ThiccShaddy

Marshall Mathers (it is all Marshall Mathers)

FLUFF

Feel Like Home 💐

It's Britney, B*tch, tehe🎶

This Is Why We Should Have Kept The Landline! ☎️

Your Biggest Fan 🐾

Welcome Home (Your Biggest Fan Part Two)🐾

Do I Get To Dance? 🎄

Mom's Spaghetti...And Dad’s Nose👃

I Feel Like Fucking 2% Milk🤒

Oh No, His Legs🕸️

Relax🍫

Stock Up For My Bitches (Relax Part Two)🍫

Hype Man🤧

NOT SO MUCH FLUFF

Mind If I Sit Here?☕️

You Wrote it About Us 🛩

I Missed You 🧣

Consanguineous🍾

Bass🔊

Stupid Shit🥃

NOT FLUFF

NSFW How Was Work?⚠️

NSFW Good Enough (Relax Part 3)🍫

More Coming Soon ;)

Okay, part of my hesitation for writing early 2000s Em NSFW is I don't think he'd be a good boyfriend. We know he wasn't the most... loyal parter.

I have a few things in mind that could be early 2000s or Recovery era. If y'all want early 2000s, we will take that direction, but keep in mind he was indeed an asshole.

Thoughts?

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Eminem X Reader

✨️MasterList✨️

Content: Sick, Cursing

She ripped into a new box of tissues as a sneeze came on. Having the immune system of a Victorian baby bird came with Spidey-senses anytime she got sick. Nonetheless, the rushing led-heavy head and stuffed nose was still a nuisance.

Marshall had been very sweet. This was supposed to be a busy weekend, one she had looked forward to. Marshall’s foundation had planned a benefit concert, of course hosted in Detroit. But selfishly, she was a tad more excited to babysit her fourteen-month-old niece.

Babysitting her niece was more than just a favor for her sister—it was a chance to bond with the tiny, giggling tornado she adored. But now, with her sinuses pounding like the bass at any of Marshall’s concerts, and her body feeling like wet sand, she had no choice but to cancel. Marshall had offered to step in, but she’d quickly squashed that idea.

“You’re joking. There’s absolutely no way. This kid is in the ‘lick everything’ stage. You don’t need a baby, whatever bug I’ve got, and a concert to manage. Marshall, you can’t bring her on stage with you,” she’d insisted over the phone, punctuating her argument with a sneeze.

“She could be my hype man…” She didn’t laugh at his joke. He did not need anyone to encourage this terrible idea. Marshall accepted defeat, “Fine, but I did order something for her. I think it should be delivered soon.” 

A familiar warmth spread inside her at the thought of Marshall finding something special for their little guest, even if it wouldn’t be used this time. After a quick call to her sister, she learned she wasn’t the only one under the weather. They would also be spending the night in, cuddled under blankets and tissue snow. Relieved it all worked out; sleepiness snuck back in. Curled up in one of Marshall’s sweatshirts and a fluffy duvet, her eyes drifted shut. 

A doorbell ring interrupted just as she began to doze Lifting her head, the sound puled her from the haze of impending sleep. Groaning, she sluggishly got up, clutching the duvet around her shoulders like a makeshift cocoon. Peeking through the peephole, she spotted the delivery box that Marshall had anticipated.

Opening the door, she brought the package inside and set it on the coffee table, sneezing twice in rapid succession as she did. The cardboard box was plastered with colorful cartoon animals, the kind of thing designed to make parents (or uncles with absolutely no restraint) click “buy now” without hesitation. Peering at the carnival-vomit of colors in front of her, she wondered what could be inside. But she knew how much Marshall liked to open thing, especially toys. So, she pushed her curiosity to the back of her mind and returned to her tissue box. 

---

Marshall pushed open the door later that evening, his hoodie pulled up against the icy Detroit wind. Rehearsal had run longer than expected—typical for a benefit concert, where every note had to be perfect—but he was still riding the high of hearing the preview of the booming polished sound coming that evening. His voice was a little hoarse, but his energy was electric. 

The sight of her curled up under a mountain of blankets brought him back to reality. Tissue boxes littered the coffee table alongside an untouched mug of tea, long since gone cold. She looked up groggily as he set his stuff down by the door. 

"Hey, Sweetheart," he said with a lopsided grin. "How are you holding up?"

"Huh??," she muttered. Her ears were plugged. She couldn’t understand him, but she was happy he was home. "Looks like rehearsal went well!"

Smirking he spot the unopened delivery box on the coffee table. "You didn’t open it?" 

She shook her head. "Figured you'd want the honors."

"Fuck yeah." He smirked, grabbing the box and unconventionally tearing into it. Any chance of reusing the box vanished as the colorful cardboard fell away to reveal a bright plastic baby turntable, complete with tiny buttons, flashing lights, and a toy record that could actually spin. Marshall’s face lit up. You’d think he just opened a new expensive revolutionary gadget, not necessarily a fisher price toy.

“Are you kidding me right now?” she croaked, trying not to laugh, coughing lightly into a tissue. “A turntable? She’s not even two, Marshall.”

"Exactly. Gotta start her early," he said, already pressing buttons to make the toy light up and emit comically cheerful beats. Pursing his lips, he nodded along to the mechanical beat playing a number song through the tiny speakers.

“Does Mr. Porter know about this?” She teased, amused by his dancing.

“Oh, he will soon.” Marshall discovered a new button. The music stopped as a chipper voice said “Let’s record a track! When the light turns red, sing a song.” He made eye contact with her as he brought the toy closer to his mouth to sing “I’m fucking awesome.”

After a brief second of holding in her laughter, they heard Marshall’s voice played over a basic beat on repeat. She lost it. Even though she felt terrible, she had missed his goofy ass so much today. Her laughter quickly turned into a barky coughing fit. 

He gently sat the toy down and crossed over to her. Rubbing her back gently, he handed her the mug of tea, remembered it was cold, and excused himself to grab her a drink. 

Marshall quickly returned with a fresh mug of tea, steam curling upward in inviting wisps. He placed it on the table in front of her and crouched down to her level, his expression soft with concern.  

“Are you sure you’re alright? You sound worse than before,” he said, brushing a stray strand of hair from her clammy forehead.  

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she croaked, her voice raspy and unconvincing. “Just got a little too excited about your next Grammy-winning single.”  

“Yeah, that shits gonna put me on the map.” He smirked, tilting his head. Returning to the matter at hand. “You need to clear out your sinuses before you cough up a lung. C’mon steam always helps.”  

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Strip show? Right now?” 

“The fuck? No.” He stood, swallowing a chuckle, and stretching his arms above his head. His hoodie rode up slightly. “I gotta get ready and you’re coming with me. Bathroom’s basically a steam room.” He winked. She groaned in protest at the thought of moving. He held out his hand to help her. “You can sit on the counter, wrapped in your… what the fuck is all of this? Cocoon. The steam will do the work, and I’ll get ready. Win-win.”

---  

The bathroom quickly filled with steam, the mirror fogging over as hot water rained down in a steady rhythm. She perched on the counter, clutching the fresh mug of tea. The heat and moisture in the air began working its magic, easing the tension in her head and loosening the congestion in her chest.  

From behind the frosted shower door, Marshall’s silhouette worked as he hummed and mumbled lyrics, his low voice carrying a certain intimacy in the small, echoing space.  

“Better?” he called out between verses. 

She gently nodded, “Yeah, actually,” she replied, her voice already less strained. “I can breathe through my left nostril again. It’s a miracle.” 

"Hell yeah, lefty’s always been the MVP."  

She shook her head, amused by his goofy banter. The warmth in the room wasn’t just from the steam, his energy. Normally he was drained when he came home, especially after a long day like today. But right now, he was infectious, ridiculous. He managed to distract her from how miserable she felt. She sipped her tea. Breathing deep, the steam loosened something caused her to sneeze, cough, cough, sneeze, and cough (in that order). 

“I’m fine!” she quickly added before blowing her nose, knowing Marshall just heard all of that. 

“Me when my girl makes that noise.” She could practically hear the smirk in his voice. Turning she saw Marshall’s Shallotte holding something long extruding from his hips.

“Marshall, is that a fucking shampoo bottle?” She chuckled at his immature joke. 

“No… it’s two shampoo bottles.”

“Oh, my bad,” she said with a teasing eye-roll he couldn’t see.  

A pause, followed by the sound of the water shutting off. Marshall cracked the shower door open just enough to peek his head out, his hair dripping and a boyish grin on his face. “You know the real thing is bigger.”  

“Debatable,” she teased, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.  

He stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist. Droplets of water trailed down his chest, and she had to resist the urge to make a comment about the man in front of her. Instead, she opted for another sip of tea, hoping the steam would mask the flush creeping up her cheeks.  

Marshall grabbed another towel and tossed it over his head, rubbing at his hair in quick, careless movements. “Hey! You’re starting to look a little less like shit,” he said, his voice muffled by the towel.  

“Oh Thanks,” she said dryly. “Careful, you’ll give me a bottle boner.”  

Marshall dropped the towel and grinned at her. “Hey, I’m just saying, the steam’s working.” He leaned against the counter next to her, his damp hair dripping onto his back. “I could bring that turntable in here,” he suggested. “Record a sick diss against the bug inside you.”  

The thought made her laugh a genuine, belly-deep laugh that made her cough again, but it was worth it.  

“There’s my girl,” he said softly, reaching out to squeeze her knee as he placed a kiss on her cheek.

A/N: This is the exact toy referenced. I am heavily considering buying it for a friend's kid. Watch some review videos for giggles.

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Eminem X Reader

✨️MasterList✨️

Content: Confronting Alcohol Abuse, Cursing

Curled up on the cold bathroom floor, I rolled my eyes as the phone continued to ring. The alcohol buzzing through my system made my head feel heavy and light all at once. When I needed him most, Marshall didn’t pick up his fucking phone. As the electronic beep pierced my ears, I drew in a shaky breath, unsure where this voicemail was going.

