#eminemsmut

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. 

You and Marshall had just got lily after hanging out with a neighbour. After that you went shopping for groceries and you had worked extra just to get Lily some ice cream. Now you guys were currently at a park.

Marshall and you sat side by side on the park bench, eyes trailing Lily as she giggled and chased after a butterfly near the slide. The warm afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the playground, and you couldn’t help but smile as Marshall gently called out for Lily to be careful, his voice laced with patience and care. 

Watching him like this—so natural, so good with her—something stirred in your down area. You leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He turned to you, surprised but smiling. “Why?” he asked, brows raised. She shrugged, a little shy but sincere. “Because… you’re so good with her.” you say, putting your hand around his neck, wanting to pull him in for another kiss.

“I’m just doing the bare minimum." 

You smiled and pressed another kiss on his lips.

__

Marshall was carrying her, her tiny body resting against his chest, . It was so hot. Men that are good with children, are so hot??

Slowly, a car appeared out of the dark, coming closer to you 3. Marshall looked at the license and recognized the car instantly. He handed Lily over to you.

”Take her and get inside. Lock the door.”

You started to get a sharp ain in your chest. You looked at the car, then at Marshall.

”Noo” you said, shaking your head.

”Y/N I REFUSE TO LET ANYTHING HAPPEN TO YOU OR LILY. Get inside and lock the door.”

Guys from the free world started to get out of the car, your eyes widened and you ran into his moms trailer.

You locked the door behind you, you sat Lily down in her bed. 

”It’s gonna be okay.”

”No, don't leave me alone!”

You sighed, grabbed her again and sat down at the dinner table. It had a view of the scene happening in front of you; Tupac punching beaten him so he fell to the ground.

 ”No!” you yelled. As he was lying on the ground, they all kicked him in. You wanted to put down Lily, get out there and help him. But who were you kidding, you a woman, against 6 gangsters? They would do more than beating you.

Instead you just sat there, holding Lily, swinging your body to calm her. Letting the tears run down your face.

”Jimmy!” Lily shouted and you pulled her away. In some parts, like when Tupac punched him in the nuts, you looked away. 

___

It was over. The free world had scattered, laughing and cursing as they walked off like they hadn’t just torn your heart in half.

Marshall collapsed to his knees on the ground.

The moment the last of them disappeared, you threw the door open and bolted.

“Marshall!” your scream was raw, broken, tears streaming down your face. You ran so fast you nearly tripped, gravel biting into your palms as you dropped beside him. “Oh my God, Marshall—”

He tried to look up, blood trailing from his mouth, one eye barely open. “Y/N…” he whispered.

“Don’t talk,” you sobbed, pulling him into your arms. “Don’t— don’t you dare try to pretend you’re okay.”

He winced but didn’t pull away. His breathing was shallow, every inhale like it hurt. “Told you to stay inside.”

“I watched them beat you, Marshall. I watched it happen and I couldn’t do anything—” You choked on your tears. “You think I could just sit there and wait?”

You wiped blood from his face with your sleeve, careful, but frantic. “Why did you do it? Why didn’t you just run? You didn’t have to fight them alone.”

He gave a weak smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not a coward.”

Your heart shattered.

You leaned your forehead against his, hands shaking as they held his face. “You stupid, brave, beautiful idiot. You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t,” he whispered, barely audible. “’Cause you came out.”

You pulled him into your arms again, this time tighter, holding all the broken pieces of him together with your love and your tears.

“You’re not doing this alone anymore,” you whispered fiercely. “Not ever again.”

And for once, he didn’t argue.

___

You put his arm around your neck, carefully guiding his weight as the two of you made your way toward the house. He stumbled a bit, still dazed and sore, but leaned into you without complaint. You didn’t speak as you helped him through the front door — just the soft sound of his breathing and your quiet encouragements.

Once inside, you led him to the couch and lowered him gently, hands lingering longer than they needed to.

“I’ll be right back,” you whispered, and darted down the hall to Debbie’s bathroom. Your hands were shaking as you grabbed cotton pads and a bottle of peroxide from the cabinet. You didn’t let yourself cry again. Not yet.

