#this is for u buddy

[insertsickusername13]

this is quite possibly the worst thing I have ever written (not self-deprecating, just objective, I'm awesome, I love myself, blah, blah blah) but I'm sharing it bc the richjake fandom needs to be fed.

inspired by this post (link may or may not work, I'm bad at tech, it's by @theabyssgazesalsointoyou and the gist is rich wearing jake's clothes and jake loving it but I like...twisted the idea. a lot. for my own purposes.) and one of my headcanons that I can't say without spoiling the whole thing. kinda. whatever.

anywho here is this fic. i wanted it to be like 700 words but it's 2611 and I'm not giving you any hints as to what it's about, just read it!! for me!! anywho enjoy

Before moving in with Jake, Rich had spent almost every night at Michael’s house. Despite being hesitant to let a scarred arsonist sleep at their house, Michael's parents had grown to accept him as almost a son within days. He did chores, went to family events, he even started to rival Jeremy’s title as their favorite friend of Michael’s. He didn’t quite snatch the spot before Jake invited him over for dinner one night and, instead of just cooking Rich pasta, gifted him an entire bedroom and house key. (To please Michael’s parents, Rich had always called that night ‘the great kidnapping’)

Rich was endlessly grateful to Jake for letting him move in, happy to not only have his own space but also to get the privilege of waking up to see that gorgeous face in his kitchen every morning. He wouldn’t have it any other way, really.

But there was still that small part of him that was only sixteen, and though Jake gave him independence and a new type of love Rich had never thought would be directed his way (it couldn’t be romantic, Jake was straight, but there was this glowing adoration in Jake’s eyes whenever he looked in Rich’s direction that made Rich forget about the SQUIP and fire), he couldn’t offer the same familial love Michael’s household could. 

So, no more than once a month, Rich would spend the night at Michael’s. It wasn’t the same as it had been before—Rich was a guest this time around rather than a resident—but Michael’s parents still lit up at the sight of him and spent the entire night feeding him and playing board games in the living room. They asked about school, girls, boys—all the things Jake subconsciously knew and didn’t need to ask about. Rich, grinning, would happily answer all their questions while Michael (sometimes with Jeremy, sometimes alone) would do something or other in the background, completely unentertained. 

Rich looked forward to those nights. Jake knew he looked forward to those nights. Which was probably why he decided not to tell Rich he had a 101.8 degree fucking fever.

“Since when?!” he whisper-yelled into his phone speaker, holding it close to his mouth to keep as quiet as possible. He was hiding in Michael’s bathroom, sitting on the edge of the bathtub while Michael and his family ate dinner. He was supposed to be with them, but Brooke had been texting him non-stop for the past ten minutes, and considering their friendship mostly consisted of group events and choosing each other for group projects in classes they had together, he decided it was probably urgent enough to sneak away from dinner to see what the hell was going on. 

“I don’t know!!” Brooke whisper-yelled back, mimicking Rich even though she had no reason to keep quiet, “He was complaining about having a headache earlier?”

Rich ran a stressed hand through his hair. He could hear his heel tapping against the tile floor, though he was completely unaware of the motion. He wasn’t—he wasn’t that overprotective, okay? He knew Jake could handle himself in almost any situation. But he also knew Jake was probably the most independent person he’d ever met, and if he texted Brooke asking for help (technically he’d asked for, quote, ‘love and affection’, but for him, that was practically the same thing), then he was probably on the verge of death. So yes. He was stressed. Not panic-attack-break-down kind of stress, but reaching not-abiding-to-speed-limits-on-the-way-home levels.

“Is he gonna be okay on his own?” he asked, knowing full well that whether or not Brooke said no, he’d probably still end up going home anyway. He thought mournfully back to the wonderful meal Michael’s parents had prepared for him. Honestly, with the image of Jake all alone at home, it suddenly didn’t seem that appetizing. 

“I don’t know, probably. He said he threw up.”

“Fuck. Okay. You don’t need to go over, it’s fine. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Are you sure? I can probably—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure. He’ll probably be embarrassed as fuck if he finds out you had to come over and take care of him.”

“He literally asked me to.”

“He’s not mentally stable right now, it doesn’t count,” Rich replied, already getting up and opening the bathroom door. 

