Unexpected Guest || Forbidden ABO ||
prompt: harry isn't anything but a trained gladiator, designed to protect his pack and territory. there wasn't emotion, there was only strategy and instinct.
word count: 6k
warnings: graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, fighting, war
author's note:
I upload a piece of writing every 1-2 days.
I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2
one shots (2-5kish) are posted a week.
There are currently 650 + pieces available to read
Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.
Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!
you can check it out HERE
YOU CAN GET 70% YOUR FIRST MONTH OF MEMBERSHIP!
SIGN UP THROUGH WEB BROWSER NOT THROUGH APP STORE TO AVOID IOS FEE!!!!
FIRST FIFTEEN GET A FREE MONTH OF TOP TIER HERE.
-
Harry should have killed her—for being on Styles Pack land, for daring to cross the territory line that's been there for over a century.
The law stated that any identified threat, especially if connected to the Grave Pack, was to be handled immediately.
Kill on sight with no need for mercy, and no questions asked.
Exceptions for trespassers were rare, granted only under very specific circumstances but even then, their survival was not promised.
A Grave omega so much as wandering near Styles land was considered a damger to their entire pack and there was no other option than to exterminate the threats.
A full-blooded Grave descendent, however—one of Mav’s kin, or anyone in that direct line was a death sentence waiting to be followed through on the moment they stepped into Styles territory.
There was no negotiation.
It did not matter if the intruder was an elder hunched over a walking stick or a teenage omega barely knowing the laws.
There were no protections that justified their kind on their land.
The Graves had made certain of that, hundreds of years ago, when their alphas had torn through villages in the dead of night and left Style dens in horrific scenes.
Those invasions, wars, had never been forgotten, and were now instilled in the training process.
The Graves had tried to erase the Styles legacy, and the Styles had responded by ensuring every pup in their pack knew exactly who to hate before they even knew how to shift.
Harry had grown up in that because he was the legacy.
He wasn’t raised like the other pups, not even close.
From the moment he could walk, he was being trained for his future.
A protector and punisher all in one.
The training had started before he could even understand fully.
Elders roaring commands, pushing his body past its abilities, telling him that pain was a tool and kindness was a weak mindset.
They broke him early so he could never be broken again.
And by eight, he was already on the perimeter—small paws trudging through hills of snow during patrols.
They’d thrown him to the wolves (literally), expectations higher than for any reasonable ask of a child his age.
The second patrol he was on, the one they all whispered about in awe, had not been as accurate as it was portrayed.
Harry remembered the way the cold had gotten so extreme it was painful, how it was pitch black without any light but the moon - blocked by heavy snow-filled clouds.
He had been trying to be brave but then something had moved that wasn't expected and it wasn't a little woodland creature.
It was Mav.
The Grave Pack’s leader.
The moment Mav caught Harry’s scent, the air changed with tension.
Everything in the forest fell silent—just the fear of a predator closing in.
Harry had run, not because he was a coward, but because instinct overrode everything the elders had taught into him.
He found a boulder and hid behind it, body squeezing to the freezing dirt, heart pounding in his ears.
He hadn’t realized he was losing his shift until his fur was gone and his skin was bare against the cold rock.
Mav’s snarling muzzle peaked past the stone, curled around his ankle, dragging him into the open like it was silly that he had even tried to hid.
His screams were piercing, the kind only a child makes when they know there's true danger.
Mav hunches over him, massive and imposing, hazel golden eyes glowing in a way he'll never forget.
They were glowing, almost iridescent in how vivid they were.
He had training and yet, when faced with the man, the villain of every bedtime story, all he could whisper, with a oozing, broken ankle and teeth chattering, was, “I want my mum.”
Something flickered in Mav’s expression then but the hesitation lasted no longer than a millisecond.
Mav let out a roar, enraged more by his own pause than the boy in front of him, and then he struck.
His massive paw swiped across Harry’s face, claws raking down in a diagonal, slicing into skin like it was butter.
Pain bloomed instantly - something Harry had never felt before or since.
Mav didn’t go for the throat.
He turned.
He walks away, leaving him in a mountain of snow and blood to be found by his own pack.
