Crash Landing | ✈️

The Omegaverse—a world divided between Alphas, Betas, and Omegas. A society ruled by instinct, power, and bloodlines. Every hybrid carried traces of their animal nature: sharp fangs hidden behind smiles, twitching tails that betrayed emotion, claws that surfaced during anger or fear. Predators ruled the highest ranks of society while prey species were often left struggling beneath them. The stronger and deadlier your animal was, the more respect—and wealth—you possessed.

Blue dragon hybrids stood near the top.

You and your husband Lewis were proof of that.

Lewis was a powerful Alpha and the CEO of one of the largest tech corporations in the country. Calm, intelligent, and terrifying when angered, he carried himself with effortless authority. Sapphire horns curved from his white hair, and faint blue scales shimmered along his neck and arms. Meanwhile, you were an Omega artist well-known for your breathtaking paintings and sculptures, your softer dragon traits making you appear almost ethereal. Despite the rigid hierarchy of the Omegaverse, the two of you were genuinely in love.

The media adored your relationship.

“She’s staring at you again,” you teased one evening while boarding the private jet.

Lewis glanced toward a flight attendant who immediately looked away. His tail flicked once in annoyance before he leaned down beside you. “Can you blame her?”

You rolled your eyes while trying not to smile.

The trip had been planned for months—a private vacation with close friends. Isaac and Lenora, a wealthy lion hybrid couple, joined the two of you alongside Eli, a carefree koi fish hybrid who somehow managed to become friends with nearly everyone.

The flight started perfectly. Music played softly through the cabin while Lenora laughed over expensive wine and Isaac argued with Lewis about business deals neither of you understood. Eli lounged across a seat dramatically.

“If this plane crashes,” Eli sighed, swirling his drink, “I’m haunting all of you.”

“You’d complain too much to be a ghost,” Lenora shot back.

Everyone laughed.

Then the plane lurched violently.

The lights flickered.

A second shake followed—hard enough to send glasses crashing onto the floor.

“Seatbelts. Now,” Lewis ordered immediately, his Alpha voice sharp enough to silence the cabin.

You hurried to buckle in as Isaac pulled Lenora against him protectively. But Eli had stood to grab another drink from the counter.

“Eli, sit down!” you shouted.

Too late.

A deafening crack split through the cabin as one of the windows shattered inward. Wind screamed through the jet. The entire plane shook violently before a horrific tearing sound echoed overhead.

The plane split apart.

Eli slammed against the floor, claws scraping desperately against the carpet before the force of the wind ripped him out into the open sky.

“ELI!” Lenora screamed.

You barely had time to cling to Lewis before everything vanished into darkness.

When you woke again, sunlight filtered through thick jungle leaves overhead.

Pain shot through your leg instantly.

A bandage had been wrapped tightly around the deep wound on your calf, stained faintly with blood. Panic surged through you as you pushed yourself upright—until familiar voices reached your ears.

Lewis emerged first through the trees carrying several fish in one arm. Isaac followed behind him with more supplies while Lenora carried bundles of wood against her shoulder.

The second Lewis saw you awake, his eyes widened.

“You’re up.” He rushed forward immediately, kneeling beside you as his hands carefully checked your injury. “Easy, easy—don’t move too much.”

“What happened?” your voice came out weakly. “The plane—Eli—”

Lewis’s expression darkened.

“We crashed on an island,” Isaac answered grimly while dropping supplies near a half-built shelter. “Most of the wreckage landed near the beach.”

“And Eli?” you asked quietly.

Nobody answered right away.

Lenora lowered her gaze toward the firepit she was building. Isaac’s ears flattened against his head.

Lewis finally pulled you carefully into his arms, his tail curling protectively around your waist. “We haven’t found him yet.”

Your stomach twisted painfully.

“We need to go look for help,” you said immediately, trying to stand.

The moment pressure hit your injured leg, agony shot through you and you nearly collapsed. Lewis caught you instantly.

“Absolutely not,” he growled softly.

“I can’t just sit here—”

“You’re hurt.” His glowing blue eyes narrowed with worry. “Right now surviving comes first.”

Nearby, Lenora struck flint to start a fire while Isaac reinforced the shelter walls using broken pieces from the wreckage. Survival instincts had already kicked in.

“We’ll figure this out,” Lenora said firmly, though exhaustion lingered in her voice. “One step at a time.”

Lewis tightened his hold on you slightly, resting his forehead against yours.

“As long as you’re alive,” he murmured, “I can handle the rest.”

I tightened the prose, fixed grammar and spelling mistakes, strengthened the rivalry, and made the reveal of Lewis more dramatic.

The Omegaverse—a world where Alphas, Betas, and Omegas existed within a strict, instinct-bound hierarchy. Society was shaped not only by law and culture, but by biology itself: heightened senses, primal instincts, and animalistic traits that lingered beneath human skin like a second nature.

Alphas stood at the top—dominant, commanding, often born from powerful predator bloodlines that translated seamlessly into influence, wealth, and authority. Omegas, though often dismissed as weaker or more delicate, possessed their own strengths: emotional intelligence, sharp instincts, and a resilience that many underestimated. Betas existed somewhere in the middle, adaptable and steady, navigating a world built around extremes.

And in that world, the stronger and more feared your lineage, the more doors seemed to open before you.

You were a blue dragon hybrid, one of the rarest and most respected bloodlines in existence. Yet despite that, the world often felt smaller because you were an Omega. People expected less from you. They spoke over you, underestimated you, and assumed your place before you even opened your mouth.

You hated that.

Which was probably one of the reasons you hated Lewis.

From the moment the two of you met in high school, you couldn't stand each other. Both blue dragon hybrids, both stubborn, both competitive. Every achievement became a contest. Every grade turned into a challenge. If you scored first place on an exam, Lewis somehow scored higher. If you won an art competition, he'd find some way to steal the spotlight.

The rivalry became infamous among your classmates.

"You two are going to kill each other one day," a teacher had once sighed.

Neither of you disagreed.

So when graduation finally arrived and you were accepted into a prestigious art college across the sea, you felt as though you could finally breathe.

No more Lewis.

No more competition.

No more infuriating smirk.

Freedom.

The years passed quickly.

College became exhibitions. Exhibitions became commissions. Commissions became a career.

At first, very few people paid attention to your paintings. You struggled, worked long nights, and questioned yourself more times than you could count. Then one influential collector purchased a piece from a small gallery.

Everything changed overnight.

Suddenly everyone wanted your work.

Critics praised your style. Wealthy patrons competed to buy your newest pieces. Galleries contacted you months in advance, hoping to secure exclusive rights to your exhibitions.

Before long, your name had become one of the most recognized in the art world.

Then came an unexpected invitation.

A rising CEO from your hometown had requested a private viewing of one of your newest paintings and was offering an absurd amount of money for it.

The offer was too good to refuse.

So for the first time in years, you returned home.

The trip was surprisingly pleasant. You spent several days reconnecting with your parents, catching up with old friends, and revisiting places you hadn't seen since high school.

Everything was going perfectly.

Until the day of the viewing.

Excited and confident, you carried the carefully packaged painting into the massive corporate headquarters where the meeting was scheduled.

The lobby was stunning—marble floors, towering windows, and enough luxury to make it obvious the company was doing very well.

You were admiring the architecture when the elevator doors opened.

A familiar figure stepped out.

Tall.

Silver-haired.

Blue dragon horns catching the light.

Your entire body froze.

No.

No way.

Lewis.

He walked past without noticing you, speaking to someone beside him as he disappeared down the hallway.

Your eye twitched.

"What is he doing here?" you muttered.

Maybe he worked here.

Maybe he was some manager.

Maybe—

You followed an assistant into a private elevator and were escorted all the way to the top floor.

The very top.

The CEO's office.

The assistant opened the door.

Your stomach dropped.

Lewis was sitting behind the massive desk.

The moment he looked up and saw you, he froze.

For several seconds, neither of you spoke.

Then realization hit him.

His eyes widened.

And suddenly he burst out laughing.

"YOU?!" he shouted.

You immediately felt irritation bubbling inside you.

Lewis leaned back in his chair, laughing even harder.

"You're that famous painter?!"

The sheer disbelief in his voice made your face burn.

Without thinking, you snatched the painting from under your arm and launched it directly at him.

Lewis barely managed to catch it.

"And yet you're still buying from me!" you snapped.

The office fell silent.

Lewis stared at you.

You stared at Lewis.

Neither willing to back down.

Somehow, after all these years...

Nothing had changed.

The Omegaverse—a world where Alphas, Betas, and Omegas existed bound within an unspoken, instinct-driven hierarchy. Society was shaped not only by law, but by biology itself: heightened senses, sharpened instincts, and animalistic traits that lingered beneath the skin like a second heartbeat.

Alphas stood at the top—dominant, commanding, often born from powerful predator bloodlines that translated seamlessly into influence, wealth, and authority. Omegas, though frequently misread as fragile or recessive, carried their own depth—intuitive, emotionally attuned, and dangerously resilient when pushed. Betas existed in the space between, adaptable survivors in a world defined by extremes.

And always, without exception, the more feared and revered a bloodline was, the more the world seemed to bend around it.

Lewis and you were both blue dragon hybrids—rare enough to turn heads, powerful enough to silence rooms without trying.

Lewis was an Alpha, a CEO whose presence alone recalibrated entire boardrooms. People didn't wait for him to speak—they waited for permission to breathe near him. You were an Omega artist whose work lived in private collections, high-end galleries, and whispered conversations at elite gatherings. Even those who didn't understand the art found themselves unable to look away from it.

Together, they didn't feel like hierarchy.

They felt like inevitability.

And more importantly—they were in love.

Lewis sat behind the massive desk of his corner office, the city below sprawling like a glittering organism of glass and steel. Reports, forecasts, and contracts were arranged with meticulous precision across the polished surface—documents that should have commanded his complete attention.

Instead, his focus kept slipping.

He signed another page.

Paused.

Then stared at the ink as though it belonged to someone else.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sky was turning gold—slow, heavy, beautiful in a way that made time feel softer than it truly was.

Lewis leaned back in his chair and exhaled.

"...distracting me again," he muttered.

The thought of his partner never arrived loudly.

It never needed to.

It simply settled in his mind—quiet as tidewater, inevitable as gravity.

A knock interrupted the silence.

"Sir," his assistant said from beyond the door. "Your partner is here."

Something shifted in Lewis immediately. The sharp edge of corporate precision softened into something warmer.

"Send them in," he said, already rising to his feet—

The door opened anyway.

"Too slow."

You walked in without hesitation, brushing past the threshold as though the entire executive floor was little more than a minor inconvenience.

The assistant froze.

Lewis barely glanced their way.

"That will be all."

The door closed.

The atmosphere changed instantly.

Not empty.

Contained.

Like something far more important than business had entered the room.

You crossed directly to the leather couch and collapsed onto it dramatically, one arm thrown across their face.

"I hate traffic."

Lewis watched with undisguised amusement.

"You took a private route specifically to avoid traffic."

"It was supposed to be faster," came the muffled reply. "It betrayed me."

A low chuckle escaped him as he loosened his tie and stepped away from his desk.

"Did you come here simply to complain, or is there a reason I should be clearing my schedule for this interruption?"

You peeked out from beneath their arm.

Blue dragon eyes met blue dragon eyes.

And suddenly, the remaining distance between them felt meaningless.

"I missed you."

No hesitation.

No embellishment.

Just truth.

Something softened within Lewis immediately.

Not weakness.

Relief.

He exhaled slowly, as though tension he'd carried all day had finally found somewhere to go.

"Say that again."

A small smile appeared.

"I missed you."

For a moment, Lewis simply looked at you.

Then, quietly—

"...good."

He stepped closer, resting a hand against the back of the couch as the world beyond the office windows faded into irrelevance.

The Omegaverse—a world where Alphas, Betas, and Omegas existed within a strict, instinct-bound hierarchy. Society was shaped not only by law and culture, but by biology itself: heightened senses, primal instincts, and animalistic traits that lingered beneath human skin like a second truth.

Alphas stood at the top—dominant, commanding, often born from powerful predator lines that turned influence and wealth into something almost natural. Omegas, though often labeled recessive, carried their own intensity—emotionally perceptive, instinct-sensitive, and far more resilient than outsiders assumed. Betas lived between them, adaptable, steady, surviving in the gaps of a divided world.

And in that world, the stronger the predator lineage, the more the world seemed to open before them.

Lewis and his spouse were blue dragon hybrids—rare, powerful, and unmistakable wherever they went.

Lewis was an Alpha and a CEO whose name alone shifted conversations in boardrooms. You were an Omega artist whose work was collected by elites, critics, and the wives of those same powerful men alike. Together, they were admired and quietly envied—not because of status alone, but because of how naturally they fit together.

A calm storm meeting a steady flame.

Lewis sat in his office high above the city, the skyline stretching endlessly beyond the glass. Reports and contracts were spread neatly across his desk, but his attention kept slipping, focus unraveling at the edges.

He exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to his temple.

"Why can't I concentrate..." he muttered.

His gaze drifted toward the calendar on his screen.

Then he saw it.

A small mark. A reminder he had nearly buried beneath discipline and routine.

His rut cycle—starting today.

Lewis went still.

"...ahh... fuck," he whispered under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair.

Instinct pressed in immediately—hotter, heavier, more demanding than he ever allowed himself to appear in public. His scent shifted subtly, the composed mask of an Alpha CEO tightening around something far more primal beneath the surface.

A knock interrupted him.

"Sir," his assistant said as the door opened, voice steady as always. "Your spouse is here."

For a moment, Lewis didn't respond.

Then he stood so quickly that his chair rolled backward.

"Send them in—no," he corrected himself mid-step, already moving.

The door swung open before the assistant could process the order.

You stepped inside casually, already speaking.

"I swear, traffic in this city is—"

Lewis didn't let them finish.

"Cancel everything I have for the rest of the day," he said sharply over his shoulder. The assistant froze. "Everything."

"Yes, sir."

The door shut.

Silence settled over the room.

Then Lewis's attention locked entirely onto the person standing before him.

The intensity in his gaze softened for half a second—just enough to reveal something warmer beneath it. Then it settled again, focused and unwavering.

"You're early," he said, his voice lower now.

You shrugged lightly.

"Missed you."

Simple. Casual.

As though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Something in Lewis's control cracked.

Not completely.

Just enough.

He crossed the room in a few quick strides and guided them toward his desk chair, settling into it before pulling you into his space, unwilling to leave even the smallest distance between them.

"You shouldn't be here right now," he murmured.

One of your brows lifted.

"Why? What's wrong?"

Lewis exhaled slowly.

"My rut started."

The room seemed to shift around the confession.

Instinct recognizing instinct.

Bond recognizing bond.

Understanding immediately crossed your face.

"Oh."

A brief pause followed.

Then, softer,

"Do you want me to leave?"

The question cut through everything.

Lewis looked at you fully then—really looked.

The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, as though hearing that voice alone anchored him back to himself.

"No," he said firmly. "I want you close. I just... need..."

There wasn't even a moment of hesitation.

"Then let's go home."

A faint breath escaped him—something between relief and gratitude.

“Yeah, no” he murmured, brushing his thumb briefly along your wrist—grounding himself in something familiar. “I can't wait that long.” His hand slowly pinned your wrists down while the other moved between your legs. "Be a good girl and stay quiet...~"

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