She pushes harder. This is her power, this is what she is, what she’s for — she needs him to cry. She needs to know she’s still in control, at least a little, and the consequences of any other emotion she could have put on him wouldn’t’ve been acceptable. It’s harder than she expected, but maybe that’s because of his power.
“Don’t fight me,” she hisses, hardly aware of it.
She continues pressing, pushing, and Stiles is irritated that she picked this emotion of all things. She had so many to pick from and yet she chose sadness. Regardless, the teen stops fighting her and licks his lips softly, letting the tears overflow from his eyelids and run down his cheeks. He hated crying, he always felt terrible afterward. At this point, he wanted it to be over with, finding it rather obvious that her powers were working.
There. There it is, the reaction she wants. She lets go immediately, breathing a little shaky, pulse pounding. The way he fought — maybe she should have picked something else. Someone else. She presses her lips together, looks down and away, then back up. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I shouldn’t have — I’m sorry. I couldn’t think what — you … ” She straggles off, drags in a deep breath, and finishes, “You should use yours on me, now. Turnabout is fair play.”