Celeste. She/her. Mid 20s. Southeast Asian. Lover of all things soft and romantic.
Mainly sfw, occasionally nsfw. If you are a minor and interact with my nsfw content, you will be blocked.
Fandoms: Oscar Isaac, Marvel (Moon Knight, Across the Spider-Verse), Triple Frontier, and Star Wars
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Carrd 🤍 (made by the darling @v4mpires0ap)
Masterlist
Recent Works
Reach for the Moon, Part II. The Falling (Sabrina AU, No Moon Knight AU): (Slow Burn, Romantic) Jake Lockley x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader, (Unrequited) Marc Spector x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader, (Platonic) Steven Grant x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader
Once Upon a December (Hades & Persephone AU): Miguel O'Hara x WOC!Reader
Moon Knight Sleeping Headcanons: Moon Knight System x GN!Reader
Where the Spirit Meets the Bones: Namor/K'uk'ulkan x Filipina (Kapampangan) Sirena!Fem!Reader
Summary: Jake is your ex, giving you a taxi ride in the rain and hoping for more. (fem reader, exes to lovers, ~2.4k)
2 of 9 fics I wrote for @the-oscar-isaac-collectiveCoffee & Cream Digital Fanzine
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“I’d rather catch pneumonia and die,” you say into the open window of Jake’s cab.
He’s rolling next to you slowly, not even out of first gear, while you walk in the pouring rain.
You hug your arms around your shivering body, trying to duck your head down to keep the water out of your eyes.
“What are you even doing here? I called a reputable cab company,” you say.
“Ouch,” he rubs his chest in mock pain. “Say what you want about me as your ex-boyfriend, but I’m a good cabbie.”
You wipe your face, but you know you look like a drowned corpse. You hear Jake huff out a few breaths and you give him a death glare before he starts laughing uncontrollably.
“Shove it, Lockley.” You keep walking.
“Did you notice I grew out my mustache again?” he yells out in a low, sexy tone. “You always did love it.”
You’d loved him, actually. Everything about him.
And he had, as he’d put it, loved “spending time with you”, loved taking you to bed, loved going to dinner and the movie theater and the park to feed the ducks.
He’d loved all of the dating stuff, but he'd never said he loved you. Had hesitated when you’d asked.
It still hurts. Being the least important part of a relationship that had meant so much to you.
Some days, you weren’t sure it was the right decision to break up with him.
If you’d stayed, at least you’d still have Jake.
“Hey,” Jake says before you can turn blindly down the next street, “I’ll give you my coffee if you get in.”
You turn slightly to look in his cab again. He’s holding up a gigantic insulated tumbler.
“Por favor. For me,” he says.
You walk up to his cab reluctantly.
“I’ll get your car all wet,” you say stubbornly.
He looks over at the passenger seat. He hates it when his cab isn’t just-so.
“The hell with it. Get in,” he says.
You hop in the car. It’s familiar. Even the way he hands you the thermos of coffee, the old pathway in your brain lights up again. Just from the brush of the leather of his gloves, the curve of his nose as he checks his mirrors and pulls back into the street. His profile as he drives one-handed.
You put on your seat belt, then unscrew the top of the thermos, breathing in the life-giving aroma of strong coffee. You look down. It’s tan instead of dark black.
“Does this have cream? And sugar?” you ask. “You never put stuff in it.”
“You change how you drink your coffee?” he asks gruffly, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as you come to a stop at a red light.
You furrow your brow, but don’t say anything else. You take a tentative sip. It’s perfect. Just like everything he does. You drink a little deeper, licking your lips.
A honk makes you jump slightly. You see Jake jerk his head forward from watching you. He starts driving again. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen Jake caught unaware about anything.
“Where you going?” Jake asks. “Work? Library? Hot date?”
He says the last one a little sharper, more emphasized.
Your stomach clenches at the thought of anyone but him.
“Didn’t dispatch give you my destination?” you ask.
“Don’t be cagey, just spit it out,” he says.
“I don’t want to fight with you again.”
“Amor, I’m not fighting. I’m-“ he stops talking abruptly, with a loud sigh. “The other drivers know to keep an eye out for you. I asked them to. Your name came up, the driver sent it to me.”
“So, you’re telling me that no cab in this city is safe from your prying eyes,” you say, sipping the coffee to warm up.
Jake flicks the knob on the dash and cranks up the heat.
He takes a right at the next intersection. As the wipers clear the sheet of rain from the windshield, you realize he’s been making right turns the entire time. You’re right back where you started. It makes your lips twitch in silent laughter.
