Work Text:
Teen Wolf || Stargent || Teen Wolf || Loss and Lost || Teen Wolf || Stargent || Teen Wolf
Title: Loss and Lost – Stiles Summer Stories 2025
TW Disclaimer: All rights reserved to Jeff Davis and MTV. This fanfiction on the other hand is entirely mine. No money is made with this, though reviews are more than welcomed.
Tags: m/m, post-Nogitsune, s04e08: Time of Death, hurt/comfort, explicit sexual content, anal
Main Pairing: Chris/Stiles
Teen Wolf Characters: Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski, Chris Argent
Writer's Month 2025 Prompt: loss + home
Summary: When werejaguar Kate becomes a problem, Scott calls Chris and Chris comes back. Stiles does his best to avoid the man whose daughter died because of him. He's not successful.
Loss and Lost
Stiles Summer Stories 2025
Kate Argent was alive. Worse than that, she was a werejaguar in charge of a group of Berserkers. The one thing Stiles thought Peter Hale was good for – having killed Kate – and the man had somehow managed to fail so epically, he had made everything much worse for everyone involved.
And yes, Stiles made sure that Peter got an earful about that. Repeatedly. Until the man flashed his eyes blue and started threatening Stiles and his throat. Maybe Stiles should have backed off at that point and not made a quip about Kate's very intact throat. It took Boyd and Derek getting between Peter and Stiles to protect Stiles' throat. Not that Stiles really believed Peter would hurt him; the man was more bark than bite, more snark than physical altercations. Besides, Stiles knew Peter had a weakness for Stiles. Who else was going to banter with Peter if Stiles died, huh?
Scott texted Argent about it. Texted him. The man who had, at this point, lost pretty much his whole family but Scott figured it was a good way to let him know that his mass-murdering sister was back from the dead through text. And then Argent actually came back to Beacon Hills, like some knight in shining armor, saving Scott's ass and suddenly being just… back.
Him and Isaac got a new place to live and Isaac was welcomed back by Boyd, Erica and Scott with hugs and comfort. Apparently, Argent actually had legal guardianship over Isaac. When, how, why, who knew. Not Stiles. He just stared in bafflement when Isaac told them that.
Welcoming Isaac back was one thing. It was a bit awkward and Stiles took every opportunity to hide behind Scott or Erica and let them take the lead in asking about France and how Isaac was doing. But Argent? Stiles avoided the man as best as he could, until he couldn't anymore.
They came up with the ridiculously dangerous plan of pretending Scott was dead. Faking his death and attempting to lure out the Benefactor. Somehow, Stiles ended up paired with Argent to notify the Benefactor of Scott's 'death' and demand payment. Argent looked even more handsome than he had when he'd left, his beard fuller but not Santa full. Just enough to give him that ultimate DILF energy, with silver streaking it on either side of his chin. He looked so good and Stiles could hardly look away from him, even as he did his best to cover up his anxiety, guilt and attraction with snark.
They faked Scott's death and went to the hospital to lay the trap. And then things escalated. The camera went out, Liam and Kira rushed to take care of it and didn't return – only later would Stiles learn that they were held up by a Berserker – and then Stiles ran into Argent again.
"Go stay with Scott. Don't move until I get to you," Chris ordered sternly.
Stiles bit his lips and followed the order. He hated how much the authority in Chris' voice and stance got to him. Besides, following that order wasn't a hardship, because someone needed to watch out for Scott while the McCall Pack and the Hale Pack were spread thin and busy on all ends. So Stiles guarded Scott, because that was what Stiles did. The longer he was alone, the more stressed he grew though. Argent wasn't picking up his phone, nobody else showed up.
"Stiles," Chris dragged himself into the morgue. "Run."
All Stiles could do was stare horrified as Kate Argent and her Berserker followed. The two Argents fought and Chris kept himself firmly between Stiles and Kate, until the woman finally retreated. Stiles wondered absentmindedly if she still had some kind of… love… left for her brother.
Thoughts of that nature died when more pressing matters took priority. Like resurrecting Scott. And when they did it, Stiles couldn't help but turn toward Chris, with a relieved smile. He was startled to find the man's focus already exclusively on him. He didn't know what to do with that and was relieved when the debriefing on how things had gone took the focus off that.
/break\
Stiles didn't know why he ended up in front of Argent's new apartment that night. Maybe because he was buzzing with the excitement and adrenaline from the day. Maybe because actually seeing Argent, talking to him, interacting with him, made it feel important that they talk. When he knocked and Chris opened the door, all thoughts left Stiles' brain.
"Stiles," Chris raised both his eyebrows. "What is it?"
Stiles was too busy staring at the man's tattoos shown off by the tank-top to register his words. Only when Chris waved his hand in front of Stiles' face did Stiles snap back to attention. The man was looking at him pointedly. Impatient. Right. He probably didn't want to see Stiles and now Stiles was just standing in front of him, annoying him at home. Stiles shuffled a little in place.