“Hey… Marshall. Please, I think I need you right now. I’m really fucked up and everyone else has left.” The somber reality of my situation crashed down on me as hot tears began to form. “Can you please pick up the fucking phone? You told me if I needed anything… fuck you, Marshall.”

I hung up and froze as the regret of that night started creeping in. Strategically, I propped myself up, but fuck, the world was moving too fast. Clutching the toilet seat, my stomach seemed to empty everything I had ever eaten. Gasping from my stomach’s betrayal, I tried to refocus. Through tears and a foggy vision, Marshall’s contact photo popped up. I groaned. He had great timing. Slowly, I started cleaning myself up. I knew this was disgusting, but honestly, I couldn’t grasp how disgusting it actually was.

Using the walls to stabilize myself, I stumbled into my bedroom. Oh, fuck, I loved my bed. It was so soft. Feeling the sheets with my fingers, I realized I wasn’t sure when I had face-planted onto it. I groaned, burying my face into the pillow as the faint vibration of my phone echoed in the other room. It hadn’t stopped since Marshall’s name first appeared, and now the sound seemed to drill into my already throbbing skull.

“Stop fucking calling me now,” I muttered, too drained to lift my head, let alone face him. But the persistent buzz eventually became impossible to ignore. With a huff, I pushed myself up and staggered back to the bathroom floor. My trembling hands struggled to swipe the screen.

“What?” I barked, my voice coming out a tad more aggressive than I meant it to be.

“What the fuck is going on, Y/N?” His voice was sharp, cutting through the haze in my mind. “You leave me some drunk-ass voicemail about how you need me, and now you won’t pick up? What the fuck is happening?” The audio degraded as he talked, and I could hear the sounds of a highway.

I pulled the phone closer to my ear to concentrate. “Are you in the car?”

“Yes, Y/N! Where are you?”

His tone was stern and maybe even concerned. His voice sobered me a little. I did my best not to sound pathetic as I murmured, “My bathroom floor.”

The silence between us was painful as Marshall’s ride played through the phone. His voice was quieter this time but still urgent. “Y/N, are you okay?”

I nodded, holding my head, then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Yeah, no. I’m fine. I just—”

“Why the fuck did you call me?” Oh shit. Never mind, he was mad.

“I’m sorry! I don’t know. I didn’t think you’d actually pick up…” Somehow, I felt even more pathetic. I stared up at the dark ceiling, tears blurring my vision again.

Marshall exhaled sharply, the sound crackling through the speaker. I could practically feel his frustration radiating through the phone. “Well, I fucking did… Look, I’m almost there.”

“What? Where? What do you mean ‘almost there’? I didn’t tell you to come over!” I sat up a little too fast. Instant regret.

“Y/N, don’t try to argue with me. I’ll be there in, like, five minutes. Unlock the door. Is the door locked?”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I looked around the room for an answer. Not finding one, I lied, “Yep.”

“Okay, I’ll call you when I make it. Don’t do anymore stupid shit.”

He hung up, and my stomach twisted—not just from the alcohol still swirling inside me, but from the sheer vulnerability of the moment. I wanted to call him back. Protest, tell him to turn around and let me wallow in my misery alone, but a small, desperate part of me was glad he was coming. Another part of me was glad anyone was coming. Peering at the tally marks on my arm, I became nauseous. I drank so much that I had to mark my arm to remember… damn.

The cold tile against my cheek made me forget about everything else, wrapping me into itself as I traced the grout. My eyelids were heavy as I focused on nothing at all. Blinking, a primal need to focus on my breathing overcame me. If my thoughts deviated, I would die. My heartbeat echoed through my limbs. Gathering myself, I tried to stand, but the weight of my body against the cold bathroom tiles felt like an anchor. The faint, rhythmic pulse between my head and the cold bathroom floor was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. My stomach had long since emptied itself, but the nausea wouldn’t let up. The room spun relentlessly, becoming more and more distant.

“Y/N?” Marshall’s distant voice barely broke through the buzzing in my ears.

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. My head lolled to the side as I tried to focus on him, but the room kept moving, and my body felt foreign.

Marshall's footsteps cut through the fog like a lifeline. “Y/N,” he said again, louder this time, his voice taut with urgency. He crouched down next to me, his hands warm and firm as they cupped my face. “Hey, come on. Fucking look at me.”

I tried. God, I tried, but my eyes wouldn’t fucking stay still, wouldn’t focus. The spinning hadn’t stopped. “I’m fine,” I murmured, though it didn’t sound convincing, even to myself.

“Bullshit,” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to penetrate my haze. His eyes scanned me, his expression a mix of anger and fear. “What did you take? Did you mix anything?”

I shook my head weakly, then groaned as the movement made the spinning worse. “Just… drank too much.” My words slurred together, and I hated the way I sounded—weak, broken, goddamn pathetic.

Marshall sighed, his hands steadying me as he sat me up against the wall. The motion made my stomach churn, and I gagged, but nothing came up. “Jesus, Y/N,” he muttered, grabbing a towel from the sink and dampening it. He pressed it gently against my clammy forehead. His tone was gentle but firm, “You don’t have to keep doing this. You don’t have to keep fucking up, not like this.”

I swallowed hard, trying to focus on his words, but the overwhelming shame was already making it hard to breathe. The familiar haze was there, but it wasn’t like before—it wasn’t comforting anymore. It was suffocating.

Marshall stayed quiet, which made me feel even more exposed than I already did. His silence felt like a judgment, but not the kind I was used to. It wasn’t the anger I expected, it was something else—something that made the weight of my choices feel unbearable. Fuck. I had to say something.

“I only drink when I’m with people, you know?” I continued, trying to explain it to him, but to myself more than anything. “I have this rule. It’s like... I’m still in control. I don’t do it alone. So, I don’t go too far. So, I don’t...” I trailed off, eyes stinging with tears. Suddenly, it was too real. Too raw.

Marshall’s voice broke through my spiraling thoughts. “But you always go too far, Y/N. Every time. It’s never just a little. You keep telling yourself you’re in control, but the truth is—you’re not.”

His words stung, but they also cut through the layers of fog that clouded my mind. They were harsh, but they were also true, and I knew I needed to hear them. I closed my eyes, letting it sink in. It had seemed so easy to rationalize—easy to tell myself it was normal, even expected. Everyone else drank, and it wasn’t like I was alone. I had my “rules” to keep it in check: only when I’m with them, never by myself, just one or two drinks... but it never ended that way.

I took a deep breath, my body heavy with the truth I had avoided for so long. “I think I just... I don’t know if I can stop.”

Marshall exhaled, his hand brushing my hair back from my face in a gesture that was both tender and comforting. “You don’t have to keep doing this to yourself, Y/N. We don’t want you to. No one has asked this of you.”

The room felt suffocating now, the buzz wearing off, leaving only the weight of reality. I looked at Marshall, my vision blurry, but I could still see his expression—soft but firm, like he wasn’t going to let me slip away again.

“I thought... I thought if I just didn’t do it by myself, it wouldn’t hurt anyone…,” I said softly, my voice trembling. I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I reached for him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. “I’m so tired, Marshall,” I whispered, my voice small. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

He held me tighter, his grip reassuring, as if he could keep me from slipping back into the darkness. “I know, Y/N,” he murmured. “We’re going to get through this.”

The words felt like the first real breath I had taken in so long. I didn’t have all the answers. Hell, I didn’t even know how to begin fixing the mess I had made. Years of habits, excuses, led me here. But then I realized something: maybe it wasn’t about having all the answers. Maybe it was just about starting. About taking the first step—whatever that might look like. Tonight, that step could be sipping on cold water and allowing myself to believe that I will be better. Either way, I didn’t have to face it alone.

A/N: Hey all. I am six days sober. It's not much, but it's a start. Thank you to all the kind words. Turns out they don't call me the Lesbian Eminem (Lebinem) for nothing (no one calls me this). Stay safe. If you or anyone you know is in need of help, please reach out to the appreciate authorities. <3

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This is so sweet! Thank you so SO much! I have one more holiday themed post that will be released soon. I took some time off for family gatherings. Since then my list of ideas/prompts has at least doubled.

Eminem X Reader

AI EDITED PHOTO

✨️MasterList✨️

A/N: This is part of the Relax series. You don’t need to read the earlier parts to enjoy this one—it stands on its own!

Content: Smut, Cursing, Newer Relationship, Consent Checks, 18+ Activities!

The arena thrummed with life, the roar of the crowd vibrating in Y/N’s chest as Marshall took the stage. The electric energy was contagious; thousands of fans screamed his name, all vying for his attention. But Y/N knew his eyes always sought her out first.

From her spot towards the front of the pit, she watched him transform. Under the spotlight, he was untouchable—confident, magnetic, every word hitting the beat with precision. He performed as if the world revolved around his every syllable, and for the next few hours, it did. 

Y/N tried to focus on the performance, letting the music pull her in like it always did, but her thoughts drifted. It had been a few weeks since they'd made things official, only sharing the news with a few friends, and everything had felt so effortless. But tonight, a weight she couldn’t name pressed against her chest. She shoved it down, determined not to let it ruin the night. Really, she was proud of him—of how far he’d come, how talented he was—but as the night went on, she couldn't shake the feeling of being... out of place.

As Marshall performed, the sea of fangirls screamed, reaching out toward him, their eyes full of admiration, obsession, and desire. Every time they screamed his name or reached for his hand, a small seed of insecurity planted itself deeper in her chest. She knew Marshall had a past, knew the kind of attention he’d always recieved, but tonight, it felt different. The adoration seemed endless, and she couldn’t help but wonder—was she enough? Was she really the one he wanted, or was she just another name in a long line of faces?

Marshall’s eyes found hers for a brief moment in the crowd, and he flashed a smirk and winked, but the doubt still lingered.

When Marshall ended the final song, the crowd’s thunderous applause rolled through the venue, deafening and endless. He gave them a grin, flipped them the bird, and disappeared backstage.

