This is for ObeliskX!

This is a prompt where the characters are gender-swapped! :D So, Tris is a boy, Eric is a girl, etc.

This is AU/Canon blend

Characters may be ooc at times/during certain situaitons to fit plot

I do not own Divergent or any related characters or situations

This is rated M: strong language/sexual content

Tris=Tristan; Eric=Erica; Four/Tobias=Four/Toby; Christina=Chris; Will=Willow; Max=Max (Maxine); Lauren=Lucas (that's it for now, will add more if I introduce more characters)

This is going to be a short fic, just a few chapters :)

Enjoy!

Grunts were falling from his lips as his fists hit the bag, the sound of skin slapping against leather echoing in the room. He ignored the hot pain searing through his veins, his knuckles raw and bruised. He heard the door to the training room open, soft footfalls padding towards him.

"Hey, Tristan," he said, his voice deep.

Tristan stopped hitting the bag, his breathing slightly labored as he glanced behind him, Chris strolling in—his brown orbs bright and smile wide.

"Hey, Chris," Tristan said, wiping the sweat that was beading on his forehead with the back of his hand. "What's up?"

Chris shrugged as he leaned against the other punching bag, his lips pulling up into a smirk. "Just wanted to see if you were still up for tonight?" Trisan groaned, his hands balling up into fists once more. "Oh, when are you going to stop being such a Stiff and have a little fun?"

Tristan glared at him, his slate-blue eyes narrowing. "I don't know the meaning of fun anymore."

"That's what I'm saying! Ever since you became a leader, it's always: leader this and leader that! Come to the party. Four is going to be there," he said, his eyebrows shooting up. "She's going to be all hot in that stand-offish, brooding chick kind of way."

Tristan rolled his eyes as he got back into a fighting stance. "I have a meeting in the morning."

"I think the she-demon will understand."

Tristan locked gazes with Chris, their breaths silent before they burst into laughter. "You realize we're talking about Erica, right?"

"Yeah, you're screwed either way, man. Bitch is nine levels of crazy."

Tristan rolled his eyes again. "She's not that crazy."

"Dude."

"What?"

"Are you checking her out?"

Tristan's eyes grew wide. "What?"

"You are! You sick little shit!"

"No!," Tristan hissed, his veins hot with anger. "What even made you think that? I—I just understand her a bit more. You know, since I've been working with her. She's a jerk, but, she's not crazy."

"Uh-huh." Chris nodded slowly, his fingers rubbing his chin idly. "Be at the party or forever be known as a Stiff, Stiff." He let out a small laugh. "And make a move on the she-demon, or I'll tell her you think her butt looks nice."

Tristan exhaled through his nose slowly, his fists pounding on the bag once more. He stood there for a while, the sounds of his punches echoing in his mind before the door squeaked open. He sighed as he jabbed the left-side ribs of the bag. "What did you forget?" There was no answer as his fists hit the bag, the feeling of eyes staring at his back shivering up his spine. "Seriously, Chris. I told you that I don't like her so could you—" He let out a small gasp as he glanced over his shoulder, her silvery-blue eyes locked on him. He took a deep breath as he stared at her, her blonde hair falling in gentle waves over her left shoulder, the right side completely shaven. She raised her pierced eyebrow, her full lips turning up at the ends as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Erica."

"Tristan," she said, her voice a sweet venom. "I see you're still practicing on the punching bags."

Tristan nodded, resisting the urge to squirm under her gaze. "Yeah."

She nodded as she stepped forward, her fingers grazing the bag as she tilted her head towards Tristan. "You do need the practice. You're still a weak little Stiff." Tristan swallowed hard, heat coloring his cheeks. A smirk played at her lips, as she leaned against the bag—her eyes slightly narrowed. "So, who do you like?"

"What?"

She rolled her eyes. "Who do you not like?"

Tristan blinked a few times, her gray-blue eyes locked on him, their gaze fiery and intense. "Uh," he said, his skin itching under her gaze. "Four."