"I'm sorry," Stiles bit his lip. "That you had to come back. I know you and Isaac left to…"
He couldn't even finish the sentence. He turned to look away from Argent. The hunter heaved a sigh and turned toward his apartment. Stiles bit down hard on his lip, feeling a little dejected. It shouldn't surprise him, but still… Before he could leave with some dignity left, Chris grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him into the apartment and closed the door.
"We left to grief," Chris sighed. "Get some distance. We got some distance. Maybe not as much as I would have wanted, but I wasn't going to let you deal with my sister alone."
Stiles nodded sharply and tried to look somewhere past Chris. No more getting distracted by his attraction to Chris. It wasn't new. If he was being honest, he'd been a little (a lot) turned on by Chris pinning him against the wall at the hospital already, all the way back when they were still hunting feral Peter, and the way the man had changed since then? Saw the error of his ways, improved himself and tried to create a new legacy for his family? It had turned the sexual attraction into something more. But then the possession had happened and, well. Whatever he had dreamed about that would never happen died then, he guessed.
"What's going on in your head?" Chris asked, voice low.
He cupped Stiles' face, rubbing circles on Stiles' cheek with his thumb. Stiles gave a desperate little whimper at the gentle touch and immediately froze, embarrassed. He'd kept everyone at arm's length since the possession. Ducking out of hugs and pats. Trying to carry this alone. Deal with it.
"You're not doing as well as you pretend, mh?" Chris whispered. "You snark and you lead and you plan, but you're not… You're still suffering, aren't you?"
Stiles jerked away from Chris, dislodging the man's hand from his face. He couldn't be comforted by Chris of all people. The man had lost everything because of him. With furrowed brows did Stiles turn to glare at the ground. He shouldn't have come here. It was selfish of him, wanting some kind of absolution from the man. However, when he tried to turn and leave, he found himself caged by Chris, the man's arms on either side of him, pinning him against the door. Stiles flushed.
"Don't come here and then try to run away and hide when I confront you with something you don't want to face," Chris glared at him. "Why did you come here, Stiles? What do you want?"
"I'm sorry," Stiles whispered again. "I just wanted… I'm sorry."
"Stop saying that," Chris growled, looking angry.
Stiles winced. Right. Apologies didn't fix anything. Allison was still dead because of him. Chris moved, suddenly, and Stiles jerked back in surprise when Chris grabbed his face. What was the hunter doing? What did he want? Stiles got his answer the next moment, when firm lips pressed against his, Chris' beard scratching him. Stiles stood frozen for a long moment before he surged into action, clinging near desperately onto Chris and deepening the kiss.
The hands on his face wandered down, gripping his waist. Suddenly, Stiles was hoisted up by the man and pressed against the door. Near instinctively did he wrap his legs around Chris' waist. It earned him a pleased growl from Chris and then Chris' hands were cupping his ass, supporting him so Chris could move away from the door and Stiles got carried off into the apartment. He couldn't quite pay attention to where they were going though because he was too busy being kissed within an inch of his life. Until he got thrown onto a soft surface, landing with an ompfh.
Gathering himself, Stiles stared wide-eyed at the hunter at the end of the bed. Chris looked hungry and Stiles felt like the man's last meal or something. Holy shit. Okay. Hate sex. Stiles could do hate sex. He'd expected to be yelled at or maybe punched about Allison, not fucked. But if that was where Chris wanted to channel his anger, Stiles could do that. Surely getting hate-fucked by the guy he l—had a crush on, because he was not using the l-word especially not right now, was not going to have any kind of negative effect on his already fucked up mental health. Surely this would be fine. At least he was going to know what it'd feel like, right? At least he was going to lose his virginity to the guy he l…iked a lot. Right? That was okay. That was good. That was enough.
Chris grabbed the hem of his own shirt and pulled it up over his chest and Stiles' breath hitched. Okay. This was actually happening. With his shirt still in hand, Chris got onto the bed with one knee so he could lean over Stiles. Dropping the shirt, Chris cupped Stiles' face.
"I'm going to fuck you so hard even you won't be able to think anymore," Chris declared.
There was a pregnant pause though. Giving Stiles the chance to say no, to leave. Stiles' heart was racing. He sat up and got out of his shirt before grabbing Chris by the neck to pull him into another kiss. The man smirked against his lips, resting one hand next to Stiles, the other cupping Stiles' face again. The kiss was hard and bruising, there was biting. Chris' fingers pressed firmly into Stiles' skin, enough to push Stiles back onto the bed, easily caving to the hunter's desire. When Chris took off both their pants, Stiles' brain froze. They were both naked, on the bed, together. Swallowing hard, Stiles watched the heavy cock between Chris' legs.
"Roll over," Chris ordered as he reached for his nightstand.