---

Waiting backstage, Y/N saw Marshall approaching her. “You looked amazing out there,” Y/N said as he closed in. A towel draped over his shoulders, a thin layer of sweet coating his skin. She plastered on a smile, hoping the truth in her eyes wouldn't give her away. 

Marshall’s brow furrowed as he studied her. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing,” she replied too quickly. “I’m fine. Just tired.” 

Marshall’s gaze lingered on her, pursing his lips, skepticism evident. “Uh-huh.” He leaned closer, voice dropping. “Wanna get out of here?” 

“Yes, please,” she responded, her smile faltering. 

Knowing something was wrong, he didn’t push. Not here. Instead, he slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as they navigated through the maze of crew and equipment to his tour bus.

Once inside, Y/N sank into the plush couch, her fingers fidgeting with a pillow she held close to her stomach. Marshall grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, handing it to her before sitting across from her, his knees brushing hers. 

“Alright,” he said, tone soft but firm. “What’s going on?” Y/N avoided his eyes, staring at the cap of the water bottle instead. “Y/N.” His voice carried the same steadiness he used onstage, the kind that made you listen whether you wanted to or not. “Talk to me.” 

She hesitated, her resolve cracking under the weight of his concern. Finally, she exhaled shakily. “Marshall, It’s stupid.” 

“Try me.” 

She glanced up, meeting his gaze. “I was watching you out there tonight, and you were… so incredible. You always are.” 

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “That doesn’t sound stupid to me.” 

“No, it’s…” She bit her lip, frustrated with herself. The lump in her throat swelled. Suddenly, the words coming out more vulnerable than she intended. “I just... I don’t know, Marshall. I see all those girls out there. They’re screaming for you, throwing themselves at you, and I just... I can’t help but feel like I’m not good enough. You could have anyone you want, and I just don’t know if I’m enough for you. You’re so… larger than life. Everyone loves you. And sometimes, I feel like I’m just… here. Like I don’t belong in your world.” 

As she spoke his smirk faded, replaced by something softer, more serious. He waited, allowing her to express her feelings. “Y/N, don’t do that. Don’t make yourself small. You’re not ‘just here.’

Her eyes watered at the sincerity in his voice.

Marshall shifted closer, taking her hands in his. “You think I’d be with you if I didn’t think you belonged in my world? You’re not just a part of it, Y/N. You’re the best part. Those people, out there, the crowd, they are just noise. You’re who I want to come home to.” 

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she gave a watery laugh. “You’re annoyingly good at this, you know?” 

“Shit, well,” he said, smirking and brushing a thumb over her knuckles, “you make it easy.” 

She leaned into him, resting her head against his chest, the tension in her shoulders starting to ease. Marshall wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear. 

“Y/N, I love you.” His voice low and soft but clear. 

Y/N nodded, a smile replacing her doubt. “I love you too.” 

He gently lifted her chin up to meet his. A gentle, passionate kiss broke the silence between them. His warm hands cupped her face, tilting it up towards his as their lips met in a gentle, yet passionate, kiss. The room seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of them. As their lips meet, they close their eyes, savoring the softness and warmth of each other's touch. In the dim light, their faces are illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window, highlighting their features in a loving glow. The soft sounds of their quiet moans and gentle sighs filled the room as they lost themselves in the moment.

Pulling away, Marshall broke the silence, “Let me show you how much I love you.” Gently, he picked you up, something your past partners couldn't or wouldn't do. You held onto him as he showered your neck in delicate kisses. One hand holding the back of your head for protection, he lowered you two onto the small tour bus bed. The mattress creaked softly as Marshall laid Y/N down, his body hovering over hers. His eyes roamed her face, drinking in every detail as if committing it to memory. He hovered over her, one hand braced beside her head, the other tracing the curve of her cheek. Y/N's heart raced, a mix of love and desire coursing through her veins.

Marshall's tender kisses traveled along her jawline, his touch feather-light. "You're beautiful," he murmured, his voice husky. "And you're mine."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as Marshall's lips found hers again, the kiss deeper this time, more urgent. His hands slid under her shirt, calloused fingers skimming across her skin, leaving goosebumps in their path. She leaned into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips. His kisses were intoxicating, making her head spin and her body ache for more. She ran her hands up his back, feeling the sore muscles ripple beneath her touch. In response he tugged at the hem of her shirt, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over her head. 

His eyes roamed over her exposed skin. “Fuck.” He breathed out. Marshall's eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight before him. He leaned down, trailing kisses from her collarbone to the swell of her breasts. His hands cupped them gently, thumbs brushing over her nipples. Y/N gasped at the sensation, arching into his touch. She hastily pulled her bra off, flinging it across the bus.

Marshall's gaze lingered on Y/N's newly exposed skin, his eyes intense with passion. Slowly, reverently, he lowered his head to her upper chest. His lips trailed lower, leaving a path of warmth in their wake. When he reached the valley of her breast, he paused, looking up at her through hooded eyes.

"Is this okay?" he murmured, his breath hot against her skin.

Y/N nodded, her fingers threading through his short hair. "Yes," she breathed.

With her permission, Marshall continued his exploration. His tongue darted out, tracing delicate patterns across her skin. He took his time, savoring every inch of her. When his mouth finally closed around her nipple, Y/N gasped, arching into him. He lavished attention on one breast, then the other, alternating but not neglecting either one. Without breaking his rhythm, he pulled his shirt off.

"Marshall," she breathed, her voice trembling slightly. He looked up, concern flickering in his eyes at her tone. "I... I've never done this before."

Understanding dawned on his face. He moved back up, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "We don't have to do anything, love. You’re here, and that’s enough.”

The look in Y/N’s eyes shifted, something deep and hungry took over. ”Marshall, I want it.” She slightly arched into him, “I need you inside me.”

Marshall lovingly gazed into Y/N's eyes, searching for any hesitation. Finding only desire and trust reflected back at him, he nodded slowly. "Okay," he murmured, his voice low and tender. "Then we'll take it slow. I want to make this perfect for you."

Marshall's lips found hers again, the kiss deep and passionate. His fingers returned to her nipples, as she squirmed into his touch. His kisses trailed lower, across her collarbone, between her breasts, down her stomach. When he reached the waistband of her pants, he paused, looking to her for permission. At her nod, he slowly slide them down her legs.

He returned to her stomach then her left thigh. His hands gripped her right thigh as his thumb traced circles. Marshall's fingers hooked into the waistband of Y/N's panties, pausing to look up at her once more. 

She nodded, whispering, “Yes, Marshall. I trust you.” Slowly, she lifted her hips to help him as he slowly slid them down her legs. He took a moment to enjoy the sight of her, completely bare before him.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. 

Y/N felt exposed, vulnerable, but the look of pure adoration in Marshall's eyes chased away any insecurity. He lowered himself between her legs, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs. His small stubble scratched lightly against her sensitive skin, sending shivers through her body.

"Tell me if anything feels uncomfortable, okay?" Marshall said, his warm breath ghosting over her as she spread her legs. 

Y/N nodded, and he slowly lowered his head. Y/N gasped at the first touch of his tongue, her back arching off the bed. Marshall took his time, exploring and tasting, learning what made her moan and tremble. His tongue traced patterns of various speeds, sending shivers through her body. He teased her with light flicks and gentle sucks, reveling in the way she responded to him.

Y/N's fingers gripped his short hair as she arched into him, her moans growing louder with each touch. She couldn't believe the sensations that were coursing through her body, and she couldn't get enough of Marshall's touch.

As he began to focus on her most sensitive spot, Y/N cried out in pleasure, her hips lifting completely off the bed as she neared climax. Marshall's fingers gripped her thighs tightly as he continued to pleasure her, bringing her closer and closer until she finally reached her peak. Moaning and convulsing into him, her mind silenced, reaching a new forgiven realm of ecstasy. Coming back down, she looked into Marshall’s eyes. Her breath was shaky as he smiled back at her, clearly pleased with the reaction he caused. 

Face flushed, Y/N pulled Marshall to her lips. Her kisses were hungry and deep. Just as Marshall had done, she pulled at the hem of his pants. Without breaking their connection, he helped her pull them off. She smirked as her hand brushed against his dick, already hardened and erect. As she felt him over his boxers a low moan escaped him. 

“Mashall.” He froze at her soft voice. “Please.” 

His eyes locked with Y/N's as he nodded. With a low groan, Marshall captured her lips in a searing kiss as he shimmied out of his boxers. Y/N's breath caught as she felt him, hard and hot against her thigh. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the sight of him fully nude for the first time.

Marshall noticed her reaction and smirked. "We'll go slow," he promised, positioning himself between her legs. "Tell me if anything hurts, okay?"

Y/N nodded, her heart racing with anticipation. Slowly, carefully, Marshall began to push into her. Y/N gasped at the new sensation, her body tensing slightly. Marshall paused, looking into her eyes as he slowly began thrusting into her. He moved slowly, giving Y/N time to adjust to the new sensation. His eyes never left hers, watching for any sign of pain. "You okay?" he murmured, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

Y/N nodded, her breath coming in short gasps. The initial discomfort was fading, replaced by a growing pleasure. "fuck," she breathed. "Don't stop."

Encouraged by her words, Marshall began to move with more purpose. He kept his pace gentle, his strokes deep and measured. As Y/N's discomfort disappeared she found herself moving with him. He set a steady rhythm, his hips rolling against hers in a well-rehearsed dance. As the pleasure built, Y/N found herself lifting her hips to meet his.

"God, Y/N," Marshall groaned, his forehead pressing against hers. "You feel amazing."

Y/N's pulled him closer, craving more of his skin against hers. Marshall buried his face in the crook of her neck. His deep groan against her sent vibrations down her spine. Marshall's pace increased, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he felt Y/N's body responding to him. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him even deeper. The change in angle caused them both to cry out.

"Marshall," she gasped, feeling a building tension, her nails dug into his back. "I'm close."

He lifted his head, panting. "Let go, baby," he groaned and gently nipped at her neck. "I've got you."

His hand slipped between them, his fingers found her clit. The added stimulation pushed Y/N over the edge. She cried out, her body arching against his as waves of pleasure washed over her.

