pls consider my idea of companion taking twin! BB to the club, Brendan in his funky clothes and styled longer hair in the flashing lights of the club but his eyes are, as always, only on you and the way you move to the music, pupils blown because your hips are doing things
so so close to him in the midst of all these people and you ask him to "pleaaaase" dance with you just this once and he's stiff and dancing is not his thing (or maybe it is?) but he's drawn to you like a magnet because you're reaching FOR HIM and how could he say no to you ever?
listen maybe theres a moment where you accidentally grind against his crotch and he has to use every single fiber in his brain to stop himself from pulling you closer but also...he could, you're dancing this is what people do when they dance, they touch, they feel each other and maybe just once he just indulges, just for a single night where Bobby is not in sight once again and he can live out his dream of having you to himself
so it starts innocently enough.
you're all seniors. bobby and terrence are out of town for some band they've been dying to see. it's not your vibe, so you pass going, kiss bobby goodbye in the driveway and hug terrence, telling them not to do anything stupid, which they absolutely will, and wave until the truck disappears.
and then since you're already there, since you're already in the franklin house with your shoes kicked off in the hallway, you find brendan.
he's in his and bobby's shared bedroom. quieter than usual, which is saying something for a boy whose default setting is already quiet. you notice because reading brendan has become this unconscious skill you've picked up over the years, and you sit on the edge of his bed and nudge his knee with yours until he opens up.
he hands you a letter. heavy paper. expensive. the kind of envelope that feels like it costs more than your family's grocery bill and your stomach knots before you've even finished unfolding it.
because paper like this doesn't carry small news. and then you see the harvard seal. crimson and black and very, very official. full ride. full scholarship. the thing he's been grinding toward in silence for years while bobby filmed and terrence played guitar and you dreamt about being a thousand things at once.
"oh," you breathe out. "oh, BB."
and you don't know why the word that keeps echoing through your chest is leaving.
because this is wonderful. this is genuinely incredible. this is brendan bennett franklin, the quiet twin, getting everything he deserves.
you should be screaming, jumping on his bed and shaking him. you are proud of him, fiercely, in a way that burns behind your eyes. but underneath the pride there's this hollow feeling, this trapdoor opening in your ribs. because it's always been the four of you. a unit. inseparable.
and now summer has an expiration date and after it he'll be on the other side of the country and his side of the room will be empty and you'll be here. you're not going to think about why that feels like grief because if you think about it too hard you'll find something you're not ready to look at.
so you hug him. tight, fierce. arms locked around his neck in a death grip, face pressed into his shoulder, and you choke out "I'm so proud of you" and mean it completely and also feel like you're being hollowed out with a spoon.
and his arms come up around your waist and he holds you and says nothing because brendan has never once in his life ruined a moment by speaking and he isn't going to start now. but his hands flatten against your lower back and press, his eyes closing and he breathes you in and this. this is what he's going to remember about the acceptance. not the letter. this. your warmth and you saying you're proud of him.
"we're celebrating," you announce promptly, pulling back, wiping your eyes. all business now. "tonight. you and me. we're going out."
he opens his mouth to protest because clubs and parties and crowds are everything brendan usually despises, but you drop your hand over his mouth and say sternly "non-negotiable" and he shuts up immediately because your hand is over his mouth and his brain has left the building.
so that evening he shows up at your door. and he's trying.
dark jeans that actually fit for once. a vintage button-down he thrifted, slightly too big, the print busy in a way that shouldn't work but does because brendan wears odd clothes like this and somehow makes them look intentional. his hair is freshly washed and drying in loose wavy strands that brush his ears and curl against his nape, and he's standing on your porch looking profoundly uncomfortable and also, you think, briefly, in a thought you don't examine, really good.
you pull him inside. you're half ready. mascara on one eye. dress on but unzipped at the back. and you flutter around finishing your makeup while he sits on the edge of your bed and watches you in the mirror with that still, focused attention he gives to everything he's studying.
and you catch his eye in the reflection and hold up the eyeliner. playful, teasing. "want some?"
and he lets you.
you stand between his knees and cup his jaw and lean in close. his hands are fisted in the bedspread so tight his knuckles ache because your face is right there, and your breath is on his cheek and your thumb is braced against his cheekbone. you smell like whatever perfume you put on tonight and he's going to die here, on your bed, with eyeliner on, and it will have been completely worth it.
you finish, step back. examining him from head to toe with your arms crossed, and your mouth softens with a grin.
"handsome," you conclude sagely, not teasing this time but genuinely sincere.
and he tries so hard not to react. keeps his face neutral and locked down. but the colour rises up his neck and his jaw tightens and he looks away and mutters "thanks" to your bookshelf. because if he looks at you while you're saying that word in that voice in that dress he's going to confess everything and ruin every good thing in his life.
you zip yourself up, grab his hand, and pull him out the door.
the club is loud and dark and exactly the kind of place brendan would never go voluntarily. the bass vibrates through the floor and into his teeth and there are too many people and the lights keep strobing and he is, immediately, deeply out of his depth.
but you're already moving to the music, already pulling at his hands, and the coloured lights are catching in your hair and on your skin and your eyes are so bright with excitement that only comes from being young and free. you look at him and yell over the music ("please dance with me, just this once, BB, please") and you're reaching for him. not bobby. him.
and how could he say no to you? how could he have ever said no to you about anything?
so he tries. stiff and awkward, rooted to the spot while you move around him like water, laughing, patient, guiding his hands to a rhythm he can't find on his own.
