Eric Coulter Imagines

What If: He is Drunk (Part 1/3)

Y/N had spent the evening alone, a rare quiet moment in the Dauntless compound. There had been a party earlier—a celebration for one of the newer trainers' accomplishments—but she hadn't felt like going. The noise, the chaos—it didn't interest her tonight. Instead, she'd retreated to her room, enjoying the rare stillness.

The night had gone peacefully until there was a knock at her door. A loud, insistent knock.

Y/N frowned, glancing at the clock. It was late—too late for anyone to be dropping by unannounced. She hesitated for a moment, then made her way to the door, her steps cautious. When she opened it, she was met with the sight of Eric, leaning against the frame, his eyes unfocused, and an unmistakable smell of alcohol hanging in the air.

"Eric?" Y/N asked, surprised. He looked disheveled, his usual sharp demeanor softened by drunkenness. He wasn't supposed to be here—not like this. "What are you doing?"

Eric blinked at her, his gaze slowly focusing as he took her in. He didn't answer right away, just leaned forward slightly, his body unsteady. "Open up," he muttered, his voice low and rough.

Y/N stepped back instinctively, unsure of how to handle the situation. "You're drunk."

Eric didn't respond, pushing past her into the room as though he belonged there. He stumbled slightly but caught himself on the edge of the couch, turning to face her with a smirk that didn't quite have its usual sharpness.

"Didn't think you'd be here," he muttered, his words slurring slightly. "Skipped the party, huh?"

Y/N folded her arms, watching him warily. "I didn't feel like going."

Eric's smirk widened, though there was something softer about it in his current state. "Too good for parties now?"

She rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the awkward tension that settled between them. "You need to sleep this off, Eric. You're drunk."

He laughed, though it came out more as a chuckle, and dropped himself onto the couch with a careless flop. "Yeah, well... you're boring," he said, but the bite that usually accompanied his words was missing.

Y/N sighed, walking over to him. "You should sleep. The couch is fine." She gestured toward the small couch, but Eric was already sprawled across it, leaving little room for anyone else. She hesitated, unsure of how to handle a drunk Eric in her room. "You'll be more comfortable if you just—"

Before she could finish, Eric reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her down. She lost her balance, stumbling forward until she landed on top of him, her hands pressing against his chest to keep herself steady.

"Eric—" Y/N started, her voice breathless from the sudden movement, but before she could pull away, he wrapped an arm around her waist, keeping her in place.

"Stop squirming," he muttered, his voice a low rumble. "You're fine."

Y/N froze, her heart pounding as she tried to figure out how to handle the situation. Eric's grip on her wasn't harsh, but it was firm, his body warm beneath hers. She could feel his breath against her neck, the weight of him pressing down on her as she struggled to think clearly.

"You should sleep on the couch," she repeated, her voice softer now, though it lacked conviction. "Not like this."

But Eric didn't let go. His hand moved to her hair, fingers brushing through it in a way that felt almost gentle. "This is not too bad, is it?" he murmured, his voice softer now, more honest. "If only you weren't so stubborn every single time."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, and she found herself unable to respond. There was something vulnerable about him in this moment, something she wasn't used to seeing. He wasn't the cold, arrogant Eric she knew—he was softer, more open, and it made her heart race in a way she didn't expect.

"Eric, you're drunk," she whispered, though her voice wavered slightly. "You don't mean that."

Eric's hand moved from her hair to the back of her neck, his touch gentle but firm as he held her close. "Maybe I do," he muttered, his voice low and slurred. "Maybe I just don't say it when I'm not drunk."

Y/N didn't know how to respond. She could feel the warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her, and for a moment, she wondered if she should pull away. But something kept her there, something in the way he was looking at her—soft, unguarded.

They stayed like that for a long moment, neither of them speaking, the tension between them thick and heavy. Y/N's mind raced, trying to process what was happening, but before she could think too much about it, Eric's eyes drifted closed, his grip on her loosening as sleep began to overtake him.

She shifted slightly, trying to ease herself out of his hold, but as she moved, his arm tightened around her again, keeping her close. "Just stay," he muttered sleepily, his voice barely audible.

Y/N hesitated for a moment longer before finally giving in. She rested her head against his chest, her body relaxing as the exhaustion from the day caught up with her. It wasn't how she had expected the night to go, but she couldn't deny that there was something comforting about it, something strange and unspoken.

Eventually, her own eyes began to drift closed, and before long, they both fell asleep, tangled together on the tiny couch.