At the sight and feel of Y/N's release, Marshall's rhythm faltered. With a low moan, he followed her over the edge, burying his face in her neck as he found his release

For several moments, they lay tangled together, catching their breath. Y/N held onto Marshall as he peppered her neck with sleepy kisses. 

Marshall gently rolled to the side, pulling Y/N with him so she was nestled against his chest. She smiled, feeling safe and cherished in his arms. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her bare skin as their breathing slowly returned to normal. The small tour bus bed barely fit them both, but neither seemed to mind the closeness. 

"You okay?" Marshall murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Y/N nodded, a contented smile playing on her lips. "More than okay," she whispered. "That was... incredible."

Marshall chuckled softly. "Fucking incredible," he said, his voice filled with warmth and affection.”Damn Y/N. That was your first time?… Impressive.”

She giggled against his chest. They laid in comfortable silence for a while, basking in the afterglow. Y/N's earlier insecurities felt distant now, washed away by the intensity of their connection.

"Y/N," Marshall said softly, his voice fatigued.

She lifted her head slightly to look at Marshall, her eyes heavy with contentment and face flushed from passion. "Hmm?"

He played with her hair, his touch gentle. "I meant what I said earlier." His voice was low, earnest. "I know all this," he gestured vaguely, indicating his fame and career, "can be a lot. But I need you to know that at the end of the day, it's you I want to come home to. Only you."

A tender warmth spread through Y/N's chest at his words. She felt tears dwell in her eyes, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his words. She pressed a soft kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "I love you, Marshall. So much."

He pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin. Y/N could hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, strong and reassuring. “I love you too.”

A/N: The amount of missionary content I have written lately is concerning. Then again... I'm sure we all saw that Missionary promo. Also, friendly reminder sex can be awkward and frankly funny. Remember not to take yourself too seriously. <3

Relax🍫PART ONE

Stock Up For My Bitches (Relax Part Two)🍫

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Eminem X Reader

Image pulled from Google

✨️MasterList✨️

Content: Cursing, Flirting in the workplace

The clock was ticking down—showtime was almost here, but there were still a few minutes left. You loved this part of the gig: the calm before the storm, the moment when you still had control over everything. Focused, concentration laid on your face. You adjusted the levels on the soundboard, double-checking every mic and monitor. You’d been on the road for weeks now, part of the hardworking crew making sure every show went off without a hitch. You prided yourself on being invisible—no drama, no mistakes. But tonight, you felt someone step into your personal space.

Turning, you almost dropped your headphones. There he was—Marshall, eyes scanning the soundboard like it held some kind of secret. He casually leaned against the side of the console, watching you work. His presence was immediate, and you could feel it in the air.

"Yo," he said, his voice low but cutting through the pre-show music you were focused on. "This where the magic happens?"

You blinked, caught off guard. He hadn’t said more than three words to you before. "Ha, yeah. Magic’s a strong word, though. Just trying to keep things from sounding like shit."

A small smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Uh, you think you could turn up the bass just a little?" he asked, his voice low but with that unmistakable edge of confidence. "The crowd’s gotta feel it, you know what I mean?"

You didn’t look up right away, though you could hear the teasing in his tone. "You trying to shake the walls before the crowd even gets here?" you asked, your fingers still dancing over the faders.

He shrugged, eyes twinkling with mischief as he leaned in just a little closer. "Maybe. Can’t have ‘em catching Z’s before I even step on stage."

You shot him a raised eyebrow, a challenging grin tugging at your lips. "Oh, so you’re worried they’ll doze off halfway through your set?"

He smirked. "Nah, nah, I’m good, but it wouldn’t hurt if you cranked up the volume a bit. Help a guy out, y’know? I’d like to keep my stamina for something else." He winked.

You shook your head, a small chuckle escaping. "Loud doesn’t always equal good, Marshall. You wanna rattle the whole place, go ahead. But we’re gonna be dealing with complaints."  

"Fuck complaints,” he said with a shrug, a playful smirk still on his lips. "Let ‘em feel it. They’ll remember this show."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t completely dismiss his request, tweaking the fader slightly. "Yeah, well, I guess it wouldn’t be an Eminem show without you trying to blow out the speakers." 

Marshall threw his hands up in surrender. “Shit, it was one time!” He watched as you let out a small breathy laugh. “Thanks for saving my ass during that, by the way.”

Determined to stay focused, you rummaged through a draw under the soundboard. “Yeah, no problem. Just doing my job.”

He chuckled, the sound low and almost intimate as he stepped a bit closer, his eyes following your every movement. "I’m just saying, sound’s important. It’s the backbone, you know? Without it, what’s left?"

You returned to the board, adjusted the sliders, trying not to let his words affect you, but you could feel the tension building between you—something unspoken, something more than just the sound mix.

He leaned in closer, pointing at a fader. His finger brushed against yours just as you adjusted it, and the slight contact sent a jolt through you. You froze for a second, your heart skipping a beat, but you didn’t pull your hand away. Instead, you slid the fader, your fingers lingering just a touch too long on the knob.  

"Sorry," he murmured, clearly not meaning it. He pulled his hand back, but he didn’t step away. His voice was quieter now, the tone more intense. "Didn’t mean to throw you off."  

You swallowed, trying to keep your composure. "You’re fine," you replied, your voice a little strained, but you didn’t meet his gaze, focusing instead on the board in front of you. "We’ve got less than five minutes before the crowd comes in."  

Marshall shifted, stepping behind you, his body still close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off of him. His smirk softened into something more genuine, and he glanced over your shoulder at the soundboard. "You know your the shit. I can tell. Most of these guys would’ve just slapped the board and hoped for the best, but you’re on it, making it look pretty easy.” He lingered on the word “pretty”.

You snorted, trying to keep the mood light and ignore the heat traveling to your face. "It’s not a competition, but the board needs a little foreplay first. You can’t just slap her and expect magic." 

"No, of course not." he added, his tone playful but with an edge of challenge. Still behind you, he reached around, resting his hands on either side of the soundboard inches from your hips. His breath lightly brushed your neck. He smirked noticing your flushed cheeks "I thought you’d be used to attention."

You shot him a sideways look, heart pounding in your chest. "I’m used to attention, Marshall. Just not from you."

The words hung in the air between you, thick with unspoken tension. He didn’t move away, his smirk never faltering as he watched you, waiting for your next move. 

The sound of the stage manager’s voice suddenly broke the moment, sharp and urgent. "Marshall, we need you backstage!" 

Marshall gave you a final look, his eyes lingering on yours for a beat longer than necessary. Stepping away, he added, "Guess I’ll leave you to your magic, huh?" He wiggled his fingers like he was casting a spell.

You nodded fighting a giddy smile, feeling the weight of his gaze still on you as he took a step back. "I’ll make sure it sounds good for you, don’t worry."  

He raised an eyebrow, a slight grin curling at the corner of his lips. "I’m sure you will, Y/N. But after the show..." 

Before he could finish, the stage manager called again, louder this time. Marshall gave you one last look, smirking over his shoulder as he disappeared backstage. You watched him go, the moment passing—but the tension between you lingered, undeniable.

To be continued...

A/N: I'm working on some upcoming NSFW stuff. Expect a mix of a little bit of everything. <3

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Cooking this up now :)

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Eminem X Reader

image pulled from google

✨️MasterList✨️

PART ONE Your Biggest Fan 🐾

Content: Fluff, Cursing, Brief mentions of animal abuse, Crying

Heart beating out of your chest, you reached towards your phone. A number you didn’t recognize looked back at you. It bared the 313-area code. Holding your breath you answered the phone with a soft "Hello?"

“Hello, is this Y/N?”

“Yes, this is she,” you said, pinching your phone between your shoulder and ear. If this was the call you’d been hoping for, you wanted to be ready to head out the door immediately. 

“Hi! Yes, you visited us the other day. I understand you were interested in Stan-“

“Yes, that’s correct!”

The voice on the other end chuckled at your enthusiasm. “Wonderful! His new home did not work out and he is back with us. He wanted me to ask if would you be interested in adopting him?” 

A huge smile crossed your face. “We would love to.”

“Amazing! We are able to place him on hold here for three days. Do you have a minute to schedule a time to come in for paperwork?”

“Yes!” Taking a hold of your phone, you put the call on speaker and opened your calendar. Thank god, you weren’t scheduled to go into work today. “Actually, if it’s alright, I could come in in about forty-five minutes from now.”

“Sure, let me check our openings for today.” Trying your best to be patient, you began to fidget. “Oh, looks like we are rather booked today. Would you be able to come in at 4:30?”

“Absolutely” Oh my god, how would you tell Marshall.

“Great! If you decide to take Stan home today. We will send him home with his medical records, a collar and leash. He currently is eating Iams chicken and rice dry dog food. We recommend sticking to the food the dogs are used to. Switching to another brand may cause an upset stomach. I have had the pleasure of spending some time with Stan while he has been with us. Personally, I recommend picking up some squeaky toys for him. Those tend to not last long here, but when he was able to play with one, he loved it.”

“Sounds like I have a bit of shopping to do!” You switched over to your notes app and began to make a list.

“Oh, my he will love to be spoiled. Well, Y/N, if there is anything we can help you with in the meantime feel free to call us back. Unless we hear otherwise, we will plan to see you at 4:30!”

“Thank you so much. See you then!”

“Alrighty, have a good day.”

“Thanks, you too! Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

Hanging up the phone, you couldn’t hold in the excitement anymore. You did a little happy dance. Suddenly, the weight of what just happened hit you. You agreed to adopt a dog. Not just any dog, though—it was Stan. Should you have called Marshall first? What if his feelings about Stan had changed?

Frantically you pulled up his contact. He didn’t always answer when at the studio though. The phone rang and rang before going to voicemail: “The person you called has a voice mailbox that has not been set up yet. Please try again later. Goodbye.”

