Author's Note:
This was fun to write.
Shout-out to R_Darkstorm, as always, for beta'ing.
The Beanie
Flash. The Polaroid's bulb went off, and with a clunk and a whirr that was never short of satisfying in a deep, soul-filling way, Max's trusty camera ejected the photo. She pried it from the slot and set it with the other in the safety and darkness of her bag.
She had a feeling that last one was going to turn out particularly well. Sure, it was a bedroom mirror selfie, aka the height of unoriginality, but using such a cliche location didn't bother the young photographer in the slightest.
She thought she would've been bored out of her skull having to wait for Chloe to finish her shift at the Two Whales. They had been meaning to spend the day at American Dust together, with Chloe presumably tearing shit up, and Max looking for photography opportunities, but one phone call from Joyce fretting about an MIA waitress had put paid to that idea. Chloe had angrily barrelled out of the door with a quick goodbye and a promise to make it up to Max when she got back.
That had been four hours ago.
Fortunately though, she had left Max with unrestricted access to her lair. Unfortunately, Max had spent so much time in it that there were no secrets left to be found. She knew about Chloe's stash of lesbian porn, she knew where Chloe hid her weed, she knew exactly which sex toys the lockbox under Chloe's bed contained (some of them were even hers). She even knew about the secret journal Chloe had kept when she was sixteen, courtesy of a drunken night when Chloe had capitulated and let her read all the letters she had written, but never sent to the Max she had constructed in her head. In summary, Max was as intimately familiar with her partner's room as she was with Chloe herself.
So Max had huffed, and paced around the room, and listlessly kicked bits of trash around. The Internet wasn't an option, her cell was out of data and Chloe's beaten up old laptop was being a stubborn little fucker and insisting it didn't have a wireless card, when obviously it did. Maybe she could convince Chloe to let Brooke take a look at it.
A nap had killed an hour or so, but Max had never really been one for sleeping in the middle of the day. That was much more Chloe's thing.
She had resumed her pacing, looking for something to take the edge off her boredom.
And that was when she had noticed Chloe's beanie, carelessly left hanging out of a drawer. Chloe obviously hadn't had time to grab it before making her hasty exit.
Max had picked it up, holding it delicately between a thumb and forefinger.
Chloe leaving her beanie unattended was almost unheard of.
Max should leave it alone, shouldn't she? It was practically Chloe's favourite possession.
But then again… when was the next time she would have an opportunity like this?
She really shouldn't.
Should she?
And then, perhaps through divine providence, the twisted web of fate, or even just pure coincidence, her decision was made for her.
Under the beanie, folded with what passed for neat with Chloe, was her favourite white tank top; emblazoned with the intricate skull design Max had now seen hundreds of times.
If that wasn't the Universe ordering her to have a little Chloe dress-up session, she didn't know what was.
With a grin a hyena would have been proud of, Max had whipped off her standard grey hoodie and flung it onto the bed, along with her shirt a moment after. Topless, except for her usual pink bra, Max studied the tank top for a moment, appreciating the artistry with which the misfit skull had been designed. Then, she had pulled it over her head. It didn't quite fit - Chloe was a good head taller than her, after all - and slouched off her shoulders, forcing her to keep pushing the straps back up.
Satisfied the tank wasn't going to fall off, Max had turned her attention to the beanie. It fit rather snugly - and as a bonus, still smelled like Chloe - and after a little rearranging of her bangs and a quick look in the mirror, Max decided she looked pretty damn good in it.
As a final touch, Max shrugged on one of Chloe's jackets, making sure to roll the sleeves up in the exact way her girlfriend did. Then, she examined herself in the full length mirror. The tank top was baggy on her, and the jacket made her look like she had shoulders she didn't actually have, and her generic jeans clashed a little with the punk aesthetic, but in general, Max thought she definitely looked ready for the mosh pit, shaka brah.
"You look punk as fuck, Caulfield." She grinned to herself, and reached for her camera.
Max stuck her tongue out, winked, and flipped off her reflection. The flash of her camera went off again, and the latest photo slid out with another satisfyingly chunky whirr.
"That one's definitely a keeper." Max said to herself. She was really beginning to like pretending to be Chloe. There was something badass, something empowering about it, like the clothes were having an effect of just not making her give a fuck.
Plus, they looked cool as hell, even without Max's obvious bias towards all blue-haired punk girls.
She struck a pose: legs spread, hips canted to one side, and a hand resting provocatively on her waist. "Definitely ready for that mosh pit, Shaka Brah."