"just feel it," you tell him, and you put his hands on your waist and move and he follows, badly, then less badly, then barely passably, and you're laughing so hard your head tips back. the light catches the line of your throat and he thinks, dazed, and utterly in love, I will remember this when I'm eighty. I will remember this when everything else in me is gone.
and then it happens.
the crowd pushes in and you're pressed close, closer than the dancing requires. and your back is against his chest and your hips roll and you grind back against him and his whole body locks rigid.
every fibre of his brain firing don't. don't move. don't pull her closer. don't put your mouth on her neck and kiss it. don't. and his hands tighten on your hips and you don't even notice because you're dancing. this is what people do when they dance, they touch, they feel each other, this is normal. friends do this all the time.
except it's not normal and you've never been just a friend to him. nothing about this has ever been normal for him.
and just once. just for one song. he lets himself have it.
doesn't pull you closer. doesn't cross the line. but he stops fighting the current and lets his body move with yours and his forehead drops to the back of your head and he breathes you in, his thumbs tracing circles on your hips and he closes his eyes and pretends.
just for three minutes. just for the length of one song in a dark loud room where nobody knows them. he pretends you're his. he pretends the hand he held walking in here meant what he wanted it to mean. he pretends that in few months time he's not leaving for the other side of the country, and you're not making plans to move in and live with bobby.
the song ends. he steps back. the distance returns.
and if anyone in that club had glanced over at the right moment, they would have seen a girl laughing with her whole chest, young and bright and completely alive. and behind her, a boy with eyeliner and curling hair and his hands barely touching her waist, looking at her like she was the only thing in the universe.
you drive home with the windows down, still buzzing, singing along to the radio badly and making him laugh (actually laugh, the real one, the rare one) and he walks you to your door and you hug him again. tighter than usual, and mumble, "I'm really going to miss you, BB" and you mean it so simply and he says "yeah" because if he says more than one syllable right now his going to ruin everything and he can't do that, can't be so selfish.
he loves you and bobby too much to put himself between you like that.
bobby calls the house the next morning from a payphone at a gas station somewhere down south, voice rough from the show. "how was your night?" and you cradle the receiver against your shoulder and smile. "took your brother dancing. he was terrible." and bobby's laugh crackles down the line, and you can hear terrence howling in the background.
it's warm and easy and good and exactly where you belong.
Summary: You and your twin were nothing alike, except when it came to men. That one shared taste might be what tears you both apart.
Warnings: there are both of you here, violence, angst, fluff, filthy smut, cheating, pick me behaviour, crazy twists, had a hard time writing this.
Masterlist
a/n: my brain is dead for exfil, i need new things to write about. i hope u all enjoy this because this is so crazy when i was writing it <3
Your mother once dreamed of having a child, just one. Someone to love with all the vastness of her heart. But the universe had grander plans and blessed her with twins. Two heartbeats instead of one. Two souls so closely intertwined, even the stars paused to marvel.
From the very beginning, everything was shared. If your twin had something, you had it too–just in a different color. Matching dresses, different shades. One pink, one blue. Two bikes, one red, one green. There was never a favorite, never an ounce of favoritism. Your mom made sure of that. Her only rule? Share. Or, if that wasn’t possible, make sure you both have what you both want. Fairness wasn’t just a principle in your house, it was the foundation.
Your sister understood that. So did you. At least, at first.
But growing up meant growing into yourselves. Clothes? You liked comfort, she liked style. Food? You went for savory, she had a sweet tooth. Hobbies, sports–your paths started to diverge in subtle but definite ways.
You were different, and that was okay.
Until you realized there was one thing you both still shared, something that never stopped aligning, your taste in men.
And for some time, you wondered, what happens when fairness isn’t so easy anymore?
It’s summer break. Every person you know from college is either posting stories from a beach halfway across the world or floating through hazy, half-lit parties, chasing highs before fall drags them back to textbooks and lecture halls.
Meanwhile, you're here. At home. Sunk into the deep cushions of the living room sofa, a slight breeze drifting in through the open window. You have plans but vague, tentative ones, and the thought of just doing absolutely nothing today feels like a gift.
“The other set of twins are coming, by the way!” your sister yells from the kitchen, the clatter of dishes echoing her voice.
“The Maximoffs?” you call back, lazily scrolling through your phone before setting it down on your chest.
“Yup! And I heard Pietro has a new rideee.” Her voice lilts, trying to fish a reaction out of you.
