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“I thought you don’t smoke.”

Peter’s voice startled Stiles. He looked back from his place on the loveseat. Stiles smiled and turned to face Theo, so he could shoot the photograph.

“I don’t, but I do look good with the cigarette.” Smug bastard. Peter huffed and closed the door. He put the bags down somewhere out the frame and looked at Stiles.

Stiles was good. A great beta and the best second. He was an amazing human that made Peter shiver with every new idea. How to use guns with more efficiency and be dramatic about it. How to make the claw marks and blood stains that stayed afterwards look aesthetically pleasing. He always had thoughts about what kind of hunter’s sanctuary to attack or what supernatural thing to steal this time.

He had pale skin and actually wasn’t that prone to drama, but he looked handsome in good suits and liked making faces. He was also very photogenic. Peter didn’t blame Theo for dressing Stiles up and capturing his beauty.

Theo took a picture with flash. Peter winced a little bit. Too bright for his tired eyes. Peter crossed around the loveseat and bent over Stiles from behind. He looked up and moved the cigarette from his mouth. Bright brown eyes shone almost beta-gold in the lights.

Maybe Stiles was magic because he definitely charmed everyone from the second Peter brought him back to the pack.

At the time, he was a kid barely over eighteen, furious and bright. Messy. Demanding in his needs. The pack became more vicious but, at the same time, more settled. Stiles grew into his skin and so did Derek, Isaac and Theo.

Peter smiled and leant closer. Stiles looked briefly at his lips and then held the cigarette to him. Peter puffed smoke, held it in his lungs, and exhaled.

A sudden flash startled Peter a little. He only barely looked over to an unapologetic Theo. Stiles didn’t look away from Peter’s face. He smiled a little with that crooked smile of his and finally looked at Theo, asking something about a gun. For a few seconds more, Peter didn’t avert his gaze from the moles on Stiles’ cheek, then he moved away to leave the frame.


Chris Argent flipped the table. The Hale pack slipped through their fingers one more time. He wanted to wail with rage. Though howing would be a better fit for the situation.

This was the first time the Argents had come so close to catching them. They still didn’t have any pictures of the Hale pack and didn’t even knew how many people—monsters—there were. Because these creatures weren’t human.

He heard a pile of papers slipping at the same time that the table hit the floor. Argent turned around and sat down.


A pile of photographs. It was a sign the Hale pack had packed up in a hurry for them to forgot something as crucial as this piece of evidence. Argent flipped through the pile. Most photographs had one young man. He didn’t catch the eyes immediately, but something animalistic was in him despite the three piece suit and skinny looking frame. Well, they had at least one face to start with.

He flipped through some more photographs and stopped. There was the second man. His eyes were slightly opened, and he looked at the young man. His lips were around a cigarette that was held in the skinny fingers of the first young man.

The elder man, probably the alpha, looked very opposite of the young one. He was a little bit dirty, in casual clothes. He was more animalistic and wild. He had more raw power, but he looked at the younger one with such an affection in his eyes, even Argent felt it. The other one’s eyes opened widely, making eye contact, his lips parted a little bit. His long neck was exposed in the sign of either trust or submission. It was intimate. Argent wanted to avert his eyes, but he couldn't. Not when they finally had the faces of two potential pack members.

He looked over at the loveseat and back down at the photograph. It was the very same one. Argent really didn’t want to think about that.