didn’t.
And on a night full of stars and silence, while you both sat at the window watching the moon, he spoke again.
“I’ve lost everything,” he said, voice low and steady. “But I don’t want to lose you too. Stay with me. Please.”
You did. Not because he asked. But because, in his eyes, you saw someone just as broken and just as enduring. You weren’t beautiful by the world’s standards, but you were beautiful in your own way. And to Ciel Phantomhive, that meant more than anything.
When he brought you to the Queen’s tea party, he didn’t explain your presence. He didn’t apologize for it. You stood beside him, and no one dared question the Queen’s Watchdog.
You weren’t a broken doll to him. You weren’t a wound to be pitied or patched up.
You were like an old teddy bear.
Scarred, strong, imperfect. Still standing.
And in the world you both had clawed your way back into, that was everything.
