❝I'm overwhelmingly human. Sorry to disappoint.❞
Luna Flores hasn't had an easy life. And after moving to Beacon Hills, it isn't about to get any easier.
Forced to uproot her family's life in Arizona, Luna hopes to find respite in the unknown, quie...
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FRANKLY, LUNA HATED COPS.
Even before she was taken in, interrogated, and treated like shit by them — most of whom, both male and female, did not care about what Beckett had tried to do to her and if Beckett had survived, were willing to throw her case away — she disliked them. They didn't exactly have the best track record for being trustworthy and getting the job done, unless you counted the number of them that got some euphoric high from being trigger happy.
She did not say this at the kitchen table, across from Stiles Stilinski and directly next to Noah Stilinski, the sheriff himself. Somehow, she had the tiniest feeling that he would not like if she went on her bitter anti-cop rampage tonight in his home, as she remained the only one at the dining table not wearing shoes. Well, Stiles technically didn't have his shoes on either, though his method was more complicated. His sensory overload had kicked in, hating the feeling of his toes in his shoes, and so every so often, everyone would hear his shoes clunking against the floor underneath the table as he shoved his sneakers on and off again repeatedly. Noah, used to it by now, remained unfazed, poking at a pre-made grocery salad that his son demanded he eat if he insisted on having a slice of greasy, delicious pepperoni pizza.
It was around eight o'clock, which meant her parents would be home in two hours. Which meant, she needed to be leaving, making sure her car was placed safely in the driveway and she was placed safely back in her room, as if she had never left. She had been here way longer than she intended — swapping facts about herself for facts about Stiles, the two of them sitting on his bed as they discussed werewolves and Beacon Hills and each other's lives. Stiles seemed to be an open book, but whether that was how he truly was or simply a condition of their very rare, unique, once in a lifetime (or, in their case somehow, twice in a lifetime) circumstance, Luna didn't know.
Her plate was empty, deciding three slices was her limit for the night, in addition to the two slices she had prior in her own house before her parents left for work, making the amount of pizza she had eaten in a day come to a total of five slices. In her case, that was a record for least amount of slices eaten, especially because she was not only a pizza fiend, but also because ever since she had discovered Rosaria's Pizzeria in Beacon Hills, it was all she could think about and whenever she was within three feet of a a box with that label, she seemed to inhale its contents; but considering the day's events and what she had talked about, she had slowly lost her appetite by the time Noah opened the door, still in his uniform, and yelled Stiles's name.
Stiles was still going. He had a stomach of steel apparently, and Luna watched in silent horror, grimacing every time she thought he might choke. She had seen him shoving his face at school (honestly, she did too, because if anything, she was woman enough to admit that she ate like an absolute cave man), but that was usually with fries, something small and easier to cram in, not with slices of pizza that were bigger than the boy's face. She wondered where he put it all, seeing as it looked as if she even shoved him over, he would bruise like a peach, and she knew for a fact even from just looking at him, that she was pounds heavier than he was. She probably had more muscle too.