Stiles obeyed and then Chris grabbed him by the waist, lifting him up enough to push a pillow under his waist. Adjusting a little, Stiles wiggled his ass. He gasped when Chis squeezed it tightly and then pulled Stiles' cheeks apart. Stiles bit down hard on the inside of his cheek when two lubed up fingers circled his hole. Prep was rough, impatient but thorough. The hunter's fingers pumped into him, spread him wide, while Chris' beard scratched along Stiles' neck and shoulder, teeth digging in, mouth sucking marks. By the time Chris pulled his fingers out, Stiles was a panting, whining mess, rutting against the pillow beneath his hips.
"Needy little thing," Chris murmured into Stiles' ear.
This time, the grip on Stiles' hips wasn't to manhandle him, but to keep him in place. Stiles was grateful for it because when the fat head of Chris' cock breached him, Stiles legs fully gave and he would have been flat on the bed if not for the pillow and Chris' hands. Chris hadn't promised too much, he really was fucking Stiles hard enough to make Stiles see stars. The grip on his hips was bruising, so were the bites to Stiles' nape and throat. His cock was weeping as it rubbed against the pillow. The wide stretch from Chris' cock alone would have been blissful but then the man kept hammering against Stiles' prostate with a deadly precision that shouldn't surprise Stiles as much as it did, all things deadshot hunter considered. When one of Chris' hands wrapped around Stiles' cock, Stiles started sobbing into the other pillow on the bed.
Stiles cursed and arched his back when Chris came inside him and the sensation of being filled with hot cum – marked on the inside the way Chris had already marked him up on the outside – was the last straw. With a drawn-out whimper did Stiles come into Chris' hand. Everything felt fuzzy and Stiles was more exhausted than he remembered maybe ever being. He faded out of conscience with Chris' softening cock still inside him and for just a moment, Stiles allowed himself to think that he could have that, even though he knew he couldn't. Whatever had overcome Chris to fuck him like that, it'd pass and the hunter was probably going to wake him to kick him out soon enough. Not right now though, right now he was allowed to be in that happy, soft place of play pretend.
/break\
Chris woke up with his front pressed against Stiles' back, one arm curled possessively around Stiles' waist, hand splayed out on the boy's belly. He'd had the mind to get something to roughly clean them up after, even though Stiles had been positively passed out. A small smile pulled on Chris' lips at that. Stiles had looked real blissful, all fucked out and peacefully asleep. Not tense, guilty, or overthinking anything. Just… at ease.
Chris gently ran his fingers over Stiles' belly, finding the moles he hadn't gotten to spend much time on last night, tracing them. He'd focus more on them next time, map them with his tongue, tracing constellations on pale skin. The small smile on his lips grew when he saw the purple marks littering Stiles' neck and shoulders. All marked up. Undeniably Chris'.
Leaning in, Chris pressed gentle, soft kisses against the bite-marks, trying to soothe them. Stiles made a soft noise, stirring. From this angle, Chris could see the flutter of long lashes and the way his whiskey eyes opened slowly, disoriented at first.
"How do you feel, baby?" Chris asked lowly. "Anything hurt?"
"Mh?" Stiles blinked confused and turned to look at him just to wince.
Chris was torn between guilty and smug. "I did warn you about fucking you hard. Don't worry, we can spend all day in bed today, mh? Isaac is out with Boyd and Erica all weekend."
"I don't know if my ass can take spending all day in bed," Stiles blinked. "I need like at least a day to uh recover before I can take your dick again. I'm sorry."
Chris furrowed his brows, his fingers still dancing over Stiles' torso. "That's what I mean. You just stay in bed and rest. I'll make you food, bring it to you. Maybe a massage? We could take a bath later, when you feel up to it. I'll even carry you to the bathroom, if your legs aren't up to it."
There was still so much confusion on Stiles' face. "I don't… understand? I get last night. Somewhat. I mean, I am familiar with the concept of hate sex. But baths and breakfast in bed sound kinda counter productive to that. It's okay. I can… I can leave. Be out of your hair."
The frown on Chris' face deepened. "I don't want you out of my hair. Or out of my bed. And I don't… I don't hate you. I want you. Did you… sleep with me because you hate me? I… I'm sorry. I understand that I… I did hold a gun to your head. Fuck. I hadn't considered you'd-"
"No, you hate me. Because Allison died and you left and now you had to come back here and-"
"I wanted to come back. I always planned on coming back, for you," Chris whispered, gently cupping Stiles' cheek. "I lost too much, I can't lose you too, baby. And I don't… I don't blame you for what happened to Allison. I didn't leave because of you. I came back because of you."
"Why…?" Stiles asked, completely at a loss.
"Because I lost too much and you feel like home and I'm not ready to give that up," Chris said.
Stiles pulled Chris into a deep, desperate kiss that was like coming home. Chris smiled into it.
~*~ The End ~*~