“Fair point. Don’t tell him I told you, by the way, he doesn’t want you to know.”

“Seriously?! That ass—” he glanced down the hall to see Mrs. Mell looking at him curiously. “ —jerk,” he amended.

“Shut up. He was being nice, wanted you to enjoy Michael’s house and all.”

“Of course. I hate him. I’m gonna go now, I’ll text you when I get there. Bye.”

“B—” her voice cut off before she could finish. By the time she’d realized he’d hung up, his phone was already in his pocket as he walked back into the dining room. 

Mrs. Mell was giving him an innocently hurt expression, clearly confused as to why he left dinner just to take a phone call in the bathroom. Rich felt guilt well up in his throat—-this house was quite possibly the closest thing he had to a real family—but Jake. Jake took priority over every other thing on this planet, no matter how loving or kind.

“I’m really sorry,” Rich said, walking back to his seat only to stand behind his chair rather than sit down. “Jake’s got a fever and I can’t—I gotta go make sure he’s okay.”

Mrs. Mell #2 (not Rich’s least favorite, just the second one he was introduced to) frowned. 

“Aww, sweetie,” she said, “Are you sure you have to go?”

“Yeahh,” Michael said, voice drawn out by the excesses of weed he’d done before Rich arrived (Jeremy had been over, Rich didn’t want to know what they’d been doing in that basement), “Are you sureee?” 

Rich was positive Michael’s parents didn’t notice his sarcasm.

“Yeah, I know, it’s terrible,” Rich said, deadpan just to piss Michael off, before turning to his parents. “Seriously, I would love to stay, but he’s a total mess. Can we reschedule for next weekend?”

Even as he said it, even as they were offering to let him take leftovers home with him, Rich was drifting towards the door, mind already focused completely on Jake. He slipped his shoes on as quickly as he could and left, offering goodbye smiles and adult-leaving-an-adult-party waves (since moving in with Jake, a lot of the things he did seemed a lot more adult now. Small talk with strangers, paying bills, going grocery shopping—growing up wasn’t nearly as life-changing as he thought it was going to be. Most of the time, it just consisted of snuggling with Jake on the couch as they did homework together).

He didn’t let his fake smile falter until he was pulling out of their driveway messily, hitting the brakes too hard when he realized he was going too fast and forgetting to switch on his turn signal until he was already rounding the corner out of their neighborhood. He considered texting Jake, but he didn’t find the time to pick up his phone between buying cold medicine from CVS and searching the isles for Jake’s favorite snacks and an herbal tea that was advertised to reduce congestion. With no update as to how Jake was doing, he ran a few red lights and ignored a few laws that were probably important for the safety of everyone on the roads on the way home.

“Jake?” he called the second he opened the door. The whole house reeked of sickness, the blinds pulled down, the lights off, and the kitchen messy. There was a pot on the stove with ramen still in it, a half-eaten pop tart on the island, and a couple of bowls on the counter. Rich cringed. Jake was a neat freak. Not a good sign. 

Rich dropped his bag of stuff on the counter and cast a glance at the living room as he passed, just in case Jake was on the couch. He wasn’t.

“Jakey?” he called again, this time a bit gentler. He knocked on Jake’s bedroom door, not waiting for an answer before opening it. 

Empty. Jake’s bed was a mess, the covers pulled off and all the pillows gone, but there was no Jake. Rich went as far as to check the floor on the far side of the bedroom, but that was as spotless as it had been this morning. 

Okay. That was fine. This was totally fine. Stress level: phone-in-hand-to-call-the-police. Slowly reaching the-love-of-my-life-died-and-I’m-going-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-mourning. 

“Jakey? Where are you, bro?”

The bro felt heavy in his mouth, mixed dangerously with the pure, soft, obviously romantic concern.

“R’ch?” Jake called, voice so hoarse it gave up on the ‘i’ in Rich’s name and slipped right into the ‘ch’ that sounded more like a ‘k’. Rich, previously unaware that one person could sound so completely helpless, stumbled from Jake’s room and into his own, drawn to Jake’s voice like a fucking cliche, metaphorical magnet. 

