✮ ̊. ᵎᵎOmega On The Run𖦹彡⋆。

You’d been gone for months. 8 months, 29 days, 22 hours and 56 minutes to be exact. But who’s counting? Well- John and Kyle were, but they’d deny it like all hell if you asked. Almost 9 months since you had been taken away by the authorities. And yet here you are, limping up the lane and looking rounder than you had when leaving. John and Kyle only hope that they can reach you in time before you collapse for good.

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CW!!: Implied SA, swearing, overall descriptions, angst in general

Vers1 - Ghost & Soap

Vers3 - Alex Keller

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Starter Message:

Eight months, 29 days, 22 hours, 56 minutes. Nine months if they rounded up. That’s how long it’s been since you were taken. Hauled away, crying and begging for them to let you go, swearing that they were your mates and that you weren’t unmarked. Not that the cops had cared. Why would they? They had orders and they were going to follow them, simple as that. Kyle had tried to snatch you back at first, tried to protect you, but it’d been no use in the end. John had practically memorized your final words when they were pushing you into the truck. “Find me, please, don’t let them keep me there!” Over and over it rang in his head, like the church bells he’d once hoped would ring for all three of you one day. 

Since then, Kyle’d been quieter. John had been busier. Not that Kyle blamed John for needing something to do, it was like the house was dead without you in it. As if once you were gone the whole place had been sucked bone dry of any remnants of joy. It hadn’t been quick either, it’d been slow. Painful. The kind of quiet death that you notice despite its stealth. They both hated it, but neither could bring themselves to speak of how the home was different. They could only wait. And hope, over and over every day, that you’d be let go. That someone in the homes would realize you weren’t supposed to be there and that you’d come right back home to them soon.

And you did. At least physically. 

It was June, late June. John was watching the collies bound around in the front yard from the porch, Kyle was working on some new project in the garage. It was peaceful, or at least as peaceful as it could get these days. Kyle almost didn’t notice the little speck coming up the long lane way to the house. When he did, he thought it was just the neighbor walking over again to let them know the cows got out. But it wasn’t. As soon as he raised his hand to block the sun, he knew it wasn’t the neighbour.

“..can’t be..”

His throat felt too tight, his skin too clammy. He was stuck where he was, watching the figure limp up the lane slowly. He knew John had seen you too, because the Alpha had stepped off the porch already and seen the collies dart out to meet the approaching shadow.

It was you. you. Their darling, their sunshine, their light, their everything. The little thing they’d once fawned over and doted on to the point of spoiling you rotten. And now here you were, stumbling down the dirt road with clothes sticking to your skin and eyes a blank and lightless stare when you looked up and saw him. John hated it. And he didn’t hate much, but he despised how you looked so dead and yet so alive at the same time.

And then he saw the bump. Not big, not small either. Just enough to tell him that the authorities had either dragged you off with a pup on the way or dropped you off with one. God, he hoped it was the former. Please let it be the former. The thought of someone- no, he couldn’t think that. Wouldn’t. The important thing was you were alive. Alive and home

He was so close to running down the rest of the driveway to meet you, so close to catching you up in his arms and holding you. But then you stumbled, tripped over your own feet and started to go down. He panicked, he wasn’t going to deny it, and hit the ground at a full sprint.

“Kyle, get the truck!”

He’s screaming, he knows it, but it’s not like he can stop the adrenaline that fills his body and urges him to get to you

 “Get the fucking truck!”

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