You sighed, typing out a quick message asking him to call when he had a moment, then set to work preparing the house. Even if Marshall wasn’t on board, the worst-case scenario would be a cleaner home. Vacuuming, organizing, and rearranging, you spent the morning in a productive frenzy.

 Treating yourself to some tea and a rest. You picked up your phone to a text from Paul. 

That’s all you needed to hear. You were going to bring Stan home today. Marshall would get home around 5:20. With some luck, and little traffic you could make it back before him. 

After stashing away some of Marshall’s loose cassettes scattered on the floor, you grabbed your keys and checked your shopping list one more time. 

Iams chicken and rice dry dog food

Bowls

Leash

Collar

Squeaky toy

Peanut butter/treats

Dog bed

Dog brush

Poop bags

Travel crate

Lots of toys

---

Your car’s backseat was soon filled with bags. You hadn’t enjoyed shopping this much in ages, and the deals you found weren’t bad either. The pièce de résistance, however, was a dog-sized hoodie that would match Marshall’s favorite.

The clock on your dash read 3:04. You would have just enough time to grab some lunch, set up Stan’s new things at home, and make it to the dog shelter before your appointment.

Excitement radiated through you as you pulled into the driveway, gravel crunched under the tires. Lugging the bags inside, you transformed your home for its newest resident. First, the food and water bowls found a spot in the kitchen, tucked away in a corner to avoid spills. You arranged the plush dog bed in the living room near the couch, where you knew Stan would want to be close to you but more so Marshall. Surely, the bed would be moved to Marshall's office on days he worked from home. The squeaky toys were arranged in a basket by the TV stand, though you chuckled, imagining the chaos when Stan—or Marshall—dumped them all out.

By 3:45, everything was ready. You sat the hoodie by the door alongside a hat, a subtle hint for Marshall if you didn’t make it home first. A quick glance in the mirror and a face wash later, you were back in the car, heart pounding with anticipation. 

The shelter was calmer than you remembered, a stark contrast to the excited storm brewing inside you. The same cheerful volunteer from before greeted you with a wide smile. “Hi, Y/N! Right on time. Are you ready to take Stan home?”

“More than ready,” you replied, practically bouncing on your toes.

The adoption paperwork was straightforward, though it felt like it took forever. You could hardly focus as the volunteer walked you through the forms, nodding eagerly at all the right moments. Your fingers drummed against the office chair you sat in. Finally, with a flourish, you signed your name at the bottom. Clicking the pen closed, your phone rang. It was Marshall. Shit, he should still be at the studio. Did he go home early? Excusing yourself, you stepped outside to answer.

“Hey, Love.” You tried to steady your voice, shaky with excitement. 

“Yo. I am starving. We are wrapping up a bit early today. Thoughts on pizza from that place across town?” 

Mentally, you calculated what time this would get him home. “Sounds great. What time do you think you’ll make it back?” You tried so hard not to sound suspicious. 

“uhh. maybe forty-five minutes to an hour. Also, I might get us a little surprise.”

Giggling at his normal nonsense, “Okay, drive safe.”

“Nah.” His voice changing to the higher pitched tone he uses with babies, dogs, and apparently you, “I Wuv You!”

“I love you too, Marshall. Bye bye.” Holding your phone to your chest, the sparkle in your eyes brightened. This was going to work out perfectly. 

Re-entering the room, the volunteered looked up at you. “Are you ready for Stan? I know he has been very eager to see you again.”

You slid back into the office chair, “Absolutely!”

“Great! I’ll go get him for you,” the volunteer said, taking the papers and disappearing down the hall.

A few minutes later, the sound of claws clicking in the hallway tile announced his arrival. Stan bounded into the room; tail wagging so hard it looked like it might propel him into the air. The volunteer handed you the leash, and Stan immediately began sniffing every inch of your shoes, pants, and hands. His feet danced with excitement, as his backend wiggled back and forth.

“Hey, buddy,” you cooed, kneeling to meet him. His warm, wet nose nuzzled your cheek, and your heart melted all over again.

As the volunteer handed you Stan’s file, she lingered for a moment, her expression softening. “Before you take him home, I thought you might want to know a little more about Stan’s story.”

You nodded eagerly, rubbing Stan’s ears while he looked up at you with his big, trusting eyes.

“Stan’s past is a bit of a mystery,” she began. “He was found in the winter wandering in a park downtown. A kind gentleman saw him there a few days in a row—no collar, no tags, and looking severely underfed. He brought him to us, and we scanned Stan for a microchip, but there wasn’t one. He either escaped and was never found or, more likely, lifted by his previous owners.”

Your heart ached at the thought of him all alone, cold, scavenging for food and waiting for someone who never came. You gave him an extra scratch behind his ears, and his tail thumped against your leg.

“We estimate he’s about two years old, based on his teeth and overall health. He was pretty scared when he first came in. A lot of dogs are, especially if they haven’t been around people much, but Stan warmed up quickly. He’s incredibly sweet and loves attention—honestly probably because he didn’t get much of it before. It’s clear someone trained him a little; he mostly knows basic commands like sit and stay, and he’s decently house-trained. So, whoever had him before must have cared at least a little.”

“Poor guy,” you murmured, looking into Stan’s soulful eyes. “But he’s okay now?”

The volunteer nodded. “He is. He’s been with us for a while. At first, he was overlooked—mutts often are, unfortunately—but then, as you know, a young couple fell in love with him. They were so excited to take him home.”

You frowned, glancing down at Stan. “If you don’t mind me asking, why didn’t it work out?”

The volunteer smiled softly. “I view it as a happy ending. They were a nice couple, but shortly after they brought him home, they found out they’re expecting their first child. They were understandably overwhelmed and felt it wouldn’t be fair to Stan to bring him into such a big transition. They brought him back, and it was clear they were heartbroken about it.”

You stroked Stan’s head as he leaned into your touch, a pang of sadness mingling with your happiness. “That’s rough. For them and for him.”

“It is,” the volunteer agreed. “But we’re so glad he found you. From what we’ve seen, Stan’s a resilient guy. He just loves being loved.”

“Well, he’s going to get plenty of that with us,” you promised, your voice firm, and hands cupping Stan's sweet face.

The volunteer beamed. “I can tell you’re going to be a great match. Just take things slow and let him settle in at his own pace. If you ever need help or advice, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

“Thank you for taking care of him,” you said, feeling the leash between your fingers and looking at Stan. “You’re coming home, buddy.”

--

Marshall’s car pulled into the garage, the sound of the engine humming to a stop. Inside the house, Stan was dressed for the big moment: the dog-sized hoodie you’d picked out earlier fit him perfectly. To top it off, your old baseball cap perched precariously on Stan’s head, just enough to make the sight of him even more heart-meltingly adorable, and dare you say a little shady.

You crouched by Stan’s side, giving his ear a gentle scratch. “Okay, buddy,” you whispered, your voice a mix of nerves and excitement. “This is it. You ready?”  

Stan looked at you as if he knew something big was about to happen. You had been preparing for this moment all afternoon, and now it was finally here. Stan sat obediently by the door, his tail wagging furiously but butt staying in place, just like you’d practiced.

The sound of the car door closing snapped you into motion. Reminding Stan to "Stay," you hurried outside, stepping into the garage just as Marshall was heading toward the trunk to grab the food.  

“Hey,” you called out, your tone calm and casual—too casual, given the excitement buzzing under your skin.  

Marshall turned to you, smiling but raising an eyebrow. “Hey pretty lady… what are you doing out here? It’s cold.”  

“I thought I’d greet you,” you said with a shrug, stepping closer. “But, uh… don’t worry about carrying anything in. I’ve got it all under control.” 

Marshall paused, his eyes narrowing playfully. “The fuck?... Woman, what are you hiding?”  

“Nothing!” you said a little too quickly, your voice going up an octave. “Just trust me, okay?”  

Marshall chuckled, leaning against the car. “Well now I’m not sure if I should.”  

“Pleaseee, Marshall,” you grabbed the food, stepping back toward the house and motioning for him to follow. “Come inside.”  

Marshall shook his head and chuckled, as he followed you. “You’re being fucking weird, but okay.”

The moment he opened the door, Stan perked up from his spot, his entire body quivering with excitement. For a split second, Marshall froze, his eyes widening as they landed on Stan.

As Stan bolted towards Marshall, the baseball cap slipped off his square head. The dog bounded into Marshall’s arms, his tail wagging furiously.

Catching Stan in a tight hug, Marshall lowered themselves to his knees. 

You leaned against the doorframe, grinning as you watched the reunion. “Surprise.” you said softly.

Marshall met your gaze, his expression a mixture of disbelief and pure happiness. “You—wait—he’s ours?”

You nodded, noticing Marshall’s teary eyes, a lump caught in your throat at the sight. “Yeah. He’s ours. I got the call this morning, and I couldn’t say no. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind?” Marshall asked, his voice cracking as Stan licked his cheek. “Are you shitting me?” 

“Not at all. I think he missed you too much,” you said tears now filling your eyes.

“I missed him too,” Marshall replied, his voice soft as he looked down at Stan. Then he looked back up at you, his eyes shining. “Thank you Y/N.”

Almost as if he rehearsed it, Stan snuggled into Marshall and attacked him with kisses, whipping away the tears slipping down Marshall’s cheeks. Petting Stan with both hands, Marshall tried to process everything. “Yooo, you’re wearing a hoodie, little man? And—wait, is that your hat?”  

Stan barked happily, spinning in circles in front of Marshall. You walked over, scooping up the cap from the floor. “Figured he needed to look his best for his big reunion,” you said, placing the hat back on Stan’s head for a moment before it fell off again.  

Marshall laughed, shaking his head. “Fucking unbelievable,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He looked back at Stan, then at you, his eyes shining. “Thank you. I don’t even know what to say.” Marshall pulled you into a hug, his free arm still wrapped around Stan, who was now happily nestled between the two of you.  

“Best surprise ever,” Marshall said, his voice quiet but full of meaning. Reality snapping back to him, Marshall looked towards you. “My surprise looks like shit now. And here I thought a secret order of breadsticks would be the highlight of our night.”

