Sterek Stories - A Collection - II

Peanuts

Stiles hates peanut butter. The taste, the texture, the colour, but most importantly the smell. He can't stand it. Something about it makes itself at home in his nose and refuses to go away for the next hour. Seriously. One whiff of peanut butter and his sense of smell is ruined for the next hour, because all he can smell is... peanut butter. Disgusting, repulsive peanut butter. It's been that way since he was little, although his father claims he was happily eating PB&J sandwiches sitting in his high chair in the kitchen when he was little. Whatever. He can't stand the stuff now. He also used to wear a pacifier clipped to his shirt, because he would be inconsolable when he lost the thing, while at the same time being unable to keep a decent hold of the thing so it constantly got lost. His point is: he doesn't wear a pacifier clipped to his shirt anymore, no matter how cheerful the cord was. It had a row of little baby elephants on it, holding each other's tails with their tiny trunks. Anyway, Stiles hates peanut butter.

Most people love peanut butter. Not Stiles, but most people do. They love it to a point that Stiles has to defend his poor taste buds for not liking it on an almost daily basis. You'd be surprised how often a like or dislike of peanut butter is a point of discussion in elementary school. You'd also get tired of it, if you knew how often the topic came up. Stiles did anyway, so he came up with a perfectly viable excuse to not like peanut butter.

"I'm allergic to peanuts," he declares to the kids sitting with him on the top bars of the jungle gym at recess.

"Peanut butter is made from peanuts," Scott helpfully explains when that statement doesn't garner the right amount of reaction from their peers.

Little Johnny Walsh eyes him distrustfully. "Is that why you don't wanna eat PB&J sandwiches? Even though they are the best?"

"Yup," Stiles says, popping the P. Not on purpose, more because he kinda lost his balance for a second and had to steady himself with a hand on the bar before him. "I want to eat them, but I can't."

"My aunt is allergic to peanuts," Samantha Miller says, swinging her legs in the void below the bars. "When she eats one, she can, like, die from it."

"Will you die if you eat a peanut?" Johnny seems a little too intrigued by that prospect.

Stiles frowns at him. "No," he says, because that doesn't seem a very manly thing to do, dying from consuming a peanut. "But I get a really bad rash. Very painful." Painful things are manly, right?

"On your butt?" Scott asks, looking at him curiously. "Is that why I've never seen it?"

Dang it. Scott can be either incredibly oblivious or annoyingly insightful, all at the wrong time. "Yes, Scott," Stiles sighs. "On my butt."

***

Being allergic to peanuts works out rather well for Stiles. He can do perfectly well without the little nuts they sprinkle on top of your chocolate sundae and he also has no problem avoiding things like trail mix in public. It's a sacrifice he gladly makes to avoid discussing his hate for peanut butter with people who simply can't understand his aversion to the food. Besides, he's been 'allergic' for so long now, it's practically second nature.

His only achilles heel comes in the form of peanut M&M's. No matter how much he dislikes peanuts in general and peanut butter in particular, there is something about a peanut covered in milk chocolate with a crispy sugar coating that has him salivating.
The solution is simple though: he eats them when nobody is around, in the sanctity of his own room. Ever since the introduction of werewolves in his life he has to be a little more careful about it, with their tendency to crawl through windows at inopportune moments - he's looking at you, Derek - and their enhanced sense of smell, but he still manages to give in to his craving every now and then.