Something unreadable flashed across her face as she nodded slowly. "Did you hear about the party in the pit?" She stalked behind him, her hands adjusting his arms in his fighting stance. "Remember to block your face and torso," she said, scoffing softly.

Tristan nodded. "Yeah, Chris wanted me to go." He got back into a proper fighting stance, his eyes glancing to Erica. She nodded once, Tristan's eyes locking back on the bag as his fists shot out.

"Better form. You'll build more muscle soon enough, now that you're Dauntless." Erica sighed as she stared at him for a while, her jaw clenched as she rubbed her neck, her fingers grazing the bold leadership tattoos that painted her skin. "We have a meeting with Max in the morning. You know how she gets when leaders show up for those meetings after a night of partying." Tristan nodded, remembering how Max had reprimanded Lucas for his hangover. "You better be able to keep your shit together, then. You're under me—you look bad, I look bad." She drew closer to him, her faces inches from his. He swallowed hard, his skin tingling as he drowned in her silvery-blue eyes. "I don't like looking bad. Got it, Stiff?"

Tristan nodded. "Got it."

Erica rolled her eyes, her fingertips playing with the ends of her hair idly. "Keep practicing, Stiff. Your left jab needs major work and your fighting stance is pathetic when you're not focused." With that, she stalked off—her hips swaying softly with each step.

Tristan tried to keep a neutral expression as he made his way to his apartment, his feet pounding against the floor as he twisted through the hallway. Anger was boiling beneath Tristan's skin as his voice kept cascading down his ear canal. "Are you going to come?" Chris asked as he walked beside Tristan. "Are you going to come?" He changed the pitch of his voice every now and then, inflecting here or inflecting there. "Are you coming?"

Tristan peered at Chris, his slate-blue eyes glaring daggers. "Will you shut up?"

Chris gave a small pout before sighing. "Are you going to come to the party?"

Tristan huffed as they continued down the hall, the leadership apartments coming into view. Chris kept chanting his question as Tristan entered his room code—the door hissing as it popped open. Tristan turned and glared at Chris, his smile warm and bright. "Can you stop?"

"Only if you say you're coming to the party tonight."

"If you bring up the party one more time—"

"You'll do what, Stiff?" her wispy voice asked. A shiver ran down Trisan's spine as he glanced across the hall, her slate-blue eyes gleaming at him.

"Erica," Tristan said, his mouth running dry. "I—"

Erica rolled her eyes as she leaned in the doorframe to her apartment. "Just go to the fucking party. Chris' constant begging is getting on my nerves."

"Yeah! Listen to the she-demon!" Chris cheered.

Tristan couldn't hold back the small laugh that bubbled up his throat, Erica's cheeks turning pink and her nostrils flaring before she turned her deadly gaze on Tristan—his breath hitching in his throat. She narrowed her eyes before turning back to Chris, her lips pulling up into a smile. "Careful, Chris. Don't want to make another trip to the chasm, do we?"

Chris swallowed hard before averting his gaze. "Just show up, please?"

"Why do you want me to go so badly?"

Chris shrugged. "You're my best friend and I want you to have fun and stop being such a Stiff?"

Tristan quirked his brow, a snort on his lips. "Now the real reason?"

Chris' face broke out in a wide smile. "See you there." He glanced to Erica over his shoulder. "You better be there, too, She-Witch."

A low growl sounded from her throat as she glared at him. "Fuck off, Smartmouth," she spat before retreating into her apartment, the door slamming shut behind her.

Tristan shook his head as he headed into his own apartment. He walked into his bedroom and pulled out a new outfit: a plain black shirt and a pair of dark jeans. He stalked to the bathroom and peeled off his own clothes. His reflection caught his eye and he glanced to the mirror. His dirty-blond hair was short and styled messy, the small waves flaring off in different directions. His eyes were the same color as Erica's, steel-blue, intense as a flickering flame. His held a bright fire in their irises, a spark that ignited his veins. Her eyes were intense in a different way, cold and intimidating like a deep frost. He shook his head, trying to get her out of his mind. He glanced down to his collar bone, the three ravens stark against his pale skin. He looked at his body, how his biceps seemed bigger and his stomach was toned—his muscles rippling beneath his skin. With a sigh, he turned on the water and stepped into the shower, a hiss on his lips as the hot water trickled down his skin.