The version the pack retold—of their young heir who stood toe-to-toe with the Grave Alpha and lived was a lie constructed from shame.
No one knew Harry had been spared and Harry had never corrected them.
He wore the scar like trophy.
It ran from his hairline, tore through his left brow, curled around his temple and ended just at the line of his jaw.
It kept people at a distance but the truth of that moment still haunted him.
Every night the dreams came, dragging him back to that snowy night, the trauma that followed.
He’d sworn, the first time he woke up shaking in a pool of sweat, that he would never be that boy again.
Never beg.
Never cry.
Never hide behind a rock while someone else decided whether he deserved to live.
Which is why it should have been so simple—kill her and be done with it.
One snap of his teeth, she was small, she was human but that didn’t change what she was.
Harry had killed his share of Graves—more than his fair share, if counting but he didn’t keep tally, not because it haunted him, but because it had never felt like a care.
His first kill had been messy, fueled by fear and instinct and the echo of training that had been drilled into him but the second had been neater, and the third had felt easy.
He had become a gladiator and he had never lost a single match.
As his father’s body began to deteriorate, worn down by grueling decades of war, Harry rose up.
Harry had already stepped forward, had already begun taking command of council meetings, observing territory defenses, organizing patrol routes with a military-like coordination that made the pack tighter, leaner, more dangerous than they had ever been.
His father had no choice but to hand him the reins, and the pack had followed without question because Harry was not a leader they had to just trust.
He was a leader they feared, respected, and obeyed.
Unlike his father, who too often led with uncontrollable emotion—Harry made no such mistakes.
So, with all that said, there was no reason—no logical, rational reason for what happened next.
Harry was not a spoiled alpha lounging in the quarters while others risked their lives for him.
He patrolled unlike leaders before him.
Harry made it clear that no one was above duty—not even him.
It was part of what made him downright terrifying - his commitment.
But this night—this unusually chilly night in late September was different.
Harry was patrolling alone as he always did, a slow prowl on the eastern line of the territory.
Then there was a sound that was out of place.
Harry halted, freezing in place so abruptly, instantly on complete and full alert.
A noise that didn't necessarily sound like a threat but it misplaced enough to raise his hackles.
He stopped breathing for a moment to track it, and what followed made him narrow his eyes.
A hiccup.
A human hiccup but the first sound—that had been a sniffle.
His mind immediately sorted through possibilities.
A pup?
No.
He would have been alerted.
Suspicion rising quickly - he didn't like not having a definite answer.
Harry shifted lower into a stalking posture, his muscles bunching for full force impact if necessary.
He crept forward, pushing through a bramble of brush, low hanging branches, and dying overgrowth.
He was noting how unused the path was—this wasn’t a place people came to.
It was high elevation, too steep for most, and the air here was thin, nothing a human should be comfortable breathing in especially in this weather.
Which is why it was so bizarre when he catches the scent—sweet, thick, overpowering.
Blood.
But not just blood, omega blood.
It hit him like a punch to the chest—delicate, floral, sugary like a freshly baked warm apple pie but underneath it was a bitter note of pure distress. .
It didn’t take more than a few seconds to find her.
She was there, laid out in the clearing like a hand-picked sacrifice.
A human omega.
Her body was crumpled awkwardly, and her scent was everywhere now that he was in such close proximity.
She wasn’t moving much—just enough to press a hand to her leg, her palm drenched red and dripping, trying to stop the pulsing gushes of blood.
She was a mess of shaking and bleeding limbs.
Her back was turned away from him, completely exposed, stupid, oblivious to the danger that surrounded her.
Stupid, unassuming omega who had no idea that she was lying there in the territory of the most dangerous alpha she'd ever encountered.
She had just made the single worst mistake of her life.
Harry snarled, loud and brutal and laced with rage.
The sound shook the trees, tore through the forest like a tsunami because this wasn’t one of his.
Not one of his omegas.
He didn’t recognize that scent, not even in passing.
And now that he was up close, there was no doubt—this was a stranger, a trespasser..
The omega’s shoulders tensed, but it was the barest response, a reflex more than fear, and it was painfully clear her body wasn’t capable of doing much more than that.