You laughed, resting your head against his shoulder as Stan sniffed you. “Welcome home,” you whispered, as you scratched behind his ears.

Stan wiggled in the middle, his tail thumping against both of you like a rhythmic drumbeat. Marshall scratched behind Stan’s ears, his gaze soft as he looked at you with a full smile. “This little guy’s going to be spoiled rotten. You know that, right?... We need to get the little dude some Snoop doggy merch.”

A/N: Hey chat. I cried writing this. I'm not sure if there will be a part three.. but I could be talked into it. I really love dog dad Marshall. <3

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A sneak peek if you will

Part One Your Biggest Fan 🐾

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Eminem X Reader

✨️MasterList✨️

PART ONE Relax

Content: Fluff, Cursing, New Relationship

Marshall slouched into the interview chair like it personally offended him. His eyes half-lidded in deliberate disinterest as the interviewer clasped her hands together with a too-sunny smile. Marshall shifted in his chair. How the hell are you supposed to comfortably sit in a director-style chair? His fingers lightly drummed on his legs as he waited for the sound crew to finish adjusting equipment. The woman sat across from him wore a cheesy smile, showing a few too many teeth. The interview had just started, but he found her irritating beyond belief.  Her well-rehearsed questions seemed to lack any depth. Maybe he was just tired of interviews altogether. 

The studio crew moved around quietly, clearly wary of the tension. Marshall’s energy could flip like a switch, and today, he looked like he was ready to burn the whole place down just for fun.

“Alrighty! Are we ready to continue?” She looked towards the crew waiting for confirmation. Somehow her smile widened even more. Marshall secretly wondered how little it would take for her smile to practically reach her earlobes. 

“Eminem, fans are absolutely ecstatic for this Friday’s album release. Your Slim Shady persona has been the target of controversy the past few years. Should we expect to see more of his infamous behavior or has Slim settled down.”

Marshall remained deadpan almost bored, “Shady will be Shady. I’m not gonna change my style or whatever. I mean, anyone who hears an Eminem tape should know what they are getting into. It’s like, I’m not going to censor my music to keep people happy. You don’t like it, don’t’ listen. It’s like, if I don’t like you, I won’t fucking listen either, you know what I mean. I don’t really give a fuck.” He licked his lips and started up again, “Someone has to be a role model for the kids. Y’know what I mean?”

“Yes, well. How about we shift gears.” The interviewers shuffled through some notecards. Pausing her expression grew mischievous. She flipped around a photo for Marshall to see. “It seems you did some shopping the other day. Your unique selection of groceries has left fans wondering, who could those feminine products and chocolate be for?”

Without missing a beat, Marshall clearly answered, “Those are for me. And Dre has a sweet tooth. Gets grumpy without his sugar. And I was low on wings, you know what I mean?” Clearly amused with himself he gestured with his hands like a bird flying away.

The interviewer chuckled slightly, uncomfortable. “You bought those pads for yourself?” 

“What? I gotta be prepared. Shit happens quickly.” After a brief pause, he continued to troll her, “I can’t buy fucking pads? You think Slim Shady doesn’t deserve to feel fresh and protected? Shit… that’s discrimination.”

Her face almost glitching, the interviewer was determined to get a big secret out of Marshall, “Seriously, Eminem-“

“Nah, fine. You got me.” She leaned closer into his words. “I like to stock up for my bitches y’know. I’m just thoughtful like that.” He turned towards the camera making eye contact with the lens. “Ladies, if you bleed on my couch, you will get fucked up. Alright… No bleeding.” He continued staring. His eyes appeared ready to pop out of his head. 

The interviewer cleared her throat. “What everyone wants to know is, do you have someone special in your life.”

“My right hand.” Marshall almost smiled but caught himself.

At home, Y/N sat curled up on the couch, her face buried in a pillow as she cringed at the TV. "Oh… my god, Marshall..." she muttered, though she couldn’t stop laughing. Apparently, modern chivalry meant making a dickhead of yourself on national television. She couldn’t wait for Marshall to come over later.

---

Later that day, Y/N heard a knock a familiar knock on the door, a unique knock Marshall always did when he came over. “Come in!” she shouted from the couch. The door creaked open, and Marshall stepping inside, was still grinning, the adrenaline from the interview still coursing through him. His hood was up, and his eyes had that glint of mischief that was all too familiar. 

As soon as he stepped into the room, Y/N looked up from her book, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him.

“Hey, you,” she said, smiling warmly. "How do you feel that went?" She sat up a little and sat down her book. "Sounded like a nice Slim Shady interview from what I caught on TV. Although I always pegged him as a tampon type of gal.”

He rolled his eyes, his grin widening as he dropped onto the couch next to her. “Mm, you know how it is. Same old shit.” He nudged her gently, his voice dropping into a mock-serious tone. “Got ‘em all convinced I’m some sort of ladies’ man now.”

Y/N laughed, her eyes glinting with humor. “Oh, really? So, who are all these bitches you bring home, huh?” she teased, arching an eyebrow.

Marshall froze for a second, his mind briefly spinning, the question catching him off guard. He hadn’t expected her to bring this up—hell, they hadn’t even really talked about what they were, what this was between them. He had no idea how to respond. His usual response to awkwardness was humor, but for some reason, this one felt different. 

Without saying a word, he pointed to the reflection in the living room mirror, where they both appeared, Y/N’s head resting comfortably on his shoulder. He didn’t need to say anything more—he let his gesture speak for itself.

Y/N blinked, her heart fluttering in her chest at the quiet, unspoken answer. Taken aback for a moment, neither of them spoke. Her eyes flicked between him and their reflection. Her smile softened. The teasing in her eyes faded into something more complex. “Just me, huh?” she asked quietly, her voice tinged with something more vulnerable than usual.

Marshall nodded slowly, his hand brushing against hers, his earlier bravado fading into something more sincere. "Yah. Just you." He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment. It was like they were both seeing something clearer now, a realization settling in that neither of them had dared to voice before.

Y/N swallowed, the lightheartedness from before slipping away. She shifted slightly, her fingers intertwining with his. “So, what is this, then? What are we doing, Marshall?” The words felt heavy, and for the first time in a while, she wasn’t sure where they stood. Were they just casually hanging out, or was there more to it? She needed to know, needed clarity, but the words didn’t come out easily. “I know you like to keep things light, keeps it casual. And I… I’ve been kinda the same. But after everything... the way you’ve been with me, the stuff you did today... I just—”

“I know,” Marshall interrupted softly, his voice a little quieter than usual. He sat staring ahead for a moment, as if the answer was hiding on the wall. “I don’t know. We’ve been goin’ on dates for a while, and I’m not gonna lie, it’s… it’s been different, I guess? But I never really thought about what that meant. Not that I didn’t wanna think about it,” he added quickly, looking at her now, his eyes meeting hers for the first time in a while. “It’s just, you know, with everything else... shit gets complicated.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at his honesty, but the uncertainty was still there, lingering in the air like an invisible weight. “So, we’re not—" She hesitated. “We’re not exclusive, then? I mean, you don’t even know if you want to be... Marshall, what are we doing here?”

He sighed, running his hand over his face, frustration creeping into his voice. “I don’t know what I want. I’ve been trying to figure it out, okay? I’m not good at this shit. But I know I want you, Y/N. I just... I don’t know how to fucking say it without sounding like a damn idiot.”

Y/N bit her lip, feeling the tension building between them, she moved her hand away from his. The awkwardness of the conversation made everything feel rawer, more real. “That doesn’t make you an idiot, Marshall. It’s just... we’ve been having fun, and I like you a lot, but I don’t know where I stand. I don’t wanna be just someone you come to when it’s convenient.”

He stared at her for a moment, his usual dry humor gone, replaced with something much more serious. “Look, I get it. I’m not the best at... fuck, whatever we’re calling this, but I don’t want anyone else. If you’re asking if I want to see other people, the answer’s no. I’ve been trying to figure it out—trying to figure this all out, really—but you’re the only one I want.” The honesty of Marshalls words seemed to surprise himself.

Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The awkwardness hadn’t gone away, but the tension had shifted. “So, that’s it then?” she asked quietly. “You and me, exclusive?” 

Marshall nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. “Yeah. I think so. I mean, we don’t have to call it anything if you don’t want to. But... I’m done with the whole game. It’s just you, if you want it.”

She studied him for a moment, her lips curling into a small, soft smile. Sliding closer to him, the space between them disappeared. “I want it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Marshall leaned in slowly, his eyes meeting hers, a hint of the usual mischief returning to his face. “Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow, testing the waters. “So you’re officially my bitch?”

Y/N chuckled, the awkwardness slipping away just a little. “Nah, I think that interview proves you’re my bitch.” She reached out and pulled him closer, kissing him gently on the lips. Her chest tightened with emotion. She cupped his face gently, her thumb brushing against his cheek. “You’re such an idiot,” she teased lightly, but there was a depth in her words. “But you’re a sweet idiot.”

A genuine smile spread across his face, and he leaned forward, his forehead resting against hers. “Just me and you?”

Y/N nodded, the certainty in her heart echoing in her voice. “Just us. And I’ll take it, Marshall. All the messy, complicated, weird parts of you... and maybe I’ll even buy some pads and chocolate for you.”

Marshall snorted, his smile widening. “Oh, trust me. I’m never forgettin’ that again. You’ve got me wrapped around your finger, Y/N.” Pulling away to look at her, Marshall breathed out a relieved laugh. “You know, you make me sound like a shithead.”

Y/N smiled, her hand now resting on his chest. “I’ll make you a deal,” she said softly. “If you keep being honest with me, we’ll be alright.”

Marshall’s grin widened, the tension in his body finally easing. “Deal.” He whispered. Marshall shifted his head to rest against hers, the familiar weight of her presence settling him in a way he hadn’t expected. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual. “Yeah, we’re gonna be alright.” 