He poured the shampoo onto his palm, massaging his scalp as he thought about Chris' accusations. I don't like her, he thought with a scoff. She's so off-putting. She's a cruel jerk—thought she has her moments. He sighed as he rinsed out the shampoo, his thoughts drifting back to Erica—how her tattoos were bold against her pale skin. He could drown in her irises, memorize the curve of her lips. He shook his head as he lathered his hair with conditioner. Stop thinking about her. But he couldn't help it. He thought about how her black vest-top hugged her curves, and imagined her long legs wrapped around his—Nope. No more, his mind whispered.

He tried to keep his mind off of her, he really did. But as he was lathering his body with his soap, he couldn't help but imagine her hands running down the length of his body. Fuck, he thought as his body reacted to his inner ramblings, blood rushing down the length of his body. This is all Chris' fault, Tristan cursed. I have never thought about her in that way—that's so—Tristan let out a deep sigh, unable to continue his thought process as he rinsed the soap from his body. Tonight will take my mind off of it—off of her.

The pit was almost dark as he made his way across the floor. Flashes of blue and red would streak the darkness every now and then, the dancing bodies looking like a sea os shadows. The air was thick, breaths and heat mingling all around him as he squeezed through the bodies. He glanced to a few people, their faces and bodies iluminated with various streaks of color.

"It's glowing body paint," Chris said by his ear. Tristan glanced to Chris, a snicker falling from his lips as he took in the lovely blue mustache painted above his lip. "It's not funny."

"I think it's hilarious," Willow said as she planted a kiss to his cheek. "Hey, Tris."

"Hey, Will," Tristan smiled, a gasp escaping his lips as hands struck his ass. He turned around, the culprit disappearing into the sea of blues and oranges.

"Nice hand-prints," a thick voice said.

Tristan turned around, his eyes locking with dark-blue ones. He smiled, taking in how her dark-brown hair curled around her shoulders. "Hey, Four." He rolled his eyes when he noticed the pink fingerprints decorating her chest. "Nice fingerprints."

"Want a drink?"

Tristan nodded as he let her lead him to the bar. Tristan hung back a little as Four grabbed two beers, her fingers twisting the cap off before handing it to him. "Thanks." He swallowed the drink, resisting the urge to wince as the bitter liquid ran down his throat. They stood there, talking about life in Dauntless—leadership versus the control room. Four would roll her eyes when Tristan would mention Erica.

Tristan was wavering now, his vision bluring in and out as he finished his seventh drink. Four smiled as she took his empty bottle away, her fingers lacing with his. "Wanna dance?" Tristan's lips pulled down for a moment, his mind wanting to replace her fingers with someone else's but his brain was too scattered to think straight.

Tristan nodded as he followed her farther into the mass of Dauntless. Her back was to him as their hips swayed together, the bass of the music vibrating in his ribcage. His hands were shaking as they gripped her hips, her hair tickling his chin as she moved in front of him. He let the rhythm of the song whisk him away, their bodies molding to the bodies that surrounded them, florescent paint splattering across the sea of people. His limbs were slow and sloppy as he danced, alcohol lacing his limbs as if he were wading through quicksand.

Tristan was getting more comfortable, his fingers gripping Four's hips tighter when her low voice was in his ear. "Mind if I cut in?"

Four turned around and glared at Erica, her jaw rigid as she left through the mass of people. Tristan turned to face Erica, blue paint decorating her face like tribal symbols. "Sure."

The nerves returned to him as his hands gripped her hips, electricity shooting through his veins as their skin made contact. Their hips swung in time with one another, her ass pressing against him. He sucked in a deep breath as he backed up a few times, her back pressing against him more firmly. She turned around in his grip, her arms snaking around his neck. Her lips pulled up into a smirk. His fingers slid down her ass, heat crawling up his neck as she pressed closer against him. "You're drunk," she whispered by his ear, her hot breath tickling his neck.

