Relationship(s): Eloise Bridgerton x nonbinary/genderqueer!AFAB!reader (platonic or romantic)
Summary: Amidst an identity crisis, you confide in Eloise.
Warnings: Coming out scene. Period-typical lack of knowledge about nonbinary people. Eloise Bridgerton not listening, until she does. (Let me know if I need to add any)
Word count: 0.5k
(A/N: The idea of being nonbinary, genderqueer or gender nonconforming in a very gendered society like that which we see in Bridgerton is something I was interested in exploring, even in just a short fic (it may or may not be an element of the Regency-inspired rom-com I'm planning on writing). I thought that Eloise would be the perfect character to pair with a enby/gnc reader because of her aversion to the importance of gender roles in her society, and how that would shape her reaction. Not to mention, I'm in love with her, and I need there to be more Bridgerton fics for nonbinary readers, so here's my offering.)
You weren’t sure what had compelled you to tell her then and there. Perhaps it was because it felt like an intimate moment, the pair of you alone in the dark, the only sounds your quiet breathing and the faint, distant hum of the string quartet coming from inside.
You looked at her contemplatively, chewing on your bottom lip. She noticed this and cocked her head to the side.
“Are you quite alright?” she asked.
“Eloise…” you hesitated. “Might I confide in you about something?”
“Of course. You can tell me anything.”
You swallowed your saliva. She watched you with evident concern and anticipation.
“Sometimes… I doubt that I am a woman.”
After considering your words for a moment, she let out a relieved laugh.
“Thank goodness. For a moment, I was worried that you were with child.”
Unsure how to feel about her reaction, you chose not to speak. In an effort to reassure you, she linked arms with you and pulled you into her side.
“You needn’t adhere to their rigid ideas of what women should or should not be to consider yourself one. Do not let what anyone thinks convince you otherwise.”
You shook your head.
“That’s not- I did not mean it like that,” you tried. “Existing as a woman feels… wrong for me.”
“Oh, I know how stifling being a woman can be, but we can defy what is expected of us. We must. There is fulfilment for us in this life of womanhood.”
“Eloise, you are not listening,” you sighed. “I have read about people throughout history who did not identify with their sex. There are those born as men who have lived as women, and those born as women who have lived as men. It is not something they do because of convenience or to deceive- it is simply because how they were born did not match how they saw themselves. There are even people who do not feel that they are a man or a woman at all, perhaps neither, or both, or something in between. I do not feel that I am a woman or a man. Does any of that make sense to you?”
Eloise thought for a moment, before looking at you.
“Yes, I suppose it does,” she replied. “Is it distressing to feel such incongruence?”
“Oftentimes, yes. To be told what you are when you know it to be untrue… it can be maddening. Especially when it is your own body telling you so.”
“Well, I am sorry that you must endure that. It is bad enough being a woman. I cannot fathom how much worse it is to be one when you are not one.”
You exhaled a trembling breath and rested your head on her shoulder.
“Thank you, El, for being so understanding.”
“Of course. Woman or not, you are still my dear friend,” she replied with a chuckle. She paused before continuing. “That really is fascinating, you know. I would love to learn more about these people, if you would care to tell me.”
Summary: While looking over the shop for Aziraphale, the mafia decide they’re going to pay a visit. Little do they know, you have Crowley on the phone.
Warnings: Guns, shooting, blood, angst
Words: 1476
A/N: I was writing this along with a fem!reader so if I messed up on pronouns please let me know!!!
---
Watching over the bookshop was one of the greater pleasures in (name)’s life. They’d known the angel for a number of years now, having stopped by in the midst of a rainstorm in hope the kind shop owner would allow them to wait it out. The two of them had got to know each other that night, and (name) found themself coming back, even if they didn’t browse the shelves.
It took a few years for (name) to figure out that Aziraphale and his companion Crowley weren’t quite human. The two looked human, and they sounded human, but there was no way those two men were human. It hadn’t been nearly as hard to work out what they were, in the end. Especially when it seemed almost every time he opened his mouth Crowley addressed Aziraphale as ‘Angel’. At first (name) had assumed it was a term of endearment - in the end, maybe it still was. They weren’t about to judge.
It took a few months of back and forth arguing before the two finally admitted it. (Name) apologized with a new Velvet Underground CD for Crowley and a angel-wing mug for Aziraphale. And after a few more months, and some not-so-great times, Aziraphale offered them a job at the bookshop - to watch over it while he was away, and reorganize if anything needed reorganizing. It was the best paying job (name) had ever had, and they absolutely loved it. They hadn’t sold a single book, at Aziraphale’s request. He’d quickly taught them the art of turning people down, which was both anxiety inducing and very relieving at the same time.
On nights like this, alone in the shop, (name) liked to think about many things. Sometimes, it was about the books. Aziraphale allowed (name) to read them as long as they remained in pristine condition. Other times, (name) would think about how they could better organize a display. They knew the clutter was more to drive off potential customers, but it bothered them. They didn’t want to end up being stuck under a mountain of books they’d accidentally knocked over while trying to reach whatever it is that Aziraphale had asked them to grab.
Oh, and they also tended to think about their angelic boss and his demonic partner. A lot.
