I need current Axl x controversially young girlfriend 🙂↕️🙏🏻
(Meeting the parents or something like that)
dirty old man - axl rose fanfic
taglist: @brokenglassb1tch @californiaahunny @tranquilitybasegrunge @slashes-strings @dazecrea
content: smut 18+, LEGAL age gap!
a/n: Hi!! I finally got to finish this! It’s been sitting in my google docs collecting dust T_T I hope this is a good one for you! also sorry i couldnt find like a cutesy little pic of him with a girl for the cover T_T
I hope u all like it <3 first fic back in a long time, it kinda took a bit longer to write!
The suite Axl rented was tucked high in the hills, buried in the kind of LA quiet you could only afford with platinum records. Outside the windows, the skyline glowed soft and gold. Inside, it was dim and still.
Velvet curtains drawn halfway. Lights low. Room service gone cold on the coffee table.
And herself, curled into the corner of his leather couch, oversized tshirt slipping off one shoulder, her legs stretched bare across the cushions, humming some dumb little song under her breath like she didn’t know she was driving him crazy.
She always looked like trouble when she was pretending not to be.
Axl leaned against the far wall, half in shadow, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t saying anything. Just watching. Quiet, like he only got around her.
She felt his stare long before she turned to meet it. “What?” she asked, grinning. “You look like you’re tryin’ to memorize me.”
“I am,” he said, voice low and rough.
She rolled her eyes like it was nothing, but her cheeks pinked just the same. “You’re such a sap when you’re sober.”
He didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. Because yeah, maybe he was.
They weren’t supposed to make sense. Not on paper. Not in pictures. Not in tabloids.
He was older. Famous. Loud. Bruised up by the years.
She was still shiny in places he’d dulled. Soft where he’d sharpened. A girl too young for his world, too clever for her own good, and just bratty enough to bite the hand that fed her if it told her to sit still.
And she loved him. Fiercely. Stupidly. In the same way he loved her, like something that hurt a little but felt too good to stop. Painfully dangerous.
Later, when the moon had replaced the skyline and she was lying with her head in his lap, playing with the hem of his shirt while he rubbed lazy circles into her hip, she asked, “Do they still talk about me?”
Axl’s hand stilled for a moment. “Yeah.”
She nodded like she already knew. “And what do they say?”
“That I’m a dirty old man.”
She giggled, not even flinching. “Well,” she said, batting her lashes, “you are.”
Axl cracked a smile, wide and weary. “You’re an asshole, little lady.”
He leaned down and kissed her slow, like it was the only answer worth giving. She smiled all smug like.
The first time he’d kissed her, really kissed her, had been behind the curtains after some industry dinner where she’d worn a slinky black dress and sat on his lap half the night just to piss off the suits.
She hadn’t been trying to start anything. Not really. But Axl had looked at her like she was fire and he’d already decided to burn. The kiss had been stupid.
Hot. Messy. A little dangerous.
Everything since then had felt the same.
There was no party. No stage. No cameras. Just the two of them and the hum of the air conditioner and the weight of a day spent apart.
She climbed into his lap like it was her favorite seat in the house which, of course, it was, and kissed him like she was claiming him again.
“You miss me?” she whispered, mouth brushing his.
His hands slid under her thighs, lifting her like she was weightless, carrying her toward the bedroom in silence except for the soft thud of his boots on the carpet.
She didn’t giggle or tease like usual. She just looked at him, all wide eyed, certain, soft.
He laid her down slow. Reverent. Like she might vanish if he blinked.
Axl had always been rough around the edges. Always loud, sharp, bigger than the room. But not with her. With her, he was quiet. Careful. Like she was the only thing he was afraid to break.
He peeled her shirt off with aching patience, knuckles grazing her stomach, breath catching when her breasts spilled into the moonlight.
“God, baby,” he rasped. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days.”
She hooked a finger into the collar of his shirt, pulling him down. “Then die super slow, please.”
He chuckled, low and dangerous, then kissed her again, deeper now. All tongue and heat, his weight pressing her into the mattress, one knee between her thighs, grinding slow enough to make her squirm.
“You’re such a tease,” he muttered against her neck, biting just enough to leave a mark.
His hands roamed with purpose down her sides, under her thighs, spreading her open slow like a gift he’d been too patient to unwrap.
She was already slick, pulsing, gasping when his fingers found her.
“You always get like this for me?” he whispered, fingers slipping through the mess between her legs, eyes locked on her face.
She nodded, slightly biting her lip, breath hitching.
“I always get like this for you, Axl.”
He groaned, forehead pressing to hers.
“Good,” he whispered, sliding two fingers in, curling them just right. “Because I live for this. For you.”