“Jesus Christ,” Rich breathed. Jake was on his side, piled under both Rich’s comforter and his own. He was shivering, his face both pale and flushed with sickness. Alone. The fact he hadn’t called Rich—he’d just planned on staying here by himself—

Rich, who’d dedicated months to undoing all the damage Jake’s parents had done, sent up a curse directed both at himself for failing to notice Jake was sick earlier and Jake’s parents for leading him to believe he couldn’t ask for help when he was like this.

At least Jake had found comfort in Rich’s clothes, apparently. Four of Rich’s shirts were strewn across the bed and one of his favorite hoodies was being used as a pillow. Another was being used as a stuffed animal, Jake snuggling it with his mouth and nose burrowed in the fabric. Rich, for the life of him, could not figure out why Jake would do such a thing, considering he could hear his rattling breathing from here.

“‘M not feelin’ good,” Jake said, muffled by the shirt. Rich laughed incredulously as he knelt next to the bed and pressed the back of his hand against Jake’s forehead. 

“Yeah, buddy, I can tell. What’re you doing in my bed? You trying to get me sick too?”

For some reason, that seemed to upset Jake. His breathing quickened without deepening, and Rich could practically hear Jake’s snot leaking onto Rich’s hoodie. Disgusting. 

“No,” Jake whispered, his voice cracking, “No, Richie, I’d never, I swear, I—”

“I know, I know, it was a joke,” he replied quietly, making a small ‘shh’ing sound to try and soothe him.

Rich could see Jake frowning even behind his sweatshirt. As gently as he could, he reached for the fabric to take it away from Jake’s mouth, hoping it could help him breathe easier. The second he tried, though, Jake made a whining sound and shuffled away, hugging it closer and letting out a tiny sob. 

“No.”

“No? Okay, that’s okay. But don’t you think moving it will help you breathe?”

Jake shook his head ‘no.’ Rich frowned. Okay, different approach then.

“You’re getting snot all over my sweatshirt,” he said, plain and simple if not a bit accusatory. He sounded so much more apathetic than he felt. He was playing this ‘straight boy who doesn’t care that you look so small and helpless and oh my god I want to kiss you,  wait, no I don’t, I’m straight’ character really well.

That, unsurprisingly, got Jake to let go of it long enough for Rich to pull the sweatshirt away and add it to his growing pile of laundry. There was shuffling behind him as Jake tried to sit up. 

“Do you need anything?” Rich asked, turning back to Jake, “Soup? Medicine? A… Jake?”

Jake was upright and crying. Straight-up tears pouring down his face, eyes red and lips pursed pathetically. He was clenching the comforter against his chest and trying to hide his face behind it without getting snot on it as Rich had previously complained about. 

‘What’s—holy shit, what’s wrong?” 

Rich shot across the room, searching Jake for some injury that could cause him to fucking—

Rich had never seen Jake cry before. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to run and hide, to protect himself from such an unholy sight, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Jake here. Alone.

“‘M sorry,” Jake sobbed, collapsing forward onto Rich’s shoulder. Rich could feel Jake’s fever through his shirt and, not caring if he got sick, wrapped his arms around Jake and pulled him closer. “I didn’t wanna—I just missed you so much, and you were so so far away and you’re so tiny—”

Instinctively, in a desperate attempt to return some normalcy, Rich squeaked out, “I’m not that short!!”

Jake shook his head and cried harder. Rich ran a soothing hand through his hair. 

“You’re so short your stupid sweatshirt doesn’t fit—”

Rich paused. 

“I’m—what?”

“You—” Jake rasped through tears, “—you always wear my stupid sweatshirt when you’re sad and… and I thought it might make me happy if I could smell you, or pretend you’re here and not at stupid Michael’s, but—but you’re so small it doesn’t fit, and I tried to hug it but it wasn’t enough because I was cold and you’re warm and if you were with me I would never ever be cold, so—so I came here and I didn’t mean to mess up your clothes ‘nd make you angry.”

If Jake continued like this, Rich’s heart was going to erode away into nothing but Jake Jake Jake. He was going to get a false sense of hope that nothing could break. The world was already more golden than it had been before, already so much brighter despite the fact Jake was crying. 

“I’m not angry, idiot. I just wanted you to be able to breathe.”

Jake’s sobbing ceased. Nuzzling deeper against Rich, he whispered, sounding childish, “Are you sure?”

“Of course. Of course, dumbass.”