You let a soft smile tug at the corner of your lips. “Well, if I'm in the mood,” you murmur, stretching like a cat, “then let's bless that ride.”
She flops onto the sofa beside you, both of you quiet for a moment, the hum of summer laziness settling in again.
Then you glance down. “Hey, where’s your bracelet?”
She pauses, surprised, instinctively brushing her wrist as if expecting it to be there. It’s not.
The gold bracelets, identical, save for the names engraved on them: Chloe and Y/N. It had been with you since you were seven. A joke turned tradition after the world kept confusing you two. Only your mother could tell you apart on sight, so she gave you those tiny golden markers, glimmering proof that you were each your own person, even if the world didn’t always see it.
“I must’ve left it upstairs,” Chloe says quickly, but there’s something clipped about her tone. Dismissive.
You study her for a moment. “You never take it off.”
She shrugs. “Maybe I’m changing.”
Maybe. But something about her answer doesn’t sit right.
Before you can press further, a pair of familiar voices rings from outside, followed by the unmistakable purr of a souped-up engine pulling into the driveway.
The Maximoff twins have arrived.
And suddenly, doing nothing all day doesn’t feel like the plan anymore.
Wanda's face suddenly appears in the window, hands cupped around her eyes like binoculars. “What’s up, whore!” she calls out with zero shame, grinning at Chloe like it’s a warm-up for whatever unhinged things she’s about to say next.
Chloe grins back. “You’re late.”
Wanda shrugs, unbothered. “Fashionably. I brought snacks.”
Then her eyes flick to you, catching your slower movement on the couch. Her tone softens. “Hi, pretty Y/N. Coming to join us?”
You sit up slightly, hair tousled from the couch cushion, blinking against the sunlight that follows her voice into the room. “Might. If you’ve got actual snacks and not just a bag of Flamin’ Hot air.”
Wanda gasps like you’ve just insulted her ancestors. “Excuse you, Hot Cheetos are the fuel of summer legends.”
You smirk, but it fades quickly as you stand up and glance back at Chloe, who’s busy smoothing her hair in the hallway mirror, already in host mode.
You’ve always appreciated Wanda and Pietro. They were the first ones to welcome you and Chloe into the social ecosystem back at the dorms. Two wild cards instantly curious about the “new twins on the block.” But even then, the connection tilted. They clicked with Chloe faster. Louder laughs. Inside jokes. That natural twin-speak flow you never quite found with them.
Not that they don’t love you. They do. Just maybe not in the same way.
But you try.
You throw on a hoodie and follow the sound of Wanda’s laugh toward the front door, just in time to see Pietro leaning against his new car–sleek, shiny, and way too expensive for a college student unless he sold something illegal or charmed someone rich.
He spots you and smiles, something lazy and sunlit in his expression.
“Well, well,” he says. “The elusive twin emerges.”
You roll your eyes, tugging your hoodie sleeves over your hands. “It’s summer break, not a red carpet.”
He shrugs. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Chloe laughs from behind you, slipping past to greet him like it’s her cue.
And just like that, you’re back to walking three steps behind a trio you kind of belong to.
Chloe practically launches herself at Pietro, arms thrown around his neck like this is the reunion of the century. He catches her with practiced ease, laughing, the kind that makes people watching think oh, they're close.
And they are. No denying that.
But then Pietro shifts his arm, glancing at you over Chloe’s shoulder. “Come here, you too,” he says, and it’s not just polite–it’s easy. Like he means it.
You hesitate, just for a second. But you step in, your face pressed against Pietro’s shoulder for the briefest moment as his arm pulls you into the hug too. It’s warm. Secure. Nice.
Chloe’s eyes flick to the side. You feel it more than see it. Just.. that little tick in her expression. The way her jaw shifts. Like she didn’t expect to share that moment.
“Well, Wanda,” she chirps, voice bright with a little too much sugar, “I call shotgun!”
Before Wanda can even breathe a protest–technically, it’s her car too. Chloe’s already in the passenger seat, flipping the visor down like she owns it. You blink, lips twitching into a soft, almost apologetic smile as you turn to Wanda. “Sorry you have to sit with the boring one.”
Wanda snorts, instantly looping her arm through yours like the two of you are conspirators in some harmless crime. “You’re not boring, Y/N. You’re just a calm soul.”
She leans in, nudging your shoulder with hers. “More calm than your sister, for sure. Like, a dangerous amount more. I respect that.”
You chuckle under your breath, but you don’t miss the way Chloe’s looking back from the front seat. Not glaring. Not angry. Just watching.
You climb into the back with Wanda, who’s already kicking her shoes off like it’s her personal limo, and Pietro starts the engine. The music's loud, the windows are down, and the sun is baking into the seats. Everything about this should feel light.
But there's a little knot twisting in your stomach. Because even if the day is perfect, you know one thing for sure:
Chloe definitely didn’t like that hug.
You know your sister better than anyone else in the world.
