Derek Hale, Earl of Osterbrook, has inherited, following the death of Lord Montfort, a run down house in Yorkshire he neither needs nor wants, convinced his staff are robbing him, and with the mystery of a missing ward, he manages to get himself talked into a ridiculous bet, that he cannot pass as a steward until Midwinter, nearly two months away. So can he maintain the charade? Find the missing child? And manage to turn the shambles of a house around, or will he give up and let Peter take the thousand pounds he bet.
Derek is a simple horseman from the mountains, Stiles is an enthusiastic university graduate ready to make a name for himself. In any other situation, they would have gone their entire lives never having met. It’s probably a good thing then, that they both happened to be in the wrong place at the right time.
Stiles wakes up and suddenly the war is over, he’s no longer a penniless mage, and living in an exquisite manor married to the man he’s been in love with for far too long.
“It’ll be fine,” Stiles says gallantly. “I am certain I will just fall in love with my husband all over again, and I will find plenty of joy doing that.” He winks at Derek for good measure. Derek blinks.
Derek doesn’t expect much from his arranged marriage. When his inattentive husband, Lord Stiles Stilinski, tells him he’s free to look for a lover, he doesn’t know where to start, until a dashing bandit named the Red Fox catches his eye. ~ The Fox winks again. “Have a good night, Derek,” he purrs in a sultry tone, and then climbs back on the horse and disappears into the night. Derek walks up the path towards the manor in a daze, and it isn’t until he’s inside when he realizes he never told the Fox his name or where he lived.
Stiles was always a sick child. He was never supposed to live beyond his infancy—shocking many when he reaches adulthood. With his inevitable death looming over his country, Stiles chooses to accept a successor through marriage. His advisors commission a painter to capture the prince’s likeness in order to advertise him to potential candidates. Only, Derek Hale isn’t like most painters—or humans, for that matter.
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single alpha in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a mate.
Whether or not Derek Hale felt that way was hardly a concern to the neighborhood — the very fact of his arrival was enough that the surrounding families seemed to consider him the rightful property of one or another of their eligible sons and daughters. That was, of course, before they met the man.
Stiles is an omega who is bullied by his beta stepmother into wearing a dress during the day, so when his new suitor turns out to be painfully shy around society he pretends to be a servant girl (a homely one) to get to know the real person, whilst his step mother tries to marry her alpha daughter to her omega ward despite neither of them want it, and the sheriff (called Josiah) tries to remain constantly drunk for the entire weekend.
Stiles Stilinski has lived 19 years without revealing his secret. He’s a fine gentleman, a stellar horseman, and a sassy addition to any conversation, but he keeps his true feelings to himself. When the Hale family moves into the county, the Stilinski’s throw a ball in their honor and Stiles in swept up into the gravity of the eldest son. Propriety tells him to keep his distance, but can he ignore the urges pulling them ever closer? At first sight, Stiles is already undone.
it’s late, but she doesn’t care. he’s right in front of her and she can barely breathe–is it the crowded club and the humid, sticky air filled with smoke, or is it because the person of her daydreams is just within her reach? does she even dare to talk to him?
Because it’s all I’ve been able to talk and think about today…
Up. Down. A little twist to the side. Now a large ‘O’. And a small pinch.
If you were being honest, you had no idea what he was saying. Not because of his strong accent that you loved, or the fact that he spoke lowly and slowly, which would drive you absolutely insane if it were any other person. No, you had no idea what he was saying because his lips were moving and once more you were in a trance.
It was fascinating to look at, his mouth. How you could even put your headphones on and block out the sound and still see his accent. His lips were… Something else entirely.
It’s a bit embarrassing, you had to admit. If he were to direct the word straight to you, you would need him to repeat himself over and over before properly being able to answer him. You were glad he was speaking to the group of people gathered in your living room, and not just to you. In fact, you didn’t know how you had managed to become and stay friends with him when all you could do was get hypnotised by his lips every time he talked.
The way he said his ‘Buh-’ sounds. The fact that he never pronounced the ‘tt’s in ‘better’. The pout he pulled when he got stuck in his ‘uhmmm’s. The little bites when he was paying attention to someone else speak. No wonder they are such a vibrant shade of pink. They were soft, you knew that. The cheeky British charm he carried seemed to come with a proper kiss to your cheek when he greeted you, and nothing like the semi awkward cheek-touching-cheek-hello ‘you americans’ - as Harry put it - would do.
There goes another pinch at them. You remind yourself to nod and look around the room to try and hide your pointed looks, but you weren’t being as sly as you thought you were. Not knowing whatever was your friends kept babbling on about, your eyes soon found their way back to the thing they love to look at the most.
“You’re doing that again” the words knocked you out of the trance you were in. Your friend had leaned over and whispered to you as discreetly as possible, which you were thankful for, as she pushed an empty bowl of chips to your chest. Right, time to act like the host you were. She got up and followed you to the kitchen continuing the hushed conversation. “Doing what?” you ask legitimately confused. “Staring at Harry’s face” Ah, so it was that obvious. Whoops. You made a mental note to stop that and try to join the conversation when you eventually went back to the living room, in hopes to avoid the absentminded stare. “I’m not looking at his face” you started but decided to cut yourself. The only thing worse than your friend thinking you stared at Harry’s face cause you liked him, was for her to know that you didn’t stare at his face, but just at his lips cause they piqued your interest in ways you couldn’t comprehend yourself. Pouring whatever was left of the chips into the bowl, you quickly returned to the relaxing get together in your living room. At least your best friend knew to stay quiet in front of the others, and wouldn’t bombard you with more thoughts in the matter while the rest of the gang was around.
