Stiles’ love language is food. He loves to cook. He loves to eat. If someone he loves feels unwell? He’s cooking for them.
It reminds him of his mom. She was the same way, making food for Stiles and his dad was her way of making sure they were healthy and that they were taken care of. He remembers the smells and her gentle patient hands guiding him through the shaping of the pierogi. He thinks of her humming to music and the tastes of the food from their homeland.
When she died, he didn’t really eat. His dad didn’t either. People brought casseroles. They lined the freezer. Stiles and his dad picked at them sporadically. They weren’t really a family anymore, and food had brought them all together.
It isn’t until the pack that Stiles really starts cooking again. He takes care of his pack just like his mom had taken care of him. He creates meal plans, he executes grocery store runs, he develops menus, he accrues pack members personal tastes. He throws himself into it like nothing before.
Stiles takes special delight in feeding Derek. Something about it just feels right. Because of his super senses, the werewolf’s taste buds are super sensitive. He’s picky about his food. Stiles has learned to introduce subtle flavors into his dishes and to cut back on the salt. He buys only the highest quality ingredients. He makes things from scratch a lot because Derek can taste the chemical preservatives better than anyone else can.
And to anyone else it might be a pain in the ass, but to Stiles? He’s showing his care and love and affection. Derek clearly appreciates the effort, eating all of the food served and acknowledging the hard work and complimenting the dish. Stiles blushes and goes shy and stutters every time but Derek persists, as do Stiles’ cooking skills.