It’s a perfect reminder of why you should get out of the cab. Let Jake go. You can’t end up in exactly the same position you were in before you’d broken up.
Loving him so much. Giving your all to someone who loved the idea of you more than who you really were. Who probably thought you were replaceable. Probably had replaced you already.
“You’re laughing, but it doesn’t seem funny to me,” Jake says. “Come on. Don’t you miss me just a little bit?”
He pulls the car over, right where he’d picked you up. He puts it in park, but leaves the wipers running.
The mechanical whir, whir, pause, whir, whir, is the only sound in the cab.
You drink your coffee.
Jake takes off his cap and tosses it on the dash. He scratches his fingers through his hair. It’s a little long, extra curly from the humidity.
You look the other way, out the window.
You feel a slight pressure on your arm. Even through your rain jacket and his leather gloves you can feel the warm heat of his hand.
You shake your head slightly. Trying to tell him not to make a move. Or maybe trying to tell yourself.
“I never know what you’re thinking,” Jake says. “Used to piss me off. Then, I got used to it. Now, I miss it.”
“You don’t miss me,” you say quietly.
“I-”
You turn your head. The look on your face cuts him off. He looks startled. You know your eyes are big and angry. He puts his hands up slightly, letting you know he’s giving up. His lips are a thin line under his mustache.
He’s right. You do love that mustache.
Cursing yourself for ever getting into his cab, you take a last sip of coffee and screw the top back on.
“Hold on, don’t leave,” Jake says, putting his hands over yours as you try to line up the threads and close the thermos. “It’s still raining like a motherfucker out there. I know you said you’d rather ‘catch pneumonia and die,’ but I’m not gonna let that happen.”
“I’m not your problem, Jake.”
“You’re forever my problem. You want to drop me? Fine. But I’m not dropping you outta my life. It doesn’t work like that.” He sounds a little angry himself now.
You lean back on the headrest and close your eyes. “Please don’t get all tough-guy about this. It’s hard enough. Breaking up is the worst and there’s no good way to do it. We’re not the kind of exes who can still be friends. So, just let me go.”
The wipers clear the rain away a few more times before Jake speaks again.
“I don’t know why we’re exes in the first place,” Jake says. He sounds stubborn and growly.
“I’m not having this argument. It’s like breaking up all over again. I’m not backsliding with you.”
“Backsliding?” Jake says. “I’m offended. Backsliding my ass.”
You can’t help but smile. Playful bickering had always been one of the most fun parts of dating him. He takes the thermos out of your hands, unscrews the top.
You open one eye and see Jake take a long pull of coffee. You lift your head.
“Okay, I have to know what’s going on with that. Since when do you put anything in your coffee other than beans and water?” you ask.
He half-shrugs, drinks again. “Reminds me of you.”
You fold your arms, trying to keep your face straight even though your lower lip is shaking. You’re still completely heartbroken. Why even bother pretending you’re not? But the way he says the coffee reminds him of you is so sweet, so honest.
Jake turns down the heat in the car so it’s a little quieter, sets the thermos in the cup holder in the door.
“Look, I know I fucked up,” Jake says. He’s not bothering with brash or flirty. He sounds tired. “I wanted to tell you how I felt. The whole love thing isn’t as easy for me as it is for you.”
“It wasn’t easy. But I did it because...” you hesitate.
“You don’t have to say it.” He sighs. He reaches over and works his hand around your forearm. He tugs at it gently until your arms uncross. He holds your hand. “I’m sorry.”
You use your other hand to wipe away a few tears that fall down your face. Your skin is dry enough now that there’s no mistaking them for rain. Jake moves over closer to you and puts his arm around your shoulders.
“I’m sorry too,” you say. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”
Jake leans his head forward so he can look at your face. “You were right to push,” he corrects you. “I should have just told you that I love you.”
You shut your eyes, every nerve ending in your body lighting up at those three, simple words. It almost hurts to hear him say it.
You feel Jake move closer to you, until his body is next to yours.
He doesn’t do anything more than pull you close, though.
“Amor,” he says. You feel his soft, warm breath on your cheek. “Te amo. I love you.”
Your heart, traitor that it is, beats for him. You scramble for your defenses, which he’s been slowly dismantling the entire time you’ve been in the cab with him. He’s good at that.
You open your mostly-dry eyes and look down at Jake’s hand resting on your lap. He takes his arm away and takes off his gloves.
They go on top of his hat on the dashboard.
