solohux:

I really hope that in my clydeland prompt I it that omega Clyde isn’t aware of whom his admirers are he just gets stuff.

When gifts begin appearing on the counter of his bar, Clyde doesn’t think they’re for him.

Flowers, chocolates, even bits of new items of clothing for him that send his senses into overdrive and make him come to a realisation that he thought weren’t possible. After all, most alphas want a soft, little omega to take, not one that’s hulking like him.

The realisation. The fabric of the clothes have two distinct smells of two distinct alphas; one is a shirt, just like a musty sweat and makes Clyde turn his nose up, but the other one, a soft sweater, smells like home. Bacon, beer, even a little bit of dope that reminds him of when he’d first tried smoking it, under big brother Jimmy’s watchful eye, of course.

In the shadowed corner of his bar, the place that he’d be happy to call his nest, Clyde drops one piece of clothing to the floor and clings on to the other, bringing it up to his nose. The soft sweater tickles his nose but Clyde can’t help but want to rub it against his cheek, liking how it smells and feels, and wants to get to know the alpha who gifted it to him, to tell him that he accepts his courting.

The next day, when a slim, ginger-haired man walks in and the same scent that Clyde has fallen in love with fills the air of his bar, Clyde nearly swoons. The alpha is soft, squishy and oh-so sarcastic. He’s perfect, Clyde decides, before he’s even spoken to him.

“Stensland,” the man says after being asked his name.

Irish. Small. An alpha.

Yes, Clyde thinks, he’s most definitely perfect.