Can I share a thought with you? Beauty Guru Yuri. Like idk he has a youtube channel where he does makeup tutorials and where he vlogs about his days and he makes makeup and clothes haul. And I just want Otabek to get this unhealthy obsession with Yuri's videos and he spends the whole night watching this gorgeous blond teaching youtube about smokey eyes and winged eyeliner.
Anon, I just had to.
“Hey, this is Yuri. Today I’m going to show you how to do a smokey eye. I know there are about a million tutorials of this on Youtube, but it was requested and I figured why the fuck not.”
“So as always, all the products I use are listed in the description. This is not a sponsored video, it’s all my own stuff. But if Urban Decay ever wants to drop me a line, hopefully they’ll know where to find me ‘cause their shit’s really good. Anyway, let’s get started.”
Otabek watched the blond rummage for something in front of him that was just out of sight.
“I already did my base and there’s a whole other video on that, so check that out too, if you’re interested.”
Otabek had already, in fact, checked that out. About a month or so ago he was just casually browsing Youtube, when a thumbnail of something blond and pretty caught his eye in his recommended videos. Follow me around St. Petersburg the video was called. He clicked the link with mild interest to find one of the most beautiful boys he had ever seen, strolling through the city, frappucino in hand, making snarky comments at the camera.
He found out that this guy was named Yuri Plisetsky and his channel consisted mainly of daily vlogs, videos in which he showed stuff he had bought which were apparently called hauls, Otabek had learned, and make up tutorials. Now apart from a smudge of eyeliner during an experimental phase when he had been sixteen, Otabek didn’t touch make up, didn’t particularly care for it. But then there was Yuri, with shiny blond hair that fell messily to his shoulders, high, sharp cheekbones and pouty lips to which he applied a candy pink gloss. His best feature were his eyes, spring green and clear as glass, looking defiantly at the camera even when he had just put on sparkly eye shadow. He had slender fingers and swore like a sailor and in a month Otabek had binge watched all of his videos and as a result knew more about liquid lipsticks than he ever needed to know. Yuri was fascinating. He was duality personified, long limbed and graceful, yet blunt and coarse. Otabek couldn’t look away.
He had sat through Yuri gleefully holding up crop tops and platform sneakers and leopard printed anything to the camera, Yuri musing about his life in St. Petersburg, his fluffy cat on his lap, telling little stories and bitching about two guys he called Katsudon and The Old Geezer. He looked almost sweet and vulnerable in those moments and it had felt like listening to a friend somehow. Otabek had tried not to stare too hard at the blond in that try-on video in which he wore jean shorts which, quite frankly, looked about two sizes too small on Yuri’s surprisingly plump ass. The tiny see-through top he had been wearing wasn’t helping. Otabek could swear that the blond was eye-fucking the camera sometimes, cocking his eyebrow with a little smirk.
Don’t be a creep, he thought to himself, don’t crush on some random, beautiful guy on the internet.
Don’t pause the video of him in those jean shorts.
But here he was, eagerly watching Yuri’s latest as soon as he got a notification, like a complete dweeb.
“Now this look is pretty much suitable for everyone,” Yuri continued, “Looks good with any eye colour.”
Yuri moved closer to the camera. “It’s nice on blue or green, like mine. But I especially like it on brown eyes. It makes them even more smoldering.”
The blond flashed the camera the cutest grin. “I love brown eyes.”
Otabek could feel his pulse in his throat. He groaned.