There was no attempt to stand, not even a flinch or glance over her shoulder.
She remained turned away from him entirely as if his snarl as if he weren’t the most dangerous living thing she could possibly encounter in this forest.
She didn’t fucking look at him.
And Harry didn’t know whether she was fearless or the most absolutely idiotic creature he’d ever laid eyes on.
There was a kind of recklessness to her stillness, something that made his instincts itch in confusion—because no omega should behave like this.
She wasn’t posturing for dominance, wasn’t trying to soothe him either.
She was just… lying there, bleeding with her face turned away, like she could pretend he didn’t exist long enough to make him vanish.
A growl rumbles low in his throat, deeper this time with the clear intention of provoking a reaction.
He wasn’t asking for her attention—he was demanding it but she still didn’t turn around.
All she did was wrap her arm tighter around her wounded leg, her palm pressing into the shredded skin with desperation, trying to slow the blood that leaked between her fingers.
Her breathing was shallow, uneven, and yet even in the middle of that obvious distress, she snaps at him.
“God, would you shut the fuck up?” She groaned, her voice rough, annoyed as she started bending forward slightly as if that would help, “My head is pounding. I can’t think straight. I’ve lost a lot of blood.”
The growl caught in Harry’s throat, dissolving, not because he was satisfied—but because he was confused.
His head cocked to the side slowly not unlike the way a dog tilts its head when it hears an unfamiliar noise.
Was this a trick?
He couldn’t begin to make sense of what was happening.
Her voice wasn’t defiant, exactly—it wasn’t even scared.
It was annoyed like he was a nuisance, like he was an inconvenience here.
And he's never once been treated in this way.
So he moved forward, slow, predatory caution as his massive paws crunched onto the forest floor under the dead leaves.
His mind screamed that this could be a set-up, a lure sent by the Graves—perhaps bait laced with pretty smelling pheromones, meant to distract or seduce him.
But it didn’t smell staged.
The blood was real.
Did this omega—this half-dead, blood-soaked trespasser just tell him to shut up?
He blinked slowly, brows twitching downwards, more in disbelief than anger, because it didn’t compute.
He took another step forward, this time circling - he rounded her like a cheetah preparing to pounce.
His eyes narrowing, his every movement deliberate, a display of control and power.
Dominance.
He expected her to flinch, finally, to look up, to see him and understand the mistake she had made.
But she didn’t, not even when he was within reach.
And when she finally did come into full view, he paused because up close, the details were clearer and she was a mess.
She was radiant, beautiful but broken.
She wasn’t old, wasn’t a pup.
She was his age, or near enough, and she had that softness omegas often carried in their features.
Her cheeks were caked with dirt, skin clammy from blood loss, her lashes thick and clumped from tears.
Her eyes—doe-like, wide in the haze of pain, they were glassy and unfocused but strikingly familiar, lashes fluttering faintly as she blinked in slow tired bats.
Her hair was a disaster, a knot of twigs and leaves knotted into a bun that had long since fallen, strands stuck to her blood and sweat-slicked neck.
Her clothing was torn in places and her exposed skin was a story of scratches, deeper cuts, and friction rashes.
Harry—brutal, unrelenting, killer, Harry stood over her, trying to piece together why he hadn’t already sunk his claws into her.
Why wasn't he tasting her blood on his tongue right now?
Why was he questioning at all?
It would be an easy kill, it would have been easily justifiable in front of the council, and he’s killed for way less.
Her words are slurred, like someone drunk off too much wine, but Harry can hear the difference instantly.
It’s not intoxication.
It’s blood loss, shock, and a deep exhaustion of her body fighting.
“I—am on Graves territory, right?” She mumbles, jaw slack, tongue thick in her mouth,“I don’t—uh—recognize… you. You should leave before—um—they kill you…”
And that’s the moment his blood stops moving.
A cold, bone-chilling realization begins to settle in his chest, an involuntary growl stirs to life deep in his throat.
Those unmistakable golden hazel eyes—he knows them.
This had to be her.
Mav’s daughter.
