Multifandom X Reader Stories

Beneath the Surface (Eric Coulter)

It was late when you finally made it back to the dorms, your breathing uneven, your body trembling from the pain that throbbed through your limbs. The attack had come out of nowhere—a group of initiates, jealous of your progress, had cornered you in the shadows, fists and kicks flying before you even had time to draw your knife. They'd left you there, broken and bloodied, their mocking laughter still echoing in your ears.

But you weren't weak. You dragged yourself back to the dorm, every step a testament to your determination. You didn't want anyone to see. You didn't want anyone to know. You were strong, you told yourself, even as blood dripped down your side, soaking into your hoodie. No one would notice. No one would care.

The next morning came too soon. Training was brutal, the physical demands of Dauntless initiation weighing heavily on your already injured body. You did your best to keep up, to stay unnoticed, but every punch, every move made your muscles scream. You winced more than once, trying to mask the pain, but it didn't go unnoticed by everyone.

Eric Coulter, known for his ruthlessness, had been watching you closely. At first, he hadn't thought much of your subtle flinches. Everyone was sore, everyone was pushing their limits. But the way you stiffened each time someone moved too close to you, the slight hitch in your movements—it wasn't typical. Something was off.

"Y/N, stay behind," Eric barked at the end of training, his cold eyes locking onto yours.

Your heart sank as you nodded, waiting until the rest of the initiates had filed out of the training room. You tried to act calm, your face a mask of indifference, but inside, anxiety coiled tightly. Eric was the last person you wanted noticing your injuries. He didn't care about weakness—he punished it.

Once the room was empty, Eric approached you, his expression unreadable. He crossed his arms over his chest, towering over you with an air of authority.

"You've been off all day," he said bluntly, his eyes narrowing as they scanned you up and down. "What's wrong?"

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"Bullshit," he snapped, his voice low but dangerous. "Take off your hoodie."

You stiffened, instinctively pulling the fabric closer to your body. "I said I'm fine."

Eric's patience was already thin, and you knew it. He stepped closer, his voice dropping even lower, but there was a strange softness in his tone, something you rarely heard. "Y/N, I won't ask again. Take it off, or I will."

You flinched at the threat, your breath hitching. You knew he wasn't bluffing. Eric Coulter always followed through, whether it was a punishment or a demand. Reluctantly, you began to unzip your hoodie, your hands trembling as you pulled it off, revealing the bruises and cuts that marred your skin beneath.

Eric's expression darkened as he took in the sight of you—deep purple bruises across your ribs, a gash on your arm, your skin mottled with signs of the attack. You stood still, staring at the floor, too ashamed to meet his gaze.

For a long moment, Eric said nothing. Then, without warning, he turned and stormed out of the room, leaving you standing there, confused and vulnerable.

You didn't know where he was going, but you had a sinking feeling that he wasn't finished.

Eric made his way straight to the control room, his mind racing with anger. He'd seen things like this before—initiation was brutal, and jealousy ran rampant among the initiates. But this... this wasn't just competition. It was a targeted attack, and he wasn't going to let it slide.

Inside the control room, Eric demanded access to the security footage from the previous night. The techs, too intimidated to argue, quickly pulled up the recordings. Eric's eyes were glued to the screen, fast-forwarding through the footage until he found what he was looking for.

There you were, walking alone through the halls when the group of initiates appeared. He watched, his jaw clenching tighter with every second. The way they attacked you, how you fought back even when outnumbered, the way they left you on the ground, bleeding and bruised—it made his blood boil.

He paused the footage, identifying each of the initiates involved. He'd deal with them later. Right now, his focus was on you.

By the time Eric returned to the training room, you had already put your hoodie back on, trying to steady your breathing. Your mind was racing, flashes of the attack still playing in your head. You weren't one to crumble easily, but something about last night had triggered a deep fear you couldn't shake.

When Eric entered, you stood straighter, trying to mask your anxiety. He didn't speak at first, just walked over and stood in front of you. His intense gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained serious.

"They won't bother you again," he said gruffly, his voice low.

You frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I saw the footage," he explained, crossing his arms. "I know who attacked you. They've been... handled."

Your eyes widened, a mixture of shock and relief washing over you. Eric had gone through all that trouble for you? He had actually cared enough to seek revenge on your behalf?

"I don't need anyone fighting my battles," you said quietly, though your voice lacked conviction.

Eric scoffed, but it wasn't harsh. "You don't need anyone," he agreed, "but that doesn't mean you should have to deal with everything alone."

You looked away, unable to respond. The vulnerability you had worked so hard to bury was starting to crack through the surface.

Eric's voice softened, just slightly. "You're tough, Y/N. But even the toughest people need someone to have their back."

You didn't respond right away, your throat tightening with emotion. You had never asked for help, never wanted to seem weak, but the truth was—you appreciated it. You appreciated that someone noticed, that someone cared enough to act.

After a long pause, you nodded. "Thank you."

Eric nodded once, his expression still unreadable. But there was a new understanding between the two of you now, something unspoken that didn't need words.

"Go get some rest," he said finally, his tone gruff again. "And don't think I'm going to go easy on you tomorrow just because you're banged up."

You smirked slightly, the faintest flicker of your usual self returning. "Wouldn't dream of it."

As you turned to leave, Eric's voice stopped you once more.

"And Y/N," he said, his eyes meeting yours, "next time something like this happens, you come to me. Understood?"

You nodded, a quiet promise shared between the two of you.

In that moment, you realized that while you were tough, it didn't mean you had to face everything alone. Eric had your back, even if he didn't say it outright. And that, in itself, was enough.