since there’s been an influx of new beatles x readers writers i am once again asking if there’s anyone who can write for Audrey from Brummelliana’s A Harder Day’s Night. if so please let me know and i WILL request you oh my god. i am asking all at once instead of individually so i don’t have to deal with the awkwardness i’d be filled with if the author i ask says no. i’m hitting the griddy
if it’s okay with you could you please do anything to do with 80s george x reader? thank you !!
Racing to Cloud Nine
George Harrison x Reader
Your husband, George, loves F1 and racing. While testing his skills one cloudy English day, you both test which is better with some hands-on competition: F1 or NASCAR.
CW: fluff, NSFW (some choking), language, F1/NASCAR references (sorry if they're confusing they shouldn't impede understanding though🫶)
Word Count: 1.8k
Standing on the side of a long stretch of road beneath the cloudy skies of England, you watched in awe as George's black 1980 Porsche 924 Carrera GT appeared on the horizon and sped past you in a matter of seconds. The force of the vehicle racing through drew the skirt of your dress up in a draft that begged to follow after him and nearly stole the tan sun hat from your head, making you hurriedly shoot your hand up to hold it still.
When he reappeared from the other side and came to a skidding stop mere feet in front of you, you clicked your finger on the stopwatch and smiled down at the cocky driver who peered out the window with his elbow out to stare at you. "Well 'ello, gorgeous. Who left a pretty lil' thing like you out there all alone?" He teased with a smile, nodding his head back into the car to motion you to hop inside. You rolled your eyes in response and leaned down to kiss his warm lips before walking around the monster of a modified model to pull open the door and fold inside. The familiar smell of leather and George's cologne filled your nose as you settled into your seat and flashed him the numbers on the tiny screen. "32.3 seconds-- best time yet, Earnhardt." You jabbed back and placed the stopwatch inside the center console. George coolly placed his left hand on your upper thigh and squeezed. "Fangio, love. We're an F1 household despite your best efforts."
"Who says?"
George glanced at you from the side of his eyeline and revved the engine, giving you a chance to quickly buckle your seatbelt before he tore off down the empty roads like a light. While his right hand gripped the top of the wheel, the other slid down to your knee to find its way beneath the hem of your dress and move back up the inside of your thigh. Your breath hitched in your throat as you looked over at him, but his eyes never left the road. "George, stay focused." You warned.
"Oh I am, darlin'. Don't worry about me: I can handle a naughty girl... like the Carrera." The musician-turned-racer could be cruel when he wanted, and this was one of those times. The back streets were clear of all other vehicles, so it was obvious that the heat rising in your face and stomach was not caused by a fear of George's negligence; rather, it was the assuredness with which his hand moved along your skin and squeezed possessively to remind you who exactly controlled this ride he had the two of you on.
Trees, fields, and signs sped past your window in streaks that seemed to hypnotize you, pulling you deeper and deeper into a trance of speed and desire egged on by the rumble of the engine and your lover's touch until you finally demanded, "pull over."
The guitarist hardly gave you a glance before he obeyed and whipped the car around onto a hidden side road, his permed hair becoming the slightest bit tousled from the force. "What's wrong, love?" He questioned. Before either of you could come up with a further line of question or answer you unbuckled and climbed over the seats to cradle George's lap, hold either side of his face in your hands, and press a hard kiss against his lips which parted immediately to accept yours. His eyes shut and crinkled at the corners in satisfaction, a notion mirrored by the hands moving up from your thighs to your hips and rubbing circles in the skin.
He was deceivingly elegant in his movements while yours were hungry: hands dragging his face closer to yours, hips moving downward, tongue darting between his teeth, and breath flowing freely into his mouth as though you were feeding him oxygen and needed none for yourself. While you weren't quite sure what had led you to this place: George's sexy car? His possessive touch? The competitive nature of his international F1 versus your (disrespected) American NASCAR? How quickly he had obeyed you? It didn't matter now that you had him here.
Without your noticing, one of George's hands had left your hips and slipped out from under your dress, instead snaking its way between both your heaving bodies until his thumb and index finger sat beneath your jaw and around your throat. He pressed down on either side of your neck just enough to get your attention and halt your movements, at which point you pulled back and stared at the messy driver breathlessly. Both of your lips were swollen, faces hot, and heads of hair alive with static, but George's eyes just darkened at the delicious sight. "Backseat. Now."
