1 - 20 of 54 Works by prosciutto
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That asshole. Childe huffs out a displeased noise, averting his gaze.
Zhongli, president of the student council, and the bane of Childe’s existence. Tall and ridiculously handsome, all of which is negated seeing how he is both a nag and a bore. He is constantly looking for reasons to knock him down a peg. Correcting him in class whenever he bothers to speak up. Detailing the numerous ways he fucked up during the September mock exam. Pointing out the stain on his shirt, the cowlick by the nape of his neck.
Why does he have to be friends with Lumine, of all people?
Or: Childe finds a love rival in the form of student council president, Zhongli. Admittedly, it would be nice if he stopped mistaking his attempts at intimidation as flirting.
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Zhongli has lived, died, and remade himself eight times when he sees him again.
Eighteen and feral, bristling at every touch. Insolent in the way he slouches at his desk, the lazy arch of his wrist during roll call. “Sit up straight,” Zhongli says, sharp, at the lack of a better thing to say.
Which is: Oh.
And: You’re beautiful.
Then: It still hurts to look at you.
None of which are appropriate thoughts to be harboring towards your student.
Or: Zhongli, Childe, and the three times their lives intersect (reincarnation au).
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it's a goddamn blaze in the dark by prosciutto
Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga), 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime)
11 Dec 2021
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“Okay,” he blinks. Then, in lieu of something actually constructive. “I feel like there’s a story here.”
The glare he gets in response would be best described as biting. Still, Yuuji lets it slide because, well, manners.
And also because his roommate might be the hottest person he’s ever seen.
Or: Itadori Yuuji acquires a roommate in the form of Fushiguro Megumi. It goes from there.
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my waves meet your shore by prosciutto
Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga), 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime)
07 Feb 2021
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Fushiguro is nothing if not logical, so rather than mope about the impossibility of his feelings, he’s going to do something about it.
He’s going to romance Itadori Yuuji.
Of course, it’d help if the object of his affections wasn’t the most obtuse, simple-minded dude bro in the history of Jujutsu sorcerers.
Or: Fushiguro Megumi decides it’s in his best interests to court Itadori Yuuji.
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Strangely enough, though, it is one of the things she notices about him first when he walks into her Ancient Civilizations class.
Oh, she thinks dumbly to herself at the flex of his muscles under the thin material of his shirt, the unruly curls that keeps falling into his eyes. That blindingly white smile. Oh.
Or: Clarke develops feelings for her History professor.
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Her breath catches, and then she’s moving, rushing forward to catch him. Her fingers come away bloody when she pulls back, her other hand reaching up instinctively to hold him steady.
It pulls a laugh out of him, the sound wet and raspy. “Miss me already, princess?” Bellamy says, sounding infuriatingly, incorrigibly smug despite the fact that he’s bleeding from a sizable hole by his side.
Or: Bellamy's dying, so it seems like a good time as any to tell Clarke Griffin how he feels about her.
And then he doesn't.
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“Well, to start,” Clarke says dryly, ticking off her fingers. “There’s my name. Then came the hair cut, and the baggy clothes, and my mom fudging some papers for me because no one can know that my stepbrother bailed on something yet again, so—”
“You’re posing as a guy in a prestigious all boys academy,” Raven cuts in. “Got it. Any other impossible feat you wanna try out? Stealing Luna’s herbal tea? Challenging Anya to a knife fight?”
Posing as her cousin for a summer arts program shouldn't be too hard, really. Except for the part that it's in a all-boys school, and that her roommate is none other than Bellamy Blake. (Or: a She's The Man au.)
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i feel we're close enough (i wanna lock in your love) by prosciutto
Fandoms: The 100 (TV)
01 May 2018
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But he’s not looking out in the distance, or at the trees. He’s looking at her, his gaze tracking the movement of her fingers through her hair, the heat in it sending a frisson of anticipation surging down her spine.
She could be wrong, but if the way he’s staring is any indication, it’s almost as if he likes it.
Or: three times Clarke catches Bellamy staring at her new hair, and one time she does something about it.
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She stops, turning towards him so suddenly that he balks, backing up. “I can teach you some figure skating moves.”
It’s his turn to stare now, barely contained curiosity and anticipation flooding in, all at once. Shaking his head so as to clear it, he crosses his arms over his chest, grounding himself. “What makes you think I want to learn how to do that?”
Clarke gives a nonchalant jerk of her shoulders at that, launching into a spin so effortless that it renders him speechless for a full minute. “Who doesn’t?”
Clarke Griffin needs a partner. Bellamy Blake just happens to walk into her rink.
(Or: Bellamy and Clarke as ice dancing partners, training together through the years to the Olympics.)
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“Maybe not,” she counters, leaning forward in her seat so she’s looking him right in the eye. “But I know who you are. You’re the one who wrote a piece about how much you hated Princess Ariadne’s casting.”
The smile he shoots her in return is more of a smirk than anything. “And you’re the one who’s playing her,” he quips, tilting at his chin. The motion is teasing, almost challenging, and she feels her pulse pick up, despite herself. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Or: Bellamy is less than pleased when soap opera star Clarke Griffin lands the lead role in the Callister reboot. So, naturally, he writes about it.
It’s not supposed to blow up. She’s not supposed to respond to it either, but here they are.
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It’s obvious and annoying and above all, inconvenient. Sure, it’s been six years, but he and Clarke have always been a unit of sorts. The thought of someone else— someone he actively dislikes— trying to fit himself into their space chafes against him.
