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toppamplemousse · 8 months ago

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helloo! I hope you're doing well 😊

Just wanted to come in here and let you know that I absolutely love and adoreeee your fic – La Rentrée so so much that I’ve read it twice in just a week! (and will probably read it again :D) The writing & characterization was just so so so good, soo fabulous. I think I’ve just found myself a new comfort fic that's for sure💗

Even the second part was just. so. damn. good🥵🔥 words are failing me to explain just how much I loved reading both the parts of this cute and sweet story!!

Absolutely no pressure at all, but is there any chance we could see more glimpses of this universe? Because I am gonna eat up everything related to this AU from now on. Maybe A Day in the Life of the Verstappen-Leclerc Household?

If not, then that's totally fine as well, I am happy that you shared this piece with the rest of us; thank you so much for this fic❤️

ahhh thank you so much, so glad you liked the fics and the universe!! it is truly so much fun to imagine what the grid would be like as PTA parents and to assign roles to all the current and former drivers 💕💕

your ask inspired a bit of a brainworm about a morning in the life of the leclerc-verstappens, below the cut because it then snowballed into almost 3k of chaos and fluff and charles and max being obsessed with each other.

and please send in any more ideas you have for this AU, we’d love to write other little scenes and we’ll try not to make them all 3k 🤪

hope you enjoy!! 😊🥰

wednesday morning [a la rentrée bonus scene] charles/max | 2.6k words

Max feels himself slowly start to wake up, tendrils of awareness yanking away the fog of sleep that covers him like a blanket. The fragmented images of his dream (an Italian villa, a view of the sea, Charles’ golden skin) dissolve into more mundane, but no less welcome, images of their darkened bedroom (the fan whirring overhead, clothes heaped onto the chair beside the closet, Charles’ golden skin).

His husband is still asleep, his legs entwined with Max’s under the covers, his head pillowed on Max’s outstretched arm. Max watches the steady rise and fall of his chest for a few moments, and smiles. All in all, not a bad view to wake up to.

Recalling his dream, Max leans forward to press a lingering kiss to the top of Charles’ shoulder, then ghosts his lips up his neck to mouth at the underside of his jaw. Max gently kisses Charles’ cheek and he feels his husband drift awake, a dimple forming underneath his lips and eyelashes fluttering against his nose. Max pulls back to see those green eyes blink open sleepily.

“Morning schat,” he whispers, pressing another brief kiss to Charles’ other cheek. Charles sighs in contentment and his hand scrabbles briefly under the covers to find Max’s and intertwine their pinkies. Max traces the cool metal of Charles’ wedding ring with his hand, twisting it around Charles’ finger, and he feels as content as Charles sounds.

“G’morning,” Charles’ voice is still deep and raspy with sleep. He shuffles closer, kissing Max’s temple and then nosing at the juncture between Max’s neck and shoulder, looking and sounding like he wants to fall back asleep right there, “‘T time’s it?”

Max loops a hand behind Charles’ waist, both to pull him closer and to check the time on his phone on the nightstand. There’s another text from an unknown number that Max swipes away without a second thought.

“Almost seven,” Max whispers, “So we’ve got a bit of time before the kids wake up.”

“Mmm,” Charles hums, satisfied, and smiles against the skin of Max’s neck. His finger traces a nonsensical pattern on Max’s chest and Max can read the intention behind it.

Just as he’s thinking about doing something about that intention, the door swings open, little feet patter across the floor, a small weight lands on the end of the bed with a tiny “Oof” and then, inexplicably, there’s a cat in Max’s face.

“Dada!” Ollie flops on top of him, grinning, “Jimmy wanted to say hello!”

“Yes, I can see that, liefje,” Max replies, ruffling his son’s messy curls and maneuvering Jimmy off of his face and into the divot of the bed between him and Charles. Jimmy pops one eye open, almost scolding, as if Max was the one throwing him around, and then settles in the warm sheets. “But try to be careful with him, yes?”

“But Dada he likes it, he told me!” Ollie protests, scrambling to stand with his feet on either side of Max’s legs and bending forward to try to do a handstand with his little hands on Max’s shins. “He wants to play!” He insists, voice muffled.

Max is skeptical, given the fact that the cat is already back asleep, but there’s no way he can say that in the face of Ollie’s innocent glee. Max’s fingers tangle with Charles’ on Jimmy’s fur and they exchange a bemused glance, imbued with all the affection they have for their son and the fleeting frustration at having been interrupted.

“Come on, lollipop, let’s leave your Papa to wake up a little more and we’ll go get dressed.” Charles flashes a grateful smile as Max scoops Ollie around the waist with one hand before he can fall off the bed and snatches Jimmy up with the other hand.

“Okay, Dada, and Vivi is making us breakfast, so then we will have it!”

Before Max can even process that statement, there’s a loud ‘thunk’ from the direction of the kitchen, followed immediately by Violette’s voice exclaiming “It’s okay!”

Max looks at Charles again and all hopes for a peaceful morning fly out the window. Charles shakes his head, but smiles, and Max can read the look in his eye as She’s your daughter alright. Max wouldn’t have it any other way. Charles swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands, pulling on a faded Heineken t-shirt that Max got as a gift from a client.

“I’ll go see what she’s up to, and you can help Ollie,” Charles says, tickling their son on his stomach and squeezing Max’s hip as he passes them to open the door and head down the stairs, “Vivi, sweetheart, we talked about only helping in the kitchen when there’s an adult there.”

Once out in the hallway, Max lets Jimmy jump down to the floor, and watches him skitter into the guest room, probably to hide underneath the bed with Sassy and be safe from grabby five year-old hands.

Those grabby five year-old hands are currently pointing to each of the dinosaurs on his pajama shirt and proudly telling Max their names – the red one, ‘apallosaur’ (apatosaurus, Max guesses), the blue one, ‘velonactor’ (velociraptor, Max is pretty sure), and the green on is T-rex and did you know that we are learning about dinosaurs in Mr. Alonso’s class, Dada?

While Ollie narrates, Max fetches his uniform clothes from the dresser. Ollie stubbornly refuses to let Max help him get dressed, insisting that he’s a big boy and he can do it himself.

Max relents with a bemused smile, and watches as Ollie furrows his brow and fumbles with the buttons on his shirt, the same line appearing between his eyebrows as when Charles is poring over blueprints at the kitchen table late at night before an important pitch meeting. Ollie lets out a frustrated huff as he struggles to fold up the cuffs of his shorts the same way that Charles does whenever Max insists that they take the BMW on a road trip instead of the less practical but much sexier and more fun, Max, come on Ferrari. And the way that Ollie’s lips twist to the side in a pout as he tries to yank his socks on in a way that is so undeniably Charles that Max can’t help but laugh.

Ollie’s personality is so unique, a perfect blend of Charles’ impulsive enthusiasm and Max’s thoughtful kindness, but his mannerisms are all Charles. Max can’t wait to see the similarities grow as Ollie does.

Max makes sure to tuck Ollie’s shirt in, lest he get another reminder from the Friends PTA president about the proper way for the kids to wear the uniform, Mr. Verstappen.

Ollie finishes getting dressed, just as Charles calls up the stairs for the two of them to come down for pancake breakfast.

“Pancakes!!!” Ollie cheers as he races out of the room and Max follows him, entering the kitchen to the heavenly smell of baking pancakes and also the sight of flour and chocolate chips scattered across the countertop. His husband and his daughter are not the most organized chefs.

“Ollie, will you set the table for me?” Charles asks, “And Vivi, honey, will you get the plates and cups out?” Both kids immediately set off on their tasks, and Max takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around Charles’ waist and rest his chin on his shoulder.

“If you find any eggshells in your pancakes, don’t say a word, Vivi tried very hard to pick them all out,” Charles warns, flipping the last of the pancakes onto the serving platter and turning off the stove. Max laughs and feels Charles’ answering giggle in his own ribcage.

“Not the most relaxing morning, hmm?” Max says, burying his nose in Charles’ hair “If I had my way, I’d have kept you in bed for another hour at least.”

“Max!” Charles gasps dramatically, reaching around to hit him with the oven mitt, “Si obscène! You only have to wait until Friday, and then the kids will be at Lorenzo’s for the weekend.”

“Hmm, so I have until Friday to think of all the things I’m going to do to you this weekend.” Max murmurs, “The things I’m going to do, the places I'm going to do them.” He gives the counter a significant look and Charles flushes pink as he elbows Max away to grab the serving platter.

There are very few things in the world that Max enjoys more than riling Charles up, he thinks to himself as he grabs the maple syrup and follows Charles into the dining room, where Violette and Ollie are already sitting and chattering away.

The topics of conversation over breakfast vary wildly, as they often do, with Ollie and Violette ping-ponging between discussing their various friends, activities, and opinions, and Max and Charles resigned to exchanging amused glances across the table and barely being able to get in a word edgewise. Today’s conversation ranges from the parts for the school play to the new football cleats that Violette can’t wait to show Coach Ky to the vacation that Clemmie is taking to Australia over winter break.

(Which involves a brief detour into an argument about the capital of Australia: Vivi insists it’s Melbourne and Ollie insists it’s Sydney and Max is unable to resist pointing out that the capital is actually Canberra.)

(Charles smirks at him and Max briefly and vividly recalls the many times he has had to recite the European capitals in his head when Charles is on top of him, or under him, or in front of him, the sight of his husband's golden, glistening skin and the filthy sounds dripping from his lips making it almost impossible for Max to control himself.)

(He also recalls the time that he drunkenly confessed that to Charles in a moment of weakness and now has to endure teasing about it for the rest of his life.)

Max blushes and kicks Charles underneath the table.

After breakfast, Violette sits on the carpet in the living room and Max sits behind her on the couch and he takes a second to briefly marvel at their little family, how much he loves having a morning routine like theirs, where he braids Violette’s hair while she excitedly fills him in on what her plans are for that school day, how his heart warms as he watches Charles in the kitchen with Ollie, giggling as he holds the little boy up to the kitchen sink so that Ollie can help with the dishes, Papa, I can do them for you!

And how he wouldn’t mind adding another tornado of chaos to their lives sometime soon, even if it means that relaxing mornings in bed with Charles will be even rarer than they already are.

Max thought he was the luckiest man alive back when Charles kissed him for the first time, a decade ago now, when he realized that Charles felt it too, that magnetic pull between them. But every single day since, Max’s luck has only continued to grow, giving him two adorable, sweet, happy children, a family and a life he adores with the man that he loves.

Max combs through Violette’s thick blonde hair with his fingers, careful not to pull on the tangles hard enough to pinch. His daughter squirms around in her seat and her mouth opens and shuts a few times, before she continues wriggling around more.

“Vi, is there something you’d like to say? Does your hair hurt?” Max softens his touch a little as he begins to separate her hair into sections.

Violette is quiet for a moment before she says in a stage whisper, “Dada, can you keep a secret? And pinky promise you won’t tell?” Violette holds out her pinky and Max hooks it with his own, promising in a voice that matches Violette’s serious tone, unbelievably curious as to what she’s going to reveal.

Violette’s eyes widen and she lowers her voice, “Yesterday, at recess, Jamie and Lila and Sadie painted their uniform shoes green because it’s Mr. Alonso’s favorite color. And they also spilled the paint in Mr. Webber’s classroom but he doesn’t know yet.”

Violette reveals the secret as if it’s the single most important piece of information she possesses. Max makes sure to gasp dramatically enough to show that he’s really taking this secret-revealing business seriously. He can only imagine how all the involved parties will react when they found out: Mr. Webber, resigned dismay, and Mr. Alonso, restrained glee.

If George found out — which he wouldn’t from Max, he’d made a pinky promise, after all — there would definitely be a fun conversation with Lando about Jamie corrupting the Russell twins that Max would pay to see.

The kids rush upstairs to get their backpacks and Max follows Charles into their bathroom to brush his teeth and get ready. Max can feel Charles’ eyes on him in the mirror as Max fixes his hair, turning his head left and right to see it sticking up all over the place, and thinking about how he should see when Pascale is free for a haircut.

Maybe Charles can read his mind, or maybe he just knows Max really well, but Charles spits his toothpaste into the sink and fixes him with a glare, “Don’t you even think about cutting your hair, I will call Maman right now and tell her she’s not to let you within a meter of a pair of scissors, don’t think I won’t.”

“Why can’t I cut it?” Max protests, “It’s getting way too long, and it just looks shabby.”

“First of all, it looks very dashing and handsome and I don’t want to hear you calling yourself shabby, mon amour.” Max’s stomach flips pleasantly, still excited after all these years to hear Charles call him handsome.

“Second of all,” Charles lowers his voice, “It’s the perfect length to pull on right now, so if you cut it I’ll be very unhappy.” As if to illustrate his point, Charles runs a hand through Max’s hair and gently tugs on it, and Max wishes that they didn’t have to be leaving for school and work in literally two minutes.

“If you don’t stop saying things like that, then I’m adding this bathroom to the list of places I’m going to fuck you this weekend,” Max leans in closer, lips brushing Charles’ ear as he speaks, “And you can pull on my hair all you want while I suck you off, but only after I’ve bent you over the counter and had my way with you, yes?”

“Max,” Charles whines against his neck.

Max presses a kiss to the spot below Charles’ ear, reveling in the shiver he watches spread across his husband’s body. They both giggle as they pull apart, overly flushed for a routine Wednesday morning.

Max finishes getting ready quicker than Charles — no surprises there — and heads downstairs to help Violette pack her backpack and Ollie tie his shoes. A few minutes later, Charles races down the stairs, drafting papers spilling from his briefcase, hugging Ollie and Violette goodbye, promising to see them at pickup, and pressing a chaste, minty, too-quick kiss to Max’s lips that has Max leaning forward to chase his lips as Charles breezes out the door, late for a meeting as usual.

Max hears the Pista engine rev as Charles pulls out of the garage. He hopes that George isn’t watching through his blinds, otherwise they’re going to get another strongly-worded email about respecting the speed limits of the neighborhood.

Max himself makes sure to not go a kilometer above the speed limit as he drives the familiar route to Friends, Ollie and Violette in the backseat giggling about something Mr. Raikkonen said in class yesterday. As Max pulls into the parking lot, he barely has time to slow the car to a stop before Violette is skipping over to Estrella and Ollie is running to greet Jacques.

Max would love nothing more than to get back in his car and begin the commute to work, but unfortunately, as Charles always reminds him, part of the drop-off job includes socializing with the other parents. He glances to the side of the playground and sees George chatting with Oscar and that blond American guy who has a crush on Charles. Resolving to talk mainly to Oscar, Max heads in their direction.

“Max!” George calls as he approaches, “Did you see my text about your assigned dish for the potluck after the Christmas pageant? It’s really quite urgent, we only have two months to go.”

Max congratulates himself quite heartily on his ability to resist the urge to roll his eyes, and wishes more than ever that he could be back in the dream he was having this morning: the sun on his face, the sea in the distance, and Charles – just Charles, only Charles, always Charles – to keep him company.

#if you’re wondering which formula 1 driver coach ky might be #it’s actually star striker for PSG and the french national team kylian mbappe #and he’s so essential to the story but also never mentioned #la rentree #lestappen #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf #asks

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