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He had never been called beautiful before. Cute, hot sometimes, by the girls that swarmed the team after games but he couldn’t even tell who they were talking to most of the time. This was different though. Stiles’ fingers tracing over the skin of his hips. Feather light kisses pressed to his chest, and his neck, and his lips. Whispered words of, “beautiful.” And “gorgeous.” Pouring out of his mouth.
Isaac had never viewed himself as attractive. His ears were too big, his eyes were too small, and scars laced themselves all across his body. But Stiles, Stiles thought he was utterly breathtaking. Running his fingers over each scar as if cataloging them. Kissing lightly over the abused flesh like maybe, if he did it enough they would disappear. God, never before had Isaac felt so contented, so wanted, so, loved, Like he actually mattered.
He let himself believe Stiles, sometimes, when he whispered things like this against his skin. Sweet nothings that from anyone else would sound fake, Would sound forced, but with Stiles it was different and he was beginning to believe that even if he wasn’t actually beautiful. Maybe the fact that Stiles thought he was beautiful, might be enough.