The second his grip loosened, you nodded and climbed between the two black leather seats to get in the back bench seat, laying back and watching him climb out of the driver's seat to get in the passenger's and pull the seat as far forward as it could go so he could get in and give the two of you as much room as possible. It was certainly cramped, but you could never have been more thankful to be looking up at the man crawling over you. His arms now extended on either side of your head and one leg bent between yours and the backrest, his other extended on the floor of the car. At this angle his dark permed hair fell over both of your faces and covered you both in a near privacy curtain as you reconnected again, the hand carefully placed at your throat now keeping you at bay and making the kiss slow and sloppy like George preferred.
But, as you preferred, your hands reached between the two of you and found the lowest buttons of his shirt, beginning to undo the fabric and moaning into his mouth when he squeezed in response. It certainly didn't stop your movements, which succeeded and opened up his shirt to reveal his torso to your greedy hands that hurriedly moved to caress every inch of him. The guitarist chuckled against your lips and pulled away to look down and see you smirking proudly. "You 're one sneaky lil' minx." He growled playfully, to which you only looked down at his chest and sighed. "I know what I want."
George raised a brow at that response, squeezing the thumb and index finger around your neck to get your eyes on his again. When you finally made eye contact with him, you heard a zipper and felt movement below but didn't dare look away. Even when you felt his free hand reach back up underneath the skirt of your dress and grab the edge of your panties, working then off of your hips and ass with a bit of force until they were down to your knees, you didn't look away. The only indication that you were aware of anything except George's eyes was soft gasps and whimpers begging for him to move faster.
"I know what I want." He purred back almost to mock you, running his middle and index finger over the slit of your vulva before sliding them inside of you without warning. You gasped "George!" breathlessly, his name sounding like a prayer from your throat. His fingers curled skillfully and aimed to earn more beautiful sounds from your lips, which now formed to spit into your hand. You reached down between the two of you to find his already hardened length and wrapped your fingers around it, moving up and down every time he curled his fingers. You now moved in unison, your hot breaths intermingling and fogging up the windows of the modded car to be totally yours.
Once he felt you had been sufficiently relaxed-- and before he could be pushed to the brink-- he pulled his digits from inside of you and instead wrapped them around his cock to line himself up with your entrance. He looked away only once to make sure the two of you were in sync and then immediately returned his attention back to your face. "Ready?"
You nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, fuck yes." He smiled and leaned down to kiss you, squeezing your throat just enough to excite you before he pushed in altogether. You let out a long, drawn out moan into his mouth and wrapped both arms around his neck, your hands moving to curl into his soft brown hair. Once the initial burn was gone, a soft hum played through your body and George took the hint to pull back and slam inside again, repeating the motion on a steady basis that he had learned over the years.
Once a comfortable tempo was found, George pulled away from the kiss to admire your fucked-out frame. With each thrust you jolted upward and whined, eyes half-lidded but never leaving his face. "God, you're beautiful like this." He cooed while holding your jaw in place. You nearly hid from the comment but had learned after years of loving him that it would never be allowed-- nor would you truly want it to be. Instead, you released a hand from his hair and lowered it to his cheek and finally down to his chin, pulling him back into a loving kiss. "It takes a NASCAR girl to do it like this, Harrison." You teased, and he laughed.
His movements would never get sloppy, but you knew the signs of his climax: snappy thrusts, heavy breathing, and delicious whimpers as he buried his face in your neck. When that finally began and he bent into that damned spot that sent you spiraling every time, you knew it was nearly time. You wrapped your arms back around your lover and whispered his name over and over, both of you moaning and gasping lubriciously until his back arched and you both came: him a shuddering groan of your name and you with a squealing moan into his shoulder.
Your bodies laid magnetized to one another-- and the leather seat thanks to the heat-- unable to move for a long while. Rather than complain or even attempt to move, though, you instead stroked the back of George's head and back, scratching light circles underneath the fabric that now laid slack around his body. While he caught his breath laying in the space between your neck and your shoulder, shuddering whenever you brushed a little too lightly over an especially sensitive spot, you stared up at the foggy windows and smiled. Through the natural privacy blockers created by your sex rose hundreds of clouds that knew nothing about cloud nine, and that secret knowledge saved for you and your husband was enough.