Skin to skin now, he holds your hands in his.
“We belong together. Mi corazón.” He leans in, but you back your face away slightly. Hurt flashes across his face.
“It isn’t like you never used the word ‘love,’ Jake,” you say, probably too quickly. “I know you loved being together. We made a really great couple. Like, perfect. I think you liked the relationship more than you liked me.”
“I don’t know what that means. You are the relationship,” he says passionately. “I can cook dinner by myself. Watch shitty TV by myself. I can find someone to keep me warm, if that’s all I wanted. I want you. Nothing’s any good without you.”
He points to the thermos in the door. “I’ve been making coffee for you every day since you left. I don’t usually drink it. Just sits there. I’ve been hoping I drive by you on a day like today. When it’s rainy and you’re desperate enough to let me give you a ride. I pour it down the drain when I get home.”
You can’t help but look at his almost grim expression. “That’s…” you frown.
“Pathetic,” Jake smiles, his mustache twitching over his lips. “You can say it. It’s true. I’m pathetic.”
“I was going to say sad.”
“Same same,” Jake says, still grinning.
“Yeah, it kind of is, I guess,” you say, returning his smile.
He pushes his shoulder into yours. “I’m miserable. Amor, please, don’t you miss me giving you shit? Miss me making your food too spicy? Miss me at all? You must miss the free cab rides, right?”
You nod, feigning reluctance. Jake takes a breath, less of a sigh and more relief this time.
“Rain’s letting up,” you say, reaching over to turn his wipers off.
Jake’s eyes widen. He has a very hard and fast rule about not touching anything in his cab. You raise an eyebrow at him, daring him to say something.
“That was your one time,” Jake says, sliding back over to the driver’s side. “Once.”
You can’t help but smile at his annoyed tone. Most people got zero times. He’d throw them out on their asses for even checking the dashboard to see how fast he was going.
He buckles his seat belt.
“So,” he says with a smile, one hand back on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh, “where to?”
You take his hat and gloves off the dash, resting them on your lap.
“You have any birdseed in the trunk?”
Jake’s big, brown eyes sparkle. “I should’ve known you were going to the duck pond. In the rain? Really?”
You shrug. “You know I go every weekend. The ducks don’t mind the rain.”
He shakes his head lovingly.
“I happen to have birdseed, yes. Part of my emergency-running- into-you-kit,” Jake says as he checks his mirrors and pulls back out onto the street.
“I’m calling bullshit. You go feed the ducks alone, don’t you?” You ask.
Jake shoots you a look. “So did you.”
“What’s your point? That we’re both pathetic?” You laugh.
“Well, we’re not anymore, so cut it out,” Jake says, squeezing your thigh hard enough to make you laugh and twist out of his grasp. “We’re back together. End of story.”
“Whatever you say, Jake,” you say, still a huge smile on your face.
“And we’ll stop for coffee on the way.” Jake lifts his hand to brush against your face. “Black for me. And full of cream and sugar for you.”
“Oh, here we go,” you roll your eyes.
“You know, if you just use a little less every time,” Jake starts.
“Or you could use a little more every time.”
Jake makes a face. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
“Come on. Let me order you a cappuccino,” you say with a grin.
He rolls his shoulders like the very idea makes him tense. He glances over at you.
You take his flat cap off your lap and settle it back where it belongs, snug over his curly hair.
“I want to see what your mustache looks like covered in foam,” you say.
Jake laughs, the deep, warm sound filling the cab. “Okay. But I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”
You believe him. The way he says it. The way he holds your hand as he drives.
He’d let you get in his cab despite the fact you were a soaking wet mess.
Jake wouldn’t have done that for anyone else.
He wouldn’t do that for anyone but the person he loves.
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in the mood to write the most heartbreaking, gut-wrenching, tear-jerking, soul-crushing angst because i have so much grief in me that i don't know where to put it
in other words - i'm slowly inching my way through the eeaao inspired fic for miguel. every time i try to write my grief, it's so all-consuming that i'm drowning. i don't know where to put all this grief. it's stuck, and i want to get it out, and it hurts
Tumblr is so allergic to creativity in fandom spaces it's insane. I see the most artistic and intricate gifsets with cool effects and editing and gorgeous coloring that could win awards barely reach 200 notes, and then there are just gifsets of simple scenes with subtitles and almost no coloring with 5k notes. How did we let fandom creativity die? Where did the love for picspam edits, posters and screencap memes and graphics with amazing textures and overlays that made them look like actual art pieces, go? what happened to imagination and creativity?