You know the voice she uses when she wants something. The way she curls her hair when she’s feeling insecure. The difference between her real laugh and the one she saves for people she wants to impress. You’ve lived her whole life right next to her–of course you know her.
And you also know that the rule your mother instilled, fairness above all, only really applies when your mom’s around.
When she’s not? Chloe changes. Not in big, monstrous ways. Nothing you could point to and say, “That. That’s the line.” It’s smaller. Sharper.
Like how your clothes start disappearing from your side of the closet, showing up on her Instagram stories. Or how she “borrows” your bracelet without asking your bracelet, the one with your name engraved on it, and then acts like you’re being dramatic for noticing.
She wears your favorite earrings on the night you were finally going to debut them.
She gets closer to your friends than you ever manage to. Laughs louder, pulls them in faster, and suddenly you’re on the outside of your own circle. But it’s Chloe. So you say nothing.
Because you love her. With your whole life. There’s no question about that.
At first, you told yourself it was just typical sibling stuff. Just the cost of being twins. She steals your clothes, you roll your eyes, and that’s the end of it. But it started to twist. To hurt.
Because when you try to wear her stuff? She reacts like you’ve crossed some sacred boundary. Gets defensive. Emotional. Sometimes even begs for it back, like you’re taking something essential from her.
Or when you get too friendly with her friends, the mood shifts. A quiet tension laces her tone. Subtle jabs disguised as jokes. A reminder that you’re trespassing, even when you didn’t mean to.
You gaslight yourself. Tell yourself she doesn’t mean it like that. That this is just how she shows love. That maybe you’re too sensitive.
Because Chloe would never hurt you. Not on purpose.
And you'd never hurt her either.
So you push the thoughts down. Smile. Nod. Let her keep the bracelet. Let her take the seat up front. Laugh when she calls shotgun like she always does.
But deep down, you wonder if it’s always going to be like this, loving someone who doesn’t always know how to love you back without taking a little bit of you in the process.
The car ride is filled with music and laughter, Pietro and Chloe singing their hearts out in the front while Wanda joins in, dramatically belting out lyrics like she's on stage. The energy is electric, but you? You just watch the sun dip behind the trees, painting the sky in soft pinks and deep oranges.
You smile to yourself. This is what you love about summer, not the wild parties or the buzzing chaos, but the break. The feeling of not being buried under textbooks, not having to measure your worth in grades and stress. Just existing, warm and weightless.
Then suddenly the car jerks to a stop.
Pietro twists in his seat, grabbing a pair of sunglasses from the glove box. “Welcome to the Carters,” he announces, sliding them on with a grin. “They throw the wildest parties ever. If I were you ladies, stay close to me or you’ll get lost.”
You glance outside. The house in front of you is massive like old money big. The kind of big that doesn't just say wealth but legacy. Windows spill colorful lights onto the well-manicured lawn, flashing with the beat of the music thumping from inside.
Chloe wastes no time hooking her arm around Pietro’s, her smile bright, her grip possessive. She’s done it a million times before, but now you can’t help but notice the way she subtly presses closer to him.
You go to follow, but Wanda tugs you back, her hand firm on your wrist. Her voice is low but teasing as she leans in, eyes flicking over your hoodie.
“Okay, baby,” she murmurs, “You are not wearing a sweater inside.”
You blink at her, glancing down at yourself. “What? It’s comfortable.”
She scoffs, already peeling it off you before you can protest. “Exactly. And this is not a comfortable night! This is a ‘you look so good people regret their life choices’ night.”
The hoodie is gone before you can fight for it. You stand there, slightly chilled in the warm night air, and Wanda just grins, pleased. “Much better,” she says, looping her arm through yours like you’re her personal VIP guest.
Inside the house, the music gets louder, and the night ahead stretches long and uncertain.
The second the door swings open, it’s like stepping into another world.
Warm air, thick with the scent of sweat, cologne, and whatever someone's smoking in the next room. Music pulses through the floorboards, deep bass that vibrates in your chest, the kind that makes it hard to tell if it's the song or your heartbeat reacting.
The Carter house is packed. Bodies move in rhythm or stumble through rooms in search of their next drink or next mistake. There’s laughter, shouting, clinking glasses and flashes of neon lights that paint everyone in sharp reds, greens, and blues.
Wanda pulls you through the chaos, grinning like the chaos is home.
Chloe and Pietro disappear fast, blended into the crowd like they were meant to be the center of it. Chloe’s laugh rings louder than the music for a second, and you see Pietro throw his arm over her shoulder like he’s telling her something private. Something meant just for her.
You try not to read into it.
“Alright, drink first, survive later,” Wanda says, already handing you a red cup like she summoned it from thin air. You take it, hesitating just a little before sipping. It burns, in that warm, we’re-gonna-regret-this kind of way.
You wander a bit, sticking close to Wanda until someone pulls her into a dance circle. She gives you a “you good?” glance and you nod, slipping toward the edge of the crowd. You’re not ready to jump into the middle of it, not yet.
So you explore.