Jake tried to laugh with relief, but all that came out was a coarse groan and unhappy sigh. Rich kissed Jake’s forehead as he untangled himself and laid Jake back down on the bed, ignoring Jake’s protests. 

“I’m not letting myself get sick, but I promise you, you can have my entire closet until you're better, yeah?” Rich said, unable to stop his giddy smile.

Jake gave him a sleepy but content sound of agreement.

“I wan' that stupid shirt with the nerdy science pun on it," Jake breathed, already drifting off to sleep.

If any other sick person in the universe was asking, Rich would flip them off and tell them it was his favorite shirt and no one could touch it. No one was even allowed to eat spaghetti at the same table as him while he was wearing it. 

But it was pretty, smart, perfect Jake, so Rich took it off its hanger and gave it to the poor guy to snuggle with for the next three days. 

(And if, while Jake was still delirious with fever and sound asleep, Rich snuck from the house and to Target just to get a sweatshirt for himself in Jake’s size, then no one needed to know. If he had to hide his smile behind his hand when he walked into their apartment a week and a half later to find Jake cooking dinner in that same sweatshirt, then only God was his witness. If he was so overwhelmed at the sight that he grabbed the drawstrings and dragged Jake down to his height to kiss him, then that was between him and Jake. 

And everyone else. Because Jake, apparently, felt the immediate need to brag about getting ‘Rich fucking Goranski, like the hottest guy fucking EVER to kiss me, Jenna, he kissed me. Me!!')

[ottosbigtop]

I think we as a society should bring back brotps. I think we should be weirder about characters being friends the same way people are weird about ships. Make those two characters who interacted once or twice besties. Make it difficult for them to get rid of each other even if they want to. Go nuts

[woolydemon]

LISTEN TO ME RN, when the character is supposed to be rlly strong and muscular and buff PUT FAT ON THAT GUY fat is so fucking necessary to have a physical build that is so strong MAKE THEM FATTTTTTTTTTTTT

[spacespacespace]

Someone’s talks abt superboy and robin and I’m js like

Do you mean loser nerd robin and cool cloned superboy?

Or the stabby stab stab robin and ray of sunlight superboy?

[z13lovebot]

Go fish

[saragrosie]

Sketching while streaming s5...

Jonathan Sims I will learn to draw you (this is my doing. I could draw him however I want and I choose to stick with an image of him in my brain that is difficult for me to draw. Masochism.)

Not s5 Mahtins below I enjoyed drawing cuz hes neat:

(Edit: I yassified Martin in the do not separate cuz I wanted his hair fluffier)

[stolenkissesdiaz]

i hope buck, eddie and shannon are haunting helena through chris rn. i hope when chris rolls his eyes and snarks back helena freezes reminding her damn well who his father is. i hope when chris bites the inside of cheek and is suddenly really interested in his hands when he’s nervous about something helena scrunches her eyebrows in confusion bc she swears she’s seen it before and her eyes widen as she recalls eddie’s friend, the same friend who was there when they picked up chris, having the same mannerisms when eddie and his team came to texas. i hope when chris asks for the ice cream from the store 45 minutes from their house near the park and he picks rocky road helena swallows roughly bc shannon would do the same when she missed eddie and/or was sad. i hope she’s violently reminded no matter how much she pretends, that child will never be hers in the way she’s so desperately been trying to make it be for years. i hope she’s reminded of her damn place in chris’ life.

[girldadbuckley]

I think I'm just gonna stick it out.

[bloominglegumes]

i love normal guys doomed by the narrative

[virtualplushy]

the more time i spend w my friends and their kids the more i realize i am not a toddler but i believe in their beliefs

[quikyu]

It's been a while since I've drawn this guy

[salemsvlog]

Maddie, joking about Buck liking guys for almost 5 seasons: for the kicks an giggles

Maddie, after Buck comes out to her:

[hurrakka]

Lmao fffuck it *puts him in another au once again

[montereybayaquarium]

Just like a school of sardines, life is better when you stick together!

So we made you some Pal/Gal/Valentine’s Day cards to sealebrate your fronds!

... or your anemones!

[linkedin-offficial]

youll never guess where ive been

[389]

Charles “Tex” Smutney & Charles “Buddy”, Stanley (1941) By George Platt Lynes