Eric Coulter Imagines

What If: He Gets Hurt (Part 1/2)

Eric wasn't used to getting hurt—not like this, anyway. The mission had been brutal, but they'd come out on top. Still, he'd taken a hard hit to his side, leaving a deep gash that now bled through his shirt. It wasn't enough to take him down, but enough to be annoying.

As he made his way back into Dauntless, he found Y/N already in the training room, finishing up her day. She glanced up when she saw him, and her eyes immediately narrowed.

"Nice job, asshole. You're bleeding all over the place," she said, half-joking, but her voice carried a hint of genuine concern.

Eric smirked, though it was weaker than usual. "I can handle it," he muttered, trying to brush her off as he moved past her. He hated the idea of showing any weakness.

But Y/N wasn't having it. She crossed the room in a few quick steps, grabbing his arm and forcing him to stop. "Sit down," she ordered, her voice surprisingly firm.

Eric raised an eyebrow, amused by her sudden assertiveness. "I don't need your help, princess," he said, but there was no real fight behind his words.

"Yeah, well, too bad," Y/N shot back, already grabbing the med kit off the wall. "I'm not letting you bleed all over Dauntless."

With a heavy sigh, Eric reluctantly sat down on one of the benches. His usual smirk stayed on his face, but it was more to mask the pain than anything else. "I can take care of myself," he muttered, but his voice was tense.

"Clearly," Y/N replied sarcastically as she knelt in front of him. She opened the med kit and glanced up at him. "Let me see."

Eric pulled his shirt back, revealing the deep cut along his side. Y/N's eyes softened for a moment, but she quickly hid it, focusing instead on cleaning the wound. Her hands moved with practiced care—too gentle for a Dauntless fighter, yet firm enough to get the job done.

As she worked, she couldn't help but notice the way his muscles shifted with every movement. She'd seen him fight countless times, but there was something about being this close, about seeing the way his body moved, that caught her off guard. He was strong, and damn it, he *was* her type, but she wasn't about to let him know that.

So she kept her gaze focused on the wound, biting her lip slightly as she worked to clean the gash. But her eyes flicked up—just for a moment—to his chest, then back down. She hoped he didn't notice.

But of course, Eric always noticed.

"Stop staring," he muttered, his voice rougher than usual.

Y/N blinked, her focus snapping back to the wound. "I wasn't staring," she lied smoothly.

Eric scoffed, though the sound was weaker than usual. "You were."

"Fine. Maybe I was," Y/N shot back, though her tone stayed calm. "Just don't move, or this is going to hurt more."

She continued working, her touch still careful but brisk. Eric could feel the warmth of her hands as they brushed against his skin, and it unnerved him. She was being too gentle, too... different. He wasn't used to anyone handling him with such care—especially her. Y/N, who fought with fire in her eyes, was now patching him up like she was afraid to hurt him more.

And it was starting to piss him off.

Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe that was the problem.

"You didn't have to do this," Eric muttered after a long silence, his usual cocky edge absent.

Y/N shrugged, her hands still steady as she bandaged his wound. "You're right. I didn't. But I'm not a heartless asshole like you," she said with a smirk, though the teasing was gentle.

Eric's smirk faltered, and for a moment, his eyes met hers. There was something different about the way she was looking at him. Her gaze wasn't filled with the usual defiance or sarcasm—it was softer. Gentler. And it was getting to him.

Damn it.

When Y/N finished, she stood up, brushing her hands off. "There. All patched up," she said, her voice returning to its usual casual tone. "Try not to rip it open again."

Eric looked down at the bandage, then back up at her. Something gnawed at him, something uncomfortable. She had taken care of him—her, of all people. The same woman who had called him out, stood up to him, fought him, was now the one who was treating him with a kind of gentleness that made him feel... weird.

His usual smirk returned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You didn't have to," he repeated, his voice quieter this time.

Y/N crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly as she looked down at him. "No, I didn't," she admitted. "But someone's got to keep you alive, and clearly, you're doing a shit job of that yourself."

Eric chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "You think I care?"

Y/N's eyes glinted with amusement, though she tried to hide it. "No. I don't think you care about anything," she said, her voice light but knowing. "But it doesn't mean I'm going to let you bleed out."

Eric leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. She wasn't afraid of him—she never had been. But now, she wasn't just being defiant. She was... looking at him. And it wasn't the usual look of challenge she gave him during their fights. It was something else. Something softer.

And damn it, it was getting under his skin.

"Asshole," Y/N muttered under her breath as she packed up the med kit, but there was no bite in her words. She was smiling slightly as she spoke, like she was more amused than anything.

Eric's smirk returned, a bit stronger now. "You love it."

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn't respond. As she turned to leave, Eric found himself watching her a bit longer than he meant to. There was something about her calmness, her care, that was twisting him up inside. She'd gotten under his skin without even trying, and the worst part? He didn't know how to stop it.

Damn it.