The house is insane. Tall ceilings, gold-rimmed mirrors, art on the walls that’s probably worth more than your entire tuition. You move through rooms where strangers are making out on couches, playing beer pong with champagne, or dancing like it’s the last night on Earth.
Then you hear your name.
“Y/N!”
You turn, and there’s Pietro. Holding two cups, messy hair, flushed cheeks, and that smile.
“I was gonna find you,” he says, handing you one of the drinks. “Didn’t want you getting lost.”
“Would’ve been tragic,” you tease, accepting the cup.
“You’d be surprised how many people get lost at Carter parties,” he says, his grin widening. “I’ve had to drag Wanda out of a closet once. She claimed it was Narnia.”
You laugh, more genuinely than you expected. The drink helps. Or maybe it’s the way Pietro’s looking at you. Really looking.
“Where’s Chloe?” you ask, careful to sound casual.
Pietro shrugs, sipping his drink. “She ran into someone she knew. Went off dancing. You know her, she’ll reappear dramatically.”
You nod, but there’s something in your chest that tightens. Just a little.
“Come on,” he says suddenly, tugging your hand, “let me show you the balcony view. Best part of this house.” You hesitate but your feet follow.
The crowd swallows you both for a moment until the hallway clears and the air opens up. He pushes open a pair of glass doors and you're outside, finally able to breathe. The backyard glows with string lights. The sky is almost purple now, the stars peeking through the haze of summer.
“It’s nice, right?” he asks.
You nod, leaning against the railing. “I didn’t think you noticed I wasn’t around.”
Pietro laughs, nudging your shoulder with his. “I notice you more than you think.”
And there’s silence. Not awkward. Not loud.
Just still.
Inside the party roars on, but out here... something else is beginning.
“You know,” Pietro says, voice a little lower now, a little more honest, “I know you and Chloe look alike… but there’s this different glow about you.”
You laugh softly, your shoulder brushing his. “What, you a twin expert now?”
He grins, boyish and smug. “I am a twin, remember? I always tell Wanda I know more than her. I was born twelve minutes earlier, that gives me seniority.”
“Oh, of course,” you play along, eyes rolling. “The wisdom of twelve whole minutes.”
But then he quiets for a moment, gaze softening as he really looks at you.
“Can I?” he asks.
You blink. “Hm?”
He reaches for your hair, his fingers brushing your neck as he gently pulls the tie loose. The ponytail falls apart, your hair sliding over your shoulders like a slow-motion scene in a movie.
“There,” he says, smiling with something that doesn’t feel like flirting. “You’re beautiful that way.”
Your breath hitches just a little, not from shock, but from how gentle it feels. How safe. How unexpected.
The balcony air is warm, but the moment is warmer. And when you look at him, really look at him, you realize there’s nothing performative in his expression. It’s not a line. He’s not looking for a reaction.
He means it.
Inside, the music pulses louder, and you hear laughter echoing down the hallway, maybe Chloe’s, maybe not. But you don’t turn to check.
Because right now, Pietro is standing in front of you like he’s seeing you for the first time. And part of you wonders if this is what it feels like to finally stop standing in someone else’s shadow.
“There you guys are!” Chloe's voice cuts through the balcony air like a spark, all bright and sugary.
You and Pietro jolt ever so slightly, instinctively stepping a bit apart. Not guiltily, but not innocently, either.
She strolls up, practically glowing under the string lights, her energy big and breezy like nothing in the world has ever gone wrong. Her arms find Pietro’s waist like it's second nature, her chin hooking on his shoulder with that practiced kind of closeness that looks effortless but feels.. pointed.
“I can’t believe you left me, Pete!” she pouts, voice dipped in faux betrayal.
Pietro’s smile falters for a split second. “Sorry,” he says, casting a brief glance your way. “I came to look for Y/N too, you know.” His tone is light, but there's something underneath it. A reminder. Maybe even a nudge that She’s your sister, why weren’t you?
Chloe follows his eyes and lands on you. There’s a pause, like she's scanning for something she doesn't quite understand yet.
Then, she smiles. “Like the get-up, sis! You should really keep your hair down more.”
You offer a soft smile back. It’s meant to be kind. It is kind. But there’s this weird echo in it, like the words could mean “you look beautiful” or “who told you you could?”
Before you can figure it out, Chloe claps her hands together. “Well, they're doing shots! Let’s?”
She turns to Pietro, eyes wide and playful, clearly expecting him to come with her. He nods slowly, too slowly. Like his body says yes, but his mind is still back on the balcony with you. Like he doesn’t want to go. But he’s Pietro, and Chloe is Chloe, and saying no has never been the dynamic.
You watch as she tugs him gently toward the door, her hand still looped around him. Just before he disappears inside, he glances back at you. Not long. Not dramatic. But enough. He noticed the moment too. And now it’s floating in the space between the three of you, unseen but undeniably there.
You lean against the railing, cup in hand, and stare down at the glowing yard below, buzzing with students from colleges you’ve never heard of. You sip your drink slowly, letting the sharp taste settle on your tongue like it’s supposed to distract you. It doesn’t.