The forbidden, impressively-guarded omega that had escaped every attempt to get close—protected so aggressively by the Graves like she was treasured gold.
He’d long accepted that the opportunity to touch her, to end her, would never come.
But now she was here, bleeding out right in front of him.
And Harry was so stunned by the weight of the realization that he barely registered the next moment - her eyes widening in panic as her sluggish brain started catching up.
“You’re… oh fuck.”
Normally he’d laugh.
Really, he would.
The look of dawning horror on her face should’ve been the most satisfying thing he’d seen in years.
Instead, his lips peeled back into a vicious snarl, flashing those gruesome canines.
His howl cracked the silence, sharp and cruel, so loud that she flinched hard, spine curling inward on reflex, her head ducking between her arms as if she could protect herself from the sound alone.
She recoiled—good.
She should be afraid.
And yet, Harry felt nothing close to satisfaction because she started crying again.
“I wasn’t—There was a clap of thunder and my dog ran off. I—um—I was so anxious because he’s old and half-blind and I must’ve been so panicked that I crossed territories.”
Harry didn’t respond.
His silence screamed ‘no shit’, the blank expression reinforces it.
And yet… he was still listening to her.
Still not biting into her soft throat, or maybe even her belly, where the fabric of her shirt clung damp with sweat and blood and something inside him twitched at the idea of sinking his fangs there just to see how quickly she’d go limp.
She kept talking, through tears, through haze, through what might’ve been a concussion.
“And then some wolf—I’m a bit confused—attacked me? At first I thought it was one of mine trying to drag me back home, but he sunk his teeth into my thigh and started attacking me. It was a younger wolf, maybe not even a teenager, and I was able to kick him off but he—um—got me good still.”
His nostrils flared.
That would explain why he hadn’t been alerted to her trespassing—because some stupid little pup probably ran off after getting overpowered, too embarrassed to report that he failed to subdue an omega.
Mav’s daughter.
She was in rough shape and Harry should kill her.
It was what he’d always wanted.
It was what he’d sworn to do the second she became vulnerable enough to reach.
He should have finished it now but he couldn’t.
He physically couldn’t.
His body wouldn’t obey.
Why couldn’t he just do it?
Why did her bloodied whimpering pull at something behind his ribs?
Why did he feel sick at the idea of leaving her here to die?
Growling in disbelief at himself, Harry stepped forward and ducked low, brushing his muzzle against her trembling hand.
She flinched hard, fingers curling inward, but he nudged gently until she moved it just enough for him to examine the wound.
It was bad—but not fatal.
The pup had missed her femoral artery by pure dumb luck.
Still, she needed tending before she could register what was happening, Harry clamped his jaws into the fabric of her hoodie, careful but firm, and she let out a sob of startled fear as he hauled her up against his side, adjusting until she slumped weakly across his back.
Her hands fumbled for his coat, gripping the thick fur with what little strength she had.
“I… are you taking me somewhere else to kill me?” She whispered, so small, so quiet.
And fuck him for the way it affected him.
He didn’t answer.
He only took off, running fast and low, paws pounding across the dirt as her body jolted slightly with every stride.
When they neared the edge of where their main quarters is - his den too, Harry slammed to a halt, dropping down to carefully lay her on the grass before ducking out of sight to shift.
When he emerged moments later, dragging on his pair of running shorts, sweat clinging to his bare chest, she was barely awake.
Her eyes fluttered open and closed but no words came out..
When he bent down to scoop her into his arms, her voice rasped out again, weak and raw, "What are you gon’a do to me?”
Harry facial expression doesn't move.
“You’re going to keep your fuckin’ mouth shut and not mention to any of my men who you are. Do you understand me?” His voice was full alpha, coated in danger and warning, it was a threat.
Her gaze met his.
For the first time, really met it and despite how her body slumped in his arms, despite the fact that she was hanging on by a thread, she nodded that she understood.
Her head tilted back against his shoulder, her eyes fluttered shut, and she curled into him like he wasn't her biggest living threat.
Harry clenched his jaw, his instincts weren't to kill anymore, they were to care.
Which is why he's bringing her into his personal territory, to tend these wounds, and keep her alive.
