Tsukishima x reader | teen pregnancy series. | doubts.
characters: tsukishima | wc idk | genre. angst to fluff !| cw/tags. fluff, teen pregnancy, slightly angst, comfort. teen pregnancy series masterlist here!
You hear it in passing—two girls whispering near the lockers when they think you’re out of earshot.
“…I swear, Tsukishima was walking with her yesterday.”
“Yeah, the tall one. Blonde. She’s pretty, too.”
“Guess things with that girl aren’t going so great anymore…”
You don’t stop walking.
You don’t turn around.
But the words sink in anyway.
You learn that much without trying.
She’s in the second year. Glasses—not like Tsukishima’s, thinner frames. Long hair, always neatly tied. Quiet, smart. The kind of girl teachers trust. The kind of girl people assume makes sense next to someone like him.
You see her a few days later.
You’re waiting near the school gates when Tsukishima exits the building, his bag slung over one shoulder. He’s talking to someone beside him—taller than most girls, laughing softly.
Tsukishima says something dry, and she laughs again, nudging his arm lightly. It’s casual. Familiar.
He notices you a second later.
“Hey,” he says, walking over like nothing’s wrong. “You’ve been waiting long?”
You force a smile. “Not really.”
Your eyes drift back to her. She’s already walking away, waving once over her shoulder.
Tsukishima follows your gaze, frowning. “What?”
“Nothing,” you say quickly. “Who was that?”
He shrugs. “Aiko. She’s in my class. Needed help with physics.”
You nod, but the word lodges itself somewhere ugly in your chest.
You see them together more often—before class, after school. Sometimes Yamaguchi is there. Sometimes not.
Tsukishima doesn’t hide it. Which almost makes it worse.
He still walks you home. Still carries your bag. Still presses snacks into your hands with a muttered “eat”. Still rests his hand on your stomach when he thinks you’re tired.
But something inside you shifts.
Because Aiko isn’t pregnant.
She isn’t exhausted.
She isn’t carrying the weight you are.
And suddenly, the doubts creep in.
You start pulling back without realizing it.
You stop leaning into him as much.
You don’t reach for his hand first.
You laugh less at his dry comments.
Tsukishima notices—but he doesn’t understand.
“Did I do something?” he asks one afternoon, blunt as ever.
You shake your head too fast. “No.”
He squints. “That wasn’t convincing.”
You look away. “I’m just tired.”
He accepts it—reluctantly—but the tension lingers.
The breaking point comes on a Wednesday.
You’re heading to the nurse’s office when you see them again. Tsukishima and Aiko standing near the stairs. She’s holding a notebook, pointing at something, and Tsukishima leans closer to read it.
Your throat tightens. Your stomach twists—not from the baby this time.
You turn away before either of them can see you.
Later that day, Tsukishima finds you sitting alone behind the gym, arms wrapped around yourself.
“Yamaguchi said you skipped lunch,” he says. “Why?”
“Y/N.” His voice sharpens. “What’s going on?”
The words come out before you can stop them.
Tsukishima freezes. “What?”
“Aiko,” you say, voice shaking despite yourself. “Do you like her?”
For a moment, he just stares at you like you’ve spoken another language.
You laugh weakly. “Wow. That bad, huh?”
He steps closer. “Why would you even ask that?”
“Because she’s there all the time,” you blurt out. “Because she’s smart and calm and not… this.” You gesture vaguely at your body. “Because she doesn’t come with baggage and whispers and responsibility.”
“So that’s what this is,” he says quietly.
You feel tears burn behind your eyes. “I see how people look at you. At us. And then I see her, and it just—” Your voice breaks. “I keep thinking you’d be happier if things were… easier.”
Tsukishima exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair.
“Do you know why I help her?” he asks.
You shrug, unable to look at him. “Because you want to.”
“No,” he snaps—and then stops himself. His voice lowers. “Because she reminds me of you.”
“She panics when she doesn’t understand something,” he continues. “Gets in her own head. Thinks asking for help makes her weak.” His eyes lock onto yours. “Sound familiar?”
“I don’t want ‘easy,’” he says, stepping closer. “Easy doesn’t mean anything.”
“Then why does it feel like I’m losing you?” you whisper.
His expression shifts—something wounded flickering across his face.
“You’re not,” he says immediately. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
You sniffle. “You don’t even look at me the same anymore.”
“That’s bullshit,” he mutters. “I look at you like I’m terrified of screwing this up.”
He hesitates, then places a hand over your stomach, grounding both of you.
“I’m scared too,” he admits. “But not of you. Never of you.”
Your lips tremble. “Then why does it feel like I’m always one mistake away from being left behind?”
His hand tightens just slightly.
“Because you’re human,” he says. “And because this is hard. But don’t project that onto me.”
You laugh softly through tears. “You really suck at comforting.”
“Yeah,” he says. “But I’m not going anywhere.”
He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours.
“I chose this,” he murmurs. “I chose you. And I’m still choosing you. Every day.”
He sighs. “Yeah. Me too. For not noticing sooner.”
You stay there for a while—no grand resolution, no perfect certainty.
Just two scared teenagers, holding on.
And for now, that’s enough.
