Vogue Beauty Secrets
Max Verstappen x Wife!Reader
Summary... Vogue asks Y/N to film her skincare and makeup routine.
A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this little blurb. Let me know what you guys wanna see next. Request are open.
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The video opens with the click of a camera turning on, followed by a small laugh.
“Hi, Vogue,” Y/N greets warmly, brushing a few strands of hair behind her ear. Her skin is fresh, makeup-free, her voice still a bit husky from sleep. “I’m Y/N Verstappen and I’ve been asked to share my daily beauty routine… which honestly feels like a joke considering I’ve been up since 5 a.m. because my daughter thinks that’s an acceptable wake-up time.”
She shrugs playfully, leaning on the white marble bathroom counter. Behind her, viewers get a glimpse of their Amsterdam apartment, clean lines, cozy lighting, a plant in every corner.
“So let’s get into it,” she smiles. “I already cleansed off-camera because, well, my toddler smeared porridge on my face earlier and that wasn’t very Vogue.”
She lifts a bottle toward the camera. “This is what I used, super gentle, because hormones after breastfeeding are no joke. I used this religiously when Isa was still newborn and I felt like a walking zombie with acne.”
Just then, there’s a tiny knock on the bathroom door. Y/N pauses.
“Mama?” A small voice calls.
She bites back a smile. “Come in, schatje.”
Isa waddles into the room in her little bunny-print pajamas, hair a curly mess, one sock missing, holding her plush lion by the tail. Her eyes are wide with sleepy curiosity as she pads in and immediately reaches her arms up.
Y/N lifts her easily, balancing the toddler on one hip.
“This is Isa,” she chuckles. “My shadow. She doesn’t believe in personal space. Or sleep-ins.”
Isa rests her head against Y/N’s shoulder and waves lazily at the camera, mumbling, “Hi Vogue.”
“I’m gonna keep going while she hangs out,” Y/N explains. “Mom life doesn’t pause for skincare, right?”
She manages to tone with one hand, dotting serum on her cheeks while Isa fiddles with the collar of her robe.
And then, “Lieverd?” Max’s voice comes from somewhere off-camera. “Have you seen her other sock? She left it in the pantry again, I think.”
Y/N rolls her eyes fondly. “Check under the cereal boxes.”
There’s a pause.
“Got it.”
Max enters a moment later, barefoot in sweatpants and one of Y/N’s oversized hoodies, holding the missing sock like it’s a trophy.
“Victory,” he smirks, and steps into view to slide it onto Isa’s tiny foot as she babbles softly.
“Oh, and if I didn’t mention it... I’m married to that guy,” Y/N gestures at him, “who sometimes borrows my hoodies and always makes me tea while I do this.”
As if on cue, Max returns moments later with a steaming mug and a kiss to her temple. He doesn’t say anything else, just gives her a little smile and nods toward the camera like you’ve got this before disappearing again.
Y/N smiles after him.
“Okay, so next, I use this moisturizer. I keep it in the fridge because Max likes our house at ‘race car garage’ levels of cold and my skin can’t cope.”
She taps product on her face gently, still bouncing Isa in her arms.
“Lip balm,” she adds, reaching across the counter. “I don’t go anywhere without it. This one smells like mango. Isa always tries to eat it.”
“Mine,” Isa declares sleepily, snatching it from Y/N’s hand.
Y/N laughs. “Told you.”
There’s another interruption, this time the sound of a crash followed by Max’s startled “Alles goed?!” from the other room.
Y/N blinks at the camera, totally unbothered. “That’s our cat knocking over Max’s trophies again. She has a personal vendetta against the Monaco one.”
She finishes her makeup: light concealer, brow gel, tinted lip balm, all with Isa still perched on her hip.
“Oh, and when I do go to races, I do a bit more. Blush, mascara, maybe eyeliner if Isa hasn’t decided my makeup brush is her new toy.”
From the mirror, you can see Max re-entering, now carrying their cat under one arm and waving a toy toothbrush in the other.
“Does this belong to the tiny dictator?”
Isa perks up. “MINE!”
Max hands it over solemnly. “I thought so.”
He leans against the counter again, watching as Y/N wraps up her routine.
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs under his breath.
Y/N smiles at the compliment but turns it into a tease. “Even without the mascara?”
Max grins. “Always.”
The camera catches Isa reaching over to swipe her fingers in the blush compact and smear it across Y/N’s cheek. Y/N gasps in mock horror while Max bursts into a quiet laugh.
“Raw and unfiltered,” Y/N tells the camera, dabbing at her cheek. “Exactly what Vogue asked for, right?”
She sets Isa down gently, and the little girl waddles over to Max, nestling herself into his arms like a koala.
“I don’t get a lot of ‘me’ time,” Y/N admits, tucking her hair behind her ears. “But I wouldn’t trade this life for anything. It’s messy. Loud. Exhausting. But also, really, really full of love.”
Max leans into the frame for a moment, his voice soft. “That’s because you’re the heart of it.”
Y/N blushes, swats him away gently, and turns back to the camera.
“Thank you for watching this chaos. And Vogue? If you ever want a dad edition of this, Max has a killer 7-step beard care routine he refuses to admit to.”
Max, now offscreen, calls out, “That’s classified information.”
Y/N grins. “Bye, Vogue.”
She reaches to turn off the camera just as Isa squeals from the other room: “DAAAADDY! Cat stole my toast!”
Fade to black.
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The end...