-
The great thing about Harry being the head alpha was that he didn’t have to demand privacy, he didn’t need to ask for it, because privacy was something that came with the title.
It was given and assumed without question, and anyone who dared try to violate that without valid cause understood they would face consequences far beyond a simple reprimand.
In his world, dominance did not loud to be recognized — it existed in the space around him, in the instinctive bow of heads and the way everything seemed to still when he entered a room, and everyone in the pack knew that crossing a boundary where Harry Styles was concerned was not simply stupid, it was deadly.
Especially when it came to an alpha’s den — the most sacred space of all, the place that existed solely for him.
It was the one place an alpha did not share unless it was with a mate, the only person ever permitted to claim space with him, and because Harry did not have a mate, it meant no one had ever crossed that threshold but him.
Not pack members, not pack leadership, not the most trusted beta, not even the ones he considered closest to family — no one.
If an omega ever entered an alpha’s den without bond or permission, it would be considered an act of intimacy or an act of war, and since Harry wasn't bonded, the rule was simple - there had been no omegas in his den, not once, not ever.
Which made the reality even more jarring — the sight of him now, carrying the trembling, bleeding omega who had been his blood lust for years.
Cradled in his arms like something delicate and precious even though every fiber of his being was supposed to hate her - more than anything else on this earth.
The one omega his wolf truly hated, feared, dreamed about killing, and yet here she was, pressed against his chest like she was special - he never usually handles any omega like this.
However, here he was, bringing this bleeding omega into his den, in a space his alpha wouldn’t physically allow him to bring any other omega into, let alone that omega that he’s had actual dreams about killing.
Her hand was curled into the hairs at the base of his neck and he doubts she realizes she is even doing it, it’s far too comfortable or friendly for the circumstances, but Harry guesses he could say the same, given the fact that he was carrying her bridal style over his doorstep and into his home.
“Do you ever clean? Reeks like you,” The omega slurs, her eyes are closed and her nose is scrunched up, and she’s still resting her head against his bicep and chest despite her displeasure.
“S’because you’re in my den,” Harry rumbles roughly, there is no soothing, nothing sweet about his words because he’s not happy about them, he’s not happy about the fact that he’s allowed this either.
YN’s eyes flutter open, it seems like an effort as she glances around, she’s too tired to do anything other than to run her mouth, “Shouldn’t be in here, s’not — m’not your ma-mate. Y’know?”
The low, barely-there laugh that Harry lets out doesn’t have humor in it, “Oh, believe me. I know.”
It's bitterness because the irony of this whole situation is so fucking absurd that there’s nothing else for him to do, and he feels his chest tighten when he realizes she’s slumped back down and started to drift off.
“Hey,” Harry’s voice is harsh, loud and shattering, “You need to stay the fuck awake.”
YN stirs slightly but barely opens her eyes, shaking her head with a sad whine, “Wan’na sleep now.”
“No, you’re not going to sleep,” Harry growls angrily, she’s defiant, not listening as she goes even more lax in his arms, and maybe he does get a bit of satisfaction when he pinches her arm hard on the fleshy part to wake her, “Wake the fuck up, whiny little puppy.”
Puppy can either be used as a loving pet name or an insult — Harry was definitely trying to use it as an insult for the record.
The yelp of pain she lets out startles him even, but his face doesn’t give anything away, he isn’t startled by the loud noise.
He’s freaked the fuck out by how his alpha doesn’t like that sound, not because it’s annoying but because it tugs on something deep in his chest, and it fucking hurts.
“Stop, stop making that sound right now,” Harry demands angrily as he steps towards his bathroom, where there's a chaise, it’s the only soft place to lay her beside his bed, and he can't waste more time so he'll just have to discard the thing later.
“You pinched me, fucker,” She accuses him, she manages to have an attitude even though she's lost enough blood to be concerning.
Harry lays her down gently despite how harsh and dangerous the rumbles in his chest are, and through his training to become who he is, comes along with first aid knowledge.
“You got underwear on?” Harry asks as his hands come to the waistband of her leggings, “I need to get these off.”
YN stares at him for a moment, debating whether she's going to tell him to fuck off, and instead, her bratty tone dissipates and she nods, “I do.”
Harry doesn't take any more time in shimmying them down her legs, she lets out this pathetic mewl at the pain it causes her, and she's started crying again.
The anger boils in Harry at how his alpha is curious, feeling so aware of this omega’s feelings when she should be dead under his claws.
There's blood seeping into the white cushion of his furniture, his enemy’s blood spilling in the way he least expected.
“For fucks sake,” Harry curses as he observes the damage, “Did you even try to put up a fight or did you just lay there?”
It was a bad injury, worse than Harry had thought, but she'd be okay as long as he got it taken care of right now.
YN shivers, it was cold in here for a human, Harry ran hot as wolves do, and he needed a constant push of air con even in the winter.
There were goosebumps all over her legs, her teeth gritted as she tries her best to keep her eyes open, and her arms came to cross her chest as she attempted to keep warm.
Harry grabs his medical supplies, coming over and beginning to clean the wound with alcohol, and her hand shoots down to grip his wrist.
There's a spark there, sharp and electric but not in a way where he wants to pull away, and he doesn't know why her touch feels like that.
“H-hurts,” The omega pleads, he doesn't know what she's asking for but it's desperate, and she doesn't try to pull him off or stop him.
Harry blinks up at her, a snarl ripping through his chest as he looks at her molten golden shimmering eyes, the same eyes as the man who left the scar on Harry's face.
It infuriates his alpha, his voice harsher than ever as he snaps at her, “Do you want me to stop this from getting worse or let you bleed out? I don't give a fuck either way.”
He wishes that was true but for some reason, his alpha doesn't want her to bleed out even if his logical brain does.
YN releases the grip on his hand, her eyes are tracing over his face, and he can tell right away what she’s looking at.
He took pride in the mark to the public, shame with the true story behind it that YN surely knew, that he was a coward who cried out for his mum and couldn’t hold a shift, and in this world, him being eight-years-old at the time doesn’t matter or add context.
“Keep fuckin’ lookin’,” Harry bites out as he glares at her once before focusing his attention to the wound, wiping the alcohol on it even as she twitches, “Get a look at what your no-good bastard of a father does to pups. Heartless cunt, he is.”
Harry’s grip unintentionally gets too tight, squeezing her hip with the hand that wasn’t wiping to keep her still, and he can feel the weight of her bones underneath the skin as his fingertips dig in.
It wasn’t purposeful but he can recognize right away he actually hurt her.
YN lets out a surprised groan of pain, her hand coming to shove at his shoulder, and then down to start to dig her nails into his forearm, trying to get his fingers to unclench, “Stop, stop! Let me leave — please, I’ll leave, I’ll leave.”
Harry loosens his grip instantly, pulling his hand off, and he could see his own bloodied forearm now where she had sunk in her nails, but he didn’t feel pain usually, let alone something this small.
His alpha didn’t like that this omega that he was trying to care for was attempting to worm away from him despite how tired she was, how exhausted, how lazy her limbs were because she’d run out of adrenaline by now.
“You’re not leaving, settle,” Harry commands, his alpha tone in use, and she relaxes almost instantly not because she wants to but because she doesn’t have the capacity to try to fight against it — he knows damn well she’s trained on how to block alpha tone and she’s not doing it right now.
“I’d rather bleed out than have you kill me, so let me go,” YN resists, her eyes fierce and fiery but her body said the opposite right now.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Harry rolls his eyes and begins to tend to the wound, finally starting to work on getting out the needle with the threading to stitch it up after he’s properly cleaned it, under his breath, quieter, he mutters, “Fuckin’ crybaby for being Grave’s first born. No wonder they had to hide you, you’re a helpless stupid pup.”
“You’re the fucking idiot for not just killing me,” YN retorts with an attitude that she really shouldn’t have with him, it impresses him if he’s honest.
“Shut the fuck up,” Harry snaps instead of admitting that her comedic timing, even when near death, is near pristine, and that just makes him angrier as he grips underneath her thigh tightly, eyes up, “I’m going to start now.”