She imagined how Chloe might react if she could see Max right now. "Hey Max, you look hella cool." She said, dropping her voice down a couple of pitches, in a passable Chloe impression. "Why, you look better than I do, and you're but a tragic hipster, and I'm like, totally hardcore and badass and don't give a fuck what people think and stuff."
Max giggled to herself. If Choe had heard her just then, she more than likely would have given Max the biggest pout of all time, and then proceeded to sulk until Max could convince her otherwise - more than likely by showering her with affection. Not that that wasn't an enjoyable task or anything…
So occupied was Max with her ongoing Chloe impression that she completely failed to notice the sound of the front door opening and closing, and also the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, until it was far, far too late.
"Yo, Max," Chloe said as she barged into the bedroom, "Have you seen my beanie? Could've sworn I…"
The punk stopped dead in her tracks, utter bamboozlement etched into her face as she took in the scene before her.
Max froze, midway through taking another selfie.
If Chloe could have described the expression Max's face took on, she would have said it was well beyond "deer in the headlights", and more like "teenage boy finding his mom browsing his internet history".
"Uh. Hi, sweetie." Max managed to say. She tried to smile, but instead only managed to look paranoid, with a side of crazy. It was the kind of smile someone gave when they knew they were well and truly fucked.
Chloe cycled through several expressions in rapid succession. Her mouth attempted to form words, but after attempting several sentences that died on the starting line, all she could come up with was:
"Are. Are you cosplaying me? Or do we need to see someone about this?"
Max's eyes grew even wider.
"I can explain?" She said, sounding not even for a second like she could.
Chloe adopted a 'Bruh, really?' expression. "Can you, Max?" She said, wryly. "Can you?"
Max swallowed, and admitted defeat. "How fucked am I?" She asked.
Chloe opened her mouth to answer, but something stopped her. She swept her gaze up and down Max; taking in the beanie resting on top of adorably tousled hair, the tank top hanging liberally off her lithe frame, and her bra practically being on full display.
Two pink tinges appeared on Chloe's cheeks, and a very familiar sensation flared into being inside her. A predatory grin sprang into existence. "That depends on what kind of 'fucked' you mean, Maxipad."
Max almost looked frightened, but before she could respond, Chloe was suddenly all up in her face. Chloe arm's shot out and grabbed her by the ass, pulling the photographer flush against her, causing Max to squeak.
"On the bed. Now." Chloe growled.
"Oh." Max finally caught on.
Apparently that wasn't quick enough for Chloe, because she took a step forward, taking Max off-balance, and physically shoved her onto the bed.
Chloe was on top of her in seconds, straddling her hips and essentially immobilizing her. Chloe smirked, yanked her own shirt off and flung it across the room, not caring in the slightest where it landed. Then, she immediately turned her attention to the button on Max's pants. A moment later, they joined Chloe's shirt on the floor.
Knowing where this was going, Max went to strip off Chloe's tank top, but was stopped by the taller woman.
"Wait." Chloe said, her voice already low and husky. "Leave it on." She paused for a second, considering. "And the beanie, too."
Max giggled again, she couldn't help it.
Chloe furrowed her brow. "What's so funny? I'm punishing you, here."
"I'm sorry." Max said through the giggles. "It's just, I always suspected you wanted to go fuck yourself."
Chloe's jaw dropped. "I - you -" She spluttered. "Fuck you, Caulfield."
"If that's your aim, you're doing a terrible job so far." Max teased her.
Chloe narrowed her eyes. "Oh, you're gonna regret that. When I'm done with you, you won't ever dare steal my clothes again."
Max gave her a look. "If that's your hand going where I think it's going, I'm definitely stealing your clothes again."
Chloe laughed, and leaned in for a kiss.
A few minutes later, the beanie was unceremoniously knocked to the floor. Neither of them noticed.
Author's Note:
At the time of this writing where I am, it's March 11th, so a hella happy birthday to the one and only Chloe Price!
Anyway, I hope this fic was enjoyable to read. It's directly adapted from this wonderful piece of art: hkonako/art/red-handed-746793032, so go check that out because it's awesome and I hardly do it justice. You can blame Reddit for this fic existing, they encouraged it.
Credit for the "Are you cosplaying me?" line goes to PaveltheWriter on Reddit. Thanks for letting me use it!
As ever, leave a comment if you have any feedback, and I sincerely hope reading this fic made your day at least a little bit better.