Tristan's eyes narrowed as he wobbled backwards, Erica's feet propelling them back. "I am not."

Her eyebrow quirked. "I can smell beer on you. How many have you had? Five?"

Tristan shrugged, his eyes averted. "Seven," he muttered.

Erica scoffed as her hands dragged down his chest, tingles shooting down his spine as her nails dug into his flesh. "You really want to get chewed out by Max, don't you Stiff?"

Tristan rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I feel fine." Erica gave him a pointed look before glancing up to the ceiling—the sprinklers hissing to life. Tristan felt the coldness seep into his bones as the paint fell from the sprinklers but he didn't bother to look up to the ceiling. Cheers and hollers echoed around them, hands and bodies dancing through the pit, but Tristan stayed still. His eyes were too busy watching Erica's face, how her skin lit up as her eyes watched the paint fall. He watched the purple mix with the blue, the color streaking down her cheeks. He followed the little droplets of orange that slipped down her chest, tiger stripes painting her shoulders. He didn't know when his feet propelled him forward or when his hands took a hold of her cheeks. Her steel-blue eyes locked with his, her lips slightly parted as pink splattered across the birdge of her nose—almost like freckles. Tristan tasted her gasp as he pressed his lips to hers, their lips molding together as paint slicked between their bodies.

The click of the door shutting forced Tristan to open his eyes all of the way, a gasp on his tongue as he looked around the room. I'm in a bathroom? The hiss of the water turning on made him jump, a small laugh echoing in his mind as he glanced over his shoulder. He sucked in a deep breath as he looked over Erica, her entire body painted—her hair slicked back in reds and blues. She turned her steely gaze to him, a smirk playing at her lips as she stalked closer to him. "Are you a little more sober, now?"

Tristan swallowed hard as her fingers skirted up his chest, his heart beating against his ribcage. "I think so," he choked out, her smirk widening. She leaned in closer to him, her lips ghosting over his. "What are you doing?"

She pulled back, her head tilted to the side as she studied him. "Taking a shower." His mind didn't register her words until her fingertips began to peel back her clothes. He inhaled sharply as she stepped out of her pants, her top falling to the floor. She stood in just her bra and underwear, Tristan's eyes tracing every inch of her skin before locking with her silvery-blue orbs. "Join me." Tristan blinked rapidly, heat coloring his cheeks as she turned her back on him, her bra falling from her chest.

"What?"

"It really turned me on in the pit when you kissed me. I never thought of you like that—but you just took charge." She smirked as she glanced over her shoulder, her fingertips playing with the hem of her underwear. "I normally take charge."

"What are—"

He swallowed hard as he watched the fabirc fall to the floor, her naked form standing before him. She pulled the door open, the steam rolling over him as she stepped into the stall. Her eyes locked with his as she stood in the doorway, her fingers tapping against the glass. "It wasn't an offer or a suggestion, Stiff." Her eyes traveled down the length of his body, her lower lip catching between her teeth as she looked back up to him. "It was an order." She shut the door behind her, the clang echoing in the room as she stood under the water. He stood there, watching the water trickle down her skin as her hands explore her own body—the steam blurring her movements. Tristan tilted his head to the side, his pants incredibly tight as he watched her fingertips plunge between her legs, a soft moan echoing above the sounds of the flowing water. Fuck me, he thought as her eyes locked with his, a deadly smirk dancing across her lips.

There we have it :) I love gender-swapped stuff so I was super happy to take this on xD

Starting tomorrow I am going to be working on the 5 senses challenge. I'll be writing for the 100 fandom. I won't get back to the Divegrent fandom until the ned of this weekend or beginning of next week when I work on the sequel to (Don't You) Forget About Me, the 4th part in the Bound to You series, and a one-shot based on my D&D character's backstory with my friend's character. :) Then back to my regularly scheduled sotires (BtB;TLAMLY;Burning Roses;It Had to be You;With You)

Follow/favorite/review; do the lovely things you do!

Until next time, bye-bye! :)