One-shots [Reqs: 5]

Dress Up

Nightmare being dumb, killer being a good not-boyfriend, and cross suffering, the story

also, headcanon that nightmare takes the boys to parties every now and then and makes outfits specifically for them.

also, fun fact, this is in the same kinda universe as Ouchie

---

Killer stared at the inconspicuous box on his bed, his entire body still, his fingers splayed to catch the knife that had long since fallen to the floor. He unfroze after a long second, stooping down to pluck his knife from the ground and slipping it up his sleeve. He strolled over to the bed, reaching out to finger the lacy ribbon. It wasn't his birthday, and even if it was, no one in the gang but Nightmare knew when it was.

That really could only mean one thing. It was a party day. Killer tugged the lid off, setting it aside, his gaze on the outfit inside. Of course. He shook his head and carefully pulled the suit out. Black on maroon. Killer shook the tuxedo out, a matching tie fluttering out. He took it and spread the tux out on his bed, looking back in the box. A false cardboard bottom separated the shoes and other smaller accessories from the rest of the outfit. He set the shoes on the ground, stepping back to take in to outfit.

He hated to say, but it looked nice. Opening Nightmare's party boxes, as Killer liked to call them, was always a gamble. Each outfit was really nice, he would admit, but not everything was Killer's preferred fashion. Sometimes there was a dress, sometimes a tux, and at one point, there had been a mixture of the two.

Killer shucked his jacket off, tossing it aside, his shirt quickly following. Hopefully, Cross would help him with his tie. Killer was hopeless with ties. Somehow, Cross- and Nightmare- was the only one who could properly put on a tie. Killer sighed, kicking off his shorts. He hated party days.

--

Horror rubbed at the soft fabric of his dress. It reminded him of those old movies, the ones with miles of fabric somehow piled on one person. It wasn't nearly as frilly as the ones in the movies, though. Just one small layer of ruffles. It looked like something you'd wear to a high school party. Horror sniffed it. It smelled like cinnamon.

He liked cinnamon. A plastic chewy came along with it, tied on a string and smelling heavily of cinnamon. Horror put it between his teeth, humming as he started to undress. He liked party days.

--

Dust didn't bother to look at what he would be wearing, sparing nothing more than a quick glance. In the end, it didn't matter. He unceremoniously shoved himself into his tux, swatting at his infernal ghostly brother when he began griping. Sans, your dress shirt is inside out! That is not how you wear a tie-! SANS!

Dust groaned, taking off his top for the fifth time in another attempt to placate him. "Oh shut up paps." Papyrus did shut up, once Dust properly buttoned up his dress shirt. He didn't bother to button his overcoat though, nor did he even try to fix his tie. He slipped it around his neck and let it hang undone. Your sleeves, brother. Dust swore, going back to the box to snatch the cufflinks and jam them into place.

Tie your shoes. He knelt to tie his shoes, standing back up with a huff. Paps started to say something, but Dust only scowled and snapped at him. "Shut the fuck up already, paps!" He hated party days.

--

Cross didn't particularly enjoy Nightmare's party boxes. So far, all he'd gotten were tuxes, but that could change any second. Cross kept his distance from the box, instead hopping into the shower with the thought that he'd open the box later. He was dreading it, honestly. Sure, the stuff Nightmare made was always comfortable, and yeah, even Cross looked okay in them, but he dreaded the day Nightmare gave him a dress.