Axl was on his knees between her thighs, hands gripping her hips like they were the only things keeping him grounded. The sight of her laid out like that, lips parted, chest rising fast, eyes wide with need, was enough to make him dizzy. And she knew it.
He ducked down, pressing open-mouth kisses to her inner thighs, biting gently until she gasped.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmured. “Like some cardinal sin I don’t want the world to forgive me for indulging in.”
She let out a soft, shaky laugh. “Then don’t be.”
He licked a slow stripe through her folds and she jolted, one hand flying to his hair. He groaned like it was his favorite sound in the world because maybe it was.
He flattened his tongue and dragged it up again, circling her clit with maddening patience, then sucking it into his mouth while two fingers pushed deep, curling until she was arching off the bed.
“That’s it,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Cum for me, baby. I need it.”
She moaned, grinding against his face, chasing the high he built with every flick of his tongue. He never looked away from her eyes locked on hers while he ruined her in the softest, filthiest way.
And when she broke, hips bucking, thighs clamping around his head, he held her through it, kissing her like she was holy.
He crawled up her body, mouth shiny with her, cock flushed and hard between them.
“Can I?” he whispered, voice shaking. “Need to be inside you. Been needing it all damn week.”
She nodded, dizzy. “Please.”
Axl groaned and lined himself up, nudging in slow, stretching her open until he bottomed out. He stayed there for a moment, forehead pressed to hers, both of them trembling.
“Jesus Christ, you feel so—” he gasped.
He moved slow. Deep. Worshipful. Each thrust dragging a whimper from her throat. His hands never stopped moving—brushing her hair back, gripping her waist, stroking her jaw.
“You were made for me,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Doesn’t matter what they say.”
“I don’t ever give this to guys my age.” she gasped.
“Too much of a damn treasure, tight little cunt.”
He kissed her like he was starving, fucking her with steady, unrelenting heat, like it wasn’t just lust, it was need.
She clung to him, wrapped around him, whispering his name over and over like a prayer. And when she came again, this time with tears in her eyes he followed, burying his face in her neck, groaning as he spilled inside her.
They stayed like that, tangled and shaking, hearts pounding in time.
They lay tangled in the bedsheets, their skin cooling slowly against the high thread count linen. Axl was still buried inside her, softening with each slow breath, his chest rising and falling as he kissed the edge of her jaw.
He didn’t rush to pull away. He never did. Being inside her like that pressed together. No space for shame or secrets, was the only time he felt completely understood.
“You okay?” he murmured, brushing her hair back from her face.
She nodded, eyes closed, lips swollen from all the kissing. “More than okay.”
Axl smiled, then shifted to lie beside her, pulling her onto his chest. She went willingly, resting her ear over his heart like it was the only sound that mattered. His fingers found her spine, drawing slow, aimless lines that made her melt deeper into him.
“You ever think about running off?” she asked suddenly, voice barely above a whisper. “Like, just disappearing somewhere? You and me?”
“All the time,” he admitted, his tone sincere.
He thought for a moment. “Somewhere no one gives a fuck about the age gap. Somewhere warm. Where you can wear those little dresses you like, and I can wear whatever the hell I want, and no one stares.”
She smiled. “You just wanna see me in a sundress without cameras around.”
The next morning, they woke up late. The sunlight streamed in with no apology, spilling across Axl’s bare back and illuminating the lazy sprawl of their limbs.
Her head was buried under his chin. His hand rested on the small of her back like it belonged there.
She was the first to open her eyes. She studied the lines at the corners of his, the faint marks left by time and stage lights and bad nights. She loved every one of them. They made him real.
He stirred beneath her. “You’re starin’.”
She smiled. “I’m memorizing.”
“Copycat,” he rasped, voice still thick with sleep.
She kissed the hollow of his throat. “You made me like this.”
He blinked, then reached for her hand and laced their fingers together. “And I’d do it all over again.”
The gossip was still out there. The headlines, the whispers, the stupid jokes made by people who didn’t know shit about love. But none of it mattered.
Because Axl wasn’t some washed-up frontman clinging to a girl too young to know better.
And she wasn’t some naïve groupie who’d be gone by morning.
They were something else.
And no one, not the media, not the fans, not the ticking clock, could take that away.
Later that afternoon, he watched her from across the hotel suite as she danced barefoot to some dumb pop song on the radio, wearing nothing but one of his old t-shirts. She spun in slow circles, her hair wild, her smile lazy and sweet.
And all he could think was: I’m the luckiest bastard alive. He didn’t say it. He didn’t have to.
Because when she looked over and caught him staring, she winked and mouthed it first:
