Robb’s back was resting against the lip of your bathtub, wringing his hands to keep from grabbing the small piece of plastic that determined whether or not you were starting a family together.
You were sitting on top of the toilet seat, resting your chin on your fist and rocking back and forth on your heels. The waiting was undoubtedly the worst part.
His phone chimed with a small rhythmic alarm, and his hand flew for the pregnancy test, but stopped just short. He glanced up at you with a nervous smile. “Do you want to look?”
Licking your lips, you reached down to grab the test, and glanced at the indicator, processing the positive result displayed on the small white screen. You glanced up at Robb, your eyes beginning to water, as you quietly remarked: “I think I’m pregnant.”
Robb felt a burst of elation in his chest, and he quickly pulled you to your feet and into his arms, engulfing you in an embrace. The moment was too perfect for words, but he buried his nose in your hair, and held you close, the way he intended to for the rest of his life.
8 with Robb Stark please?
Published
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