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A/N: Big shoutout to @tomdayaloveforever for the inspiration for this! I'll admit, releasing this before Your Biggest Fan Part 2 was diabolical of me. I hear y'all. It is coming so so soon! <3

Eminem X Reader

✨️MasterList✨️

PART TWO Stock Up For My Bitches

AI EDITED PHOTO

Content: Cursing, Period Comfort, New Relationship

Marshall Mathers, stood in the corner store with an intense look of concentration. His hands hovered over the shelves, grabbing one chocolate bar, then another, and then a few more, because he couldn’t decide which one would be right. Arms already full, he wandered to the pharmacy aisle. Standing frozen, he felt completely out of his element. The shelves were lined with every kind of pad and tampon imaginable, each promising something uniquely different—overnight, ultra-thin, super absorbent. He shifted uncomfortably, glancing over his shoulder, hoping no one would notice him standing there like a lost kid.

Earlier, on the phone, Y/N had mentioned she needed to pick up some pads, casually mentioning it like it wasn’t a big deal. But Marshall knew she wasn’t feeling her best, and the thought of her having to go out when she was already miserable didn’t sit right with him. So here he was, juggling armfuls of chocolate bars and now trying to figure out what the hell “wings” meant.

“Do you need some help, sir?” an employee asked, her tone polite but clearly amused.

Marshall straightened up, shaking his head quickly. “Nah, I’m good,” he said, trying to sound confident, though his interesting selection choices gave him away. “Just, uh... just grabbing some stuff for my girl.”

The employee nodded knowingly “This might help.” She handed him a shopping basket and walked away, leaving him to his own devices. Determined not to admit defeat, Marshall grabbed a little bit of everything—overnight pads, regular ones, some with wings, and a pack of tampons just in case. He figured it was better to be overprepared than to have her need something he didn’t think of.  

When he finally made it to the register, the cashier gave him a curious look.. “Big night?” she asked, smirking at the pile of candy and assorted products.  

“Something like that,” Marshall muttered, tugging his hood over his face. He wasn’t about to explain himself—not here, anyway.  

---

By the time he got to Y/N’s apartment, he was loaded down with bags: chocolate, a heating pad, the assortment of period products, and a couple of groceries. Y/N opened the door, looking surprised to see him standing there.

“Marshall! Oh my god, what are you doing here?” she asked, though her voice carried a warm hint of amusement.

“Relax,” he said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “I brought you some stuff. You said you needed pads, so I got those. And, uh, chocolate. And other... stuff.” He kicked the door shut behind him, setting everything down with a little too much force, as if to disguise how much thought he’d put into it. 

Wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, Y/N looked into Marshall expressionless blue eyes. Her eyebrows raised in curiosity. “What’s all this?”  

“Stuff,” he said gruffly while removing his shoes, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “For you.”  

Curious Y/N peeked inside one of the bags, her eyebrows shooting up when she saw the variety of products.

“Did you buy every kind of pad?” she asked, laughing softly. Looking between him and the bags, a smile starting to form. 

“Yeah, uhh, sorry I didn’t know what kind you like,” he muttered, fidgeting with his hoodie. “Figured it’s better than getting the wrong ones.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling at the thoughtfulness behind his awkwardness. “That’s really sweet, Marshall. Thank you. You really didn’t have to—”  

“I know I didn’t have to,” he cut her off quickly, his tone sharp but his expression softening as he avoided her gaze. “I just... figured it might help or whatever. Fuck, uh, here.”  

He guided her over to the couch and helped her curl back up with plenty of blankets and pillows.

Bringing over the bags, he began to lie out the assortment of treats. He pulled out chocolate bars, one after the other, until the coffee table looked like a candy store display. “I wasn’t sure what you prefer, so I just got all of ‘em.”  

Y/N laughed, and Marshall felt a little swell of pride in his chest.

“And,” he continued, holding up the heating pad like it was some grand prize, “this thing. I don’t know if it works or whatever, but I heard the lady at the store say it helps… If it’s shit, blame her.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she reached out to take it from him. “Marshall, thank you. Seriously, this is... really thoughtful.”

He stifled a smile, suddenly looking anywhere but at her. “Yeah, well, don’t make a big deal out of it, alright? I just figured, you know, you’re feeling like shit, and I don’t like seeing you like that...” Shifting he quickly, moved to the next task. “I also, uh, thought I could make you dinner. You know, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

Y/N looked skeptical but touched. “You cook?”

“Fuck no,” Marshall admitted, pulling out a box of pasta and a jar of sauce. “But I can boil water, alright? That shit counts.”

Y/N laughed and settled back onto the couch with the heating pad and a piece of chocolate. Meanwhile, Marshall clanged around in her kitchen. The smell of slightly overcooked garlic bread and sauce filled the small apartment, and when he finally brought her a plate of spaghetti, it was far from gourmet, but it was warm and comforting.

As Marshall sat the plates down, he looked almost nervous, his sharp blue eyes watching her face to gauge her reaction. “It’s nothin’ fancy,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “But, y’know, it’s food.”  

Y/N smiled warmly; her eyes soft as she looked up at him. “It’s perfect,” she said sincerely. She reached out, taking his hand and pulling him down to sit next to her on the couch. Before he could protest, she leaned over and kissed his cheek, the warmth of her lips lingering against his skin. “Thank you, Marshall. I really appreciate it.”  

Marshall froze for a second, his ears going red, though he tried to play it off. “Shit, well,” he said, clearing his throat and looking away. “Don’t get used to it.” But the small, almost bashful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth gave him away, and Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, snuggling into him as they settled together.

As they ate and talked, the awkwardness of their new relationship melted away. Marshall, kept himself half-busy flipping through channels on the TV. But every so often, he’d glance her way, a small, satisfied smile playing at the corners of his mouth.  Y/N, curled up with her heating pad and lightly soggy pasta, she couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky to have someone like him. 

PART TWO Stock Up For My Bitches

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Eminem X Reader

✨️MasterList✨️

Content: Fluff, Christmas, Cursing, mention of spiders

Today was a rare day where both Marshall and Y/N worked from home. Technically, today Marshall worked from home. You worked from Marshall's dining room. 

While wrapping up a Zoom meeting you heard a "FUCK!" come from Marshall's office. Slightly embarrassed by your boyfriend's immature behavior, you profusely apologized. Thankfully, your coworkers had already started signing off. 

Clicking the "Leave Meeting" button, you took a deep breath. You really had no problem with Marshall's vocabulary off the clock, but you weren't off the clock right now. Currently, you were a hard-working employee who happened to be up for a big promotion. The perfectionist in you was a little irate. Taking a few deep breaths, you centered yourself. It probably wasn't that bad, or even noticeable. It was in the background. Maybe your microphone didn't pick it up. Even if it did, you were all adults, right?

Nonetheless, you were curious to know what evoked that petit outburst from Marshall. He probably wasn’t hurt. You assumed he would have called if he was. Shit, maybe his stubborn ass wouldn’t call out. Quickly approaching his home office door, you gave a soft knock. "Marshall? You okay?" 

"Come in." His voice was tired, heavy, and gravelly. Opening the door, you saw a distraught Marshall. His wire-framed glasses sat crooked on his face. Hands held his head as he hunched over a few notebooks. It was clear today's writing session wasn't going so well. Picking up a few crumpled papers off the floor, you slowly approached him. 

"Do you need anything, love?" Crossing behind his chair you placed your hands on his tense shoulders, giving him a few gentle rubs. 

"Y/N, I really need to focus right now." Marshall pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. It's just been a fucking day." 

Nodding you planted a small kiss on his head and began to walk out. "Marshall?" 

"Yeah?" He didn't look up from his paper. 

"If you need anything let me know, okay." He slightly nodded. Gently closing his office door behind you, your mind refocused on your workday. It was almost five o'clock, both you and Marshall's quitting time. Although, considering Marshall's mood, you wouldn't be too shocked if he worked later today. 

After responding to your last emails of the day, you logged off your laptop. Stretching, the room around you seemed to come back into view. The photos neatly placed on the walls always made you feel warm and cozy inside. The Detroit Lions merchandise sprinkled throughout his decor gave you an internal chuckle. Yes, Marshall had some class, but at the root of it all, he was an overgrown man-child. Wait. Maybe that's it. Maybe he just needs to reconnect with his youthful side. Glancing towards the ceiling, the boxes hidden in the attic seemed like a good place to start. Certainly, forgotten treasure hid up there.

In his hallway, you stood on a chair and pull the attic ladder down. Climbing up, the creaky and wobbly boards were only a little, a lot, scary. You glanced around the dim space. Perfect, an empty box. Gradually, a pile of comic books, photos, old notebooks, and action figures began to fill it. Just as you came across a box filled with Christmas decor, Marshall's office door squeaked open. Freezing in place, you were determined not to make a noise. No one would ruin your plans for him. No one… expect the visibly displaced ladder. 

"Y/N? Are you up there?" Marshall started to climb up. In a rush, you threw a loose garland and wreath on top the contents nestled in the box of newly found treasures. Gently kicking your box aside, you grabbed a box of decorations. Marshall’s head emerged through the attic opening. "Fuck. Y/N. Don't scare me like that. What are you doing up here?" 

"I... uh… wanted to surprise you," you innocently lied, nodding towards the labeled box in your hands.

Still, a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Honey, you know I don't like you coming up here alone. C’mon, let me help you pull that down." 

Okay! You're decorating the house now too. Mind wildly plotting, you handed boxes to Marshall. Focused on your hidden box, you continued handing Christmas décor to him. Maybe he wouldn't notice what's inside. Maybe it didn't matter if he saw the contents. After all, your goal was to distract him with some fun. A distraction is a distraction. Decorating can be a distraction. His slight smile and newfound energy seemed to be signs of success already. 

"Last one." Handing Marshall the special box, you held your breath. Sure, you had been up here a few times before, but maybe it was a risky move to go through the old boxes. 

Unsuspecting, he piled it with the rest at the bottom of the ladder. He held his hand out towards you, “Alright, time to come down little fucker.”

His soft support, hands on your waist as you descent the ladder, was comforting. ‘Fear of Ladders’ was not on the list of your phobias, but this one in particular seemed to have been built in the stone ages. 

