Anyway, here you can find a list of the races/events the F1 Academy girls (current and former) will take part to in April and May while there's no F1/F1A racing
(HUGE shoutout to Chloe Chong who's going to drive at the Nürburgring in the NLS, Verstappen WHO)
Can you make a rookie!reader who is under Fernando's management, so when the other A14 Management drivers Nikola Tsolov, Pepe Martí, Chloe Chambers, came to the f1 race to cheer for Reader and Gabriel, after the race everyone watch the chaos of A14 drivers under Fernando's management and him trying to control them, but their basically the same menace and chaos erupt.
Fernando’s Daycare: Rookie!Y/N and the A14 Menace Squad
You were already regretting signing with Fernando Alonso’s management team by the time the media pen was over. Not because you didn’t love driving, or because you didn’t appreciate the fact that a two-time world champion had decided to take you under his wing, but because you had learned something very important about A14 Management within your first three months: they were all menaces. Every last one of them.
You? Menace.
Nikola? Menace.
Pepe? Menace.
Chloe? Don’t let her calm vibe fool you — menace.
Gabriel? Pure menace energy.
And Fernando himself? The founding father of menace culture.
So the fact that Fernando somehow thought he could control all of you at once, at a Grand Prix weekend of all places, was genuinely the funniest thing that had ever happened in the history of motorsport.
The first sign of incoming chaos was Nikola showing up to the paddock with a scooter that very much did not belong to him. He claimed he’d “borrowed” it from a hospitality area. You had your doubts, considering the Red Bull stickers still on the side and the way Yuki shouted from across the paddock, “HEY, THAT’S MY SCOOTER!”
The second sign was Pepe bringing a speaker. You had no idea how security let him in with it, but sure enough, he rolled into the Aston Martin motorhome blasting Bad Bunny loud enough to drown out the commentary screens. When Lance walked by, Pepe shouted, “¡Vamos, Lance!” like he was at a football match.
The third sign was Chloe. Sweet, responsible, calm Chloe. Except apparently she’d decided that today was the day she would stir the pot. You knew it the second she pointed at a Ferrari hospitality plate full of pasta and said, “Hey Y/N, you won’t — but I will.” Next thing you knew, Chloe Chambers was halfway to stealing Carlos lunch while you tried to stop her and yelled, “CHLOE NO!”
By the time Gabriel arrived, Fernando was already rubbing his temples.
“Why are they here?” Fernando muttered when he spotted Nikola zooming past on Yuki’s scooter again. “Why did they all come to the race? Why?”
“Because you invited them,” you reminded him sweetly.
Fernando looked at you like you’d just betrayed him on live television. “I did not—” he paused. “…Okay, maybe I said they could come if they had time.”
And that was it. The gates were open. The A14 kids had arrived in full force, and chaos was imminent.
—
It started small. Nikola challenging Lando to a race through the paddock hallways. Pepe providing live commentary like a boxing announcer. Chloe bribing a McLaren mechanic with cookies for “trade secrets.” Gabriel somehow ending up with Lewis dog Roscoe in his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You tried to be normal. Really, you did. You had just finished your first rookie qualifying session — not bad, not amazing, solid midfield — and all you wanted was to drink water, maybe eat a protein bar, and not die before Sunday’s race.
But then Pepe jumped onto the Aston Martin pit wall stool like he owned the place, and Nikola shouted, “Y/N, race me to the paddock gates or you’re scared!” and Chloe casually told the press you’d once spun Fernando in a simulator session.
And Fernando. Poor, suffering, regret-filled Fernando. He tried. He really did.
“Pepe, get off the pit wall, this is not a circus. Nikola, return the scooter or I will make you do fitness training for six hours straight. Chloe, stop spreading rumors. Gabriel — why do you have Roscoe?!”
“Roscoe likes me,” Gabriel said simply, as the dog licked his face.
Lewis, ten feet away, shrugged. “He does seem pretty chill with it.”
Fernando blinked like he was reconsidering every life decision that led him here.
—
The true eruption happened after the race.
You’d finished P9 — points on your rookie debut. Not bad at all. Gabriel had been in the paddock club watching and nearly fell off the balcony screaming when you crossed the line. Nikola and Pepe somehow acquired a giant Spanish flag and tried to sneak it into parc fermé, yelling “FERNANDO MANAGEMENT BABY!” until security physically removed them. Chloe live-tweeted the entire thing like it was the Eurovision final.
By the time you made it back to the motorhome, the A14 gang had fully taken over. Pepe had set up a speaker playing reggaeton at max volume. Nikola was trying to convince Max Verstappen to do a shoey. Chloe was calmly drinking tea on Fernando’s chair like she’d staged a coup. Gabriel was teaching Roscoe tricks.
And Fernando — two-time world champion Fernando Alonso — was standing in the middle of it all, muttering in rapid Spanish about “niños del demonio” while every driver that walked past stopped to stare at the circus.
Charles walked by and just started laughing. “Fernando, are these your children?”
“THEY ARE NOT MY CHILDREN,” Fernando snapped instantly.
“Yes we are,” Nikola shouted.
“Papa Fernando,” Pepe added with a grin.
“Papá Alonso,” Gabriel agreed in Portuguese, petting Roscoe like a Disney princess.
“Dad,” Chloe said flatly, sipping tea.
Fernando made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a primal scream.
—
The chaos didn’t stop there. Because once the grid realized how funny this was, they joined in.
Lando offered Nikola and Pepe papaya-colored team shirts “for the culture.” Carlos invited Chloe to actually steal his lunch because “at least you’re honest about it.” George Russell asked Fernando if he was available for parenting classes. Logan Sargeant tried to join your management team by simply standing next to Gabriel until Fernando noticed and yelled, “NO. WE DO NOT ACCEPT RETURNS.”
And then Max — Max Verstappen, reigning world champion — walked by, took one look at you all, and said, “This looks like daycare.”
You swore Fernando aged five years on the spot.
“This is my life now,” Fernando muttered. “I drive for twenty years, I win two championships, and this is my legacy. Babysitter.”
“Legendary babysitter,” you corrected cheerfully.
“Sit down, Y/N,” Fernando groaned.
—
The highlight of the weekend, though, came at the after-race team dinner.
Aston Martin had reserved a fancy restaurant for staff and sponsors, and somehow the entire A14 group got dragged along. The plan was simple: eat, celebrate your rookie points, go home.
But plans and A14 Management do not mix.
Nikola challenged Fernando to an arm-wrestling contest in the middle of the table. Pepe ordered six desserts at once “for scientific purposes.” Chloe somehow convinced half the Ferrari mechanics to chant your name. Gabriel climbed on a chair to give a speech about “the new generation” and knocked over a wine glass.
And you? You sat there, halfway between mortified and entertained, watching Fernando’s soul leave his body.
“Why did I ever agree to management,” Fernando whispered into his hands.
“Because we’re the future,” you said.
“Because you’re the chaos,” he muttered back.
He wasn’t wrong.
—
By the end of the weekend, one thing was clear: the world had witnessed the birth of not just a new F1 rookie, but the full unhinged chaos of A14 Management.
And Fernando? He could try to control it all he wanted, but deep down, you knew he loved it.
Even if he would never admit it.
and that was your rookie weekend under A14 management.
