itch (DreamSMP)

chapter 1

"Tommy?"

A soft rounded voice came, and Tommy looked over with a grunt.

"What," He says, "Is that."

Ranboo giggles nervously, arms wrapped around a small lump that had its arms slung around the tall boy's neck. "Michael." He replies, bouncing it slightly.

"What's a Michael?" Tommy blurts, and Ranboo smiles. The thing turns its head, the blue blanket strung around it wrapped around its head. They're a piglin, a baby one, to be exact. Tommy hates children.

"Tommy!" The baby piglin repeats garishly, giggling softly. Okay, hate is a strong word.

"You have a child?" Tommy asks slowly, and Ranboo shrugs, making the baby piglin bounce gently. "Me and Tubbo adopted him."

Tommy was still reeling from his earlier realization that Tubbo and Ranboo had gotten married, and if this isn't the icing on the cake he didn't know what else was. "And I 'aven't met the fella? What the hell, Ranboo?" Tommy questions, betrayed.

Michael, Tommy assumes, squirms in Ranboo's arms, sticking his arms out of the blanket. "Well- that's what I'm doing right now," Ranboo says, deadpan. "Have you not noticed the family portraits everywhere?"

Tommy grimaces, no he hadn't. He'd been caught up in his own head lately, a bit on edge, it's why he decided to visit Tubbo in the first place.

Tubbo, speak of the devil, swings open the door, swiftly shutting it in to avoid the cold. "Hey gang." The brunette drawls, and Tommy scowls.

Michael slips out of Ranboo's arms, forcing the half toned teen to crouch down and lower him safely. Michael pads over to Tubbo, the little thing, blanket dragging after him, and bumps into his legs. Tubbo bends down to pat his head, and Tommy's frown deepens.

"What the hell Tubbo?! Why didn't you tell me you had a son?" Tommy whines, gesturing wildly at the young piglin. Tubbo ignores him, the bastard, instead rising to unbutton the furred coat he donned and shrugging it off his shoulders.

Tubbo dusts the snow from his pants, shaking his head and letting his hair spring back into his face as he brushes it back. "Hey, Tommy." Tubbo says to him, more privately, softer. Tommys shoulders drop down, and he offers a small half nod with his eyes shut before he opens them again.

Ranboo watches the interaction in bewilderment, and Tubbo turns to him with a wide, toothy smile stretching across his face. "Ranboo! My beloved, sexy boy! Hello!" Tubbo waltzes over and hugs his side, and it's so casual Tommy feels his fingers tighten into a fist.

Ranboo rolls his eyes, and a playful smile curls his face as he pats the brunettes back. Tommy fake gags, turning away from the married couple and swinging his legs back over the chair.

Michael stands in front of him, sea blue softness wrapped around his shoulders. Tommy blinks, "Ayup?" He says, and Michael gives him a woopy form of a grin.

The child shuffles closer, his tee has a boldy punched out label of his name, the letters easily identifiable as comic sans. "Does he talk?" Tommy looks over to Tubbo and the tall prick, thumb jutted out in Michael's direction.

The two break out of their odd, intense staring match and muted whispers to look over at them. "A bit of common speak, he's still learning." Says Tubbo, and Tommy redirects his attention back to the toddler.

"Has he learned fuck yet?" Tommy asks, observing the child as if he were a zoo animal. "Fuck!" Michael replies, and Tommy wheezes.

Ranboo sighs, the bitch, and runs a hand against the long hairs curling on his neck. "He's already a bad influence. I knew it. Didn't I tell you I knew it?" Ranboo babbles to Tubbo, who shrugs. "I'm a bad influence too. You still married me."

Tommy leans against the counter, laughing triumphantly. "Yeah bitch! We're a packaged deal, and we both are influencers!" Michael giggles, heartwarmingly, and Tommy clutches his chest at the soft noise near his feet.

"I know, I know." Ranboo dismisses, waving his hand about.

A tug on his jeans makes Tommy look down briefly, catching sight of Michael shying away. The zombie piglin emits a soft rumbly noise, questioning. Tommy thinks for a moment, before he grumbles back an odd reincarnation of sounds he's heard from Techno. It sounds barely anything like the rough language of Piglins, but it suffices.

Michael perks, ears flicking as he tilts his head. Tommy smiles a bit goofily, a worried pinch to his brows as the piglin babbles something to him.

Tommy can feel the burning stare against the side of his face, so he snaps his gaze to the two occupants in the room. "What?" He asks defensively, Ranboo's jaw drops as he stares. Tubbo blinks owlishly.

"You speak piglin?" Tubbo says incredulously, stepping forward.

Tommy squints. "Of course not. You would know, Tubbo."

Tubbo shakes his head, lilting his lips into a grin. "Of course not, he says. Sometimes you astound me, Tommyinnit."

"Oi, what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Tommy squawks.

Tommy finds himself spending the rest of the evening in Snowchester, since he'd been invited for dinner in Tubbo and Ranboo's home. Even if he hadn't, he would've found a way to annoy them both into letting him stay out of the politeness of their hearts.

Michael strays from him, sticking close to his adoptive fathers and keeping his eyes on Tommy while he observes him behind a curtain of curiosity and shyness. Tommy ignores the child's gaze, but he especially doesn't like the odd feeling in his chest that tingles as Ranboo holds Michael close to him.

The home is soon filled with the scent of tomato soup, and Tommy sits on the sofa and flicks through a dozen photos composed of Michael, neatly written descriptions and sentiments in a slanted handwriting Tommy hates he remembers so well.

Tommy snorts at the images taken of Michael climbing on Tubbo's back, his best friends face a panicked slew of emotions, while the small toddler holds onto strands of his hair. The Polaroid is blurry, and Ranboo laughs lightly once he catches sight of it in Tommy's hands.

"I forgot about that," He says, on brand, "Michael loves to ride on his back and use his horns as handles."

Tommy snickers, "Yeah?" Tubbo is bustling around in the kitchen, busy making grilled cheese sandwiches while Michael peers over the edge of the counter to watch Tubbo press the spatula on the sandwich. Its quiet, for the most part, other than the banter provided by the brunette and his.. ugh husband.

"No. You're not allowed to come in here after last time." Said Tubbo, face flat.

"What? That wasn't even my fault!" Ranboo exclaims, and while Tommy didn't exactly know what they were talking about, it was a bit amusing to watch Ranboo flail about. "It's not like you cook any better anyways."

Tubbo's face twitched, before a sweet smile, a sickening one Tommy knew well, grew over his face. "You fucked up cereal, Ranboo. Cereal." Michael pads over to lie in a small beanbag chair near the coffee table.

"Spaghetti." Michael tells him, sagely, and Tommy nods wisely in response. "So true."