In the kitchen, you opened the fridge — mostly empty, except for a few forgotten things. Your eyes landed on a block of something old and frozen. It would do. You wrapped it in a cloth and hurried back to him.

Marshall had his head leaned back, eyes closed, one hand on his ribs. Blood was dried along his jaw, his knuckles, his collar.

You knelt beside him and gently pressed the makeshift ice pack to his eye. “Hold this there,” you murmured, and he took it from you with a soft grunt of acknowledgment.

“Where does it hurt?” you asked, brushing a strand of damp hair from his forehead.

He didn’t open his eyes. “Stomach,” he said quietly, almost ashamed.

You swallowed hard, heart squeezing. “You need to take off your shirt,” you said, barely above a whisper.

His eye cracked open, and despite everything — the bruises, the split lip, the pain — he smirked. “You blushing already?”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning. “Marshall…”

With a wince, he sat forward and peeled off the bloodstained shirt. Your breath caught. His torso was littered with bruises — some deep, purple and angry. There were shallow cuts too, along his ribs. He looked like he’d been hit by a truck.

“I’m gonna clean it,” you said softly, and dipped a cotton pad into the peroxide. He flinched at the first touch, muscles twitching beneath your fingers.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“S’okay,” he breathed.

You worked slowly, gently wiping away the dried blood and dirt. He watched you the whole time — quiet, unusually still. The silence between you buzzed with something heavier than pain.

When you reached a deeper bruise near his ribs, your hand paused. “This one’s bad…”

He looked down at you, eyes unreadable. “Still hurts. But I think I’m okay.”

You hesitated, then leaned forward and pressed a kiss over the bruise — light as air. His breath hitched.

You didn’t stop. You kissed each mark, each line the pain had drawn on him. It felt like worship. Like an apology.

When your lips brushed along his lower stomach, you felt his muscles tense beneath you. His hand moved to your hair, fingers curling there gently, not pushing, not pulling — just holding.

Your fingers hovered at the button of his jeans, your heart pounding in your chest so loud you were sure he could hear it. You looked up, searching his eyes for hesitation, for permission.

But he didn’t pull away.

He just watched you — breathing slow, chest rising and falling, gaze soft but burning with something deeper.

With a quiet breath, you popped the button open, then slowly pulled down the zipper. He tensed slightly beneath your touch, not from fear — from anticipation.

He was still bruised, still hurting, but he didn’t flinch. His hands found your waist, resting there as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You don’t have to…” he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “Not ‘cause I’m hurt. Not ‘cause you feel sorry.”

You shook your head and leaned in, lips brushing his. “I’m not,” you whispered. “I want to. I just… need you close. I need you to feel how much I love you.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, as if tasting every second. You helped him shift, careful not to press too hard on the bruises across his abdomen as you eased his jeans down his hips.

You grabbed his cock, He was big- so big - you almost dropped your jaw. 

put your hand around it and start to pull your hands up and down. You started going faster, making sure to get some juice, before you put it in your mouth.

You started moving your head back and forth, his cock pressing down your tongue as you tried to take more of him, coating him in your spit and his pre-cum.

Marshall groaned as your mouth gently scraped against his skin, the sound traveling straight to your core. You felt his hand grabbing your hair before him, making a little pony tail so it wouldn’t come into your mouth. 

You started moving your head back and forth faster, faster, sucking him into your mouth. Marshall gasped slightly, a bead of sweat running down his temple as he looked down at you.

When your teeth scraped against him once again, Marshall threw his head back, a hiss escaping his lips, "Just like that" he groaned, his large hand resting on your head, caressing it.

Your head went faster and faster for each moment, Marshall groaning louder, but not that loud to wake Lily. You finally felt something explode in your mouth and you suddenly pulled his cock out and spit all his cum out. It tastes disgusting. Marshall put his head back at the wall and let out a loud gasp for air. 

He looked at you and you felt his fingers tightened in your hair, his body trembling beneath your hands. You stayed there a moment longer, resting your head against his thigh as his breathing slowed, chest rising and falling in the quiet aftermath.

When you looked up, his eyes were already on you — soft, wide, filled with something deeper than lust. He reached down, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face.

“C’mere,” he whispered hoarsely.

You climbed into his lap gently, mindful of the bruises, and he wrapped his arms around you. His head rested against your shoulder, and for the first time that night, he looked… peaceful.

“Didn’t know I could feel this okay again,” he murmured.

You held him tighter, your fingers tracing slow circles on his back. “You’re not alone anymore, Marshall.”

You’re three hours into your shift and already mentally bargaining with the vending machine for a granola bar that isn’t half stale. Your scrubs are wrinkled, your hair’s falling out of its tie, and the only thing keeping you from passing out is the lukewarm coffee you gulped two hours ago in the break room.

You’re halfway through charting vitals when your phone buzzes in your coat pocket.

Again.

You don’t even need to check it. You already know who it is.

Sliding your phone out, you glance at the screen, trying to hide your smile.

Marshall Hey Doc, what are you doing?

You roll your eyes and shove the phone back in your pocket.

Another buzz. You resist it. Keep working.

Two minutes later, the vibration starts again—persistent like a toddler in a candy store.

Marshall Still ignoring me? That’s cold, even for a surgeon. Unless you’re elbow-deep in someone’s chest cavity. Then I guess that’s kind of hot.

You snort, drawing a look from a nurse passing by.

“Everything okay, Doctor?” she asks with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “Just… texts.”

Once the hallway clears, you finally text back.

You I’m working, Marshall. Some of us don’t get to sit around writing rhymes and rewatching Breaking Bad all day.

The reply is almost immediate.

Marshall Bold of you to assume I’m not watching Grey’s Anatomy in your honor.

You If you’re trying to impress me, quoting McDreamy won’t work.

Marshall Wasn’t quoting him. Was just wondering if you’d save me if I came in coding.

You laugh under your breath as you turn a corner toward the nurse’s station. You can already picture the look on his face — smug, amused, leaning back somewhere with his phone in one hand and that lazy grin that made your knees weak in the first place.

Your phone buzzes again.

You don’t want to look. Not because you’re annoyed — because your stomach’s already doing somersaults, and your skin’s way too warm for someone working in a freezing hospital.

You duck into the supply closet, close the door behind you, and finally slide your phone out.

Marshall You in your scrubs? Or are they off? If not can I help with that?

You stare at the screen.

Your fingers don’t move. Your breath is shallow. Suddenly, it’s not just teasing anymore — not just heat or fun texts to pass the time. This feels… like something. You could feel your heat burning.

Your thumbs hover.

You Wait. Are you being serious right now?

He’s quick. Too quick.

Marshall Dead serious. Why? You think I’d text you like this if I didn’t mean it?

You feel your chest tighten. Not in a bad way — in a way that makes you feel like your feet aren’t quite on the floor anymore.

You thought it was just that one date, and that you'd never hear from him again. Never for a million years thought he'd literally be booty texting you.

But now…

You I thought we were only supposed to have one date.

You wait.

The dots bubble. Stop. Bubble again.

Marshall Yeah, well, the date went well. I like you Doc, I can't stop thinking about you and what's underneath those scrubs of yours.

Your mouth goes dry. Felt something between her legs. It's like a tickle.

You lean back against the wall, the cold metal grounding you for half a second. You reread the message three times, blinking like maybe it’ll change.

You I just didn’t think you’d want more.

Marshall Yeah, well. You weren’t supposed to get stuck in my head either. Shit happens.

He follows it with another one.

Marshall Now can you stop acting like I don’t know what I want? Because I do. And right now, I want you in my bed, moaning my name.

Your body tenses, a shiver running up your spine. You’re just not used to this. Men has never looked at you twice and threated you like a cow your whole life and suddenly EMINEM wants to fuck you? Nah, no way, this is real.

You text back, fingers trembling slightly.

You Haha, very funny, but no thanks.

Marshall's jaw drops when he's reading this at home. This is the first time ever a girl has said no to him.. well not since he had become Eminem.

Marshall What? What do you mean by "haha, funny?" and "no thanks?".

You This isn't funny anymore, Marshall. Thank you for that one favor, but I don't need you jokingly booty texting me.

Marshall

What do you mean "joking" and "favor"?

Marshall

I'm so confused right now.

You’re still staring at your phone when the knock on the supply closet door makes you jump.

“Dr. L/N?” a nurse calls softly. “Room 208. Mr. Halperin needs help to go to the bathroom.”

You snap out of it instantly.

“Yeah—yes, coming,” you say, tucking the phone into your pocket, pulse still skittering under your skin.

A/N: y/n is based on me. I’m nurse if I ever get a fucking job.

You were a nervous wreck.

You didn’t believe you ever had to worry about going out with Marshall Mathers, but, he said fucking yes. You didn’t have that many friends. You asked your friend what you should wear, she said to wear something casual, so he doesn’t think you’re so desperate. But what is casual when talking to Marshall Mathers? You googled up his dating history. The WOMEN HE HAS DATED? Mariah Carey? Nicki Minaj? Britney Spears? Kaya Jones? All supermodels… and you? You work a full time shift in a hospital and the nicest thing you own is a top from forever 21 and not gucci. 

You took off work one day to go shopping, you wanted to get something like Mariah Carey would wear. While you was in the dressing room, you got a text… you gasped, a text from Marshall fucking Mathers? 

Eminem

Yo doc, have you picked a restaurant? 

You couldn’t help but to blush, he actually remembered and cared enough to text you.You blinked and just told him the first place you thought of. A pizza place near your apartment. You regretted it instantly but it was too late to change it. 

Eminem

Cool. I love pizza. What time?

You

How about 7.30, at friday? 

Eminem

See you then, doc. 

Maybe you should change his contact info from Eminem to Marshall? But you don’t know if you were there yet. 

You went to the pizza place, expecting to get stood up, he’s the most famous hip hop artist, why would he meet you? But he didn’t, he was in the pizza restaurant taking a picture with the staff. 

“This is going up to the wall.” they all laughed in their italian accents, their laughter faded away once you walked in. “Hello” you said, holding your breath as you were afraid to breathe. He turned to you. “Well, hello doc” he says and smiles, “i’ll leave you two alone.” one of the staff says and goes into the kitchen. 

You get seated across from him, who’s just Marshall to you tonight. No security, no cameras. (The staff made sure of that) Just two people sharing a pizza and a night they didn’t see coming.

He leans back in the booth, hands folded on the checkered tablecloth. “So, Doc,” he smirks, “you always save people’s daughters or am I just lucky?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Only on Tuesdays,” you say, then add more softly, “She’s a strong girl. You raised her well.”

He nods slowly, pride flickering in his eyes. “She’s everything.”

You take a sip from your drink, then glance at him. “Honestly, I just did my job. Being a nurse… It's personal for me.”

He tilts his head, genuinely curious. “Yeah?”

You look down for a second, gathering the words. “I lost my sister to cancer when I was a baby. She was only 6. It was brutal—seeing her fade, watching the nurses try to keep her comfortable. But there was this one nurse who… she stayed with her, even after the shift ended. I remember thinking, ‘I want to be that for someone.’ So I became a nurse.”

Eminem doesn’t speak right away. His eyes stay locked on yours, serious now. “That’s heavy,” he murmurs. “But… beautiful.”

You nod. “Thanks. I just wanted to give the comfort I couldn’t give back then.”

He exhales, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. “You know, it’s weird hearing someone talk about pain like that without making it a performance. Respect.”

You smile. “Coming from you? That means something.”

He chuckles, a little self-deprecating. “You’d be surprised. I didn’t grow up with much respect around me. My mom... she had this thing—Munchausen by proxy. Always said I was sick. Fed me pills. Lied to doctors. Did drugs in front of me. Said she was helping me.”

You go still, your expression softening. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know growing up with a parent with Munchausen by proxy is terrible.” 

He shrugs like it’s just part of his story now. “I didn’t know what was real for a long time. When I got older, I started using it too. Thought I could control it. But addiction... It's like gravity. Pulls you down when you least expect it.”

You reach across the table without thinking, resting your hand on his. “And yet here you are. Fighting. That counts.” His eyes meet yours again, and this time the wall he usually keeps up seems to lower just a little more. “You get it,” he says quietly. “You really get it.”

The waitress drops off the pizza, and you both chuckle at the timing. You each grab a slice, letting the heaviness fade for a moment. He takes a bite, wipes his mouth, then grins. “This might sound weird, but… I’m glad my daughter got into that accident.”

You blink at him. “What?”

He laughs a little. “I mean—not glad. But if she hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met the woman who saved her life. Who looks at pain and turns it into purpose. That’s rare, Doc.”

You smile, a little caught off guard by the compliment. “You’re not so bad yourself, Marshall.”

He raises his slice in a toast. “To pizza, past we survived… and whatever the hell this is.”

You clink your slice against his. “To this.”

After the pizza you decided to take a walk, a walk through the neighbourhood. He  put on his cap and hoodie over his head. He grabbed your arm and pulled you closer to him, as if he wanted to protect you. He put his arm around your shoulders and your face turned red. 

Now you and Marshal were walking side by side down a quiet street lined with trees and old brownstones, hands brushing every now and then but not quite holding. The pizza place is behind you, and ahead lies the quiet hum of the city settling in for the night.

You glance over at him, his hood up, hands in his jacket pockets. For someone who’s sold out stadiums, he walks like he’s trying not to be seen.

“So,” you say, your voice soft in the hush of the night, “can I ask you something?”

He glances sideways at you, lips twitching into a half-smile. “You already are, Doc.”

You nudge his arm. “I’m serious. Why’d you agree to this? This date. The walk. Me.”

He stops walking for just a second, looks up at the sky like he’s searching for the right words. Then he shrugs and keeps walking, slower now.

“I guess I’ve been around enough fake people to know when someone’s not,” he says. “And you… You didn’t treat me like I was a project or a profile. You weren’t trying to fix me. You were just you.”

You stay quiet, taking that in.

He continues. “When Hailie was in that hospital bed, and you were doing everything for her—not because of who she was, but because that’s just what you do... I saw you. And for the first time in a long time, I wanted to be seen by someone like that. Someone like you.”

You feel your chest tighten at his words. You weren’t expecting something so raw.

“I didn’t think you'd say yes,” you admit.

“Neither did I,” he replies, glancing at you with a small smile. “But here we are. And I don’t regret it.”

You both stop at the corner, a small park on the left, your apartment just a few blocks down the street. The moon slips out from behind the clouds, casting a silvery light between the trees.

“You’re easy to talk to,” he says after a pause. “Even when it’s hard stuff. You don’t flinch. I like that. You make me feel like I don’t have to be ‘Eminem.’ I can just be Marshall.”

You look up at him, heart warm.

“I like Marshall,” you say.

He grins, a little bashful for once. “Yeah? Marshall likes you too.”

You both laugh, and it’s easy—lighter than it should be for two people carrying so much history.

As you reach your apartment building, he slows down, standing with you at the bottom of the steps.

“I don’t do this much,” he admits.

“I know,” you say softly.

“But I’d like to again. If you want to.”

Marshall Mathers X OC character

Summary: In the early 2000s, Eminem’s fame has skyrocketed, but when his car breaks down in a small, conservative town outside of Texas, he finds himself in meeting A small, sweet, repuplican family that offers to help, but there’s one major problem: their oldest daughter, Amy Margaret, cannot stand him. She has strong feelings about women’s rights, believing he’s a misogynist bc if his lyrics and a poor role model for her younger step-siblings—who just so happen to be huge fans.

She is counting down the days until he leaves, but Eminem doesn’t seem to ever leave. Why doesn’t he leave?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Others:

Fancast p1