(Name) had had a crush on the two of them way before ever finding out what they were. There wasn’t anything they wouldn’t give just to know if the two liked them back - maybe not their arms. They liked their arms very much.
Sometimes, they thought about telling the boys. What was the worst that could happen, after all?
Rejection?
Sure, they could reject them. But they wouldn’t stop being friends, would they? Aziraphale and Crowley didn’t seem like the type to do that, but nerves kept (name) from saying it anyway. They really wanted to stay their friend, even if that meant pinning for the rest of their life.
Tonight, the shop was empty. (Name) hadn’t bothered to lock the front door just yet, they were happily sorting through a few of the newer books deciding the best places to put them, where no one but themself and Aziraphale would find them. A sigh left their lips as they heard the bell above the front door ring. They snatched their phone off a nearby shelf, pausing their music before making their way out to the front.
“Hey, Mis-ter Fell,” the sing-song voice made (name)’s blood run cold. They stopped before entering the main part of the shop. Quickly, they unlocked their phone, and dialed up the only number that came to mind - Crowley’s. He told them to only use it in emergencies, since he didn’t like his phone being clogged up, so (name) hadn’t used it yet. They hoped to someone that Crowley would pick up. After muting their phone, (name) wedged it between a couple of books before taking in a deep breath and resuming their greeting.
“Hello, welcome,” They said coolly. It was a group of three men, dressed in black slacks, dark shirts and fancy shoes. (Name) was positive that at least one of them had a gun, they could see the bulge in on his side. “Is there anything I can do for you gentlemen?”
“Where’s Mr. Fell?” Asked the man with the gun. He was the largest of the three, and his fingers were decorated with many different rings.
“He’s not in right now,” If Crowley had answered the phone, they would be listening in by now, (name) was certain of it. Wherever they were, (name) hoped that if things got out of hand they would reach the shop soon. “If you need him, perhaps you can come back at a later date?”
“You here that,” The man turned to his friends. “Mr. Fell isn’t in right now.” The men began knocking over piles of books, much to (name)’s dismay. They had just finished organizing the clutter and now the men were making it worse.
“What the hell are you doing,” They said, taking a few steps in the men’s direction. “Stop that-” (Name) squeaked a bit as the big man drew his gun, pointing it at them almost carelessly.
“Look, love, this isn’t anything personal,” He said. “It’s between us and Mr. Fell.” The click of the hammer being pulled back made their whole body go stiff. “So, why don’t you take your pretty little face and get the hell out of here?”
“No.”
“Excuse me?” The man’s grip on the gun tightened.
“I said no. I asked you to come back later.”
“And I don’t think you heard me correctly.” The man sneered. “It is between us and Mr. Fell. Nothing personal.”
“It feels pretty personal.” (Name) took a step back as the man took a step forward. “I think it’s time you left.”
“I don’t think you understand our situation,” The man growled. “I’ve got the gun. I’m in charge now.”
“Seeing as you don’t work here, I can’t see why you’d be in charge.” (Name) was stalling now, praying to whoever might be listening that it wouldn’t be much longer.
“I’m gonna count to three. If you aren’t out of this bloody shop, I’m gonna shoot you.”
“Now, I really don’t believe that’s necessary.” (name) rushed out.
“One,”
“Please, I’m sure we can settle this-”
“Two,”
“Oh, god, please tell me you picked up the phone-”
“Three.” (Name) took in a sharp gasp as the gun went off, crying out as the bullet tore through her shoulder, splattering blood back onto the nearby bookcase. The lights flickered momentarily, and as if in a scene from a horror movie, something appeared. Then men didn’t get out a scream before the shop went dark. (Name) had sunk to the floor, holding a hand over the bleeding wound. When the lights came back on, they could have cried in relief. Crowley and Aziraphale stood in the middle of the shop, stone faced. Aziraphale adjusted his bow-tie while Crowley’s gaze snapped in your direction. The first thing (name) noticed was that he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses. The second thing they noticed was the light blood splatter on the ground at their feet, which disappeared with the snap of Aziraphale’s fingers.
Crowley rushed to (name)’s side.
“Let me see,” He said. He gently grabbed (name)’s wrist, and dragged their hand away from the wound. Crowley didn’t have much of a reaction to the sight. He placed a hand over the wound and (name) took in another sharp breath as a sense of relief courses through them. When Crowley pulled his hand back, the wound was gone, as was the blood and even the hole in their shirt. “Come on. Up you get.” Crowley hauled them to their feet.
“I’m so sorry, I know you two were busy.” (Name) said.
“Why in Heaven’s name are you apologizing, my dear?” Aziraphale gaped. “You were in trouble, there’s nothing you could do about that.”
“I could have handled it better. Probably could have avoided getting shot.”
“If you hadn’t called, you could have wound up dead, (name).” Crowley said. “Don’t apologize.”
“Okay.” (Name) murmured.
“Now,” Crowley straightened his jacket. “How about we take you out to dinner. Something nice. After all that, I don’t imagine you want to spend the rest of your night in here.”
“I believe that’s a swell idea.” Aziraphale agreed. “What do you say, (name)?” (Name) glanced around the shop. The books that had been knocked over where still there, but the men who had done the knocking over were nowhere to be seen. The man with the gun was nowhere to be seen. Their blood, which had decorated the shelved not even five minutes ago was nowhere to be seen.
