#hes dressed like eminem

[nicoscheer]

Just got on the tour bus x On our way to Europe buzzing to play for you, let's smash it x love MK

lol this is hilarious Matt and Amanda crying about meeting her the Grammys and her just casually commenting on Miles’ post🤣🤣 (aside from following the other)

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She´s back !!!

looking for the hottest vintage shops

[electricgg]

Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 5: Get Along With The Voices Inside Of My Head

Masterlist

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 (Here!) / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 /

Adolescence is a broad concept. 

It is the period of transition between childhood and adulthood. It includes big changes, from the body to how they relate to the outside world. 

It also qualifies as the most painful and awkward stage in somebody’s life, which comes hand in hand with pushing boundaries and breaking scheduled patterns.

Patterns that Timothy Drake had taken years to figure out and were now as broken as the old vase he had hidden from Alfred for the past two years.

He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Clicking furiously at the wide keyboard of the batcomputer before rolling away in his chair with a frustrated groan, Tim rubbed his face roughly with his still-gloved hands, as if the action itself could take his mind off the subject that has been bothering him for the past four days (not that he would ever admit to himself how much it was bothering him).

That girl.

Jesus, where to even begin?

Not only had she disrupted her assigned schedule, but she had also flipped completely on her behaviour and structured habits. 

(Y/N) Wayne had been an easy person to read. From the very moment her existence was revealed to the public eye. Way before he even became part of the family.

A child who had blocked trauma, shoved into the hands of a man who had just found out was her biological father.

A girl exposed to bloodthirsty reporters and paparazzi, developing a fear of the spotlight, and making her look like a fool in front of cameras.

A kid who got the moniker of ‘The Embarrassment of The Wayne’ and made sure to live up to that name.

There were four falls in water fountains, two dresses ripped off in the middle of galas, five accidental stumbles that injured multiple civilians, and multiple newspaper articles about whether she was truly related to Bruce once Damian took the public's attention with his introduction.

She was a walking hazard and a whole meal for the media vultures.

And that was only for the public, personality was a whole different beast.

She was meek, quiet, and too polite. 

Too polite for Tim’s taste. 

Always picking up his stray coffee cups (even when they were so dirty and he was pretty sure something was alive at the bottom of them). Looking over his shoulder, and asking him if he was getting any rest. Leaving him tea outside his door when he hadn’t left his desk for days. Asking him if he was eating. Asking him if he had taken a bath. Asking if he needed any help with a case.

Asking and asking and asking and asking and asking.

It infuriated him to no end.

It felt as if she was faking it. Nobody could care that much without wanting something in exchange. Not without an ulterior motive.

So he took some drastic measures.

Learning her routine was an easy task. She would wake up around four in the morning on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays to do her extensive morning routine. Tuesdays and Thursdays, she would sleep in until seven in the morning.

 In the early days, she would trim her hair ends and retouch her roots so her natural hair color was never in sight. Keeping the same length and not a hair out of place. She was very precise with it and took her time while doing so.

Next, she would take a shower and lock herself in her room for half an hour or so. He never knew why exactly, but it was something she always did. Without a single miss.

After that, she would wander around the manor until she reached the piano room. She would practice until Alfred came to find her for breakfast and take her to school.

Whenever Tim heard the piano in the morning, he knew it was time to either wake up or go to bed depending on which situation he found himself in.

If she didn’t touch the piano, he wouldn’t know what day it was. And depending on the day, he would know how long he would have to wait in his room so he wouldn’t have to listen to her obnoxious questions and see her wide eyes.

(Y/N) hasn’t touched the piano in the past four days.

And it was driving him mad.

“I just don’t get it! She loves hugs!”

Along with Dick’s pity party.

The older man was doing pull-ups by the training mats, still wearing his suit minus the mask. Grunting as he took deep breaths when his head reached over the metal bar he was hanging off.

“She runs at me the moment I come to visit. Every single time. And now she just doesn’t even look my way?”

Tim sighed, giving Dick a glance from the corner of his eye as hands slid off his face.

“When was the last time you even cared about such things?” he deadpanned, turning his chair to face the acrobat.

Dick had his own place. He didn’t live at the manor anymore, hadn’t for years. Tim could count with just one hand how many times Dick had come to visit them in the past three months.

Why was he acting like he knew her better than Tim himself?

“Since she did a switch on her personality!” he said before letting go of the pole and landing on his feet inside the mat.

Dick grunted as he stretched out his arms upwards, making his way towards the computer and picking up a cold water bottle on a nearby bench.

He shook his head, opening the cap and taking big, loud gulps from the bottle as Tim turned once again toward the computer with a roll of eyes.

“She is a completely different person, and don’t pretend you haven’t noticed too.”

Of course, he had. Because he actually lived with her.

Before he could snap back at him, a deep, gravely voice interrupted their conversation.

“What seems to be the problem here?” Bruce questioned, emerging from the zeta tube and pulling off his cowl. His footsteps echoed against the walls as he reached the two young men.

They didn’t even hear the zeta tubes powering up.

Dick crossed his arms with a glare pointed towards the bat, leaning against the table while Tim gave the man a simple side eye.

That made Bruce lift an eyebrow, not expecting that reaction from the boys.

Everyone had been acting strangely as of late.

And he was getting tired of not knowing why.

“Would any of you care to explain what has you both unfocused and distracted?”

“We’re not distracted…” Tim muttered while tapping on his keyboard, hoping that Bruce would leave the subject alone.

“It’s nothing.” Dick shrugged, moving his gaze to the side.

“If that’s true,” the older man grunted while glancing between the two of them. “Then why are we still trying to figure out the missing kids case?”

That made the boys sigh and grunt under their breaths.

True, they haven’t been able to find any other clues on the case. It was all leading to dead ends. No similarities between. Schools, families, extracurriculars, age, neighborhoods, parents' jobs, and even the locations of disappearances did not link to one another.

There was no way the cases could be linked to one another. Too many differences.

And yet, they couldn’t ignore their gut telling them that they had to be connected.

But what?

“It’s just… You know who.” Dick said while rubbing the back of his neck with an awkard air as Bruce questioning gaze landed on him.

“No, I do not who you are refering to.” his stern and direct tone making Tim and Dick share side glances.

Tim spun around on his chair, facing Bruce with a deadpan expression. “It’s (Y/N). He refers to (Y/N).”

Silence fell between them.

“...What about her?” Bruce dragged the question. Shoulders tense and eyes sharp.

“Jeez, I don’t know?!” Dick snapped back, lifiting himself up and moving his arms around as he talked. “Maybe because she has been acting like a different person, refuses to talk to me, or even look my way, and even curses like a sailor?!”

He whipped his head towards Tim, pointing at him with his index finger.

“How does she even know curse words? She is too young to know those words!”

While Dick continued on his ranting, Tim simply spun back to the computer. He was controlling himself from snapping at Dick, since he was acting as if she was some kind of little kid that he knew everything about.

And also, because he was pissed at Bruce. Since he knew very well that the man was not aware of what had been happening in his own house, with his own kids.

“He wouldn’t know, Dick. Bruce has been out for the past few days.” Too busy with some Justice League business. Kon had mentioned on their last call the other day that it had to do with the ruler of Genosha. Something about an alliance of sorts.

The older boy came to a stop from his rant to look at the too quiet man. He suddenly found himself rubbing the bridge of his nose and looking way older than he was.

“...Bruce.”

The man sighed tiredly, covering his mouth and looking at the floor. A deep hum leaving his throat.

“You have seen her, right?”

Tim smiled smugly to himself at the answering silence behind him.

His family always forgets how petty he can be.

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

“How about this one?”

“ .. / -.. --- -. .----. - / .-.. .. -.- . / .. - “

The young girl groaned as she threw out another old cardigan over the overgrown pile of clothes lying by the bed. It varied from shirts, pants, dresses, and many other clothes that she had been fishing out of the old wardrobe for the past three hours.

Who knew a ghost could be picky with what her old body could and couldn’t wear?

It all started when the only way to communicate with Wayne’s Ghost (whom she was calling from now on until she found a better nickname) was by the flickering of the light from her lamp. 

It was simple at first. One flicker meant yes, and two flickers meant no. But it left her unsatisfied and also limited communication. She wanted to have a real conversation with someone who understood what she was actually going through. Which leads to the next step.

Learning Morse code.

It wasn’t hard! After borrowing a few books from the library about the subject (which she did only after she was sure none of the weird guys were wandering around the manor), and speed-reading through the pages, she had learned Morse code in under five hours of relentless reading.

She was not sure if that was normal, but nothing about her situation was normal.

Looking now at the very empty closet, a sense of sadness began building at the pit of her stomach.

Even with her permission, it felt invasive to take out something so personal just to make space for her own stuff.

Especially after listening to the recordings. 

Those words were still rumbling in between her ears.

˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖—》✧《—˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖

Diary Entry: Year 4

“Today, Mister Alfred got me a letter and some gifts from my mom. I don’t know how she got them out of the hospital, but I’m sure Uncle had something to do with it. I’ll write to him and hopefully get Alfred to send it.”

“I’m sure he and Father are not talking to each other yet.”

“I get it. Kinda. He did bad things. But he’s always been nice to me and never fails to send gifts on my birthday. And it’s always expensive stuff too!”

“Sometimes, I wish he were the one to take me in. And it makes me feel bad because I know Father is trying to do the best for me and the family.”

“I wish I weren’t so hard to handle. Maybe, that way, they wouldn’t be so busy all the time and spend time with me.”

“...It’s my tenth birthday today. Alfred got me new pencils and paints. Mom sent me a necklace with a card explaining what it meant, and many of her old clothes, too. And uncle got me a green jacket that’s way too big on me, but it’s cozy at least. I’m sure I can grow into it.”

“Father’s been locked in his office since last night. I knocked a couple of times, but he didn’t answer. He’s probably tired. I’m sure he’ll remember this time.”

“Dick promised to bring ice cream today too, but he hasn’t answered my calls today. He could be stuck on a case, too, so I understand he’s busy.”

“And Jason left some cookies outside my room this morning. I ate them before breakfast, but Alfred doesn’t know it yet, so shhh!!”

“Besides that, this year wasn’t so bad. I got good grades at school and got to visit Mom a couple of times, too. In the last visit, the guards let us talk without the glass window between us. I was happy to be able to hug her again after so long.”

“...I miss her a lot. I miss our old house too. The manor is big and all, but it’s very cold.”

“And lonely.”

“I shouldn’t complain… Father has done everything to give me a good life. But I wish Mom would get better and come back for me.”

“...I want my mom back. I want her back so bad, and it makes me sad, too.”

“I think that could be my wish this year. Wish for my mom to get better soon.”

“I think it’s a good wish for this year, right?”

˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖—》✧《—˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖

Yeah, that made her tear up and take a couple of breaks in between listening to the recordings.

Mom was a strong word.

It made her heart tight, and so many overwhelming feelings flooded over her. 

Warmth from tight hugs. Soothing lullabies in a language she could not place. Soft fingers running through her hair. Loving words in a voice she couldn’t put a face to. But she knew who it was. It wasn’t hard to figure it out.

She also wanted her mom back.

The flickering of the lamp on her nightstand made her wipe away any stray tears, sniffling her nose with the back of her hand and taking a deep breath.

“Alright, I’m fine. Totally fine.” She muttered to herself as she looked at the closet once again.

On the far corner, a deep green jacket caught her attention.

She took it out of the closet, holding it by the hanger as she looked at the piece of clothing with a growing smile.

On the tag of the neck, the initials U.H. in a very fancy font stood out. The young girl had the feeling that this was one of the gifts of the recordings had mentioned.

It was a forest green, with two vertical white stripes running down the sleeves until they reached the cuffs. The material was lightweight, with a soft fabric on the inside, but breathable. It had a total of four pockets, two outside and two inside on each side.

Without thinking about it too much, she took it off the hanger and put the jacket on.

When she turned to the mirror, there was a grin on her lips.

It fitted almost perfectly. It was a bit long on the sleeves, but she could roll them a bit, and it would look stylish either way.

As she messed around with the zipper and the neck of the jacket, she rambled to her companion out loud about the look.

“I know it’s a gift from your Uncle, and I’m trying to find my style, so if you don’t want me to keep it on, that’s totally fine by-”

The lights flickered brightly.

“ -.- . . .--. / .. - .-.-.- / .. - / .-.. --- --- -.- ... / .-- .- -.-- / -... . - - . .-. / --- -. / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.- “

She was stunned for a few moments. Then, a soft smile and glassy eyes reflected in the mirror, fingers playing with the hems of the soft fabric.

“Thank you.”

A sharp, cold breeze ruffled her hair, making her laugh and swipe at the empty air around her.

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

“-and I need the report of her latest appointment sent straight to my mail, is that clear?”

When the meek assistant agreed to his demands, Bruce hung up the call with an exasperated exhale. Leaning back on his chair as he calmed down his anger and frustration.

The incompetence of Gotham Central Hospital personnel was something to be studied.

It wasn’t exactly their fault. He hasn’t been in touch about Bianca’s case for about a year now, but he had been expecting that the staff had been taking care of her and keeping up with her mental state.

Especially after the last incident involving her.

And that was another incoming headache.

The boys had been acting out of sorts throughout the week. Dick had been actively coming to the manor so often due to current case in his hands and his sudden need to share some of time with (Y/N). Tim is frustrated over not getting any proper sleep and not finding any sort of shared link in the case. And Damian was… well, he kept mostly to himself, but he could see something was bothering him by how much he was muttering and slamming the training dummies harder than usual.

And then, there was (Y/N).

Bruce could admit he wasn’t a great dad. All of his children could testify and give proof of it.

But he knew he had failed her, especially when it came to being a father.

And it wasn’t her fault at all. It was all on him.

Because he was a coward who couldn’t face a child who bore the face of the people he had failed to help.

It wasn’t an excuse, but it was a reason.

Which was why he always paid for packages of gray contact lenses and expensive black hair dye.

If Bianca were in her right mind, she would have shot him right in the head without hesitation for allowing their girl to change herself simply because he couldn’t look her in the eye.

‘...maybe it isn’t too late to fix this.’

Bruce rubbed his face, feeling the stubble on his jaw since he hadn’t shaved in the past few days. The negotiations with Erik Lehnsherr had been draining, and with lots of conditions on how the Justice League could set foot on the country without getting blown up on the spot.

Even then, they weren’t able to reach an agreement.

A sudden notification made his phone vibrate, taking his mind off his deep thoughts. 

It was from the hospital. Bianca’s current lab tests and consults, attached to the mail. That made him relax a little bit.

Until his sight focused on the sender.

Gotham Central Hospital: Psych Ward

All of the reports for the police and files they had been searching for the case, there wasn’t a single document from the hospitals. Medical issues, birth certificates, laboratory analysis, and vaccines up to date.

They hadn’t searched for medical history yet.

Bruce got up from his chair and quickly made his way back to the cave, a thought hiding in the back of his head as the case took hold of his priorities once again.

She can wait. I will make it right, but she can wait.

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

By the time she was done, it was almost 10:30 PM. 

She wasn’t planning on throwing all the clothes away, even if Wayne had told her she could do it. It would be a waste to do so, and at the moment, she didn’t have a style in mind that would suit her yet. So, for now, she would have to use some of the clothes that Wayne agreed to let her keep.

The pattern of shades of green was pretty obvious, but she wasn’t gonna complain. It felt right to use green.

Which was why she didn’t take off the jacket from the moment she put it on.

Instead of shoving all the discarded clothes into trash bags, she put them into boxes that Alfred got her once he knew what she was doing with the clothes.

“A change of style and removing old things is a sign of new beginnings, my dear. Don’t feel shame for it.”

That old man was easily becoming her favorite person in the world.

After Billy, of course.

And her ghost companion, too.

…and maybe her mom as well-

A sharp knock at the door broke her away from the difficult task of tapping the boxes that were overflowing with clothes. She didn’t move from her spot on the floor, sitting with her legs crossed and fingers with pieces of tape stuck on them.

It was usually Alfred who always knocked and asked to be let in before opening the door. The other guys, thankfully, hadn’t come to look for her at her room in the past few days.

So, whoever knocked at her door wasn’t someone she knew.

“Hell, no,” she muttered while cutting another stripe of tape with her teeth, glaring at the door as if it had offended her. 

“I ain’t talking to anybody. I’m too tired to handle their issues.”

Sticking the stripe over the absolute abstract monstrosity on top of the box (better safe than sorry. Wayne had already told her it was too much tape, but she wasn’t risking the box busting open while taking it to the thrift store tomorrow with Alfred after her follow-up visit with Dr. Vidal.) Curiosity began to creep into the back of her head.

Wayne hadn’t said anything for a while, maybe she was resting. ( Do ghosts go to sleep? Do they even need sleep?)

It wasn’t Alfred, for sure. He would have said something, and a few minutes had already passed by.

The gremlin? (Nah, he was still pissed off about the orange juice thing. His fault for being too slow to reach for it.)

The pale hallway ghost? (Pretty sure he only stuck to his room, judging by the pile of dishes outside a door a few halls down.)

Not Touchy Guy, probably. (Almost biting his finger off yesterday was enough warning unless he was THAT stupid.)

…So who?

Before she could think about too much, in the blink of an eye, she stood before the door with a hand already on the handle. A few papers flew off behind her, the gush of wind making the bell wind chime hanging by the window sound off.

Seems like her own body acts before she even finishes the thought.

‘Gotta get a grip on that, too,’ she noted while biting her lips inward, opening the door slowly, and looking into the hallway.

It was empty and dark. Not a person on sight.

Rolling her eyes as she began to close the door once again, her gaze landed on the floor.

Leaning against the wall by her door, on the floor lay a purple backpack. 

She leaned forward and picked it up, noticing how heavy it was with a small grunt. Before going back into her room, she looked back into the hall, waiting for someone to pop by or something.

It didn’t happen.

Once she was back in her room, she climbed on the bed and opened the backpack. It was brand new, the material without a single scratch or dirt on it. And the books inside it as well, the smell of fresh paper and ink emitting from it. In the front pocket, she found something that made her open her mouth in shock.

A phone. A brand new phone.

She quickly turned it on, easily excited over having something like that on her hands.

‘I never had a phone before! Thank you, whoever you are! I owe you big!’

It didn’t have a lot of apps or stuff. The picture roll was still there, judging by the thousands of pics in there. But it had only one contact registered on it.

Jay.

Said contact also had sent a message.

‘Take care of your stuff. You need books to pass your classes.’

‘And stay out of trouble’

That made her snort, scratching her cheek while looking down at the text and at the bag. A smile grew on her lips at the thoughtful gift.

And then it was wiped out when the sudden realization hit her.

“Fuck, I forgot about school!”

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

Author's Note: Hello everyone! Hope everyone is doing amazing and well. My trip was great, I really needed to disconnect for bit before facing finals weeks (which I haven't cried yet so it's a big success!!) Lots of important details in this chapter and I can't wait to see what y'all think about and come up with lol. I'll add on the translation to the morse code later bc I'm posting this at 1:40 in the morning and i got a final presentation in the afternoon, so wish me luck!! Sending lots of hugs and love, GG✨

Morse Code Translation:

( .. / -.. --- -. .----. - / .-.. .. -.- . / .. -) I don't like it.

(-.- . . .--. / .. - .-.-.- / .. - / .-.. --- --- -.- … / .-- .- -.-- / -… . - - . .-. / --- -. / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.-) Keep it. It looks way better on you.

Tag List:

@bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @initial-ari @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild @devotedlyshamelessdetective @shycreatorreview @nirvanaxx1942 @soulsire @ryuushou @rinkydinkythinky @lithiumval @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @cssammyyarts @lordbugs @ilovecoffe0 @kore-of-the-underworld @fortunatelydifferentqueen

Bonus Memes:

[therealcocoshady]

Hi coco!

Can you do a one shot about a younger actress reader?

There is a tiktok going viral about her saying that she likes older men and another where she is looking at marshall at an event with "fuck me eyes"?

Reader freaks out when marshall just slides into her dms but later they are spotted together at the paparazzi?

I just find it cute and awkward 💀

DADDY’S SPAGHETTI 🍝

Eminem x Young Actress Reader

Synopsis : You are a young actress whose crush on Eminem becomes public. You are mortified about it… until he slides in your DMs.

Author’s Note : I absolutely LOVED this request, I had to give it a go ❤️. I was inspired and I swear I never wrote anything that quickly. It is short and sweet and I hope you enjoy it. ☺️

You thought you were done being publicly embarrassed. Yet, life was proving you wrong. As an actress who had her start in her teenage years, you weren’t a stranger to embarrassment. From awkward casting calls to stupid deaths on TV, it was practically part of the job. However, as your career evolved, you thought it would go away. After all, you were now in a better position, able to choose the projects you were involved in and you had garnered the respect from your peers and the industry. Even the media had become more kind towards you. In a matter of years, you had gone from the awkward teen movie star to well-respected actress, and you were able to look back fondly to your early years. You even joked about how awkward you were, back then. The last thing you expected was for it to start all over again. 

You were walking the red carpet for the premiere of your latest movie, your biggest project to date. It was truly the highlight of your career : a role created specifically for you, a movie directed by someone you admired, a beautiful story told on the big screen… You had gotten your fair share of praise in the past, but you knew this was going to be your « big break ». Behind the scenes, everyone had praised your performance and told you it was « Oscars material ». You didn’t know if that was true or not, but you were on cloud nine nonetheless. When you walked the red carpet at the premiere, in a custom Elie Saab gown, everything felt right and you weren’t even stressed out when you answered the questions of a few journalists present. 

You look truly amazing, tonight, one commented. Who are you wearing ? 

Thank you ! This is a custom Elie Saab, I feel like a princess. I sort of had to dress up for this beautiful event, you replied as you tried to shift the focus on the movie. 

This is your biggest role to date, another said. How do you feel about the movie ? Have you seen it ? 

I’ve seen bits and pieces. But I’m going to discover the whole thing tonight, you said with excitement. I’m very confident. Filming with such a director was an honor and I know that the result will be great. I can’t wait for everyone to see it ! 

One thing that everybody is really excited about is the soundtrack, too, a third journalist chimed in. Eminem was involved. Have you heard the theme song yet ? 

I haven’t, you said. But it’s Eminem so I know it’s going to be absolutely fantastic ! I can’t wait to hear it ! 

You sound like you like his work. Have the two of you met ? They asked. 

Oh, I’m his biggest fan, you said with a huge smile. His music’s the soundtrack to my life ! But no, I haven’t met him… 

Tonight’s your chance, they joked. He is over there. 

They pointed to him and Eminem was, indeed, a few feet away from you. He had been a celebrity crush of yours for years and you were absolutely starstruck. He was even more attractive than in pictures ! You couldn’t help but stare. This man was oozing charisma and commanding attention. You didn’t even notice that you were looking at him with « fuck me » eyes and licking your lips. For a brief instant, you completely forgot where you were, until you heard your name being called, signaling that you had to keep walking and enter the screening room. That night, you didn’t get a chance to meet your idol, though. As the lead of the movie, people kept on coming over to you and talking to you. It was probably for the best, too. You had been starstruck enough on the red carpet ad you did not trust yourself to have a pleasant exchange with him. 

Of course, the video of you thirsting over Eminem went viral. It would have been kind of cute if other clips hadn’t surfaced. There were videos from years ago, of you talking about having a crush on him - God, you really didn’t have a filter, back then - and especially one interview where you were candid about being attracted by older men. 

What’s your type when it comes to men and dating ? The journalist asked. 

I like mature, older men, you said candidly. I’m not really attracted to people my age. 

Any physical features you’re attracted to ? 

Oh, it’s typical, you know, you giggled. Dark hair, blue eyes… I like a nice beard, too. 

So basically… Eminem ? The interviewer playfully asked. 

Oooof… You have no idea, you replied with a grin. 

Isn’t he… Old enough to be your Dad, though ? 

Let’s just say I wouldn’t mind calling Marshall Mathers Daddy, you giggled. 

At the time, this interview didn’t make much noise. It was for an indie podcast and, seeing as you weren’t too famous at the time, it sort of flew under the radar. It was kind of a harmless joke and a nod to your thirst for him, which all your friends were very much aware of. However, the video resurfaced after the viral red carpet clip, and people were quick to make edits, soberly titled « Y/N thirsting over Eminem over the years ». Your friends jokingly forwarded them to you and you know they were being playful, but to you, it was everything but fun. You were absolutely mortified. Having a crush on him was one thing, but there was a literal video of you staring at him like you were in heat. So much for being a classy movie star… 

The nail in the coffin came when Marshall was interviewed and asked to react to the video of you thirsting over him. He seemed genuinely surprised, leading to think that he wasn’t aware of the clip before the interview. All in all, he didn’t say much, he just described the whole thing as « flattering » and quickly went on to praise your performance in the movie : « We didn’t actually meet, but I saw the movie, which I worked on the soundtrack for, and she is really amazing in it. Really talented. ». Thank God, he didn’t add to your embarrassment. Your friends were going crazy over this « Come on, Y/N, he said he was flattered and that you’re talented ! That’s cute ! You should DM him or something », they encouraged you. However, you didn’t. He was clearly just being classy and not publicly embarrassing you - you did that on your own anyway. 

A few days later, however, you had the biggest surprise of your life : a DM from him on Instagram. At first, you thought it was a fake account and didn’t pay it much attention but it was clearly him, verified account, blue tick and everything. You were nervous to open it and you almost didn’t want to. What would he say to you ? Most likely something along the lines of « Please don’t mention me ever again, that’s awkward, you’re awkward and your filmography is trash anyway». It actually took you a couple of days to muster the courage of opening it. Thankfully, it wasn’t anything horrible. Quite the contrary, actually. He was in LA for the week and wanted to know if you’d have dinner with him. You were terrified and freaking out, but also excited. At first, you were reluctant - what if you embarrassed yourself ? But ultimately, curiosity got the best of you and you accepted. Surely, if he asked you to have dinner with him, it couldn’t be that bad, right ? 

A couple of days later, the two of you went for dinner and joined at SoHo House in West Hollywood. Due to both of your fame, a members-only social club was a safe pace that allowed for privacy. You were nervous, at first, and some paranoid part of your brain was scared that it would be a complete disaster, but it was the contrary. He introduced himself as Marshall and was an absolute gentleman and a sweetheart. He mentioned he had seen a lot of your movies and described himself as an admirer of your work. The whole evening, conversation flowed easily between the two of you. He put you at ease and was one of the most interesting persons you had ever met, knowledgeable on a lot of subjects and funny as hell, too. You weren’t too sure, but it also seemed like he was subtly flirting with you, though you didn’t want to get in your own head and make assumptions. He was so chill that you weren’t star struck anymore, but you were still reasonably impressed and too scared to flirt, so you simply enjoyed conversation with him. You were usually scared to meet people you admired, afraid that you’d have a terrible interaction with them that would taint your perception of their work, but the whole dinner was heavenly and you were so glad he DMed you. In his company, time seemed like a foreign concept, so much so that you had to be kicked out of the club’s restaurant, since you were the only customers left and it was 2 in the morning. 

I can’t believe we’ve been here for six hours already, you giggled. Time really flew by. 

It did, he said with a smile. I’m really glad we did this, Y/N. 

Me too, you said shyly. 

You were in the lobby, about to part ways, and your heart was beating fast. The way he spoke your name had you feeling all the feels and you didn’t really want the moment to end. He was staring at you intently while you were nervously biting your lip, trying not to say something awkward that could ruin the night. « Don’t be that person, Y/N », you thought to yourself. 

Thank you for coming, he said. When you didn’t reply to my DM, I thought you didn’t really want to meet. But I had a really great time tonight. 

Yeah, sorry I… I actually took a few days to open your message because I was scared, you confessed. I mean, we haven’t addressed the elephant in the room tonight, but I did kind of make a fool of myself on the red carpet. And when you wrote, I was kind of nervous. 

You didn’t make a fool of yourself, he said reassuringly. Nothing to be embarrassed about. It was kind of adorable. 

No need to sugarcoat it, you said nervously. You’ve seen that video of me thirsting over you… 

I have, he said as he got closer to you. I’m pretty lucky… 

A-Are you ? You asked nervously. 

Yeah… Thank God they didn’t catch me staring at you the whole night of the premiere, he continued. Because I literally couldn’t take my eyes off you. You’re gorgeous. 

Oh ? Uhm… I mean… The glam team really did a good job, you babbled. And the stylists, too. 

They really did, he said with a smile as he got even closer. You were stunning. 

I mean, it was a lot of work for me to look good, you know ? I mean I normally look like tra-… I mean, not trash but you know it’s… 

There you were. Embarrassing yourself. There was only so much time you could spend in his intoxicating presence without making a fool of yourself and, apparently, it was six hours. He was smiling and you nerves were getting the best of you. You didn’t drink too much at dinner and you couldn’t even blame it on the cocktails. Just your dumb brain making interactions awkward. Thank God the lobby was dimly lit, otherwise, he would have seen your face turn bright red. You cheeks were burning from embarrassment. 

I-I’m sorry, you said. I’m not good at talking to hot people. I mean you’re… Oh my God, why can’t I shut up ? I’m sorry, it’s late and -

I’ll help you, he chuckled as he cupped your face and kissed you. 

The kiss was soft and romantic and you could feel him smile into it. He had one hand stroking your cheek while the other one was on your waist, pulling you close to him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and fully leaned into the kiss as your lips parted ways, allowing his tongue to caress yours. Thank God it was late and you were the only people there, having some sense of privacy while the kiss got more and more passionate. When he broke the embrace, Marshall grabbed your hand and pressed his forehead to yours. 

Would you like to come to my room ? He asked with a smile. 

Ok, you nodded - still a bit dizzy from the kiss. 

In the elevator, you kissed hungrily and there was absolutely no doubt as to where this was headed. You usually weren’t the kind of girl to sleep on the first date, but your five-date policy was thrown to the fire. Marshall was way too hot, way too charismatic. Also, you’d fantasized about him long enough to make an exception. If every wet dream of yours he had inhabited over the years counted as a date, this was actually overdue. You made it to the room and quickly ended up on the bed with him on top of you, nipping at the sweet spot in your neck. 

Marshall, you moaned. 

You meant « Daddy », right ? He asked with a smirk. 

You stared at him with your mouth open, almost embarrassed as you remembered your comment about how you wouldn’t mind calling him Daddy. Your shocked expression made him laugh and he didn’t give you time to reply. Instead, he captured your lips and ran his hands under your blouse. That night, you did end up calling him « Daddy », as well as screaming his name while he ravished you in every way possible until the both of you passed out from exhaustion. 

The next morning, as you woke up in his arms, you weren’t too sure what to do or say, wondering if that was a one time thing or not. However, you weren’t confused for too long as Marshall asked you on another dinner date. You saw each other as much as possible for the remainder of his stay in California. It was meant to be casual, at first, but it quickly became more and, even though the two of you were busy, you tried to make it work. Whenever he came to LA to work with Dre, he would stay at your place and, as soon as you had free time, you flew to Michigan to spend time with him. It was only a matter of time until rumors started to emerge about the two of you, though you were careful not to be spotted together. 

DADDY’S SPAGHETTI : Y/N SPOTTED IN DETROIT. 

Oscar-nominated actress Y/N was spotted in Detroit last week. She was seen grabbing a takeout order from Mom’s Spaghetti on Woodward Avenue. Through the years, Y/N has been quite vocal about her love of Eminem, but it seems like she’s doing more than supporting the Rap God’s business venture. The hoodie she was wearing does look a lot like the one Eminem was wearing a few days earlier when he was spotted attending the Lions game. Last time she walked the red carpet, Y/N was seen thirsting over the Detroit rapper. Is there a chance they could appear at the Oscars together ?

[chelseaknoo]

90s Eminem x Victoria secrets model! Reader

Request: Hi, can I ask for a longer story (it can be short too if you prefer)? How about Marshal in the 90s with a Victoria Secret model, paparazzi catches a cute moment between them and Em's friends make fun of them and the fans and media are crazy to see a cute side of him, and then he reminds everyone at an awards show that his cute side is only with his girl...

Note:Sorry I couldn’t make it longer enough I hade to rush it

Marshall Mathers—better known as Eminem—had been your boyfriend for a few months now. The two of you meeting was nothing short of surreal, thanks to Dr. Dre’s matchmaking. Dre had noticed Marshall’s little obsession with you when he caught him flipping through magazines featuring your modeling work—Victoria’s Secret, Playboy, and others. At first, Dre didn’t say much, but when he saw how tongue-tied Marshall got every time your name came up, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

It all started the night Dre surprised Marshall backstage at one of his concerts. You had no idea you were about to meet the man himself, but Dre had convinced you to fly out, promising it’d be worth your while.

---

The room was dimly lit, a sharp contrast to the blinding stage lights that had been in Marshall's face all night. He had just stepped offstage after performing in Detroit, his home turf, with adrenaline still coursing through his veins. Dr. Dre was leaning against the wall of the dressing room, scrolling through his phone casually like he didn’t have a surprise up his sleeve.

“Yo, good set tonight, man,” Dre said, looking up.

“Yeah, thanks,” Marshall replied, wiping his face with a towel and grabbing a water bottle. “Crowd was hype. Detroit never disappoints.”

Dre smirked, tucking his phone away. “So, you remember how you keep talking about that one Victoria’s Secret model you like?”

Marshall froze mid-drink, side-eyeing his mentor. “What are you talkin’ about?”

Dre raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Don’t play dumb, Em. I’ve seen your magazines. You’re always like, ‘Man, she’s so fine,’ every time her ad comes on TV. What’s her name? (Y/N)?”

Marshall turned red, scowling. “Yo, why you gotta put me on blast like that? I ain’t sayin’ nothin’.”

“Relax,” Dre chuckled, pushing himself off the wall. “I ain’t clownin’ you… much. Anyway, I might’ve done somethin’.”

“What the hell did you do?” Marshall asked, suspicion lacing his voice as Dre made his way to the door.

Dre opened it slightly and leaned into the hallway, waving someone in. “Yo, come on in!”

Marshall watched in confusion, his brows furrowing. The door swung open wider, and there you were—dressed casually but effortlessly stunning. It was a stark contrast to the glamorous shoots he’d seen you in, but somehow, it made you even more breathtaking.

“Hi,” you greeted with a warm smile, your voice soft but confident.

Marshall’s jaw nearly hit the floor. He blinked several times, convinced this had to be some elaborate prank. “Yo, what—” he stammered, looking between you and Dre. “What is this? Are you serious right now?”

Dre clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Dead serious. Thought I’d help you shoot your shot, man.”

“Wait… what?” Marshall was still processing, running a hand over his buzzed blonde hair.

You stepped closer, extending your hand. “I’m (Y/N). It’s nice to finally meet you, Marshall.”

“Uh… yeah, yeah. Nice to meet you, too,” he said, shaking your hand like he’d forgotten how to function.

Dre leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, grinning like a proud matchmaker. “Told her you were a fan, Em. Turns out, she thinks you’re pretty dope, too.”

Marshall’s head snapped toward Dre. “You told her? Man, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Relax, man. She’s here, ain’t she?” Dre shrugged, unbothered by the flustered rapper’s reaction.

You laughed softly, the sound instantly easing Marshall’s nerves. “He’s right. I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t want to meet you. I’ve been a fan of your music for a while now.”

“You… have?” Marshall asked, the disbelief evident in his tone.

You nodded. “Absolutely. ‘My Name Is’ is iconic. And your flow? Insane.”

Marshall chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damn, that’s crazy. I mean… thanks. I don’t even know what to say right now.”

Dre pushed off the doorframe. “Well, y’all have fun. I’ll leave you to it.” He shot Marshall a knowing look before disappearing into the hallway.

As the door closed behind him, silence settled between you and Marshall. He shifted awkwardly, trying to think of something clever to say but coming up blank.

“So, this is your hometown, huh?” you said, breaking the ice.

“Yeah. Detroit. Born and raised,” he replied, finally managing to meet your eyes.

“It’s cool to see where you’re from,” you said. “You must love performing here.”

“Yeah, it’s different here. The crowd’s wild, but it’s home, y’know?”

You smiled. “That’s awesome. I can tell you’re really passionate about what you do.”

Marshall felt himself relax a little, the initial shock fading. “Yeah, I mean… music’s everything to me. Keeps me sane, y’know?”

You nodded. “I get that. Modeling can be pretty intense, too. It’s nice to have something that keeps you grounded.”

He tilted his head, curiosity piqued. “How’d you get into all that? Modeling and stuff?”

You chuckled. “Kind of by accident, honestly. I got scouted when I was younger, and it just took off from there. But I love it. It’s given me opportunities I never dreamed of.”

Marshall grinned. “Yeah, like meetin’ me, right?”

You laughed, and he felt a surge of confidence.

“Exactly,” you teased.

The two of you spent the next hour talking like old friends, the initial awkwardness replaced by an easy connection. Marshall couldn’t believe Dre had actually pulled this off, but he wasn’t about to question it.

---

Months had passed since that unforgettable night when Dr. Dre introduced you to Marshall. What started as a whirlwind of nerves and uncertainty quickly blossomed into something neither of you could have anticipated. Now, you and Marshall were inseparable—a happy, albeit unconventional, couple.

Tonight, you found yourself seated in a cozy corner of a trendy Detroit restaurant. It was one of Marshall's favorite spots, lowkey and unpretentious. He had invited some of his closest friends, including Proof and Denaun, for dinner. The table was filled with laughter and conversation, everyone relaxed as plates of food were passed around.

Marshall sat beside you, his arm casually draped across the back of your chair, while his other hand toyed absentmindedly with the edge of his napkin.

“Yo, this mac and cheese is fire,” Denaun said, holding up a forkful. “Y’all need to try this.”

Proof leaned forward, squinting at Denaun’s plate. “That ain’t better than my grandma’s recipe, though. Don’t even start.”

Marshall chuckled. “Man, Proof, you’re always hypin’ up your grandma’s cooking. I’m starting to think she don’t even exist.”

“Say that again, and I’ll have her make a plate just so you can eat your words,” Proof shot back, laughing.

While the guys bantered, you were focused on your own plate, cutting a piece of the steak you had ordered. You noticed Marshall glance at your plate, his eyes lingering.

“You want some?” you asked, lifting the fork toward him.

“Nah, I’m good,” he said, but his gaze didn’t leave the steak.

You smirked, leaning closer. “C’mon, try it. It’s good.”

Marshall hesitated, then leaned in and took a bite. “Damn,” he muttered, chewing thoughtfully. “That’s better than mine.”

You giggled, cutting another piece. “Want another bite?”

“Hell yeah,” he said, and you fed him again, much to the amusement of the guys at the table.

“Yo, look at this dude,” Denaun said, pointing his fork at Marshall. “Marshall out here bein’ all soft with his girl. Feeding each other and shit.”

Proof snickered. “Man, I ain’t seen him act like this ever. You got him whipped, (Y/N).”

Marshall rolled his eyes but smirked. “Y’all just mad ‘cause you don’t have someone feedin’ you.”

You laughed, deciding to tease him a little. “Aw, don’t listen to them, babe. They’re just jealous.”

“Damn right,” Proof said with a grin. “But seriously, Marshall, I never thought I’d see the day. You’re out here lookin’ like a Hallmark commercial.”

“Shut up,” Marshall muttered, his cheeks tinged pink.

As the evening went on, the teasing continued. But you didn’t mind—if anything, you found it endearing how Marshall was willing to show a softer side around you, even with his friends present.

After dessert was served, you leaned back in your seat, feeling content. Marshall shifted closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. Without warning, he buried his face against your chest, sighing dramatically.

“Oh my god, Marshall,” you said, laughing as you glanced down at him. “What are you doing?”

“Damn, this is comfortable,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your skin.

The table erupted in laughter.

“Yo, what the hell am I seeing right now?” Denaun said, nearly choking on his drink.

Proof slapped the table, wheezing with laughter. “I can’t! Em, what are you doin’? You look like a baby tryin’ to nap.”

“Man, let me live,” Marshall shot back, though he made no move to lift his head. Instead, he tightened his hold on you, clearly enjoying the position.

You shook your head, your hand instinctively brushing over his short hair. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he said smugly, glancing up at you with a smirk before resting his head back down.

“Bro, you really just gon’ let him do that?” Proof asked you, shaking his head.

You laughed, shrugging. “What can I say? He’s comfortable.”

Marshall grinned triumphantly. “See? My girl’s cool with it. Y’all just mad.”

“Man, this is gonna be all over the tabloids if someone sees,” Denaun joked. “Eminem: Rap Legend or Cuddle King?”

Marshall finally lifted his head, flipping him off. “Keep talkin’, and I’ll show y’all who the king is.”

The table dissolved into laughter again, and you couldn’t help but smile. Despite the teasing, the moment felt perfect—a rare glimpse of normalcy and joy in the chaotic life you shared with Marshall.

As the night wound down, Marshall leaned in close, his voice low so only you could hear. “Thanks for puttin’ up with my dumb ass.”

You smiled, brushing your lips against his cheek. “Always.”

And in that moment, surrounded by laughter and love, you realized there was no place you’d rather be.

The next morning, the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen filled the small house you and Marshall had been calling home for the past few weeks. You were scrolling through a magazine at the kitchen table while he stood at the counter, his back to you as he buttered a piece of toast.

“Man, last night was wild,” Marshall said, his voice groggy from just waking up. “I can’t believe Proof was clownin’ on me the whole time.”

You smirked. “To be fair, you did use me as a pillow in front of everyone. You were asking for it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he turned to face you. “It’s whatever. It ain’t like anyone else saw it.”

Just as he sat down at the table, your phone rang. You glanced at it, frowning. “It’s Dre. You want me to pick it up?”

Marshall shrugged. “Yeah, go ahead.”

You answered. “Hey, Dre. What’s up?”

“Man, tell your boyfriend to check the news,” Dre’s voice came through, half-laughing, half-serious.

Marshall raised an eyebrow, leaning closer to the phone. “What? Why? What’s goin’ on?”

“You tell me, Mr. Loverboy,” Dre shot back. “Turn on your TV.”

Marshall groaned, pushing back his chair to grab the remote. “What the hell is he talkin’ about now?”

You followed him into the living room as he switched on the TV. Almost immediately, a morning entertainment show flashed on screen, and there it was—photos of the two of you from the night before, clear as day.

One image showed you feeding Marshall, both of you smiling like you didn’t have a care in the world. Another showed him resting his head on your chest, looking completely at ease. The segment’s headline read: "Eminem Shows a Softer Side with a Victoria secrets model!"

“Aw, hell no,” Marshall muttered, running a hand down his face.

You tried to stifle a laugh. “It’s kinda cute, though…”

“Cute? Yo, they’re makin’ me look like a damn puppy out here!” Marshall exclaimed, pacing the room.

Dre’s voice crackled through the phone still in your hand. “A puppy? Nah, Em, they’re callin’ you a teddy bear. I’ve been gettin’ calls all morning askin’ if you’re droppin’ a love song next.”

“Yo, Dre, this ain’t funny, man!” Marshall yelled, though his tone betrayed his embarrassment more than anger.

“Oh, it’s hilarious,” Dre said, laughing. “I already know Proof and Denaun are gonna have a field day with this. You better brace yourself.”

Marshall sighed, flopping down on the couch and burying his face in his hands. “Man, this is gonna ruin me. My whole image is shot!”

You sat beside him, patting his shoulder. “Relax, it’s not that bad. People love seeing this side of you. Besides,” you added with a teasing grin, “I think you look adorable in the pictures.”

Marshall groaned. “Not you, too.”

Later that day, Marshall reluctantly went to the studio to work on a new track. As soon as he walked through the door, he was greeted by Proof and Denaun, both holding newspapers with the same pictures plastered on the front.

“Yo! Loverboy’s here!” Proof called out, waving the paper like a trophy.

Marshall scowled. “Man, shut the hell up.”

“You see these, though?” Denaun said, holding up his own copy. “Look at this one right here, Proof. My man’s got his head all up on her chest like it’s a damn hotel pillow.”

“Comfort Suites by Victoria’s Secret,” Proof added, laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach.

Marshall snatched one of the papers from Denaun, glaring at the images. “Y’all are mad annoying, you know that?”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Proof teased, slinging an arm around Marshall’s shoulder. “We’re just happy to see you happy. Even if it’s funny as hell.”

“Man, y’all act like you’ve never seen someone chill with their girl before,” Marshall shot back, shaking him off.

Dre walked into the room, grinning from ear to ear. “What’s up, Romeo? You finishin’ that ballad yet?”

Marshall groaned loudly. “Not you, too, Dre!”

“Hey, don’t get mad at me,” Dre said, holding up his hands in mock defense. “You brought this on yourself. But for real, Em, the pictures are blowin’ up. Fans love ‘em. They’re sayin’ you’re finally showin’ you’re human.”

“Man, I don’t care what they’re sayin’,” Marshall muttered, slumping into a chair. “This is just dumb.”

Proof sat across from him, shaking his head with a smirk. “You can act all mad about it, but we all know the truth.”

“And what’s that?” Marshall asked, narrowing his eyes.

“That you’re head over heels for (Y/N),” Proof said simply.

Marshall hesitated, his tough exterior softening for just a moment. “Yeah, so what if I am?”

The room went silent for a beat before Denaun laughed. “Man, I knew it! You really are a teddy bear.”

Marshall rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Whatever, man. Y’all just mad you ain’t got what I got.”

“True,” Proof said, raising his hands. “I can’t even argue with that.”

“Damn right,” Marshall said, leaning back in his chair. “Now, can we stop talkin’ about this and get back to work?”

The teasing continued on and off for the rest of the day, but deep down, Marshall didn’t mind. He had you by his side, and even if the world saw his softer side, he knew it was all worth it.

-

Today, Marshall was being nominated for best rap album.You couldn’t be more proud of him.

The night was electric. The atmosphere at the awards show was electric, filled with flashing cameras and glimmering lights. You and Marshall were seated side by side in the front row, both dressed casually but still looking as stylish as ever. Marshall wore his usual attire: a plain white T-shirt, baggy jeans, and a hoodie, with a signature pair of sneakers completing the look. Even without a suit, he exuded a kind of effortless cool, the same way he did when he first made a name for himself. His confidence, though unspoken, was undeniable.

You couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride every time you looked at him. This was his moment—the culmination of years of hard work, struggles, and sacrifice. You had been by his side through all of it, and seeing him nominated for an award only made your heart swell.

The ceremony was dragging on, filled with different categories and performers, but you were content to just be there with him. You leaned against him slightly, your hand resting on his leg under the table, giving him a reassuring squeeze every now and then. Marshall kept his cool, never showing any signs of nerves, but you knew how much this meant to him.

Finally, they announced the nominees for Best Rap Album, and the room fell into a hush as they prepared to call the winner. Your grip tightened on his hand as the name of the winner was read aloud.

“And the award goes to... Eminem!”

A collective cheer erupted from the audience, and Marshall stood up, the loudest cheer coming from his friends who were seated across the room. He gave a slight nod, his usual smirk playing on his lips as he walked toward the stage. You stayed in your seat for a moment, watching him, your heart racing. This was it.

Marshall accepted the award, his eyes scanning the crowd as he took the microphone, his face flashing that signature mischievous grin.

“Damn, I don’t even know what to say,” he began, his voice casual but carrying through the auditorium. “First of all, I gotta thank the fans. Without y’all, I wouldn’t be standing up here today. You guys keep me going when I feel like giving up, and for that, I’ll always be grateful.”

The audience erupted into applause. You could hear the whispers of excitement from the crowd, the cameras flashing, the whole room hanging on his every word.

Marshall paused, looking down at the award in his hands for a moment, as though soaking it all in.

“I wanna thank my team—Dre and everyone who had my back from the jump,” he continued. “Without you guys, I wouldn’t be here. This is all for you.”

More applause. He had the audience in the palm of his hand, as usual. But then, he glanced toward you, his eyes softening as he caught your gaze from the front row.

“And lastly,” he said, his tone shifting ever so slightly, but you noticed it, “I gotta thank someone special. (Y/N), you’ve been there for me through everything. You’re the one who’s been by my side, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

You blushed at his words, feeling the heat of the moment. The entire room fell silent as Marshall’s gaze never left you. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the love in his expression, and it made your heart swell.

He cleared his throat, the corners of his mouth quirking up in that playful way of his. “But… I gotta say one thing to everyone out here—my cute side… that’s only for (Y/N),” he said sternly, and for a moment, you thought he was about to drop a punchline.

The room burst into laughter, and you couldn’t help but smile at his playful delivery. But then, there was a moment of silence, and all eyes were on him. The crowd had no idea what to expect next.

“You heard me,” Marshall continued, his tone still light but tinged with the confidence you loved so much. “That soft, cuddly, teddy bear side of me? It only comes out when I’m with her. So, don’t get it twisted, okay?”

The crowd roared with laughter and applause. Some of Marshall’s friends from across the room stood up, cheering loudly. Dre, who had been sitting behind you, raised his glass in your direction with a smirk. “Yo, that’s my boy right there!” he shouted, eliciting even more cheers from the audience.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your heart racing with pride. Marshall was a force of nature, and here he was, in front of thousands of people, being unapologetically himself. The crowd loved it. They loved him.

Marshall flashed a grin, his usual cocky attitude shining through as he held up the award. “But seriously, thanks to everyone who believed in me. This one’s for you, (Y/N),” he said, his eyes softening once more as he looked at you.

You smiled back at him, holding his gaze, feeling your heart swell with affection. He always knew how to make you feel special, even when the spotlight was on him.

The applause continued, but this time, it felt different—more genuine. Marshall had managed to not only win an award but also to share a moment of vulnerability with his fans. They had seen the tough, no-nonsense side of him for years, but tonight, they got a glimpse of the man who was also deeply in love and unapologetically devoted to the one person who understood him.

He stepped away from the mic, raising the trophy in one hand. “Alright, that’s enough outta me,” he said with a smile. “Now let’s get outta here before they start handing out the ‘Best Couple’ award.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his words, and the audience chuckled with you. Marshall had a way of turning even the most sincere moments into something playful.

As he walked off the stage, the audience still clapping and laughing, Marshall turned toward you, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“You good?” he asked, grinning like he hadn’t just turned an awards ceremony into a personal love fest.

“I’m more than good,” you replied, reaching up to pull him down into a kiss.

“Yeah, I’m lucky as hell,” he murmured against your lips, and you could feel the warmth of his words in the way he held you.

your lips curling into a flirtatious smile. "There’s gonna be a second award for you tonight… but it won’t be for your music."

Marshall raised an eyebrow, the playful tension between you two palpable. He leaned in closer, his lips curling into a smirk as he matched your tone. "Oh yeah?" he replied, his voice low and teasing. "What kind of award are we talkin' about here?"

You kept your eyes locked on his, letting the anticipation build. "Well, let’s just say it’ll be more personal," you said with a wink, your hand subtly brushing against his arm. "I think you’ve earned it."

He chuckled softly, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. "Damn, you’re bold," he muttered, his lips grazing your ear as he whispered, "I like it."

You could feel his breath on your skin, and the way his body instinctively leaned toward you sent a thrill down your spine. "Just wait, Marshall. Tonight, you’re gonna get a taste of a real reward."

His lips curved into a satisfied grin. "I’m definitely looking forward to it," he murmured, his voice husky with that unmistakable mix of confidence and desire. "You always know how to keep me on my toes."

With that, the two of you shared a quick kiss before heading back to your seat. But you could feel the heat between you both, knowing the night was far from over. As the awards show continued, all you could think about was the "second award" you’d be giving him later.

[laurarakkonen]

Hello! Finally our little Em Fanfic Fandom have more writers!

Can I request 000's Eminem falling for Rockstar!Reader that have a baby (Baby Daddy no present) she always bring everywhere and even steals some attetion to him? :b

🎸⋆°. 𝗦𝗡𝗔𝗣 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗜𝗧.

⠀⠀────────────────────

| 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚: Marshall Mathers III (Eminem) x Rockstar!Fem!Reader.

| 𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗥𝗘: Fluffy.

| 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦: N/A.

| 𝗥𝗘𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗗: yes.

| 𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗚 𝗜𝗡𝗦𝗣𝗜𝗥𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡: Snap Out Of It — Arctic Monkeys.

( hey! i loved your request, I had a lot of fun writing it! I hope you like it. 🤍 )

⠀⠀────────────────────

The noise of screams and applause filled the structure of the stadium where your rock band performed, you looked kindly at all the people who admired your art as you said goodbye with a wide smile after ending your show in New York.

— Thank you everyone for your support! Tonight was a very special night for us, New York! — You expressed with a vibrant smile, listening to all the love your fans had for you and your band.

The stage lights went dark, and you went backstage where your band team was with your youngest daughter, Remy, just two years old. You've always attracted a lot of attention in the industry, for being a successful rock singer with a successful band and a single mother who would do anything for your daughter, something Remy's father wouldn't do the same, he never did the least to get to know her after birth, leaving you alone to take care of a child, however, you did everything you could to fulfill your part of being a mother and a father in your daughter's life even with your busy schedule.

A happy smile spread across your lips as you picked up your daughter, your eyes sparkled when you saw that little child who had saved your life in so many ways. The other band members had the same loving smile for your daughter. The bassist, Mandy, approached Remy with a sweet smile.

— She's so cute! — Mandy said, stroking the little child's cheeks. — I saw a recording of her playing with the guitars, it was really cute!

You responded to the bassist with a smirk, looking up at the other woman, listening to the baby giggles that your daughter gave when she felt Mandy's touch on her cheeks.

— She sure is, Remy is passionate about guitars, maybe I'll give her one as a gift for her birthday. — You replied, turning your gaze to the child again.

On the other side of the dressing room, the guitarist named Axel who was adjusting the strings on his guitar was smiling at you and Remy.

— Maybe she'll be a guitarist like me, I'm really incredible. — He said in a cocky and fun way, making you laugh. — Yo, there's going to be a party at Dr Dre's mansion in a little while… are you going?

Mandy just let out a sideways smile and crossed her arms, throwing herself onto the small sofa there:

— I still don't know how you have contact with these Hip-Hop people...but I will go, will you, Y/N? — The bassist asked, looking up at you.

You continued to look at the girl in your arms, with your lips pressed together as you rubbed the back of your head in a tone of doubt.

— I will stay, Remy must be tired and she has school tomorrow...I'll stay at home. — You explained, raising your gaze to the two members who looked at him with an understanding look.

— That's fair. — Axel paused with a light sigh. — So, Mandy now call the other members because our car should already be waiting.

— Okay, we'll give you two a ride too, Y/N. — Mandy said, looking at Remy with a smirk.

⠀⠀────────────────────

After a few weeks of your show, your performance was a complete success, it became news in all media and tabloids in all magazines. Your band's songs were played on different types of radio, from rock to pop, and it was also a constant question for some artists in interviews.

You were in your large apartment in downtown New York, in the kitchen as you prepared lunch for you and Remy while your daughter watched a random cartoon in the living room. You cut the vegetables and put them in the pan with bubbling water, your radio on the counter played some songs until you started an interview with Eminem, the rapper who was at the height of his career like you and who had already mentioned you in some songs.

You didn't pay much attention to the interview until the people hosting the interview mentioned your show and you, which made your interest grow quickly and take your attention completely to the radio.

— Yo, Em, I don't know if you're probably aware, but Y/N did a wonderful show a few weeks ago, we were impressed with how she managed to give such an authentic and captivating performance even though she just entered the industry. You've already mentioned her in some of your songs, how do you feel about her? — The interviewer asked, his voice squeaking slightly over the sound of the radio.

— To be more exact, I really admire what she and her band do. I was at the show with Proof watching her and it was…wow. As an artist, she has a lot of potential, and as a father...I see her as an inspiration, even though she is a single mother and has a huge career, she manages to be present in her daughter's life, and that is something to admire...In fact, If Y/N needs a candidate to be her daughter's stepfather, I'll volunteer. — Marshall said, in a joking tone that made all the interviewers laugh at the situation.

The whole situation left you with rosy cheeks and a silly smile on your lips, Marshall seemed like a nice guy, and who was also going through the same situation of being a single father after his divorce with his ex-wife, Kimberly. You felt a depth of truth behind his playful words, and that typical feeling of butterflies began to form in your stomach.

Your thoughts were quickly cut short after the sound of the landline telephone in the hallway of the apartment began to echo through the wall, making you turn off the stove and wipe your hands on the cloth on the counter, going over to the device.

Your hands went to the phone and placed it in your left ear, your silly smile remained on your face without realizing it.

— Hello?- — You were quickly interrupted by Mandy's excited voice coming from the other end of the line.

— Did you see what Eminem said about you on the radio? Girl, he's so into you! — The bassist's lively voice was mixed with some laughter.

You tilted your head slightly to the left side, pressing the fingers of your free hand to your lips.

— I saw…and did you see that he was at our show? But he was just joking, don’t be crazy. — You shrugged your shoulders, trying to convince yourself that it was just his joke.

However, Mandy wasn't convinced, she just rolled her eyes and snorted upon hearing your comment.

— You're always like that...it's clear he wants to talk to you! Look, Axel said that 50 is going to have a party and Eminem will be there, you go and I'll take care of Remy without any problems, you need to go! — The other woman said, you could feel her mischievous smile on the other end of the phone line.

Internally, you felt like you were going to explode. Your mind screamed for you to go and your skin heated up just thinking about talking to him, the blush on your cheeks became even more apparent and your smile grew even more.

— Okay...when is this party? I'll try to go. — You said in a shy tone, letting out a shaky breath.

The bassist let out a scream of joy upon hearing your question, and a proud smile formed on her lips.

— This Saturday! You have to go, choose your best outfit! — Ordered the other woman, ending the call without giving you a chance to respond or argue against it.

⠀⠀────────────────────

The noise of Hip-Hop music and people having fun filled the air at 50 Cent's mansion, where the grand party that Mandy had mentioned to you days before was taking place.

You looked around and saw different artists having fun, drinking and even kissing in the corners of the room. You leaned on the bar counter in the center of the living room, while adjusting a black mini skirt and your black leather jacket with burgundy red details. In the other corner of the room, Marshall Mathers was watching you with a smirk on his lips, his gaze discreetly admiring your face and body, and by his side, there was his best friend Proof, who was observing the scene.

Without patience, Proof took his hands to the other rapper's shoulders and shook him lightly, making Eminem's gaze go to him.

— Are you going to stare at her like a idiot or go talk to her? — The boy asked, pulling his best friend out of his mental trance.

Marshall just muttered a small “Hm?” and again raised his gaze to you, swallowing dryly.

— I don't know, man... I don't know if she liked the “joke” I made on the radio. — Said the rapper, shrugging his shoulders and taking some of his drink to clear his throat.

The other boy just snorted and rolled his eyes, moving away from his best friend and looking up at you, letting out a sigh:

— If you don't go to her, she'll think you're just another cowardly dumbass! Go, man! — Proof replied, trying to encourage Marshall.

After a few minutes of mental preparation and encouragement from Proof, Eminem approached in slow and awkward steps, he quickened his breathing with each step he took and the closer he got to you.

You noticed someone approaching from behind, so you gently turned your head back and your gaze quickly landed on the rapper, which made your heart stop for a few seconds.

Marshall had the same reaction, his heart accelerated a little more when he saw your face and he felt his own body betray him, feeling his knees shaking as he tried to keep his posture upright.

— Yo, Y/N, right? — Marshall tried to start a conversation, feeling a spike of adrenaline in his heart palpitate.

Your hands felt cold and a shiver ran down your spine as you heard his voice mix with the sound of the party's loud music.

— Yes, it’s me... it's a pleasure to meet you, Marshall. — You replied, letting a sideways smile escape.

The blonde felt goosebumps on his skin when he heard you say his name, he knew he had a small crush on you...but he didn't know it was so intense.

— It’s nice to meet you too, so…I don’t know if you’ve listened to the radio lately, but I wanted to apologize if I offended you by the joke I made in that interview. — You could hear him slurring his own words in a nervous way, gesturing with his hands.

— It's okay, really. I even liked your joke, it was cute. — You answered him in the same way, your words escaping your mouths without thinking.

A spike of shame hit your heart as you realized what you had said, a red blush marked your cheeks as you widened your eyes slightly.

— Ah, so it's okay...do you mind if I buy you a drink? — The rapper asked, his nervousness slowly disappearing when he noticed the look on his face, his lips curling into a proud smile.

— I would love. — You replied, letting out a calm sigh.

⠀⠀────────────────────

The rest of the night went well, the conversation between you and Marshall flowed better than you expected.

It was interesting to see the industry's most feared rapper be so kind and completely interesting and funny. At the moment, you were outside the party, observing the dark sky full of stars contrasting with the lights that the buildings that New York emitted.

— So...I heard there's a super cool bar near here, want to go with me? Just the two of us. — Marshall said, stroking your right hand gently.

— I'd love to, Em. — You replied, intertwining your fingers with his.

[anjee0]

Pretty blue dress and lingerie

Eminem x Female!reader (Feel free to put in your own oc insert as well)

Description - Y/n comes from a girl's night and shows Marshall her new lingerie set.

Warnings - Smut, oral sex, a little bit of fluff.

“Marshall, I'm home!” Y/n called out at she stepped in to the house. There was so response so she presumed that Marshall was in their room.

Y/n had just come back from a long girls night. Her and her friends went out to the club, had a few drinks, partied and caught up with each other. Overall, she had a great time but she missed her husband so much and couldn't wait to jump into his arms.

She made her way into their room and saw Marshall sitting in bed, reading one of his comics. He heard the door opening and looked up to see Y/n. He smiled at the sight of her.

“Hey babe. When did you get home?” He asked.

“Just now. You didn't hear me when I got inside.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry.”

“It's fine. Don't sweat it.”

Y/n stood in front of her mirror as she started to take her jewellery off.

“I know I already said this before you left but, you look really beautiful in that dress. It's suits you.” Marshall said, with a soft smile on his face.

Y/n was wearing a dark blue dress that showed off her curves and right amount of her leg. It had small shiny gems decorated on it, giving it a beautiful sparkle. 

“Thank you, Marshall.”

“You should wear it around the house.”

Y/n chuckled. “I would if it wasn't so uncomfortable.”

She slowly took of the dress as it fell down her body, revealing the dark blue lacey lingerie she had underneath. 

“Is that a new set?” Marshall asked.

“Yeah. I got it 3 days ago. Do you like it?”

“I love it. Come here, let me take a closer look.” He said as he got up to sit in the edge of the bed.

Y/n smirked, as she moved over to Marshall and cupped his face. He kissed her stomach then slowly set her on his lap. 

Y/n kissed him passionately and leaned into him more. She moaned at the feeling of Marshall's bulge pressed against her already soaking pussy. She started rocking her hips against Marshall as she moaned into his neck.

“I need you.” She moaned into his ear.

Marshall didn't waste any time and immediately threw her onto to the bed. He took of his shirt, revealing his chest and his toned abs and muscles.

He took off Y/n's bra and started massaging her breasts. He sucked her nipple whilst twisting the other one. Y/n arched her back and moaned in pleasure.

Marshall cupped her clothed core and smirked at how wet she already was.

“You're so wet for me, huh?” Marshall said with a low, husky voice.

He continued to suck harder on Y/n's nipples as she took off Marshall's pants and boxers, leaving him naked. He took off her panties slowly and lined his dick up with her entrance.

He inserted himself into Y/n, making her moan loudly and arch her back. She wrapped her legs around his waist and ran her hands through his hair.

Marshall started thrusting into her, starting off gentle and then quickly getting faster and faster. Y/n was a moaning mess, she felt tears rolling out her eyes at the sensation.

He sucked and licked on Y/n's neck and grazed his teeth against her soft skin. He left a trail of hickeys along her neck and collarbone.

“Fuck baby. You're so tight.” Marshall growled as his eyes darkened.

The thrusts became harder and harder, he was practically slamming into her walls now. Y/n met her lips with Marshall's and kissed him passionately. Soon enough, his thrusts became more sloppier, indicating that he was close.

“Marshall, I'm gonna cum.” Y/n moaned as felt her self closer and closer to her climax.

“Cum for me baby.”

And with just those words, she came right there while screaming Marshall's name. She was suddenly thankful that their house was in a more private area, away from a lot people. 

Marshall came right after her and groaned into her neck. He pulled out of her and gave her a droopy smile. He moaned softly at the sight of his girl. Her hair was messy, her makeup was sweating off and she looked so exhausted. But she was smiling, feeling high from her orgasm.

“Let's get you cleaned up.” He said.

Marshall got a hit shower ready for them so they could clean up. They both hopped in and held each other close, embracing each other's warmth and love.

Marshall kissed Y/n's hickeys and then started to move down her body at a steady pace. He reach her thighs and started kissing dangerously close to her pussy.

She spread her legs slightly and blushed out of embarrassment when she realised that she was already getting wet for Marshall again.

“Needy, huh, babe?” Marshall teased.

He held onto her thighs and started kissing the folds of her vagina and soon enough, sucking on it. Y/n dug her nails into Marshall's shoulders as she moaned at the feeling of his tongue on her core. 

He inserted a finger in, then two and slowly started moving. The combination of his tongue and two fingers moving through Y/n's folds had her spinning into a spiral.

Soon enough, he added another finger in and quickened his pace. He continued to suck and lick harder.

“Baby, I'm close.” Y/n moaned.

“Cum for me baby.” 

Y/n came whilst moaning Marshall's name softly this time. He stood up and her eyes immediately caught attention of his beard and lips, glistening with her juices. She kissed him, tasting herself on her tongue.

Marshall and Y/n curled up in bed with each other, holding each other close and dear to each other.

“You were so good.” Y/n praised.

“Thanks babe. Up for round 2 tomorrow morning?”

“You know I am.” She responded with a smirk.

And just like that, they fell asleep peacefully in each other's arms.

A/N: This is my first time writing smut. I hope it was good :)

[stargrillzz]

Hey I love your fanfic on em 💗💗 can you make a imagine like Eminem in the 2000s X popstar like Sabrina Carpenter? (Like he is at her concert or something.)

Who’s the cute guy with the wide blue eyes and the big bad mm?

summary: Crazy how the bad boy, could be so dazed by his soo to be woman.

note: This might be a bit confusing to read, but here's the explanation: Reading this, it seems like it was written for the Eminem of today, him already an adult. Mostly because I love a small age gap in relationships, but really, if you want to imagine him as a young man, just ignore some details and that's it. xoxo

The Grammys were a blur of lights and sequins and cloying perfume clouded over nerves, fake smiles, and the whispering click of paparazzi lenses. You had done this dance a thousand times before—step out of the car, pose, smile with fangs hidden behind glossed lips, and strut into a room where everyone either wanted to be you, be inside you, or take your spot on the charts.

Tonight, you looked like sin in electric blue.

A mini dress that clung to your every curve like it had been painted on. Glitter that caught every camera flash like you were made of it. A neckline that plunged deep enough to make angels choke. You knew exactly what you were doing. And you knew exactly who would be watching.

You didn’t expect it to be him.

Your seat was somewhere near the front—Grammys liked to keep the glittery, overachieving people clustered together. Your album had just swept. Four Grammys tonight. You had already taken one photo holding three like they were your children and balancing the fourth on your head.

But none of that mattered when you turned toward your seat and saw Marshall Mathers already sitting in the chair next to it.

Black hoodie under a bomber jacket, chain glinting against his chest, hood half up like he’d only agreed to this if they let him pretend he was still in a basement in Detroit. He looked absurdly hot and equally bored, legs spread wide, fingers tapping against the armrest in quiet impatience.

You hadn’t even sat down before he looked up at you—and then paused.

His gaze dipped. Then dipped again.

“Damn,” he said under his breath. Not loud, not crude. Just… honest. Surprised. He blinked once, straightened a bit like his spine just remembered he was in public.

You grinned, delighted. “That good, huh?”

He let out a breathy laugh, then—shockingly—stood up. “You want help sitting down?” he asked, voice low, just a little amused, maybe even unsure. “Or is that dress surgically attached to your body?”

You burst out laughing, stepping carefully toward your seat. “Oh my god, are you trying to flirt with me or start a fight?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

You slid into your seat with the help of his hand at your elbow—strong, steady—and for a second, your skin warmed under the contact. He smelled like spice and clean laundry and something addictive you didn’t have the time to analyze.

“I gotta say,” you started, adjusting the hem of your dress with exaggerated innocence, “this is my first Grammy night where I get seated next to someone whose lyrics literally got me grounded in ninth grade.”

That made him smirk. “Yeah? What’d you say?”

“Oh, I was walking around saying ‘bitch I’ll kill you,’ thinking I was invincible. Turns out Catholic schools don’t find that shit very funny.”

That made him laugh—really laugh. Like a sudden bark of it, his head tipping back. “Goddamn. You serious?”

You nodded. “Dead serious. My mom thought I was possessed.”

“Guess I’ve still got it.” His grin widened, and he leaned in just a touch. “But you? You don’t look like someone who listens to me.”

You raised an eyebrow, lips curving. “What do I look like?”

“Like you’re used to people calling you ‘queen’ on Twitter while jerking off to your music videos.”

You clapped a hand to your mouth to muffle the laugh that escaped, startled and amused. “Jesus Christ—”

He looked pleased with himself. You turned slightly in your chair, facing him more now, a little surprised by how easy it felt.

“And what, you don’t get that treatment?” you teased.

“Oh I do,” he deadpanned. “But usually it’s angry dudes in their thirties yelling ‘REAL RAP’ and photoshopping me bald.”

You snorted. “God, the internet is such a beautiful hellscape.”

Just then, someone took the stage wearing… well. A thing. Neon suit, sleeves with feathers, hat shaped like a mushroom cap. You couldn’t tell if it was fashion or a breakdown.

You tilted your head, unsure. That’s when you felt it.

Marshall leaned over. Closer than he’d been. His breath brushed your bare shoulder as he whispered into your ear, “That outfit looks like a peacock fucked a vape pen.”

You choked on your drink.

And then—then—he looked genuinely startled as you howled with laughter, bending over in your seat, hand slapping your thigh.

“You can’t say that,” you wheezed, gasping between fits.

“Apparently I can’t say anything,” he muttered, smirking. “Half the time people act like I just dropkick puppies. But you… you laughed.”

You straightened up, wiping at the corner of your eye. “Because that shit was hilarious.”

He looked at you then—really looked. Like you had defied some rule in his head. His eyes scanned your face, lingering, the hint of a grin on his lips softening into something almost curious.

“I didn’t think you’d be like this,” he said quietly.

“Like what?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Fun. Filthy. Not made of glass.”

You grinned slow, devilish. “Oh no, baby. I’m made of glitter and sin.”

He laughed again—lower this time. You felt it like a hum between your ribs.

As the show went on, he leaned in every now and then to whisper some deeply inappropriate, absolutely absurd commentary in your ear. Every time, you cracked up. And every time, he watched you with this look like he couldn’t believe it. Like he’d never met a woman who dressed like a fantasy and talked like a demon. Like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t what he expected at all.

And god help you, but you were starting to think the same.

---

The afterparty was already a mess.

Glitter on every surface. Champagne like water. Celebrities half-twisting out of their expensive outfits and ego trips. Music thumped low and dirty from the speakers like the room itself had a pulse — and it matched yours perfectly.

You had changed, of course. You always did. The post-show version of you was even more dangerous: metallic gold heels, black silk mini dress that dipped low in the back and high at the thigh, just this side of illegal. You weren’t trying to blend in — you were there to be seen, and you knew exactly how to do it.

The room had swallowed you whole when you stepped in — heads turned, drinks paused mid-air — but none of it mattered the moment your eyes locked on him across the room.

Marshall.

Still dressed in that same hoodie-and-jacket combo, hat pulled low, but now slightly slouched into a lounge chair like he owned the place. Like he wasn’t one of the most recognizable faces on Earth. His posture was all casual defiance — legs spread, one arm slung over the backrest, half-laughing at something one of his boys just said.

But the minute he saw you?

He straightened.

Not like a gentleman. Like a man who just saw something he wanted and didn’t care if anyone noticed.

You walked over slow — hips swaying, chin up, dangerous smile loaded and ready. Every inch of you radiated “I know exactly what I’m doing.” And the moment you were close enough, he greeted you not with a hello, but with a smirk and:

“You came back dressed like a goddamn felony.”

You laughed, one eyebrow cocked. “You look like you never left the basement.”

“Yeah, well. Basement’s got better lighting than this circus.”

You sank into the seat next to him, knee brushing his as you crossed your legs. That single touch sparked heat up your thigh, but neither of you flinched. You just looked at each other for a second — that stare that said, Okay, so we’re doing this now.

You took a sip of your drink and scanned the crowd. “You ever notice how these parties always look like someone spilled rich people all over the place?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, half these people look like the wax museum melted.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “Stop.”

“You see that guy?” He tilted his chin toward a man in a leather suit and sunglasses indoors. “Looks like if Pitbull and a Roomba had a baby.”

“Oh my god.” You were crying now. “What is wrong with you?”

“Born this way.”

You kept talking. Kept roasting. Your heels bumped his boot every time you laughed, your hands brushed when you leaned in to whisper some evil little observation. You weren’t flirting, not really — you were targeting each other with heat.

At some point, he leaned in close to say something about a woman in a feathered dress who looked like a plucked chicken — and his breath hit the shell of your ear.

And you shivered.

Not subtly.

And he saw it.

His smile curled slow and wicked.

“What?” you asked, playing innocent. “You think you’re the only one who gets to have fun whispering into ears?”

“You can try,” he said. “But I bite.”

“Oh baby,” you purred, leaning so close your lips almost touched his jaw. “So do I.”

From across the lounge, his friends were watching — and they were not subtle about it.

You caught one of them making an exaggerated O-face, tongue out, hands gripping the air like imaginary hips.

You burst into laughter so sudden it startled the table next to you. “What the hell are they doing?”

Marshall turned, saw them, and groaned — but he was laughing, too. “They think they’re being hilarious.”

Another one mimed a slow thrust in the air while sticking his tongue out like a lizard on ecstasy.

“They look like they’re auditioning for a porno directed by animals,” you said, wheezing.

“They’re saying I look like I wanna fuck you right here,” he muttered, shaking his head with that barely-contained grin.

“Do you?” you asked, sipping your drink, locking eyes with him.

His gaze didn’t waver. “Oh, sweetheart. I think that’s the least subtle thing about tonight.”

You should’ve blushed. You didn’t. You grinned.

“They’re not wrong,” you said. “You’ve been eye-fucking me since seat assignments.”

“I helped you sit down.”

“You cupped my elbow like it was sacred.”

He laughed low in his chest, and you leaned your cheek into your hand, staring at him with that dangerous glitter in your eyes — the one that always came before you did something reckless.

And he looked at you like he could see it. Like he wanted to be part of it.

By the time the DJ shifted to something dirtier, bass vibrating underfoot, you had slid a little closer. Your knees were fully pressed together now, and his hand had dropped onto the back of your chair — not quite around you, but close enough to count.

“I like you,” he said finally, voice low enough that it was almost a confession.

“You barely know me.”

“I know enough.”

“Like what?”

He tilted his head. “You’re smart, sharp as fuck, and have a mouth like a sailor on ecstasy. You laugh at shit you shouldn’t, wear dresses that could kill, and smile like you’re hiding ten crimes.”

You stared at him for a beat, something slow and electric crawling down your spine. “You’re good at that.”

“At what?”

“Seeing people.”

“Yeah. Comes with being stared at too long.”

You paused, quiet for a second. Then: “You wanna get out of here?”

He grinned like he’d been waiting all night.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

You didn’t even need to say it.

Your eyes met across the chaos of the party — music thumping, people yelling, someone literally vomiting into a champagne bucket just a few feet away — and that was it. No words. Just a look that said “We’re done here.”

Marshall stood first, offering you a hand. You took it. Your fingers slid into his like they’d done it a thousand times. Smooth. Easy. Inevitable.

One of his friends spotted you both heading toward the exit and immediately launched into a slow-motion “noooo” with fake tears. Another one dropped to his knees and crossed himself like you were leading Eminem to his final judgment.

You didn’t even turn around. Just raised a middle finger high and proud as the two of you slipped out through the side door, laughing under your breath like teenagers ditching class to go ruin each other.

The car was already waiting outside. Long, black, low to the ground. The kind of car people step into when they know they’re not going home alone.

He let you in first. You slid across the seat, legs crossed, back arched just slightly — because you knew he was watching. He followed, closing the door behind him, and just like that, the noise of the party was gone. It was quiet now. Just the low purr of the engine and your breaths, suddenly louder than they had any right to be.

The lights of the city flickered across your skin as the driver pulled away, but you didn’t notice. Neither of you was looking outside.

He leaned back in his seat like he was trying to stay calm. One hand on his thigh, the other running slow over his jaw.

You watched him for a moment. Then smiled. “You always this polite after flirting like a dog in heat?”

He side-eyed you. “That’s rich coming from you, Miss I’ll-Ruin-You-on-Purpose.”

“You wish I would,” you teased, shifting just enough to make your dress slip higher on your thigh.

His jaw clenched. “You tryna test me right now?”

“I’m tryna figure out if that hoodie hides daddy issues or stamina.”

He let out a low laugh — dark and sharp — and suddenly the space between you felt hotter. Smaller.

“You talk so much,” he said, voice rough now, dropping an octave. “It’s cute.”

“You keep saying that like you’re not five seconds from crawling over here.”

“I’m giving you a chance to behave.”

You leaned in, close enough to feel the heat off his skin. “And I’m giving you a chance to break that ‘no kissing fans’ rule I know you pretend to have.”

He looked down at your mouth.

And finally — finally — he moved.

He didn’t ask. Didn’t hesitate. Just reached across the seat, took your jaw in one hand, and kissed you like he’d been starving for it. Hard. Hot. Filthy. It wasn’t slow, or soft, or hesitant. It was urgent — like he’d been waiting all night to get his mouth on yours and now that he had it, he wasn’t wasting a second.

