#snowbaz prompts

[oyabun-draws]

Congrats on the follower milestone! ♥ if the ten sketching spots have not been filled up yet, how about a Baz carrying Simon? ♥♥♥

sorry this is like 3 years late 😭

[palimpsessed]

COC, day 25: Truce

I wipe my hands on my jeans. “Turn around, Snow.”

“Are you done?”

“No.” It comes out soft. “Turn around.”

He does. His hand drops from his hair. “Hell and horrors—you look like a butcher. Are you always this messy?”

“Only with you.”

@carryon-countdown

[prettygoododds]

I misread the COC prompt savour as savior and when I tell you the notes I made for that prompt will no longer work…..it was my favorite too😭😭

[paper-beats-writers-block]

Daphne taught Baz how to do the towel hat and he could never use it at Watford because he knew Simon would make fun of him

Simon still made fun of him when he did the towel hat at their shared flat but it was okay because he was also mildly turned on

and somehow Simon convinced Baz to show him how to do it so they both get to walk around the flat with towel hats on now

[rimeswithpurple]

Carry On Countdown Day 27 - Gift

[roomwithanopenfire]

Day 25- Truce

Title: i wanna go outside but i’m terrified it might be cold or too hot or too radioactive

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 1.6k

Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Pre-Slash, Enemies to Friends, Forced Proximity, Implied/Referenced Homophobia

Summary: Simon and Baz are the only ones left at Watford during Christmas break. Therefore, when the nuclear apocalypse hits, they are trapped in a bunker with only each other as company. Will they become friends or kill each other? Only time will tell…

Read on AO3

@carryon-countdown

[ivelovedhimthroughworse]

Inktober 2023

Day 31 - 🔥 Fire

Simon Snow is still going to die kissing me.

Just not today.

Carry On, Chapter 61, Rainbow Rowell.

💜💜💜

[cosmicalart]

So I had another idea for a fic, idk if I'll write it, I might after my one shot, but I'm gonna tag @carryonprompts in case somebody else has already written or is currently writing something that fits this idea. (Or in the chance I never get around to it and somebody else wants too)

The idea:

Simon and Baz Watford Era get into an argument, the future and the war get mentioned and Simon accidently says something with magic, but rather then accidently pulling his future self into the past because he's immune, Simon ends up pulling future Baz into the past and it's chaos trying to send him back.

Simon (and maybe younger Baz a bit) are confused by the differences. Older Baz is happier, more himself and less of a copy of his dad, and he's open/honest more. He'll admit that Penny is brilliant, laugh at Simon's jokes, compliment Simon when he has a good idea, or even apologize for something if messes up, he also calls Simon by his first name which throws them all for a loop.

I think it would also be funny for him to casually eat in front of everyone having been used to it now and controlling his fangs, so the first time he goes to eat younger Baz is like wtf and about to tackle his older self or panic but then nothing happens. Simon would probably comment about how he's never seen Baz properly eat and then older Baz just has an "oops" moment, cause now it'll seem like he should be able to eat but doesn't, yet can't help his younger self as he is trying to prevent them from finding out as much of the future as possible.

Simon and Baz are married in the future so Baz has a wedding band (maybe an engagement ring also) but refuses/avoids any and all questions about it. He fiddles with it when he's sad thinking about his simon.

[onepintobean]

COC day 9 | pride

I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.

- Pride and Prejudice

[imagineacoolusername]

@carryon-countdown day 5: fight

379 words, rated G. just simon and baz having an impromptu pillow fight in their room :)

BAZ

Simon has been punching his pillow for a good five minutes now, and my patience is starting to wear thin. 

He’ll punch it for a bit, place it in bed and lay his head on it, get up as he sighs frustratedly, and start punching it again. 

After a few more rounds of this nonsense, I snap. 

“Snow. What the fuck are you doing.”

“My pillow is too high and hard.”

“And?”

“I want it to be softer.”

“And?”

“I’m making it softer.”

“By beating the hell out of it?”

He grins, “exactly.”

He then goes back to torturing his pillow, and I roll my eyes exaggeratedly, making sure he sees me, just to know how annoying he is. 

He suddenly goes quiet, and I internally thank Merlin for the moment of peace, however brief. 

“Oi, Baz!” he calls, as if we were kilometers away and not at all in the same room. 

I sigh heavily before turning to face him, but all I see is a white blur before the fucking pillow hits me square in the face. I stay frozen as the pillow falls on my lap, too perplexed to react.

“Come on, don’t be a wanker, give it back, then,” Simon complains. 

“Give it back? You’re the one who fucking threw it at me!” I don’t even know why I’m feeling so offended. 

Simon looks at me expectantly, making grabby hands at the pillow, still grinning like a madman. I do the most reasonable thing. I throw it to his face. 

“Oh, you’re fucking on, Pitch.” He laughs, and the next thing I know, I’m being hit not once but twice with pillows. The fucking bastard took my pillow as well. 

I get up from my desk, grab one of the pillows, and start attacking SImon, who in turn is both defending himself and attacking back. 

I want to say that he’s being ridiculous and laughing like an idiot, but to be honest, I am too, and it is great. 

Soon enough there are feathers spouting out of the pillows, which makes absolutely no sense as I know for a fact that they are filled with cotton. But fuck if I care; Simon is laughing, having the time of his life, and that’s all matters. 

[blackberrysummerblog]

I liiiive! I cannot believe how long it’s been since I’ve posted an excerpt on here, but it’s been a pretty spoonless month (cue lengthy attempt at discussing the situation followed by a quick delete, because seriously? Whine moar 🙄). Thank you so much to all you lovelies who have kept tagging me; it’s been so nice to feel remembered! @wellbelesbian, @j-nipper-95, @orange-peony, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @youarenevertooold, @alleycat0306, @artsyunderstudy, @prettygoododds, @shrekgogurt, @larkral, @valeffelees, @fatalfangirl, @facewithoutheart, @nightimedreamersworld, @rimeswithpurple, @forabeatofadrum, @confused-bi-queer and @cutestkilla all tagged me recently and I’ve been so delighted to see what you’ve all been working on! This fandom really has the most talented writers and artists <3

As for me, I’ve been working on a few things as well! Some of you may have seen a woeful post last week when I realized I’d been writing one of my CORBs in a file I’d unwittingly created on my work account. *chef’s kiss* Beautiful. The upshot of that is that I lost thousands of words after hastily and permanently deleting the file, then buried myself under six feet of rocky soil in the backyard. But I’ve since climbed out and have been recreating it! (In my PERSONAL documents this time!) I’m not sure I’m allowed to say who I’m collaborating with or how much of the summary I can share, but I don’t think it’s giving away too much to say that it’s an AU where Baz is a demon nobleman in hell and Simon is a mortal merman who catches his eye. It’s a really creative concept and I’m excited to be working on it! Here’s a few more than six sentences (and some other fic excerpt shares) under the cut:

I’m lost in the dream again when Métis buzzes in my ear, and I try my damnedest not to hear her. I roll over and pull the shadows closer, but she burrows in nonetheless. “No,” I grumble as blue eyes and golden scales slip away from me once more, leaving nothing but ripples in the fluidity of retreating sleep. As I sit up and scowl at my father’s right hand pest, I can just about recall the setting sun limning bronze curls with a reddish halo.

Halo—ha.

“He wantsz to szeeee you,” Métis hums, settling alight in her favorite spot atop the curve of my left horn. “Sayszz it’s important.”

There’s just the barest fog of despair weaving around my ankles as I make my way to Father’s chambers, nurturing the chill that always permeates my corporeal form. An unexpected meeting seldom brings good news, but I wouldn’t say speaking with him is the last way I’d want to spend these early hours—the hypocritamus pools need sieving, after all. Depending on their recent diet and the subject Father wishes to discuss, the difference may be vanishingly slight.

The second thing I’ve been working on is from an anon prompt on @carryonprompts, which I’m going to paraphrase as “post-awtwb Simon getting kidnapped and Baz (plus Penny and Sheperd) having to be the one to play the hero to Simon’s damsel for a change.” Here’s six sentences:

I pull him up to his knees and kick his legs apart, stabilizing him.

Baz is so far out of this one’s league; I’ve never known what he sees in this deformed, ill-mannered, working-class mage.

He’s handsome enough in spite of the wings though, I suppose—in a brutish way. His eyes flash at me when I knot my fingers in his dirty hair to pull his head back, lifting his face. Square-jawed and broad through the shoulders and chest, thick-thighed, what we would have called a bit of rough, once. The faithful common laborer you could count on to throw you down on top of the bed for the pounding of a lifetime—is that all that Baz wants him for?

Lastly, a good bit more than 6 sentences from my still-unpublished crucible marriage AU, just because. I know I once posted a paragraph where Baz was taking Simon clothes shopping after being scandalized by the state of his drawers, and this is a resulting scene:

“Baz!” Snow shouts from the changing room. Balthazar’s balls, what’s the issue? He can’t want me to go in there. “Baz, c’mere!” He…wants me to go in there. I take a deep breath and push open the door fractionally.

“What, Snow?”

“Come in here!”

“I swear to magic, if you’re naked—” Oh. Oh, Crowley. This may somehow be worse. Simon is wearing the snug fitting blue knit shirt I sent him in with, and it would be showing off his biceps and chest enough to blow what’s left of my mind even if he didn’t have it hitched halfway up his abdomen. He’s changed into a pair of the short new boxer briefs we purchased in the last store (ordinarily I’d recoil at the notion of not washing them first, the heathen, but—Simon) and he’s gripping the waistband of a pair of soft grey trousers that he’s pulled halfway up his arse.

“I thought you might want to check out the new pants,” he says casually, nodding toward his backside as if I could pry my eyes away with a crowbar. “Do these get the seal of approval, then?”

I can’t speak. I think I may be salivating. Simon grins at me then, dragging one side of the trousers up while letting the other drop below the curve of his world-ending arse. He shimmies the exposed cheek in my direction, working himself into the trousers one centimeter at a time.

“You menace,” I hiss, unable to modulate my voice to a normal speaking level.

“What?” He finishes hitching the trousers up and leans back against the wall, not bothering to do up the flies. “Do I look OK?”

“No.” His face falls and I can’t bear it, even for a joke. “You look delicious. Absolutely debauched.”

“Debauched?!” Simon’s offended moue melts into something else as I slink toward him purposefully. “I don’t look debauched.”

He does. Trousers open, shirt still pushed up over his navel, curls in disarray from his habit of manhandling them when frustrated. I lean over him, my feet on either side of his, and he’s even farther beneath me than usual because of how he’s slouched back against the wall. He gasps softly when I take hold of his waistband and fasten the button of his trousers, my knuckles grazing the soft hair on his belly.

“Baz…nngh.”

I’ve drawn the zipper up carefully, but not so carefully that I’m not palming him over his trousers. I’ve barely touched him, but I note with satisfaction the goose flesh rising on his forearms. “Shh, love,” I murmur in his ear, tugging down his shirt so that it covers his stomach. Once he’s no longer indecent, I run both hands up under his shirt, squeezing at his thick, firm waist. Simon moans, tipping his head back to expose his long neck, and I’m dropping kiss after kiss there when I hear a sudden clearing of someone’s throat behind us.

It’s the changing room attendant, scowling in through the door that I foolishly left open. “Can I bring you gentlemen any different sizes?”

And that’s about it! I’d tag people if I hadn’t gotten to post this so late in the day, but as it stands I think most everyone’s already posted today. I hope everyone’s had a great week and that the next one is even better! :)

[oyabun-draws]

MOre fire breathing Simon

toasted scone!

[sucrosette]

★— ⋆｡˚ [Unexpected Things]

For Day 14 of Carry on Countdown 23, Blade. @carryon-countdown

Basil's gone and done it. Poor lad's gotten himself stabbed, and it's only taken 3 years out of law school. At the very least, his nurse seems nice enough.

Rated T for near-death experiences, excessive cussing, and Basil checking out his nurse too blatantly.

This is part 1 of the Nurse/Lawyer AU I started on Day 8.

⋆｡˚

‘Oh, bloody hell–’

I need an ambulance. There is a gaping wound in my gut. I am losing a lot of blood. I have enough presence of mind to shrug off my jacket and ball it up to press over the wound. Vaguely, as if from very far away, I think about how I should call for an ambulance. I don’t think I’ve got consciousness enough in me to make the call.

I should really make the fucking call.

I keep fumbling over the keys to my phone as I stumble my way through the alley and out onto the pavement. 999 should not be this hard to dial. My fingers should not be this bad at dialing three whole numbers. Especially not if they’re just the same number repeated thrice over. If I can manage to make it to the pavement I can dial bloody emergency. I’d never seen a blade go so deep past skin before. I don’t think I have enough strength to keep standing.

I shortly find out that I do not.