You’ve been drunk before. You know the haze, the heat, the sudden urge to sing and cry and confess your whole soul to a stranger in a bathroom. But tonight? You’re just floating in it. Present, but not in it.
There’s a hollowness that clings to your ribs. Not from the alcohol. Not from the party. From the fact that Pietro’s laugh still echoes faintly down the hall. From the way Chloe looked at you like she was complimenting you but also claiming her territory.
You’re not mad. Not even jealous, maybe. Just.. lonely.
“You lost?” a voice asks, light and girlish and unfamiliar.
You turn, slightly startled, and find a girl standing in the doorway. She’s blonde, with sleek straight hair tucked behind her ears and a surprisingly genuine smile on her face. She looks like she belongs here in a way you don’t, like this is her natural habitat.
“Oh uh no,” you answer quickly. “I’m not. I just like it here.”
She tilts her head, then walks out to stand beside you at the railing. “Yeah? You don’t think it looks too cliché?”
You glance around. The warm lights, the perfectly curated mess of a rich kid party, the air that smells like jasmine and cheap tequila. You think for a moment.
“I mean, I’m not exactly the ‘eat the rich’ type,” you say honestly, “But no. I don’t think it’s cliché. It’s really beautiful. Whoever owns this place must be kind. Letting people enjoy it like this, sharing the space. That says something, I think.”
The girl blinks, like she didn’t expect that kind of insight from you. Not here. Not at this kind of party.
“What’s your name?” she asks, a new kind of curiosity lighting her features.
“Y/N,” you reply. “You?”
She smiles, slow and a little amused. “I’m Sharon,” she says, reaching for your cup to clink it with hers. “Sharon Carter.”
You pause. And you blink. “You’re the Carter?”
She just grins and leans her elbow on the railing. “Guilty. Though technically this is my aunt’s house. She’s... well, she’s very generous when she’s overseas.”
You stare for a second, surprised but not intimidated. Sharon doesn’t carry herself like someone who wants to be worshipped, just noticed.
“Well, your balcony is stunning,” you tease gently.
“And your energy is refreshing,” she replies, tilting her head. “Let me guess, you’re not a party girl, but someone dragged you here?”
“Something like that,” you say with a small shrug.
Sharon nods knowingly, eyes flicking over your expression, reading it far too well for someone you just met.
“Well, stick with me,” she says, nudging you lightly with her shoulder. “You can ghost the party later, but for now.. I promise not all rich kids are terrible. Some of us even have snacks.”
Sharon leads the way, gliding down the grand staircase like she’s done it a thousand times. The sound of her heels clicking against the marble floors echoes in the large, open space, making everything feel important.
You follow behind her, trying to blend in with the crowd, but there's a noticeable shift. People don’t just glance at Sharon, they notice her. Eyes flick to her as she moves, some nodding in respect, others leaning in to say something. She’s a presence, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of how little you belong in this world of polished socialites and golden smiles.
You catch a few glances thrown your way, and it’s almost like you’re the shadow following someone’s spotlight. You want to shrink away, to become invisible, but you can’t. You won’t, not when Sharon is beside you, calm and sure of herself.
She doesn’t even break a stride. It’s like she’s used to this.
As you walk through the crowd, her head turns just slightly to check on you.
“There’s an after-party after this,” she says casually, like it’s no big deal. “You wanna come?”
You hesitate, unsure of how to answer. You’re not sure where this is going, if Sharon is offering out of politeness or actual interest in hanging out. Either way, you don’t want to feel like you're just tagging along.
“Really? I’m with my sister and two other friends,” you explain, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly. “I don’t wanna leave them, really.”
Sharon’s eyes flicker with a touch of understanding, but her grin remains unaffected, like she didn’t even think twice about it.
“Well, that’s fine,” she says with a shrug. “Bring them along! The more, the merrier, right?”
Jack and Janet Drake has a lot of skeletons in their closet and one of those is having only one child name after them, which will be proving a lie once you enter the bedroom of Timothy Jackson Drake. You will be greeted by two young boys with the same pale skin, blue eyes and soft face.
There are two Timothy Jackson Drake.
Part 2 - Jackson Don't Tolerate BS
Part 3 - Fuck Around and Find Out
"Timothy" Jackson Drake is a more reserved boy than his older twin who is more boisterous and mischievous and has a lot of energy in him. He rather stay in his room wearing his comfy silk pajamas and read mystery novels, he rather stay in his room writing songs and poems, trying to solve the cold cases in Buzzfeed Unsolved and practice more of his curriculums.
Timothy "Jackson" Drake is a joyful little bundle of energy. He rather be in hoodie in the streets of Gotham taking pictures and skateboarding and being loud. He likes being around and familiarising himself in his surroundings. He hates quiet places, he hates being a perfect kid and he hates being in the center of attention, he likes to blend with the background as it was more easier to sneak around.
"Timothy" Jackson Drake and Timothy "Jackson" Drake. Two boys who share everything with each other, even their birth certificate. Two boys who fool everyone, even their own parents, that there is only one Timothy Jackson Drake that has been registered and existed to the Gotham City.
++++
"Tereck! I have a surprise for you~" a little boy sing-sang as he enter their room, revealing a similar face of the boy that was waiting for him with a book in hand.
"What is it, Jorothy?" 'Tereck' asked, curious as what his brother brought back to him.
"Ta-da!" 'Jorothy' revealed what he had and it got an instantaneous reaction of gasp from his little brother.
"I know Mother and Father forbid us to buy useless things with their money, but this is not from their money, so don't worry." Jackson winked at his younger brother.
That statement received a frown, "You are not doing illegal things, right?"
Jackson chuckled and ruffled his brother's hair, "No, some tourist wants to take a photo and gave me a tip. Probably from New York." Because no Gothamite will asked for a photo with the potential of taking their camera or phone, this is Gotham.
Timothy hugged Jackson, "I just don't want to be separated from you." the younger twin mumbled, making Jackson to smiled softly at his little brother.
"I promise, we will always be together, forever."
+++++
Jackson hugged his twin, as a hope it will stop his dearest brother to such a suicide mission, he will embark. "Timothy, you don't have to do this. Let Batman be an adult and take care of himself." He reasoned as he was growing desperate. His brother was willing to hurt himself just to save an adult that is probably capable of doing it himself.
But Timothy shook his brother off, knowing what could happen to his beloved Gotham once Batman was ripped to shreds. "But without Batman, Gotham will be destroyed, Jackson." Timothy said as he put his little hands to his twin's face, making him looked at him. "I know you hate it here, but it is our home."
"A home is a place with a happy family. And it is not here, as long as the two of us is together, it is a home. If Gotham falls, even better, we could just pack our bags and leave." Jackson said with indicts in his voice that he was right and he knows it must be followed as it was better for both of them.
"Batman needs Robin, J. And I am willing to be a Robin to save Gotham."
+++++
"I hate you." Jackson said as he dab a cotton swab on the busted lip on Timothy. This is not even from the criminals that was supposed to be violent, this was from Batman, himself.
Timothy sighed, "I know." He can't say anything. His brother that treasure him like a pearl, and now he was nursing him from an injury from the protector of Gotham.
"You can just quit, you know."
"But I will not."
Jackson hugged his brother, "I hate seeing you hurt, you are not built to be Robin." he whispered to his brother and buried his face to his brother's hair.
"But I'm the only one who can be Robin."
"I wish I could stop you from your insane activities."
+++++
"This is our chance now, T. Mother is dead, Father is in coma. We could sneak away from Gotham and no one will notice."
"No one but Batman."
"Batman doesn't care about you!"
"Gotham will notice that Robin was once again gone."
"Gotham will notice and won't give second thoughts about it."
"But-"
"No more buts, pack your bags, we will leave."
+++++
"This is it, T. After we land to Latvia, we can renew our lives."
"That is amazing, J." T said as his heart was heavy with guilt, knowing he will leave his twin in this plane. "J, I love you."
"I love you too, T."
"I'm sorry." Timothy said as he injected a tranquilizer to his brother's arm. He walked discreetly to the still open passenger door and left his brother.
+++++
It is so hot in the middle of the desert. He just finished blowing up the League of Assassin's bases and he kneeled as adrenaline finally eludes him. He wished his brother was here to fetch him like back in grade school. Like whenever he cry in the middle of the night, his brother will be there beside him. Exhaustion is finally catching up to him when an orange monster truck stopped by him.
"Need a ride?" A voice that has been haunting him since he left the airport. He look up and saw the same face that he now wished to see.
"Jorothy?" he blurted out his twins absurd nickname he gave his brother when they were kids.
Jackson smirked from the nickname, "Sup, Tereck."
Timothy jumped from kneeling and climbed the huge truck and attempt to hug his brother, but his body just decide to just gave up on him. His brother jumped of the truck, and carried him like a koala. His brother turned and speak, "Please help yourself, Miss Fox. I hope you know how to climb a car."
"I am so sorry, Jackson."
"Shh, sleep for now. Rest, Timothy, you deserve it."
"I am so so sorry, for leaving you, Jackson."
"Shh, I told you, we will always be together, forever. Even if we were apart for years."
How about an ATLA AU where Aang and Ty Lee were twins? For simplicity, let's say she was able to be frozen with him.
Series: Avatar: The Last Airbender
AU Criteria: Aang and Ty Lee are twins, frozen in time together.
AU title (optional): Double Trouble
During the war with the Fire Nation, Aang takes Ty Lee and escapes into the night. They end up frozen in a buttle of Avatar energy in the middle of an iceburg with him holding her protectively. They were always mischevious little kids, even growing up in a monestary, but Aang was protective of Ty Lee. (Ty Lee is the older sister by 2 minutes)
Both of them are processings all of what's happened, and trying to make the best of things. Ty Lee takes a liking to Sokka and begins teasing him and teaching him where to strike for ki blocking and other pressure points, normally by using him as a training dummy.
While Aang travels and learns the different bending techniques, Ty Lee keeps the defensive martial arts style alive, and shows him some of what she's learned. Zuko and Azula both learn why the Fire Lord wanted the Air Nomads gone first, in addition to the Avatar. There is a reason they focus on peace and non-violent solutions. They knew violence once.
She is a non-bender and proud of her brother, grateful that the monks let her come along when they took him to the monestary. She was training too be an Air Acolyte, and both of them enjoy good food shared with othhers.
Ty Lee can see Aang's crush on Katara from the first seconnd and teases him privately. Despite being a bit more free and easy with her emotions, she never really finds someone for herself, and Aang is there to help her find her path.
in which daisy doesn't have anyone to go to prom with (maybe because her dad is a tiny bit scary) and her older brothers james and colin step up as her knights 🥹
I’m still staring at the femme!Steve edits from @plistommy ( here and here ), and am super intrigued by the idea of Steve having a twin sister.
• • • • •
Billy had a problem. A problem that started on Day 1 of his arrival at Hawkins High.
Stacy and Steve Harrington.
Yes, they were one problem, because they were joined at the hip any chance they got. It was eerie, how they were the spinning image of one another, but also that they were so close. Billy had known twins before, but they had always seemed to be the same gender, or lived very separate lives.
When he first got to Hawkins, he laughed, “Those two really play up the twin thing, huh?”
But he was soon corrected. Just because Stacy had the same voluminous, brunette hair and large doe eyes as her brother, did not mean she was some doll. And if she was a doll, her brother was living marble; the prettiest statue Billy had ever seen walk out of an antiquity book.
A brother who got called King Steve behind his back for a keg stand record and talent in bed.
Talents they both shared, considering Billy got to witness a fight his first week in Hawkins. King Steve defending his sister’s honor. Ha.
“The hell’s your deal, Harrington? She’s just some slut. I’m your friend - ”
Billy hadn’t thought Steve had it in him. He carried himself like a rich prep who hadn’t met a stiff hand in his life. But he threw Michael Peterson against his own car and watched him fall onto the asphalt. “Half our grade and then some has sampled your girlfriend. You don’t hear anyone bragging about it. You’re not special just because you got with my sister.”
Billy had a front row seat to watch said sister stroll right up to the fight. She nudged Steve out of the way and spit on Peterson’s hair. “He can brag all he wants to. Doesn’t change the fact that he’s a cheater. I won a bet with that girl of yours, by the way. Now behave or I’ll share the bullshit you like to say during sex. Mr. Mommy issues.”
In short, the Harrington twins ruled the school, and King Steve was just a pretty lacky to his sister. Stacy was valedictorian of her year, making her immune to any real punishment from the school. The kind of scary smart that Billy could respect -
If she wasn’t in. The. Way.
“What’d you win?” Steve chirped as they strolled toward his car. He sounded like the younger sibling even if they were minutes apart.
“To sleep with Peterson? Her mom’s diamond earrings.”
“Holy shit.”
“He came without penetration, but he was too drunk to remember and she doesn’t need to know that.”
“Neither do I,” Steve grimaced before matching eyes landed on Billy. Steve looked vacant for a millisecond, and then curious. He looked to his twin for a cue but she cocked an amused brow right back at him. “Hey, Hargrove. You okay?”
Billy smiled. “I saw your commercial. When does your job start?”
Stacy let her brother answer. Steve failed to hide how much he hated that damn commercial. “Next week.”
“Hell of a send off for the semester,” Billy crooned, glancing at Peterson sulking over to his car.
Steve only sighed and folded himself down into the driver’s seat. The less he thought about the impending summer job, the slower it arrived.
Stacy took her time, sizing Billy up. He lifted his brows at her. “Yes, Other Harrington?”
Her pretty mouth shut like she had come to an understanding. “Mall grand opening is at 9am. Come in your lifeguard shorts.”
• • • • •
Robin had a problem.
Because she was stuck working the summer with the Harrington twins.
One of whom, was...maybe not as bad as she’d previously thought. Now that the three of them were as good as locked in a room together, she witnessed how he was really sweet to his sister. The sister...
“Robin, did you already get a base burn for the summer?” she both asked and teased. Robin did not have a sunburn. “When you go on break, take the sunscreen out of my bag. That glass ceiling is going to be the end of us.”
Imagine a Twins!AU with Ash and Red. They're twins(not completely identical) that have a love-hate relationship, but actually care about eachother. They are the embodiment of Yin Yang- And they cause chaos wherever they go-
*yells from the back* SO NORMAL SIBLINGS!?
Lmao no but the idea that they look alike just enough that no one really questions it unless they really look closer and see the difference is funny. Like Gary and Green, Also twins, can easily tell them apart because they grew up with them and no the struggles but a lot of people close to them still can’t.
