#eminemsmutty

You’re a groupie and fucks Eminem backstage after a show

bj

fingering your 🍑

Em teasing you

Em fucking ur ass

More fucking

Eminem fucking u in front and chokes you

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.”