one shots. (discontinued)

freshly cleaned memes \\ l e v i x b r o o m \\ (au)

( Disclaimer: Whatever you do, don't take this seriously at all. I just decided to throw in a crack ship because one of my in real life friends wrote a story relating to Noragami which then led to this idea. In a way, I can thank her for this idea coming to be. But once again, don't even take this seriously. I'm normally pretty serious and not the type of person to joke around, but then again I have my stupid moments. So yeah. That's all I wanted to say. Here's the second one shot. )

        (third person pov)
Yato was on the phone waiting to talk to a potential customer. While he was waiting, he whistled and twirled the pastel pink wire connecting the telephone as his feet were violently tapping the hardwood floor. Patience was not Yato's best friend.

"Ugh. When is this guy gonna answer the damn phone? My god this patience crap isn't helping at all."

Yato let out a sigh. On impulse, his foot hit the drawer that the telephone was on and sent him and the phone plummeting to the hardwood floor.

"Shit that hurt!"

Yato yelled from the hardwood floor. He leaned forward and grabbed the tip of his dark brown boot trying to relieve the burst of brief pain that the impulse had caused. Hiyori and Yukine were out on errands, and a while ago, he had climbed into some random fancy, rich guy's house through an open window.
Contradictory to what he was expecting, the place was desolate. Not a single butler, maid, or person was present. It was definitely a stupid security move on their part, especially with leaving the window open, but Yato is Yato, so of course this was an advantage. The elegant, lavish dining room, the beautifully decorated living room, the freaking food in the rows of cabinets, the walk in closet, the endless amounts of flowers in the garden out back- There were so many choices. For once, Yato could treat himself.

   Yato's eyes lit up. His facial expression went from being scrunched up in pain to one of his always iconic cat faces. He positioned himself and got up from the floor, ready to low key throw a party up in this place. If he could somehow get a long, soft, fleecy, red cape with a golden crown and a fan, that would be fantastic.

"Should I head to the store or something for the outfit or nah?"

Yato considered the idea. He hadn't thrown a party in ages. How could he go from a homeless god in a tracksuit to an allegedly wealthy asshole in a matter of hours? The idea was absurd. The other gods would snicker if they knew about this idea and how he had snuck into somebody's house.

"Way to go, you're still a tracksuit god. Praise yourself."

Yato chided himself in the most sarcastic and self deprecating method known to mankind. The formal roast yourself event was in session. All hail the art of roasting. The last thing on his mind now was the telephone as it hung upside down centimeters away from the floor. What used to be a neat row of wires was now a disarray of pastel pink.

The roasting session had done him well. Yato posed with a derpy expression and one finger on his face while he flailed his free arm and his free legs. Cringey selfie material? The epitome of a meme? The classification was broad.

   Out of the corner of his eyes, Yato spotted a bottle of champagne lying around near the cabinets. He was familiar with the look and scent of champagne, but he had only tried it a few times. For thousands of years, he had become so accustomed to the scent and look of beer. Out of all those years, he had only been offered champagne five times. Five times.