You moaned before you could stop yourself. Hands finding the edge of his hoodie, gripping, pulling. He tasted like whiskey and mint and something male and expensive, and you couldn’t get enough of it. His tongue slid against yours like he owned the rhythm, biting your bottom lip just to feel you gasp.

And then his hand — big, warm — dropped to your thigh, fingers tracing the edge of your dress, slipping under just enough to make you lose track of your own name.

The car hit a red light, and the driver didn’t even look back.

He pulled away just a little, just enough to talk, lips brushing yours.

“You kiss like a fucking problem.”

“You’re the one with both hands on me.”

“Not both yet.”

You laughed, breathless. “You always kiss people like you wanna wreck their whole week?”

“Only when they talk back like you.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning your forehead to his for half a second. “God, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You kissed him again. Harder this time. And when he groaned into your mouth, his hand slipping higher up your thigh, your teeth scraped his bottom lip on purpose — just to hear it again.

By the time the car slowed in front of the hotel, you were a mess of flushed skin, rumpled clothes, and filthy grins.

He glanced at the door. Then back at you.

“You coming up?”

You blinked, pretending to think. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you plan on making me regret it,” you said, tugging lightly at his chain.

He leaned in again, voice like velvet dragged over gravel. “I don’t do regret.”

“Good,” you whispered. “Neither do I.”

The elevator ride was a whole other kind of torment.

You were standing in front of him, back pressed lightly to his chest, his breath fanning against your neck like a threat. Neither of you touched — not technically — but the heat between your bodies felt like it was humming. Like the whole air inside that elevator was tuned to the exact frequency of you want this.

He didn’t say a word.

You didn’t either.

Not until the doors dinged open and he reached forward — slow, deliberate — and wrapped his fingers around your wrist like a secret he wanted to keep.

You let him lead.

The hallway was all plush carpet and moody lights and way too quiet for the kind of chaos brewing between you. His keycard barely registered before the door clicked open, and he held it for you like a gentleman. You stepped in like a menace.

The moment the door shut behind you, it was over.

You turned — fast — and he was right there, pressing you back against it before you could even breathe. His mouth was on yours again, this time more desperate, more messy — like he was done pretending he had any self-control left.

You gasped into it, fingers tugging at his hoodie. “Take this off—”

“Say please.”

You bit his lip. “Please, daddy issues.”

He laughed against your mouth, but he peeled it off fast — and suddenly, fuck, there he was: toned, inked, warm skin and sharp edges, the kind of man who looked like he’d fuck you like a threat and then write a whole song about it after.

His hands slid up your thighs again, under your dress this time — fingers finding bare skin and gripping hard enough to bruise.

“You wore nothing under this?”

You grinned. “I had a feeling the night might escalate.”

“‘Escalate,’” he muttered, lips trailing down your jaw, “is the understatement of the fucking year.”

You moaned when he sucked a mark into your throat, loud enough to echo. Somewhere in the background, you heard your phone buzz with a notification — probably some assistant or manager or distant relative telling you to behave.

Too late.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, pupils blown, jaw clenched.

“You sure?”

You didn’t even blink. “Do I look unsure?”

And that was all it took.

He picked you up like you weighed nothing, carried you to the bed like you were the only thing that mattered, and laid you out like a goddamn fantasy. Hands everywhere, mouth following, dragging filth across your skin with every kiss, every bite.

Clothes disappeared between kisses. The room got hot. You said things that would’ve made Grammy voters faint. He answered them with actions — with hands and teeth and hips and that rough little growl in his throat every time you said his name just right.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t soft.

It was messy. Loud. Fast and slow and everything in between — like your bodies couldn’t decide if they wanted to fight or fuck or both.

You tangled your hands in his hair. He bit your shoulder like he wanted to mark you. You laughed breathlessly halfway through, muttering “You’re so fucked when I write a song about this.”

He groaned into your neck. “You think I’m not gonna write one first?”

“Babe, I own the charts.”

“I’m about to own you.”

And then you were kissing again — harder now, deeper, like there was something in it you couldn’t say out loud. Something stupid. Something dangerous.

Afterward — wrecked, bodies tangled in twisted sheets, your dress on the floor and his chain still around his neck — you lay next to him, catching your breath. Sweat cooling on your skin, your legs still shaking slightly, your pulse everywhere.

Silence.

Then:

“So,” you said, staring at the ceiling. “On a scale from one to ‘you’re gonna ghost me,’ how awkward is tomorrow gonna be?”

He turned his head to look at you. His voice was rough. Honest.

“Ghost you?” he repeated. “You think I can go back to regular women after that?”

You grinned. “Just making sure you weren’t gonna panic and pretend I never happened.”

“I’m the one who should be worried,” he muttered. “You could replace me with a tweet.”

You rolled over, propping your chin on his chest. “I could. But I won’t.”

He looked at you for a long second. Then smiled — slow and small and way too real.

“Good.”

The silence stretched. Not awkward now — just... comfortable.

And suddenly, that terrifying thought popped into both your heads.

Fuck. What if this actually means something?

---

The lights dimmed. A heartbeat thudded through the sound system. Then—

“MAKE SOME NOOOOOIIISEEEE!!!”

You burst onto the stage in a flash of glitter, light, and unapologetic sex appeal — all legs, all smirk, all fire. The screams were deafening. Phones lit up like stars. Your name rolled through the air like a thunderclap, the stadium’s walls shaking with every chant, every cry, every unhinged “I love you!”

“Okay okay okay,” you purred into the mic, swaying your hips like it was foreplay. “Y’all ready to get filthy or what?”

The crowd exploded.

“Good. ‘Cause I didn’t cancel my plans for mediocre moaning.”

Chaos.

Cameras shook. Grown men sobbed. Women threw bras. Security guards looked like they needed prayer.

And somewhere, tucked into a sleek little VIP pocket off to the side — a roped-off section no one else could even get near — he was watching. Marshall. Hood up, hat low, shades on. But the smirk gave him away.

He had the best seat in the house. Right there, close enough to see the shimmer of sweat on your collarbone. The mic between your lips. The way you’d look over your shoulder like you knew exactly where he was.

And you did.

You knew every camera angle. Every beat. Every fantasy.

Halfway through the set, the lights went dreamy — purples and deep reds and a single spotlight beaming down as the first beats of Juno rolled in, smooth and dangerous. The crowd screamed in recognition. You gave them a knowing smile.

“This one’s for all my flexible bitches,” you said. “And yes, that includes me.”

They lost it.

And when the line hit — “Have you ever tried… this one?” — you dropped.

Straight into a deep squat, knees spread, back arched, tongue against your top lip. Every inch of you sinful and stunning, a walking warning label.

The stadium went feral.

You popped back up with a wink, tossing your hair and laughing like a demon. “I’m just trying to keep y’all hydrated!”

But in the corner of your eye — you saw him. Marshall. Sitting like he’d just been personally attacked.

His hand was on his jaw. His lip curled. He shook his head once, slow, like “you’re really doing this to me?” and it only made you grin harder.

And then came the finale.

Bed Chem.

The lights dimmed. A red wash bathed the stage. The beat kicked in low and slow, sexy and taunting.

The lyrics poured from your mouth like honey spiked with venom.

And when the moment came — “Who’s the cute guy with the wide blue eyes and the big bad mm? Like—” — you didn’t hesitate.

You pointed directly at Marshall.

Spotlight on him. Blue eyes glinting behind his glasses. The crowd lost its goddamn mind. People were sobbing. Jumping. Screaming. Phones shaking in hands.

He laughed — loud, real, shocked — hand over his mouth like you’d just stripped on live TV.

You broke character for a second to laugh, too — big and wild — and then leaned into the mic again with a grin that should’ve been illegal.

“Tonight, I really hope I get to see if it’s actually a big bad mm.”

Gasps. Screams. People dropped. Security guards gave up on keeping order.

And then — someone handed Marshall a mic.

He took it. Slowly. Still smirking.

The crowd fell into a stunned silence, like God himself had entered the chat.

He raised the mic to his mouth, leaned back in his chair, and said, deadpan:

“You already did. Your screams gave me a hint. I already knew you could hit high notes.”

Armageddon.

People collapsed. Medics were probably dispatched. You doubled over laughing so hard you almost missed your cue. The band cracked up behind you. The backup dancers looked like they couldn’t believe this was real.

You straightened up, still grinning, and said into your mic:

“Oh my god, I’m getting banned from every network after this.”

Marshall winked from his seat.

And you knew.

The performance was iconic. The headlines tomorrow would be insane. Every fan theory would spiral into madness.

But none of that mattered.

Because he saw you. And you saw him.

And you were both so far gone.

---

The roar of the crowd still echoed in your ears when you stepped off stage — glitter stuck to your thighs, heart pounding, hair a mess, skin electric.

Everyone backstage was yelling, cheering, hugging. Someone handed you a towel. Another tried to get a selfie. A stage manager screamed something about “record-breaking viewership,” but all you heard was the dull thump of adrenaline and the buzz still running under your skin like a live wire.

You were still floating on that high when you turned the corner into the private wing—VIP only, media banned, security posted like guards at the gates of horny Olympus—and saw him.

Leaning against a wall like sin incarnate in a black hoodie and jeans, Marshall was watching you with this crooked half-smile like you were both the joke and the punchline.

“You always dedicate songs like that to innocent men minding their business?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

You snorted, walking up without slowing down. “Baby, if you were minding your business, you wouldn’t have looked at me like that the whole damn show.”

His smile deepened, blue eyes darkening behind his lashes. “You looked like you were trying to get arrested.”

You stepped right into his space, tossing the towel over your shoulder and tilting your chin. “What gave it away? The squatting? The moaning? Or when I pointed at you and told the world I wanted to ride your face like a Peloton?”

He laughed — a real, short, surprised laugh — and god, the smirk that came after?

Deadly.

His voice dropped even lower. “You keep talking like that, and I’m gonna do something stupid.”

“Oh,” you whispered, “I’m begging you to.”

That was it.

Whatever string of self-control had held this ridiculous tension in place since the Grammys snapped like cheap lingerie.

He grabbed your hand and started walking.

No one dared stop you. Not security, not his friends (who you passed making the most obnoxious fake-orgasm faces), not even your manager, who opened their mouth to say something and immediately closed it again when they saw the way Marshall’s grip tightened around your hand.

Out the back door. Into the private car already waiting. As soon as the door clicked shut, the silence hit like a thud — thick, buzzing, dangerous.

You turned toward him, lips already curling into a grin. “So… about that ‘try me’ thing…”

He didn’t say anything.

He just reached across the seat, hand sliding along the side of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw. The way he looked at you — head tilted, eyes sharp and burning — it wasn’t gentle. It was hungry. Curious. Like he’d been holding back all night and now the leash was off.

You whispered, “What are you waiting for, Em?”

“Just making sure you know what happens if I do this,” he murmured.

Then he kissed you.

And fuck.

It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t sweet. It was all teeth and tongue and hands — like he was trying to taste the parts of you that had moaned through speakers half an hour ago. His hand cupped your jaw. Your nails scraped into the side of his hoodie. His breath hitched when you bit his lip, and he pulled back just enough to mutter, “You’re fucking evil.”

You smirked, already climbing onto his lap. “You think that’s bad? Wait ‘til you see what I do with the mic when I’m offstage.”

He groaned, low and deep, as you ground down into him, hands tangling in his hoodie. “Jesus Christ…”

“Nope,” you purred. “Just a pop star with too many Grammys and zero shame.”

[confiaenanaa]

I just saw this post on instagram and I really loved the 'directing' aesthetic. I was wondering if you can work it into a Em x y/n where she's hired to direct one of his music videos and they get along so well, always goofing off on set. Maybe they hang out off set too and she uses the videos she takes of him on her cell phone to use them for the video. Idk that post just gave me Em x director!y/n vibes.

https://www.instagram.com/p/DBt-zboy5Ya/?igsh=MTUybWI1NG5wODM0NQ==

directing - eminem

director!fem!y/n x Marshall Mathers

masterlist

synopsis: Y/N and Marshall have a cute friendship as she directs his music video

A/N: sooo I wrote this at 2 am so it might be bad (if it is i'll delete and start over I'll have to see in the morning) but I did enjoy this request! keep 'em coming. but just know there'll be more content out VERY soon!!

Y/N did not think she’d ever see herself directing a music video like this one, but, a check is a check. This video was definitely fun to film, though.

The set of Superman was quite the place to be. On the first day of filming, Y/N made her way over to the dressing people to let them know which outfit Marshall would be filming in today. That’s when she saw him. He was leaving his trailer, wearing a wife-beater and some gray sweats. She’d never seen someone like that before. 

-Do I got somethin’ on my face?

-Oh, um, no, no, sorry. 

-It’s aight.

He giggled a bit as he said that last part. He thought it was kind of cute how she’d get nervous around him. He knew she’d be fun to mess with as soon as he’d noticed her displeasure for social interactions. 

...

Throughout the time of filming, Marshall and Y/N grew sort of close. They’d hang out in his trailer and crack jokes during filming. Especially during freaky scenes. Y/N would always make fun of him when he’d be doing those scenes, making him laugh and having to start over. The cast and crew noticed the friendship growing rapidly, but chose not to comment over it. 

They’d realized they got along really well, and they enjoyed the same things. They started to hang out on and off set regularly. They even arranged pizza night where they’d go down to Y/N’s apartment and eat pizza (Marshall’s idea) and then have a spa night (Y/N’s counter idea). 

Marshall hated doing face masks and hair masks but it made Y/N happy and that was all Marshall needed. He’d do a million masks if he’d see that smile once more (though he’d never admit it). 

Y/N would take photos of him constantly on her digital camera and her phone. Always laughing when she saw them. She created an album with all these photos and would laugh at them next to him just to annoy him. During filming, whenever he’d look over in her direction, she’d pull up one of the photos and he’d break character.

They were truly any crew’s worst nightmare. But, they were adorable and Marshall’s friends couldn’t get enough. After so much heartache, they were just glad that he was happy again. 

During the post-filming/editing process, Y/N decided to add some of the photos and videos from pizza night to the music video and thought it’d be a fun addition. You know, like a contrast; one night he’d be partying with girls all over him and then living the lazy life the next. 

When they first watched the video, Marshall’s friends couldn’t stop laughing. They loved the idea and kept replaying it. Marshall acted like he wasn’t amused, but everyone could tell that he was secretly enjoying it. 

It seemed like the fans enjoyed it too. Always asking who the mystery camera woman was and who was behind the voice in the video. Even during interviews, they’d ask Marshall:

-So, is the girl behind the camera your girlfriend? -I don’t know. He said, smirking. Little did he know she sat in her bed watching that video forever trying to read between the lines and figure out if he truly likes her.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Crossed Wires

Marshall had never been good at relationships. Too much time spent in the studio, too much baggage, too much… him. But somehow, you had slipped past his defenses. You were sharp, funny, and way too young for him. Young enough that when you first met, he’d almost walked away on principle.

But you weren’t just some girl chasing after the infamous Eminem. You saw him—Marshall, the man behind the music, the one who never quite figured out how to balance fame and real life. And somehow, despite his reluctance, despite the age gap, despite everything… he couldn’t stay away.

That’s why your relationship was a secret. One he hadn’t even told his daughters about.

So when you showed up at Hailie’s house on a Saturday afternoon, dressed casually with a bottle of wine in hand, the last person you expected to lock eyes with was Marshall Mathers. And by the way his face paled, he sure as hell wasn’t expecting you either.

“What the f—” He barely caught himself as his gaze darted between you and Hailie, who was cheerfully introducing you to some other friends.

You felt your stomach drop. “You’re… you’re her dad?”

He blinked. “You know Hailie?”

“Of course, I know Hailie! She’s my friend from college!”

Marshall ran a hand down his face, as if hoping this was some insane fever dream. “You gotta be shittin’ me.”

Hailie, still oblivious to the fact that a literal crisis was unfolding in front of her, grinned. “Dad! I didn’t know you knew Y/N!”

Oh, he knew you. Intimately.

Your eyes were screaming at him to say something, but he was still frozen in place.

“I, uh… yeah,” he finally mumbled. “I know her.”

Hailie beamed. “Small world, huh?”

You and Marshall shared a look, both internally panicking but externally forcing the most awkward smiles of your lives.

Yeah. Too small.

Marshall hadn’t felt this kind of panic since the last time he bombed on stage.

You could practically see the gears in his head jamming as he forced a stiff nod and stuffed his hands in his hoodie pockets like some awkward teenager. Meanwhile, you were fighting every instinct to grab his arm and drag him into the nearest empty room for an emergency damage-control meeting.

But that would be suspicious.

So instead, you forced a bright smile, praying Hailie didn’t notice how your voice cracked when you said, “Yeah, totally a small world!”

Marshall, for his part, just grunted. Classic.

And just like that, the party went on.

Except now, you and Marshall were stuck in some twisted game of social survival, forced to act like two people who had not spent last weekend tangled up in his bed. And to make things worse? Hailie was curious.

“So how exactly do you guys know each other?” she asked, plopping down on the couch next to you with a beer in hand.

Marshall, standing across the room, immediately pulled out his phone. A second later, yours vibrated.

M: wtf do we say

You forced a laugh. “Oh, you know… mutual friends.”

Hailie raised an eyebrow. “Like who?”

Your phone buzzed again.

M: GIVE HER A NAME WTF

Your mind scrambled before blurting out, “Um, Nathan?”

Marshall’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Nate?”

Hailie looked skeptical. “My uncle Nate?”

Your phone vibrated so fast you swore it might catch fire.

M: yOU KNOW MY BROTHER??

You resisted the urge to glare at him. Not helping.

“Uh, yeah! I met Nate once,” you said, nodding way too enthusiastically. “At, um… a bar?”

Hailie squinted. “Nate doesn’t drink.”

God. Damn. It.

Your phone buzzed again.

M: you are the WORST at this

You swallowed hard. “Right, I meant, like… a coffee bar?”

Hailie blinked. “A Starbucks?”

Marshall coughed violently, probably to cover a laugh, and you shot him a do not start with me look.

“Yeah! Totally Starbucks,” you said, scrambling. “And we just… you know, started talking, and then I met your dad, and yeah.”

Hailie still looked suspicious, but before she could interrogate you further, someone called her name from across the room. She pointed two fingers at her eyes, then at you. “I will be circling back to this.”

As soon as she walked away, you whipped out your phone.

You: We’re so bad at this

M: I know. We need to escape

You: We can’t. That would look even weirder.

M: …then we suffer.

You sighed, stealing a glance at Marshall, who was staring at his beer like it held all the answers to this nightmare.

Yeah. Suffering it was.

---

Marshall had survived rap battles, lawsuits, and the entire Machine Gun Kelly incident, but nothing—nothing—had prepared him for Hailie’s suspicious glare as she cornered him in the kitchen.

“So,” she started, popping open another beer. “You and Y/N, huh?”

Marshall, who had been quietly texting you under the table, immediately locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket like a guilty teenager. “What about us?”

Hailie leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You tell me.”

Marshall played it cool, taking a slow sip of his drink. “She said we met through Nate.”

Hailie nodded. “Right. At a coffee bar.”

“…Yeah.”

“She doesn’t drink coffee.”

Marshall choked on his beer. “What?”

“She literally hates it. The smell, the taste, all of it. She orders hot chocolate when we go to Starbucks.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He already knew it was you, probably panicking.

You: SOS. SHE’S ASKING QUESTIONS.

Marshall took a deep breath. “Uh, well… maybe she was there for, I dunno, tea or some shit?”

Hailie narrowed her eyes. “You don’t drink coffee either.”

“Okay, what is this, the FBI?” he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I just think it’s weird,” she said, studying him like a science experiment. “You never mentioned knowing her, and she never mentioned knowing you. And you”—she pointed at him—“are acting sketchy as hell.”

His phone buzzed again.

You: She smells fear. ABORT.

Marshall sighed, running a hand down his face. “Look, we’ve met a couple times. She’s cool. That’s it.”

Hailie hummed in a way that let him know she definitely wasn’t buying it. “Right. Just a couple times.”

“Yep.”

“Not, like, a lot of times?”

“Nope.”

“Not, like… at your house times?”

Marshall took another long sip of beer, avoiding eye contact. “Hailie, I swear to God—”

“I’m just saying,” she interrupted, smirking now. “You’re acting real weird over a ‘mutual friend.’”

His phone buzzed one more time.

You: Are we about to get caught?

He sighed, already feeling a headache coming on.

M: Probably.

---

You didn’t mean to break. You really didn’t. But Hailie was staring at you with that look—the one she used when she knew someone was full of shit. And you were. So full of shit.

It was only a matter of time before she cracked you open like a damn walnut.

So you did the only thing you could. You exhaled sharply, set down your drink, and muttered, “Okay, fine. You wanna know the truth?”

Hailie’s eyebrows shot up. Marshall, who had just entered the room, froze mid-step. “Y/N—” he started, warning in his tone.

“No, she’s right,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “This is stupid. The real story? We met on Tinder.”

Dead silence.

Marshall visibly cringed, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, for fuck’s sake—”

“A year ago,” you continued, ignoring him. “We started hooking up, then going on actual dates, and now… I guess we’re, like, dating-dating?”

Hailie’s jaw actually dropped. You didn’t blame her.

“You met my dad on Tinder?!”

Marshall groaned, rubbing his temples. “Jesus Christ.”

“We didn’t know we both knew you!” you added quickly. “We never thought to, like, cross-reference our lives because—”

“Because why the fuck would I ever think to ask if my girlfriend is friends with my daughter?” Marshall muttered, pacing now.

Hailie blinked, looking between the two of you like she was witnessing some kind of twisted social experiment. Then, to both of your shock, she burst out laughing.

Like, full-on, can’t-breathe, tears-in-her-eyes laughing.

You and Marshall just stared.

“Oh my God,” she wheezed, gripping the counter. “You two are the dumbest people I have ever met.”

Marshall scowled. “Wow. Thanks.”

“No, really.” She wiped her eyes, still laughing. “Dad, you don’t date. You literally never date. And you”—she pointed at you—“don’t do Tinder hookups! How the hell did this even happen?”

You shrugged helplessly. “Honestly? No idea.”

Hailie shook her head, grinning. “I mean, it’s weird, but… holy shit, I’m so glad I got to watch you both absolutely crumble under pressure. That was amazing.”

Marshall just groaned, finally sinking into a chair. But under the frustration, you saw something else—guilt.

And you knew why.

After a beat, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, Hailie… I didn’t mean to lie to you.”

She softened a little, still smiling but more understanding now. “I know.”

“I just—” He sighed again. “I didn’t know how to bring it up. And by the time I thought about it, it already felt too late.”

Hailie nodded. “I get it. But, like… you know you can just tell me things, right? Especially if they involve someone I actually know?”

Marshall chuckled dryly. “Yeah. Noted.”

She shook her head again, still grinning. “I cannot wait to tell Nate and Lainey about this.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, no.”

[moonwalkingprincess]

"Those girls should be jealous of you"(smut)

A/N: This is my first real smut so please stay with me.

Summary: You're jealous of fans being all over him, so he proves to you that you're his.

Pairing: Marshall Mathers (EMINEM) X reader

Warnings: Sexual Content 18+!

Words: 1235

Marshall brushed off his sweaty face as he stepped into his dressing room after finishing a concert. A frown flashed his face once he saw you, sitting on the sofa, crying and looking mad. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Don’t baby me. You know exactly what’s wrong,” you snap, rising from the couch with your arms crossed tight over your chest.

He blinks, genuinely confused, brows furrowing. “Nooo, what…?” he drags out, hesitant.

You roll your eyes and grab your phone. No words — just action. You pull up the clip, your fingers tapping fast from anger and muscle memory. Then you shove the screen toward him. The video plays: young girls screaming, reaching, practically climbing over one another just to touch him. Shirtless. Sweaty. Smirking as they clawed at his abs — your abs.

He watches it, face slowly falling, guilt flickering behind his eyes. When it ends, he looks at you, soft and apologetic.

“Baby, I…”

“Why do you let them do it?” you cut in, voice sharp but shaky.

He sighs. “It’s an act. You know I’ll lose PR if I act like—”

“Act like what?” Your voice cracks as your eyes lock with his. “A loyal boyfriend?”

He smirks — an infuriating, cocky little curve of his lips that only makes your blood boil hotter. You’re yelling at him and he smirks?

“You’re hot when you’re jealous,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement.

Your jaw tightens, a retort ready on your tongue—until your heart betrays you. The heat crawling up your neck gives you away. You look down, cheeks flushed, lips twitching despite yourself. Damn it. Even in the middle of an argument, you couldn’t resist him. Not when he looked at you like that. Not when he said things like that. 

“Baby…” he murmurs, stepping closer . He gently reaches for your hands, wrapping his around yours. “You don’t need to worry,” he says, “I’m just doing that so they’ll buy my CDs. That’s it. Nothing else.”

His thumbs brush over your knuckles as he speaks, like he’s trying to remind you of the softness he saves just for you — the part of him the crowd never gets to see.

“I’m sorry…” you whisper, eyes dropping to the floor. “I’m just so jealous.”

He squeezes your hands gently, giving you the smallest smile — not mocking this time, but warm. Understanding.

“I get it,” he says softly. “Honestly? You’re handling it way better than I would.”

That makes you glance up, just barely. His thumb brushes your cheek, tilting your face toward his. “If it were you on stage, half-naked, with guys all over you?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “I’d be in jail.”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes your lips, even as you blush. The tension lingers, but it’s softer now — a slow-burn vulnerability instead of fire. He lifts his head, leaning in until his forehead rests gently against yours. The space between you disappears — not even a breath could slip through.

“It’s ironic that you’re jealous,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours, voice soft and sincere. “Because those girls should be jealous of you.”

In one swift, confident motion, his hands slide down, gripping the backs of your thighs—then lower. You gasp softly as he lifts you up effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He doesn’t break eye contact, not for a second.

He walks the short distance to the couch and gently lowers you down onto it, settling between your legs as your breath hitches.

“They don’t get me like this,” he murmurs, voice low and husky. “Only you do.” He puts his lips against yours, pulling you in for a kiss. Then he trails down slowly, giving you kisses down your jaw, to the sensitive spot beneath your ear, making your breath hitch. One hand stays firm on your waist, the other slowly gliding down your side until it reaches your zipper.

You feel him pause there, his breath warm against your neck.

“You sure?” he whispers, voice low and sincere, all you do is nodding. He nods at your response and you feel his hands opening up your denim shorts, them being pulled off your legs. He leaves wet kisses on your thighs, and puts his thumb against the front panel of your panties. You let out a moan as his fingers moved in slow making deliberate circles on the fabric that grew wetter by the minute he touched you. 

“Marshall..” you whimper, closing your eyes.

You let out a groan as you felt his fingers being pulled away, you opened your eyes again and saw him going over to the dresser. He opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube. He coats his fingers first, ensuring they're slick. He goes back to you and then pulls your panties off and lets his fingers find your walls. He makes small circles, first, making sure you get all wet first. You whimper at the feeling of his fingers inside of your walls. 

He smirks at the noises you make and decides to thrust in and out of your wet pussy. His touch makes you squeal beneath him. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re doing so well…” He says as he pushes deeper, you gasp at the way you can feel all the juice coming out when he does that. His fingers move with a force that makes your entire body tremble. He pulls your top up, and you shiver as you feel his lips on your bare stomach. He leaves a trail of soft kisses, teasing you as he moves slowly up. When he reaches your breasts, he takes your nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking over it. 

You let out moans at the feeling of his touch, meanwhile he’s licking your nipples he lets 3 fingers rubbing up and down at your clit, and then makes circles. You put your hands around his necks, pulling him inside for kisses. Now he’s just thrusting, causing you to break the kiss to moan, hearing the sound of his hands meeting your thigh. 

"Oh my good Marshall” You squeal and your back arches as his fingers move deeper inside you, the sensation pulling a gasp from your lips. 

"I can feel you trembling... Does that feel good, baby?"

All you can do is nod, your mind was focusing on his fingers inside of you, thrusting in and out. The sound of his hands meeting your thigh echoing through the room. He grabs your thighs with his other hands and pulls them wider apart, just to take a closer look and plays with your clit. Rubbing it up and down. Loving hearing you repeatedly moaning at his touch. You felt your body tensed, every muscle tightening. He grabbed your forehead to hold your body still.

“Marshall…” you moan and let out screams at the following thrusts. 

He locked his gaze with yours, his hands gentle as they held you, feeling the tension build in your body. You gasped softly, the pleasure surging through you as everything inside of you seemed to tighten and release at once. As you shuddered, he slowly withdrew his fingers, his eyes following the trail of sensations as your body responded like a river. His name escaped your lips in a breathless whisper, and he smiled softly. 'I’ve got you,' he murmured, his voice low and steady, before he pressed his lips to yours. 

[lnkinpark]

can you do an eminem hc in which his gf is in a band/ a rock artist?? strong gjrlboss vibes that matches his attitude :)

not my gif

...

title: em's punk gf

req: yes

warnings: blood mention and cussing

eminem masterlist

...

• alr so, she's prolly into punk

• dark blue hair and baggy clothes omg

• no one has ever seen her in a dress

• she's in a band too

• like a band that's as big as blink-182

• she can drum too

• ex drummer turned bass player omg

• huge stage presence, she walks on stage n the crowd goes crazy

• her and marsh met on the warped tour back in '99

• he had came up to her to ask if she was alright bc while she was on stage, she somehow busted her face open

• not really, but it was a big gash on her eyebrow

"yo, are you alright?" the bleach blonde went up to the bleeding girl.

"yea, i'll be fine, it's just a cut" she smiled

"y/n ... you're literally about to go get stitches" her bandmate chimed in

"yeah, but still, i'll be fine" she reassured.

"it's gonna make a dope scar, too" she joked, turning to the blonde guy.

"hey, you're that slim shady guy, right?" she asked, wiping some of the blood off of her eyelid with the back of her hand

"yeah" he half-smiled, still worried about the girl

"dope ... i like your music, i'm y/n" she introduced herself, sticking out her right hand that was covered in her blood before switching to the left one, which had none

"i'm marshall" the rapper shook her hand.

"are you sure you're good?" he asked once again

"yeah, i'll be fine, this happens a lot" she said while grabbing a towel to put on her wound

• the only shoes she wears are beat-up vans that has all her friends signature on it

• she looks like a skater but in reality she can't skate to save her life

• reappearing guest on jackass

• she has a lot of tattoos

• like amy winehouse type tats

• chipped nail polish

• she only ever paints her left hand nails because she's not left-handed and refuses to even try

• middle finger up in almost all her pictures

• anti-paparazzi

• she hates paparazzi

• and interviews

• mostly because they say shit like "why do you dress like a boy" "have u tried wearing clothes your size?" "are you dating one of your bandmates?" "are u gay?"

• she keeps a lot of her life in private (does that make sense?)

• like relationships n shit

• interviews like:

"so, we see that you hang out with eminem a lot"

"yeah, he's really cool"

"is there anything we should know?

"what do you mean by that?"

"like are you seeing each other?"

"why would that be something you need to know?"

"girl, just tell us! is there anything? do you have a crush on him?"

"no. do you?"

• she's in the punk rock genre but her favorite artists are mariah carey and beyonce

• marshall fell in love with her the day she sang an entire beastie boys album by heart

...

thats all i got bye

[aroaceacacia]

(if u know the answer please dont spoil it until the poll ends thank you xoxo. & you're welcome to reblog if youd like but no pressure)

[alicia-18]

Second Choice — Eminem x Reader

Summary; Y/N was used to being a second choice to everyone, so it didn’t surprise her at all when Marshall broke off their situationship in order to give things a try with Kim again. But she was surprised by the emotions that came with it.

Warnings; this fic will include mentions of domestic violence (not between Em and Y/N), drug and alcohol abuse, adult content, swearing, idiots in love, and moments where you hate both Eminem and yourself :)

Chapter Five; Interrupted Dry Humping

You should have known trying Marshall's patience wouldn't have ended well, especially considering he wasn't sober. You actually thought you had misjudged the situation. His actions made you think that perhaps he was jealous. That now he had experienced you, he didn't want anyone else to have that privilege. But you were right about one thing : he had no right dictating who you slept with now he was back with Kim. Realistically, he never had a say in who you slept with because you were never together.

You left him with Proof and 50, and headed towards the bar you passed on the way to greeting them. Josh was sat by it, slowly sipping from a bottle of beer whilst his eyes grazed over the crowd. He fiddled with the watch on his wrist as he did, something you assumed must have been a subconscious thing for him. You decided to put him out his misery, and slipped into the seat beside him.

"Sorry 'bout that! I wasn't expecting to take so long." He jumped slightly as you spoke, clearly not realising you had joined him. His ears burned slightly red as he let out an embarrassed chuckle.

"It's all good, I thought you were gonna ditch me to be honest. But I'm glad you didn't." He smiled genuinely, his dark eyes twinkling. His stare happily drank in your image, as if you were a mirage and would simply disappear if he looked away. You flicked your left leg over your right, bringing attention to the soft flesh of your thighs. The bob of his Adam's apple was enough to send a wicked smirk to your lips.

"Well you wanted to get to know me a lil bit better, what did you wanna know?" You asked, bringing his attention back to your face. He leant against the bar and took a long sip before responding.

"What you like to drink would be a great start." You bit your bottom lip as you smiled, enjoying his confidence and flirty attitude. He ordered your drink for you from the bartender 50 had employed, and held a decent conversation with you for twenty minutes. After your third drink, and you were truly drunk, it was like the universe knew you wanted to join the large crowd dancing because the DJ began playing one of 50s biggest songs 'In Da Club'. You audibly squealed and hopped off the barstool, pulled your dress down a little with a stumble and turned back to Josh.

"You dance?" You challenged, holding a hand out. He wolfishly grinned back, grasped you hand and allowed you to walk him to the edge of the crowd. You sung along to the song, allowing the beat to take over your body. Josh's hands lightly skimmed your waist and trailed down to your hips as you swung them. You allowed the song to overtake your senses, and your body moved accordingly. Your arms snacked up to hook around Josh's neck whilst you rubbed your ass against his crotch. A groan rumbled through his chest as you moved, and your eyes stared right back at him.

The moment on the dance floor was the most sensual moment you had experienced in a while, and your whole body tingled as his hands skimmed over your skin. The warmth of his touch permeated through your dress and left your heart racing. That's why when his touch was removed from you, you spun around immediately with a frown. You gasped as you watched Marshall shove Josh hard, a gun visible on his waist.

"Let's fucking go then man!" He yelled, shoving Josh harder this time and sending him stumbling backwards. Josh held his hands up in surrender, his eyes bouncing between Em's face and the gun on his hip.

"I— I'm sorry man. I didn't know—" Em cut his stuttering off by pretending to stutter himself.

"Yeah, you're right. You didn't fucking know. But now you do, so fuck off." He cursed, his entire body vibrating with rage. Similarly to how yours was. You were in complete disbelief that he would ever act this way, let alone around this many people. He had never even been this bad when you were actually sleeping with him.

You stomped into his eyesight, but his enraged eyes didn't leave Josh. He scampered away, and disappeared into the crowd that was surprisingly none the wiser of the altercation that just occurred.

"What the fuck, Em?!" You grabbed his shirt and untucked it so the gun was no longer visible, and double checked no one saw the weapon. Once you were sure, you looked back up at him with a burning glare, one which matched his own. You could barely see the blue in his eyes now because of how dilated they were, meaning he had taken even more since you left him alone. Not that his substance use was an excuse.

"You think I wanna see tha' shit?!" He surprised you by shouting back, getting a step closer to you. Not often had he genuinely raised his voice at you, but his volume did little to deter you. The both of you were stood toe to toe, steam pouring from both of your ears.

"I don't give a fuck about what you wanna see! You can't just go around showing off a gun and shoving people you don't even know!" You seethed, your fists clenching at your sides.

"Awe was you worried about your wittle pussy bitch?" He pouted sarcastically, his eyes rolling as he did. "I don't shove Kim down your fuckin' throat, don't force me to watch you with some ugly cunt." He spat, his nose practically touching yours. You scoffed at him and shoved him away.

"Oh fuck you, Marshall. You don't own me! I'll do what and who I want, when I want. Get used to it." You knocked your shoulder against his as you stormed past, planning on heading over to 50 and Proof. Your entire body was buzzing with frustration towards the whole situation, adrenaline flooding your system. You worried your heart was going to give up entirely when that adrenaline doubled at what was in front of you.

The sounds of shouting overpowered the music and gained not only your attention but the man a couple steps behind you too. Some guy you had never met was getting right in Proofs face, a blade in his hand and pointed towards him. Without thinking, both you and Marshall pushed through the few people between you and the fighting pair. Being smaller, you managed to get through the crowd quicker than Em, and reached the quarrel first.

Instinctively, you shoved the other man as hard as you could, and stood between him and Proof. "Who the fuck do you think you are?! Back the fuck off!" You roared, slapping the shocked man's hand. His surprise was his downfall as the blade clattered to the floor, and slid away from him. You rushed to grab ahold of it, and brandished it towards him.

The man laughed, looking over you to Proof. "This ya bitch man? Gotta admit, she's one fine piece of ass." He grinned, looking back down at you without a care in the world. Before any of the men could defend you, you spoke up.

"Ima make you my bitch in a minute when I bend you over and shove this blade so far up ya ass it comes out ya mouth. Get the fuck outta here." You advanced on him with the knife, ready to slice his arm if he hadn't jumped back. He looked at you with wide eyes, completely unnerved by your lack of fear to him. He held his hands up before immediately leaving, not even trying to get his possession back.

Your chest heaved heavily as you turned back to Proof, only to be pulled into a tight embrace. "You're one scary bitch, ya know that?" Proof clapped your back affectionately, but you could tell he was genuinely surprised you stood up for him so fiercely. You gave him the weapon and crossed your arms across your chest, your mouth unable to share the smile he gave.

"You think I would watch someone do that to you? Don't be stupid." You rolled your eyes and tapped your foot, looking between both boys from Detroit. A moment of silence passed before Proof began to catch on, and looked back at Em with a mischievous smile.

"You interrupted their dry humpin', didn't you?" He cackled, doubling over. You swatted the back of his head, earning a yelp and a frown.

"You knew he was coming over and didn't stop him? What the fuck Proof! You're meant to be his boy and you're letting him run about with guns when off his face?" Your words wiped the smile from his lips immediately, and you were shocked he didn't get whiplash with how fast he turned to Marshall. Em rolled his eyes and sneered before picking up a bottle of Hennessy and drinking from it like it was water.

"Slim, man-" Marshall groaned at his best friends tone, and stormed away before he could continue. Proof tried shouting for him, but was either not heard or completely ignored. His shoulders sagged and he ran a hand over his head. "That fuckin' idiot man." He cursed, shaking his head and turning back to you. He hooked his arm around your shoulders again and pulled you into his side. He looked down at you with a frown, and squeezed your shoulder.

"He's gon' be embarrassed as fuck tomorrow. I guarantee. And if I know him as well as I think I do, he's gonna want to say he's sorry, but won't." The corner of his mouth downturned and looked back to where Marshall had disappeared. You frowned and squeezed him back.

"I just don't get what's wrong with him." You sighed, and accepted Proofs silent offer of some of his blunt. He looked at you disbelieving, and clicked his tongue.

"You don't get it? I think it's pretty fuckin' obvious." He humourlessly laughed, shaking his head. You looked at him expectantly, which made him hold his hands up in surrender. "As scared of you as I am now—" you rolled your eyes at his dramatics. "I ain't no snitch. You gotta figure that shit out yourself. But on a real, I don't think he's even figured it out yet." He smiled as he took the blunt back and deeply inhaled three puffs.

You lightly smacked his arm. "That's so helpful, thank you so much Proof. Fuckin' asshole." Being well as truly over tonight, you strutted away with every intention of going home and forgetting this night ever happened.

"Love ya too girl!" He cackled, just loud enough for you to hear. You spun around and flipped him off before disappearing into the crowd.

"Fuckin' oblivious. The both of 'em." Proof muttered to himself, dragging his hand over his face.

MASTERLIST

[therealcocoshady]

POV : You’re Marshall Mathers’s girlfriend and he worships you

Author’s Note : Hi guys ✨. I feel like it’s been a while since I last published something on here. Enjoy this little blurb I wrote. It’s kind of random but I think it’s kind of cute still 💕.

Marshall Mathers doesn’t really enjoy being treated like a king wherever he goes. He knows people give him special treatment out of respect, because he is a huge fucking superstar, but he doesn’t really care for it. He’s just a normal dude at heart, you know ? He likes it when things are kept simple. He’s not a huge fan of the deference, of people practically bowing and curtsying to him because he is Eminem. It’s weird.

But when it comes to you ? People better treat you like the absolute monarch that you are. This man will not accept anything less for the woman he loves. You are his sun. His days start and end with you. You are a deity he worships day and night and people better put some respect on his lady’s name.

He is not giving you the princess treatment. No. This would be good enough for any peasant. If he could, this man would build altars and monuments for you. You are his religion. Your birthday and the anniversary of your first date are holidays he refuse to work on. Doesn’t matter if he’s offered hundreds of thousands of dollars for a ten minutes performance, he simply refuses to be away from you on those days. And if you so much as utter an « I need you », this man will drop absolutely everything. He’s done it in the past and he absolutely has no regrets about flying for five hours on a day off from tour to be able to surprise you at work after you mentioned it was « so hard being away » from him. He is usually mindful about climate change but for you, this man will turn into Taylor « taking my jet for a ten minutes flight » Swift. He literally doesn’t care about the world burning as long as there is a smile on your face. Marshall is not a big spender but for you, he doesn’t care about numbers. His goddess deserves the very best and, thank God for that merch money, he is able to give it to you. He’s not a diva but he demands the very best for you. He couldn’t care less about the water brought to him in his dressing room before a performance. But he makes sure it’s your favorite brand. Same for snacks. If he has to fly someone to another country to get something for you, he absolutely will. In his mind, it’s the least he can do for the woman who blesses him with her presence. He is almost offended when someone fails to greet you properly and he absolutely is when someone straight up disrespects you. If he could, he would fight duels in your honor. Somehow, you managed to turn this stoic individual in the utmost gentleman. When he’s by your side, you will never be caught walking on the wrong side of the pavement, having to hold your own bags. He’d rather die than have that. But you’ll never be caught. Because he protects you like you’re the most precious treasure there is. He’s never caught in your presence, because he doesn’t want to have you plagued by the media and harassed by fans and, yet, he manages to show you off. In private, he doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s head over heels with you. Your name is on his lips constantly, and the way he talks about you shows just how devoted he is. At first, people close to him got a little worried. Who were you ? What were your intentions ? It seemed like you were out of nowhere. Walked into Marshall’s life one day and, from then on, he was addicted. They had every reason to be suspicious. And then, they met you. And they understood. They got to witness the genuineness of your interactions, how your eyes mirrored Marshall’s devotion, the way he leaned into your touch so naturally and just how you seemed to heal the parts of him that had been left raw. For the first time in forever, they saw him at peace. Not merely content. Happy. They expected to hate you, because what kind of high maintenance brat has the most stoic man they ever knew act like a puppy ? Only, they couldn’t. It wasn’t quite clear how things worked out between you and Marshall and, in hindsight, it was none of their business. But they couldn’t hate you when it was clear as day that « Em » as most call him, had finally found a safe space. So you won them over as well, and they gave you the princess treatment.

[chelseaknoo]

can you do a Eminem fic like you’re friend did please! 🥺

2000s Eminem x Supermodel! Reader headcanons

Note: I’ve never really written for a celebrity before, so bear with me~

Inspired by @luvbarb3e

-You’re agent set you on an audition for the main girl in a music video for some rapper, and you surprisingly got the role.

-When you walk into the studio, you're greeted by the rapper himself who pulls you into a tight hug , smelling your expensive perfume and his hands reach down farther than would be accepted.

-After hours of filming semi-explict scenes of you and the Detroit rapper, on you're break he asks you for your number, which you unhesitantly agree.

-After picking you up from you're photoshoot he takes you on a date, which was filled with shopping and dinner.

-giving you the princess treatment by holding your bags,paying for you,opening doors for you,helping you out the car.

-After a few more dates during dinner at a fancy restaurant, he asks you to be his girlfriend, which you excitingly says yes.

-taking you back to you're hotel room to fuck you senseless.

-Doing photoshoots with him where he's seen worshipping you and your body,either him or you giving kisses,him flipping of the camera.

-Seating you in front row seats at his concerts.

-Rapping verses about you and immediately clapping back with a disstrack on any celebrity who dares has you're name come out of their mouth.

-Showing off his pretty girlfriend to the world.

-Now having you in his every music video.

-Ready to kick any perverts ass who dares to try anything.

-Buying you so many dogs and showering you with expensive gifts on random occasions.

-Taking your heels off for you after a long day and massaging them.

-Cooking and baking for him.

-Resting his head on top of you’re chest.

-Constantly eyeballing you’re body in you’re dresses and lingerie during you’re shows.

-Talking about you nonstop.

-Coming over to you’re house and cuddling with you in you’re massive pink fluffy bedroom, showering you with kisses as his hand reaches for the strap of you’re short nightgown <3

[nebulamorada]

2000s EMINEM SMUT!!

what are our thoughts? :)

Now, as Slim Shady has been going strong in those years, I feel that there are many moments to be separated. Because, in situations like tours or performances where he can have you, believe me, he is doing it and until they come knocking hard on the door to make him leave, he is not leaving the space between your legs. Before the shows, he always makes a better performance when he knows that he left you in the dressing room, lying on some couch with a lost look and a dazed mind, overstimulated and, in the case that they have been serious and exclusive for a while, with your thighs clenched to keep his seed inside. Although it is not Slim who returns from the stage, Marshall is now taking care of you, watching you come back to yourself while he takes the time to clean you and staying in a kind of afterglow while they settle together, with you listening to everything he received from the public while he caresses your knuckles with his thumb while they have their hands intertwined. While he's not a person who's willing to do a lot of things in public, if a person in the middle, he's willing to keep things private but not secret, speculation and rumors bother him little and there's plenty of obscene content that comes from his encounters, all being perfectly consensual, from the sounds he uses as a base to the lyrics.

During this time I do see him more likely to alternate between using his alter ego and his real personality if the relationship is built on firm enough foundations, so it's always an interesting ride to wait to see if Slim Shady is desperately taking you from behind while he clings to you tightly, one hand adding stimulation to your pussy and another on your tits while you listen to him mutter dirty things and moan under his breath next to your ear, or you're both going to wait for the privacy of your home for Marshall to sit you on his lap in cowgirl or lotus position so the intimate moment builds slowly and progressively.