I am flat on the ground. Did I pass out? Maybe for a moment. Apparently, I’ve managed to get through to emergency though, because someone is asking me to answer on the other end of the line. Someone is Asking my name and situation. Vaguely, I pull my phone closer to me, close enough so the operator can hear.

“Stabbed…” is about all I can mutter out, but she asks for my name and location, so at least I know she heard me. I sigh out, laying flat on my back and staring up at the moon in the sky above.

I manage my location. The moon is blinking at me, blurred morse code messages I can’t quite decipher. Or my eyes are closing and my consciousness is slipping. I can’t really tell which it is, but the latter seems more likely.

I repeat the intersection one more time into the phone. I think the operator is talking me through keeping consciousness, but I don’t think she’s going to succeed. Somehow, I give my name, or at least part of it. The operator sounds really worried for me. What was her name? Crystal? Maybe Krystal. Krystal with a K is such a choice of a name– Kardashian fodder stuff. Not that I’m judging my only link to potentially surviving this whole situation. I will judge her parents though.

“Is your name Crystal with a C or with a K?” The operator stops talking for a whole two seconds, and I cough out a laugh in the moment of silence. I am not doing well, but at least she confirms her name starts with a C. “That’s good Crystal, your parents aren’t shite people.”

The moon is still flashing its blurred morse code at me. Probably, it’s also trying to tell me how to stay conscious. The moon is worse at this than Crystal is.

“I’m sorry, darling, but I think my capacity for staying alive might be a touch dodgy at the moment–”

Crystal keeps talking, telling me to keep pressure on the wound, not to move, ect ect. I don’t register all of it. Distantly I hear sirens.

The world goes dark.

⋆｡˚

I wake up in a hospital bed and for a moment I’m surprised enough that I woke up at all that I fail to see the pretty nurse next to me. I apparently managed to skip the whole ambulance ride and repair process too. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. I’m also starving. I also really need a drink. I also really need to take a piss.

Alright, body, calm the fuck down, one step at a bloody time.

I start sitting myself up, groaning the whole while, and the nurse who had been diligently taking my vitals drops everything to stop me in my tracks. “Hey, there, Handsome,” the nurse says with her hands on my shoulder, gently keeping me in place, and I can’t help but notice that they’re stronger than they look at a glance. Either that or I’m especially weak in my freshly stabbed state. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Bathroom?” My voice cracks on the word. Lovely. I’m making a lovely first impression. Fuck.

“Well, let’s get you into a chair. You’re not quite standing ready just yet.” Their voice is terribly gentle despite the seriousness of their tone, sweet and steady, a comforting thing, and in my probably still somewhat drugged state I almost say as much.

Instead, I keep my head enough to respond in a very smart and on topic way, “That bad?”

“Not as bad as it could’ve been,” they answer lightheartedly. And then I see their name tag and pronouns neatly displayed on their chest. Simon.

Alright, Simon.

I roll the name around in my head while she fetches my chair. It’s not a bad name, a bit simple though. Mother wouldn’t have picked it, but then again her chosen husband had an equally boring name, so I suppose that doesn’t really matter, does it?

Crowley, my mind’s all over the place. Where the bloody hell do I get off on comparing Simon to my father right off? I mean clearly he wouldn’t be a homophobe given he was at minimum an out part of the community. That didn’t outright exclude bigots or internalized homophobia but, you know—

I should probably stop thinking so much. My head’s starting to hurt with the liberties it’s taking about someone I’d exchanged a whole five lines of dialogue with.

Oh, thank fuck the chair is here. I start sitting myself up again, but Simon’s quicker, already there to guide me up and over.

…It’s a process.

I feel so bloody betrayed by my body, but Simon talks me through it and I suppose that’s help enough. Embarrassing still, though. Even more embarrassing how I can’t stop myself from noticing how soft his sun-streaked hair looks, how striking his eyes.

As if meeting someone via stabbing was a great way to start a relationship or form an attachment. Fuck’s sake, she’s a nurse, Basil! This is her place of work, I literally know better. I’m just asking to catch a harassment case at this rate.

I just sit for a while in my chair after the whole affair’s done with, my head leaning probably too far back and my gaze intent on the ceiling.

“Do you want to stay there a while?” Simon interrupts my fugue and I realise I’ve probably been holding him up from the rest of her patients.

I shake my head, “No, I’m bloody starving though. Thirsty too.”

“Well,” she starts, not stuttering a second while she’s helping me back into bed, “Technically it’s past supper, but I’ll see what I can manage for you, Tyrannus.”

“Baz,” I correct, even though I’m never this informal with strangers, “Baz or Basil, please.”

“Baz,” Simon repeats, taking a moment to note it on my chart, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“And water?”

“Already done,” she gestures to the bedside table and there it is, already poured in glass for me and everything.

“Delightful,” I manage without an ounce of sarcasm. It’s an achievement, actually.

“Press the button if you need me,” Simon says with a warm smile.

My heart does a stupid flip-flop despite the risk such a thing would be to my life, what with the whole recently stabbed and nearly bleeding out bit. Really inadvisable, heart, let’s just kill us after just barely managing to survive a direct attempt on our life. Don’t be such a numpty, heart, I’d like to live a good while longer.

I manage a nod despite my internal argument with my circulatory system. “I’ll see you back then?”

“More than probably,” Simon answers, “Don’t forget your water.

My heart does another flip-flop when he gives me another smile full of sunshine. Rather against my earlier advice. The idiotic bloody muscle’s practically trying to kill me.

⋆｡˚

I don’t see Simon back for a while, but I also haven’t bothered to press the button. I’d finished my water and my phone was right there next to it, and I’m not sharing the room so I can have the tv on if I like even despite the late hour. I’ve plenty to entertain myself with, or at the very least plenty to distract myself from the pretty nurse trying to invade my mind with his skin painted in freckle constellations and copper curls.

It’s not enough, somehow, and I find myself having to actively resist the urge to push the button for no reason. I’ve not needed much for the painkillers, I’m not popping stitches or going anywhere, and I’m not exactly dying of hunger, so there’s no reason to call Simon unnecessarily.

Still.

I want to.

Thankfully I don’t have to. Simon shows up sometime near three o’clock in the morning with a sandwich in hand and a side of apple slices. I’m pretty sure it’s her lunch.

“Are you allergic to anything?” He asks as he plops himself in the chair next to my bed.

When I shake my head Simon proves me right by keeping half the sandwich for herself. I bite in without thinking about what might be in it. I’m too hungry to be particular right now, and I polish off the sandwich before I can even properly figure it out, washed down with a fresh glass of water and a sigh.

“Fuck…” I sink back against my pillow and let my eyes close, tenderly poking around the stitched up wound in my gut.

“Stop that,” Simon scolds with a swat in my direction, “Just because it’s not that bad doesn’t mean you can just poke at it.”

“How bad is not that bad?” I still stop, even if I ask the question as if I wasn’t going to.

“Not bad enough to need surgery,” Simon answers between bites, “You’re lucky enough your assailant didn’t knick any arteries or organs, but bad enough that if you put too much strain on it or pop a stitch the doctor will be Very upset with you.”

I can hear the capital in his voice. I don’t press further, letting my eyes slip closed in the moments following.

“So who’d you piss off enough to end up in this state anyway?”

“Is that normally the sort of question you ask a patient, Simon?” I can’t help cracking my eyes back open to serve them an incredulous look. At least I hope that’s what it comes across looking like. Who’s to say what I actually looked like, between the tiredness seeping into my bones and the ache in my gut.

Simon snorts out an amused laugh at me and my look only turns more sour. Or, again, I hope that’s what comes across. “Maybe if I were on the clock I’d be more tactful.”

“You’re spending your off hours with me? How unprofessional. I’m a lawyer, you know, I know how that could come across.” Even as I say it, there’s no threat behind the words. I’m leaning up to look at her more properly and she’s still smiling that sunshine smile and I can’t help but smirk back.

“It’s just my lunch, we’ll see about off hours later,” Simon’s being coy, but I can’t help but notice that he looks good doing it.

“You’re really toeing the lines of respectability, I’ll have you know.” Even I think I sound pompous at that, but Simon just keeps grinning over at me, so maybe she likes pompous sorts anyway.

“Is that how you got stabbed? Pissed off a client? Got on the wrong side of the mafia then?” He asks it like a flirt, tone all low and sultry, and I can’t help but laugh.

This is definitely not how one normally flirts. “Not exactly,” I answer as I settle back down in my bed, letting myself relax before carrying on, “A client’s ex-husband. I’m a divorce lawyer, and some men don’t handle that too well, it seems.”

Simon lets out a whistle of surprising length as he starts at his apple slices, “I was thinking criminal lawyer would be hotter, but I think I could be into a family court kind of guy.”

I shift as carefully as I can onto my side and perk a brow at this too pretty nurse ineloquently munching her lunch beside me. I’m still unreasonably attracted to him. “That’s incredibly unsubtle, Simon.”

“I know, Basil, but you’re not too subtle yourself.”

“What gave me away?”

“Heart palpitations,” Simon answers simply, “And I caught you staring at my bum when I left the room.”

“I was not!” I have to deny it, even if I had been.

“Sure you weren’t,” Simon hums, head quirked to the side and watching the guilty flush that was surely on my cheeks spread, “But how do you feel about the idea of shared off time? When you’re not such a vulnerable stabbing victim at some point even.”

“Is that how you’re asking me on a date, Simon?”

“Is that how you say yes, Basil?”

I purse my lips at him, a little bit of dramatic flair showing while I stretch out the moment in unnecessary anticipation. We both well know I’d already agreed. “That depends on your taste in the theatre. Are you a musical sort of person at all?”

“I could learn to be,” Simon answers, almost too earnestly.

I like that earnesty too much. “Well, I can appreciate someone who’s willing to learn for me. Give me your number and I’ll call you when I’m less recently stabbed. I’d like to be able to walk properly if I’m going to take such a pretty thing out on the town.”

“You’re really pushing for that lawsuit now, aren’t you?” Simon teases.

I’m a little too proud of the fact that I still managed to get his number programmed into my phone by the end of her shift though. I know full well I’m going to call him before I’m done healing though, even if I try and tell myself to not rush into things.

When I do call, a mere two days after I’m discharged from the hospital, Simon doesn’t seem to mind my blatant approach in the least.

[prettygoododds]

As Seen On TV

Day 1: Something Old - Tune In

Day 2: Chosen - Winter Is Coming

Day 3: AU/alternate universe - The One Where Agatha Breaks Up With Simon

Day 4: Daydreaming - Just Out of Reach

Day 5: Forest - Naked and Afraid

Day 6: Truth or Dare - Let's Play A Game

Day 7: Gently - Breathe In, Breathe Out

Day 8: Bleed - Let's Get Ready To Rumble

Day 9: Side ships/alt ships - We Interrupt Your Program...

Day 10: Dinner - Who's Coming to Dinner?

Day 11: Wavering - Never Gave A Damn About the Weather (It Never Gave A Damn About Me)

Day 12: Normal - TRUC3 News

Day 13: Lyrics - TRL

Day 14: Sour - Home Is Where the Tart Is

Day 15: Sweets - Fake It Till You Bake It

Day 16: Punk - Dun! Dun!

Day 17: Surprise - The Lost Artifacts of Watford

Day 18: Vessel - Harboring Regrets

Day 19: Fluff - Stay Pawsitive

Day 20: Teeth - Fangs For the Memories

Day 21: WLW - Face to Face With Reality

Day 22: Angst - These Are the Days of Our Lives

Day 23: Goats - Yee to the Haw

Day 24: Holiday Shopping - But Wait, There's More!

Day 25: Truce - And We're Back With More News

Day 26: Savour - Savour the Sin

Day 27: Intertwined - After Hours

Day 28: Snowed In - Tumble in the Snow

Day 29: Alight - I've Got It

Day 30: Something New- Run Its Course

[paper-beats-writers-block]

someone anyone please Simon Snow in this shirt

[forabeatofadrum]

make a fire out of this flame (T, 17K)

Summary: When Simon accidentally sends an awkward photo of himself to a total stranger, he hopes that the person who received his message will forget about it, but the recipient has other ideas.

When Baz gets a photo of a stranger, lying on his back, naked, with a human-sized goldfish on top of him, he is glad for the distraction and so he asks for the story.

Things progress from there.

Notes: Welcome to my entry for the @carryonprompts fest. Yes. That was ages ago, but you know what they say: better late than never.

I chose the prompt from @amphipodgirl​, which was “Wrong number text fic based on a screen capture image shared on tumblr: a wrong number texted image of a man lying on his back, naked, with a human-sized goldfish on top of him, followed by several incredibly embarrassed texts from the sender, who realizes he sent it to the wrong person”

Title is from the song Little Numbers by BOY. If you know, you know 😉.

Read on AO3