kisses forehead.
FURY HAD OVER TAKEN YOUR LITHE FORM before he had come to stand in front of you. Sure, you wanted to leave, wanted out, but Stiles was bigger and, frankly, stronger than you. Escaping seemed impossible at this point. Besides, you didn’t want to use aggression against someone who you’d come to care so much for. Your face contorted into a displeased pout, though the second you felt lips against the skin of your forehead, you felt your knees begin to wobble. How had he known that was your ONE notable weakness? You relent, slumping against his torso, hands gripping the sides of his shirt. Your head rests against his chest and you make a pitiful noise in response, “Don’t do that.” You mumbled, grumpy at just how EASILY he’d defeated your anger, “It isn’t fair.”