Eric Coulter Imagines

What If: A Carnival Night (Soft and Quiet)

The noise from the Dauntless party spilled through the hallways, a loud blend of laughter, shouts, and pounding music that vibrated through the walls. Y/N hovered near the entrance, watching the wild celebration unfold. Dauntless members were in their element—fearless, reckless, and utterly at ease in the chaos surrounding them.

But she wasn't like them. She never had been.

Her usual black dress flowed around her, a quiet contrast to the loudness of the room. The fabric exposed just a hint of skin at her waist and lower back—a design that felt more like armor than style. She knew it made her stand out in a crowd of combat gear and rough-edged clothing, but it was part of her now, a reflection of her choice to be different. Still, standing there, Y/N felt the distance between herself and the others more keenly than ever. She wasn't Erudite anymore, but she wasn't Dauntless either. Somewhere in between. Always a step out of place.

Without a word, she turned away from the noise, slipping quietly into the shadows of the hallway, the music growing softer with every step.

Eric stood near the bar, his eyes scanning the crowd with the disinterest of someone who had seen it all before. The party was wild, a typical Dauntless night filled with challenges, drunken laughter, and stunts no one outside the faction would ever consider. He should've been enjoying it, but his mind was elsewhere, dulled by the drink in his hand and the hum of restlessness in his veins.

It wasn't until he saw her—the familiar figure of Y/N moving away from the crowd—that his focus shifted. He caught a glimpse of her just as she was leaving the party, her back turned to the celebration. She wasn't running, but the way she moved felt like an escape.

Eric's jaw tightened. It annoyed him, the way she always seemed distant, as if she didn't belong. She should belong. She was strong, skilled, and as capable as any Dauntless, but she still carried that quiet, reserved edge that made her feel... apart.

Without thinking, he pushed off the wall, his boots heavier than usual thanks to the alcohol warming his blood. His steps were quick but not entirely steady as he followed her into the hallway.

"Hey."

His voice echoed against the walls, rougher than usual as it broke through the quiet. Y/N paused mid-step, her shoulders tensing slightly before she turned to glance at him.

"What are you doing out here, princess?" he asked, the nickname slipping from his lips with its usual sarcasm, though it felt softer tonight.

"I didn't feel like staying," she replied simply, her tone giving nothing away.

Eric wasn't having it. Before she could move again, he closed the gap between them and grabbed her wrist. She stared at him, eyes calm but questioning. Instead of giving her an answer, he tugged her back toward the noise, his grip firm but not harsh.

As they walked back into the noise, Y/N tugged at her wrist, but Eric didn't let go. Instead of releasing her, his hand slid down, intertwining their fingers. His grip was strong, possessive, and Y/N's first instinct was to resist, to pull away from the unfamiliar contact.

"Eric—" she started, her voice uncertain, but he didn't let go. He kept walking, dragging her along with him, ignoring the tension in her hand.

For a few moments, Y/N tried to pull free, her fingers stiff against his. But Eric's hand didn't loosen. If anything, his grip tightened, as if he wasn't willing to let her go. Eventually, she stopped resisting. She let out a quiet sigh, her fingers relaxing into his hold, and for the first time, she allowed herself to feel the warmth of his skin against hers.

Eric glanced at her, smirking. "What's wrong? Not used to holding hands?"

She shot him a sideways glance but didn't respond. They walked back into the heart of the party, moving through the crowd as if nothing unusual had just happened, the silence between them full of unspoken tension.