Joining the chat was easy, staying in it was a different feat. The lads varied from topic to topic, dominating the direction the small reunion took, mostly with jokes and football talk. It wasn’t your fault the topic was so boring to you that you had to busy yourself with studying Harry’s lips from across the room once again. It wasn’t your fault he was the only British guy in the group which made his accent interesting and amusing, specially when he called soccer football or footie, and defended his position whenever the other guys would transition to american football “Noo. ‘Mean ‘soccer’. Real football tha’ is. Played wif’ actual balls and feet, innit?” it was something no one in the group would let him live down. Same with the word trousers which made you giggle, and the way he introduced himself something more like “ ‘M ‘arry.” instead of “I’m Harry”.
In all honesty, it made you even more captivated by his lips. And today specially, for some unknown reason, you were very very fixated on them. More than usual. And you swore that one day you would grow used to them with him being your close friend and all, but that day didn’t seem to be today. So you just resigned to stare silently and hope no one noticed.
Having little get togethers at home meant you had to do the cleaning after, but luckily your best friend had stuck around, and so had Harry with whom you fell into a nice ‘you rinse, I dry’ system while your best friend attended a seemingly very important phone call out in your backyard. Your attention was fully set into drying and stacking plates and utensils. Harry’s attention was halfway set on washing, halfway set on trying to stop a telling smirk from forming on his face
You didn’t know but Harry knew.
He had known for a while now. At first he noticed only slightly that you weren’t fully there when he spoke to the whole group. He noticed how you would sometimes fidget and ask him to repeat somethings when he spoke to you alone, pinning it on his accent and the way he annoyingly slurred words. And slowly he found himself glancing at you only to see you were already looking in his direction. He never mentioned anything, slowly coming to the conclusion that for some reason you were looking at his lips.
And for some reason he liked that.
After the last plate Harry leaned over the counter peeking through the small window in your kitchen at your friend pacing and chatting away on her phone. “Wha’ do yeh reckon ‘s so important?” he puckered his lips in her direction, as if he was pointing to her without his hands, and you were gone. His bottom lip jutted out only a tad more than his upper lip. You hadn’t noticed that before.
Harry looked at you from the corner of his eye, only to catch you once again. Ok this was beyond his control. Today had been the day. You weren’t doing a nice job at being sly about it and he wondered if maybe you meant for him to notice. He doubted it, knowing you he was sure that you would be completely terrified about him knowing you look at his lips because… Because what? He didn’t know why you did that. He licked his lips self consciously, just to get whatever it is you could be staring at off his lips, if that was even the reason you stared. But you pressed on for a second longer before turning to look out the window as well. “Yeh know…” Harry started, turning around and resting on the counter smugly. Arms crossed over his chest as he pouted, bit and licked his lips over and over, like a person who’s thinking hard about what to say next. Your attention was on him, his eyes this time. You knew better than to just straight up glare at his lips when it was only you and him. “Yeh do tha’ an awful lot” “What?” your eyebrow raised in confusion. “Look at m’lips” the smirk that accompanies the sentence is not lost to you, and you find yourself getting warm cheeks and taking a small step back at the mention.
“What?” this time your what was more of an incredulous, surprised ‘what.’ As if you couldn’t believe what he was saying, or better yet that he noticed. Harry only nodded slightly, turning to face you. “I do notice…” he bites back “s’okay… though I’d love t’know why” “There’s no why because I don’t look at your lips all the time” In Harry’s head it was futile for you to try and defend the point. He knew you did and that was final. You didn’t know why you did it – deep down maybe there was the thought of wanting to properly kiss him but you always shook it off, – so you can’t really give him an explanation. In the midst of your thoughts he had somehow gotten closer. “I mean, if yeh want to kiss me” there’s suddenly no space between his chest and yours, and at this distance all you can do is stare at his lips, because who wouldn’t “all yeh hafta’ do is say the word” “H-harry, get off y-your high horse” you’re able to spew out with a whispery thread of a voice. The chuckle that leaves his pinker than life, softer than a cloud lips throws you off. This is the cockiest you’ve seen Harry act, and right now you can’t decide if you’re okay with it or want him to back off. “C’mon now” “Harry…” his hands, which also fascinate you - he can’t keep them still, and seems to always have more rings than it would be socially acceptable if it wasn’t cause his boyish charm just seems to go perfectly with 7 rings and helps him get away with mostly everything- come to thumb at your lower lip.
His eyes were fixated on them since the moment he got this close, but there was no way you could realise that because your eyes were already trained on his cupid’s bow and light stubbly shadow of a moustache. He also liked how plump they were and if you didn’t greet him with the cheek-touching-cheek bullshit, he would know just how soft they were too, except now he could tell because he was touching them. This close, you can definitely see a freckle on his lips and quite frankly you didn’t know his mouth could get anymore hypnotising… But here we are. And his lips move but you do catch the sounds as he opens and closes his mouth in the most endearing of ways. “S’okay. I stare at yours an awful lot too…”
I do NOT know what this was. It certainly turned out longer than I expected (I didn’t even expect to write anything) and took another direction than I imagined (it was just supposed to be you thinking about his lips, none of his perspective type of thing. But here we are) So… Yeah… Here’s something. IDk. It’s not a blurb and it’s not a fic either. Just a group of words.