Chapter Text
"I’ll definitely go to hell for this,’ Ned Stark told himself before he felt Robert’s knot settle inside him, filling him with the hot seed of his best friend, his sister’s betrothed, the love of his life... and, if the bite on his neck meant anything, his alpha.
Well. It could be worse. He could have presented as an Omega in the middle of the feast, and then things would have been a true disaster. After what happened with Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar and that damned crown, father would have had a stroke if Robert started fucking him in front of all the guests. He didn’t doubt Robert would have done it.
When he came to the Harrenhal tourney, he hadn’t expected any of this to happen. He didn’t expect much, to be honest. If he had left the comfort of the Vale to come to the Whents’ castle, it was only because he wanted to see his family, nothing more.
He should have seen the signs. The heat rising, but only for him. The increasingly intense smells, the looks from the alphas. He ignored too many things. He had been naive. But it wasn’t fair, he was a beta, or at least he was supposed to be—he had no reason to believe he was going into heat.
Not that he was truly happy being a beta, but he wasn’t unhappy either. He had made peace with his second gender a long time ago. When he turned fifteen and didn’t develop any scent, he accepted his fate. He wasn’t an Omega like Mother, nor was he an alpha like Brandon or Father.
He was a beta.
He didn’t need to be an alpha—a second son didn’t need to be an alpha. Only the head of House Stark needed to be an alpha. He didn’t need to be an Omega either. With the betrothal between Brandon and Catelyn Tully, Father’s southern ambitions were satisfied.
He was a beta like most people in Winterfell, and that was fine.
He had resigned himself to being Brandon’s right hand when his brother became Lord Stark. He would watch over Lyanna and Benjen, who hadn’t presented yet. If he was lucky, Father would arrange a marriage with a northern beta girl.
He hadn’t thought of Robert as anything more than a friend for many, many years. Robert had presented as an alpha very early. They hadn’t even spent a couple of months under Lord Arryn’s care when Robert became an alpha. Back then, with the innocence of children and having become best friends, they planned to marry if he, Ned, presented as an Omega.
But his presentation never came, and as time passed, they stopped mentioning it until it was forgotten, along with their toys and wooden swords. They grew up and began to wield real swords, living as they were meant to: an alpha and a beta who were best friends.
Then Robert, as volatile and fierce as the storms of his ancestral home, asked for Lyanna’s hand. They didn’t talk about it, nor about the resemblance between the Stark siblings.
He wouldn’t deny that it hurt, that he cried, but there was little he could do. Robert was going to become Lord of Storm’s End and marry a beta or an Omega. It was his duty. There always had to be a Lord and Lady Baratheon ruling over the Stormlands.
Lyanna wasn’t Ned, but she would be enough for Robert. Neither of them said it, but both thought it, and they accepted it.
He doesn’t think that’s possible now.
Not with Robert thrusting deeper, filling him with his seed while telling him how much he loves him and how tight and wet he is, how no one else could ever take him, and all the things he’ll do to him once his knot goes down. Damn. Robert’s words and voice are doing things to him, or maybe it’s the heat.
Sorry, Lyanna.
He’s sure Robert has already left a baby in his belly. He’s presented as an Omega, and he’s in heat. Everyone knows that Omegas in heat end up pregnant.
Besides, even though his mind is fogged by hormones, he remembers that he was the one who begged Robert to knot him and put a baby in his belly... and Robert has never denied him anything.