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As the days grew shorter and the weather got colder, the more MacCready complained. From “my boots and socks are wet” to “I hate this stupid weather” to “it’s too damn cold to be out here for long”, you honestly got sick of it. So, you took it up as a personal mission to find him some more - weather appropriate- clothes, and not the lightweight ones he sports every day.
The task had been pretty simple. Find some yarn off of dead ghouls, acquire enough green dye to dye the fabric, then hand it off to Tinker Tom for the ballistic weave, and finally knit a sweater that he could wear during the colder months that would keep him warm and safe. The hard part is actually getting him to wear it.
“Uh uh.”
“Come on Mac, please try it on?” You thrust the sweater onto him again but he just crosses his arms and snubs his nose at it.
“No way. It’s ugly as hell.” You try not to let his words get the best of you. You’ve traveled with him long enough to know when he’s being a jerk to just be a jerk versus when he actually means it. Except you can only differentiate between the two half the time. Besides, you had put in a lot of work for this sweater, killed a lot of ghouls, and had to do Tom an insane amount of favors, just so Mac could have something warm, that was in his color scheme.
“Robert, can you please just try it on?” His ears slightly raise at the tone of your voice but he’s insanely stubborn. Letting out a sigh of defeat, you lower the sweater in your hands, rubbing a tear out of your eye with a sniffle. Ok, time to bring out the big guns. “Fine, I’ll just go see if Deacon or Danse wants it.” You begin to walk away, head hanging down, but his hand reaches out and grabs onto your wrist, halting your body.
“Wait. Ugh, fine. Give me the stupid thing,” he grumbles as you give him a toothy smile, happy that your subconscious manipulation worked on the young sniper.
MacCready takes the material into his hands and eyes it. Rubbing his fingers over the material, he can’t deny how soft it is. Letting out a sigh, he unbuttons his duster and drops it onto the couch, his scarf and undershirt following, leaving his upper body to the cold air, nipples pebbling. He did that on purpose of course, and judging by the way you shift your gaze, MacCready counts that as a victory.
Slipping into the sweater, MacCready strides over to the mirror, glancing at his reflection. Well, at least it fits. And it’s warm . But doesn’t mean it can block a bullet unlike his duster can. A pair of arms wrap around his torso, stirring him from his thoughts. Turning around in your embrace, he looks down to you, a smile on your face. “I hate it.”
You seem to ponder for a moment before reaching up a hand and threading it through his hair, nails scratching his scalp as he becomes putty under your ministrations. “No you don’t. You love it. Admit it.”
Giving into your plans, he lets his hands fall to your hips, dragging you further into him. “Fine. But it doesn't mean it can stop a bullet.”
Standing on your tippy toes, you press a kiss to the tip of his nose, him scrunching it in response but a smile on his lips all the same. “Ballistic weave, hun. Do you want me to make some regular sweaters? Ones you can just wear when you’re here? I can make some for Duncan too, and me, we can have matching sweaters!” The thought brings a smile to both of your faces while he presses a kiss to your forehead.
“That sounds great.”