“Relax tiger,” Madi smirks, handing him a skewer of charred, unidentifiable meat. “She still likes you best, you know.”
He snaps out of his reverie, scowling. From here, he can just make out Clarke standing by the bonfire, lost in animated conversation with he-who-must-not-be-named. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Or: Clarke acquires a new shadow when Eligius lands down on earth. Bellamy handles it spectacularly well, naturally. -
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"I won’t have to,” he reminds her, smirking. “Secret Santa, remember? I’m going to witness you strike out in-person.”
It occurs to her, then, that she’s going to have to give Bellamy Blake the best gift there is just to prove him wrong. It’s simultaneously thrilling as it is a terrifying, considering how they had still been snapping at each others heels all of two weeks back. “Maybe,” she says, then in the most nonchalant tone she can muster, “or maybe I’ll knock the socks off said giftee.”
Clarke knows that gift-giving is a stressful enough experience as it is, but having to buy a gift for Bellamy Blake just makes it all that much worse, really. (Or: A bellarke secret santa au).
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Clarke’s still looking at him when he finally brings himself to turn away, her gaze impossibly soft, but it’s the way she says his name that breaks him, in the end. “Bell.”
He closes his eyes, the motion reflexive. “Letters,” he says finally, sounding absolutely wrecked, despite himself. “They’re letters I wrote to you, while you were gone.”
Bellamy gets into the habit of writing letters to the girl he left behind in the six years they’re apart. But as it turns out, Clarke’s alive, and she’s read them. (Or: the fallout of a love confession six years in the making.)
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“You know you’re being ridiculous, right?” Clarke points out, smoothing out her pile of blankets neatly. She has her phone out, the screen illuminating her face as she taps at it calmly—as if they’re at a normal sleepover and not a place where he’s pretty sure actual murders have went down. “We’ve been here for the past five hours. If someone wanted us dead, we’d already be.”
“Something,” he corrects, because he’s a pedantic asshole like that. “Saying someone insinuates that we can reason with it.”
“Demons can be reasonable. You’re just not giving them a chance to.”
Bellamy didn’t think it could get any worse than being assigned to host a ghost-hunting programme, except his co-host is Clarke Griffin, so of course it can. (Or, a bellarke buzzfeed unsolved au, basically.)
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A collection of tumblr prompts and drabbles of Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin in every other universe.
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Which brings her to this exact moment, really: Sitting in the same toilet cubicle that she and Bellamy have fucked in countless times before; pregnancy test in hand and pants around her ankles.
“Shit,” she mutters, staring down at the pink plus symbol before her. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Or: Clarke has never considered that raising a baby together would come into the equation when she started sleeping with Bellamy Blake, but here they are.
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He can’t help it, he scowls. “Wow. You know, for some Jiminy Cricket, moral compass bullshit, you’re kind of rude.”
That pulls a sputtering noise out of her, the noise distinctly disbelieving. “You think I’m your conscience?”
Bellamy’s pretty sure that hearing voices in his head is bad enough, let alone the fact that it’s coming from his supposed soulmate. (Or, a bellarke soulmates au, basically.)
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Bellamy’s already there by the time she makes her way to the centre of the room.
She didn’t get a good look at him before, so Clarke takes the time to look at him now. He’s not all that much taller than she is, but the breadth of his shoulders feels worrying, somewhat. His skin is marked with a array of calluses and scars, white against his tanned skin, and the deft, sure movements he makes confirms that he’s every inch the warrior he’s promised to be.
Swallowing, she steps forward, meeting his gaze. His face remains carefully blank, same as before, when Kane had told her that they’d be married.
In hindsight, marrying a total stranger may not have been one of Clarke's brightest ideas.
(Or: Arranged Marriage AU. Clarke seals an alliance with the Broadleaf clan by marrying Bellamy Blake.)
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It feels impossible to think of a future when they’re not running, somehow. A future where they were just Bellamy and Clarke, instead of Bellamy and Clarke, international fugitives and destroyers of diplomatic relations, one stolen tank and several wrecked cities at a time.
But they’re together, still, and for as long as they are, well. Bellamy will always have hope.
Bellamy, Clarke, and the life they finally get to lead after everything’s been said and done. (Or: a mini-sequel of sorts to Sleight of Hand.)
Series
- Part 2 of Sleight of Hand
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You Steal the Air out of My Lungs (You Make Me Feel It) by prosciutto
Fandoms: The 100 (TV)
18 Jun 2017
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But then he opens his big, stupid mouth, and suddenly all of her feelings of goodwill go up in smoke, because Bellamy Blake is, undoubtedly, a massive asshole.
He won’t stop calling her Princess, for one, and makes a face every time she so much as asks a question about the cash register. The constant jibes about her having gotten the job due to nepotism (so their boss may also be her mom’s fiancé, sue her) certainly don’t help either, and he actually laughs when a book display falls on her foot.
Suffice to say, he is definitely not her favorite person. On particularly bad days, she entertains a fantasy or two of shoving him down a flight of stairs. On worse ones, she dreams of pushing him down a manhole.
Still, murderous tendencies aside, Clarke doesn’t mean to actually run him over with her car.
Or: Clarke's rivalry with her co-worker takes a sharp left turn after she accidentally runs him over with her car. (And not entirely in the way she was expecting, either.)