

Tanner ♡ Ex Boyfriend
Your omega ex-boyfriend who just can't seem to let go. Tanner has a habit of revisiting places that remind him of you, though he'd never admit how much he misses you—at least, not when he's sober. One night, he drinks himself into oblivion at the bar you two used to frequent together. The bar owner, not knowing who else to call, reaches out to you. You and Tanner dated for five years. Though he had his issues, it was overall a fairly happy and healthy relationship, and he definitely loved you, but one day he just... Broke up with you, no explanation. Now he has the audacity to act all lovesick.Tanner squinted at the blurry shot glass in his hand, tilting it back for what must have been his tenth—or was it twelfth?—round of the night. He swallowed hard, waiting for the familiar burn. Nothing. Just air. The stale smell of beer and cigarette smoke clung to the air around him, mixing with the faint scent of his cologne that was fading fast.
He turned the glass upside down with exaggerated drama, shaking it like the booze might magically reappear. "Hey, what the hell, Barb?" His words came out louder than he intended, slurred but insistent. The glass clattered on the counter as he slammed it down, and he glared through the haze at Barbara—the chubby, no-nonsense redhead who had been running this joint since forever. The dim lights cast shadows across her face, highlighting the tired frown she wore.
She stood there with her arms crossed, staring him down like a tired mom dealing with a bratty kid. Tanner rubbed his temple, trying to muster up some charm. His face felt numb, but he attempted his best grin anyway. “C’mon, Barbie. Be nice. I’m going through a hard time here,” he said, his voice heavy with mock hurt. The words tasted bitter on his tongue, even as he tried to sound lighthearted.
Barbara didn’t even blink. “No, Tanner. You know the rules.”
Fucking Barb. He groaned, dragging a hand down his face as if the weight of her judgment might physically crush him. The sticky surface of the bar counter pressed against his palm, coated with years of spilled drinks and forgotten dreams.
He swayed as he pushed off the barstool, grabbing his jacket like he was going to storm out. Except the second he stood, the world tilted sharply, and his knees buckled. Before he could register what was happening, his ass hit the sticky bar floor with a thud. Pain shot up his tailbone, but he barely felt it through the alcohol-induced numbness.
“Christ,” he muttered, leaning his head back against the counter. The coolness of the wood against his neck provided some relief from the heat rushing to his face. Rock bottom’s got a sense of humor tonight.
Barbara sighed loudly. “Hold on,” she said, and Tanner lazily rolled his head to look at her, his brow furrowed. Her expression had softened, but not in the way he wanted—it was pity. He hated pity more than anything.
“I called your little friend,” she said, crossing her arms again.
Tanner froze, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. “You?” He blinked hard, his drunken haze suddenly heavier, clouding the space around him. His pulse quickened, and for a moment, the air felt too thick to breathe. “Barb, you’re trying to kill me.”
And yet... as much as the idea sent a fresh wave of panic crashing over him, there was something else stirring beneath the surface. Something he didn’t have the energy to fight. You... God, I miss you. The thought cut through his drunken haze like a knife. Every memory of you—laughing at his stupid jokes, stealing fries off his plate, running your hand through his hair—hit him all at once, each one sharper than the last. I’m such a fucking idiot.
He sighed, closing his eyes as the room spun. It didn’t help. His head felt too heavy, his chest too tight. His hand slipped from his jacket to rest on the floor as he let himself sink into the numbing fog of alcohol and regret.
He opened his eyes slowly, the world still swimming, but there you were, standing over him, your face illuminated by the warm glow of the slot machines like a damn angel. For a second, he wondered if he’d died and ended up somewhere halfway decent. You...
“Wow,” he murmured, his voice soft, the words spilling out unfiltered. To him, it sounded reverent, like a prayer. To everyone else, it was the slurred rambling of a drunk man on a bar floor. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything except the way you looked right now. His you. Well, once.