Feet touching the ground again, you turned to see your man peering in the boxes. His blue eyes shifted towards you. A small smirk grew as he brushed a few cobwebs out of your hair. “I see you started decorating already.”

“Oops. I guess I was too excited. Could we move these to the living room?” If you kept him going maybe he would forget about his work. 

His gaze shifted between you, the boxes, then his watch. He sighed, “Babe, I need to put in a bit more work today.” Noticing your disappointed reaction, he kissed your forehead. “Ah! Fuck!” Whipping his mouth, “Did you walk through a fucking colony of spiders and dust up there?” 

You gave him a playful push and grabbed a box. “Let me know when you’re done with your next hit, Eminem.” 

Watching him disappear back into his office, the evening’s agenda shifted. Perhaps a bit more work wouldn’t hurt. Just in case, you took the special box out to the living room to set up a display of his long lost memories. 

A spiral notebook labeled “Fuck you Slim Shady. You’re Scaring the Bitches.” caught your eye. Temptation overcame you. Peeking inside, the pages were littered with scribbled ideas. Decently familiar with your boyfriend’s discography, the words in front of you didn’t ring a bell. Maybe this would help him. Closing the notebook, you noticed two small superhero figurines, Spider-man and Superman. Now you definately knew how to cheer Marshall up. 

Approaching his now opened office door, Marshall sat in his previous distressed position. Clearing your throat and holding Spider-man around the doorframe, you put on your best man voice. “Gee I don’t know, Superman. Maybe he needs rescued.” Marshall's attention was definitely on your shenanigans now. “I know what will help! He needs the super-secret super-spiral notebook!” Attempting to make your voice even deeper, you held Superman up. “I’ll save him!” Blindly, you threw Superman. Unable to hold back your laughter, your spider-man voice came out less steady, “Oh no, his legs!” Oh, this got Marshall. A full laugh echoed out of his office. Returning to your normal voice, you entered the room. “I have a delivery for you.” 

A laugh lingering, he shifted back in his seat and raised an eyebrow. “Shit, I don’t think I’ve seen this since 2004.”

“Anything good?”

“Probably.” He stifled a smile. “Where did you find this?”

You hesitated a bit. “Oh, you know… somewhere in the attic.” 

He peered at you over his glasses. He absolutely knew what you had been up to. Tossing the notebook down, he picked up Superman, who had managed to land in the middle of his desk. “Y’know, Christopher Reeves would make a damn good star on our Christmas tree.” 

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A/N: Hey all! Thanks for the wave of support! Recently, I started experimenting with a different writing style... honestly a bold move considering I started writing these around five days ago. The new style wasn't really working and I got frustrated. As an artist (my creations are 99% not writing haha), if I find I'm stuck, I will create something about being stuck. It's an odd system, but it works for me. That's how this story came to be. (along with Brand New Dance on repeat)

Lastly, enjoy this horribly photoshopped photo. In this story I imagine Marshall relaxed like below (expect not badly edited 😃)

Eminem X Reader

✨️MasterList✨️

AI GENERATED IMAGE (still I spent far too long working on it)

Content: Fluff, Cursing, Vomit (800 Words)

It was a cold Michigan winter in 2003, and the king of rap, Marshall Mathers, was laid up in bed, defeated—not by his so called rivals or critics, but by the flu. His girlfriend of four months, Y/N, was about to experience the one thing absolutely no one could prepare her for: Sick Marshall. 

Wrapped in a worn fuzzy Detroit Lions blanket, Marshall sat slumped on the couch, surrounded by a fortress of crumpled tissues and half-empty bottles of Gatorade. His nose was red, and his voice was hoarser than it had been after The Eminem Show tour. 

"Y/N," he whined dramatically from the couch. "I think this is it… This is how I fuckin’ go." A sneeze loud enough to wake the neighbors snuck up on him. 

Walking into the room, Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “Bless you.”

“Fuck you.” He pouted.

She carried over a tray loaded with flu-fighting essentials: canned chicken noodle soup, a thermometer, some ginger tea, and—because she knew him too well—a pack of Skittles. 

"Marshall, I promise you’re not dying," she said, setting the tray down. "You have the flu. People deal with this all the time." 

He sniffled, pulling the edge of the blanket up to his chin. "I feel like fucking… 2% milk." 

Y/N laughed as she handed him the tea. "Here, drink this. It'll help." 

Marshall took the cup, inspecting it. "The fuck is this? It smells weird." 

"It’s ginger tea," she said. 

He eyed the cup suspiciously. “Nah, I’m not drinking this." 

"Marshall."

He sighed dramatically, taking a reluctant sip. His face scrunched up. "This shit tastes like disappointment and hot water." He pause and looked at Y/N. His face shifting to a puppy dog look. “I mean, thank you. I love you.” 

Y/N gave him a playful shove and grabbed the thermometer. "Let me check your temperature, Mr. Mathers." 

As she tried to stick the thermometer under his tongue, he squirmed like a little kid. "Yo, stop! What if I choke on it and die? Then what? The goddamn tabloids’ll have a field day. 'Eminem Dies of… fuckin Thermometer Tragedy… Y/N to Blame.'" 

"Christ Marshall stay still!," Holding his head she finally got the thermometer in place. 

After a few seconds and a death glare from Marshall, it beeped, and Y/N read it. "100.4. See? You’re not even that sick. You’re just being dramatic." 

"Nah, rounding up, 100.4 is basically 104," he argued. Marshall flopped his head back on the couch. "I’m lucky I can still talk right now." 

Y/N smirked. "Yes, aren’t we all so blessed. God forbid you lose the ability to whine." 

Marshall grumped but couldn’t hide the tiny grin tugging at his lips. He picked up a spoonful of soup and muttered, "You’re lucky I like you." 

"You’re lucky I put up with you," she shot back, planting a kiss on his forehead before heading to the kitchen to get more tissues. As she turned her back, she saw the Lion’s blanket fly across the room then heard what could only be described as gagging from hell. 

“Oh fuck,” she muttered and grabbed a trashcan. Turning around, she saw Marshall pale as ever and covered in his own vomit. She was too late. Grabbing tissues she cleaned up his face as he sat dazed. “Marshall? You alright?”

He looked up, eyelids half closed, “Can you get this off of me please?” Ironically, his sweater was indeed covered in vomit. Had he not been in such an obviously miserable mood, she would have made a terrible “Lose Yourself” joke.

Getting that out of his system, Marshall was feeling a little better. However he quickly blamed the vial ginger tea for his “upset little tummy”. 

---

Later, Marshall’s mood seemed to lift—partly thanks to Y/N’s care and partly because she let him pick the DVD for their afternoon marathon. 

As they watched Breakin’ for the millionth time, Marshall mumbled along, knowing it word for word. Towards the end of the film, he fell asleep leaning against Y/N. She sat still, hoping he could get some much needed rest. His eyes fluttered open as he snuggled up a bit more. "Yo, Y/N," he murmured. 

"Yeah?" 

"Thanks for taking care of me. Even when I’m a pain in the ass." 

She smiled, cupping his cheek gently. "Of course, Marshall. But next time, try not to act like a shithead over the flu, okay?" 

"Mmm, No promises," he said with a mischievous grin, sneezing loudly right after. 

Y/N just laughed, knowing she would never trade this chaotic, hilarious version of Marshall for anything. 

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@crazycat-ladys-blog@ @tomdayaloveforever@ @4-ln4@ @hereforfun-31@ @watercolorskyy@

Eminem X Reader

✨️MasterList✨️

Content: Fluff, Sexual undertones, Alcohol use, cursing (2K Words)

A/N: As a reminder, the Marshall in these stories is fictional. In this world, I image he and Y/N have had previous conversations about his sobriety and his boundaries with alcohol in the home. Out of respect, Y/N typically does not keep much around, however as a slight party animal she knows her way around a liquor store.

When you weren't able to travel with Marshall, you made sure to make a big but inanimate celebration out of his homecoming. He turly was a homebody, but he couldn't resist the temptations of being one of the top selling artist of all time. His ego certainly did not mind the attention too. You found it adorable how he would crash, practically laying on top of you, after a show. You'd watch his goofy ass snore, mouth wide open, and cheek pressed against your chest. Even the big bad rapper needed held time from time. Without your presence, back massages, (and other massages) he struggled to regulate himself after a long day. No secret Marshall is an introvert with the social battery of a first generation iPod, so when you two reunited it was always a big relief.

A last minute trip sending Marshall to LA posed a threat to your tradition. He would return the same night as your best friend, Ashley's, bachelorette party. You and Ashley had known each other for ages. Her party would be the child of half a decade's dreams and delusions.

Two nights before her party, Marshall got a call from Paul. In the kitchen, you were whipping up enough jello shots to put a few elephants to sleep. Carrying a can of coke, he entered the room, flip phone pressed between his shoulder and ear. His expression was rather blank until a whiff of the concoction you made hit his nose. An overly dramatic gag escaped him and he rushed out of the room. "Sorry Paul. My house smells like fucking cherries and rubbing alchool." He peaked his head back around the doorframe "What cheap ass vodka did you buy?"

You shrugged. "It was on sale and it's in a plastic bottle!" Not breaking eye contact, you poured the rest of the bottle in the pot. Marshall shook his head chuckling and returned to his phone call.

After placing the last tray of shots in the fridge, you wander to the bedroom. Marshall was huddled over his notebook scribbling madly with intention. You knew better than to disturb him when inspiration struck. As you laid down on the bed, your back to Marshall, you heard a soft "Babe?"

"Mm-Hm" you turned to look at him.

He scratched another word down then rolled close to you, holding his notebook out for you to read, "What do you think?"

You took your time analyzing his work, eyes hovering over a long word. "Marshall, is Consanguineous a real word?"

He smirked, "yeah, read it again, 'I'm consanguineous to my fallen father, the prince of darkness'"

You blinked at him. The context clues flew over your head.

His mouth hung open in anticipation, "It means I'm the descendant of the devil... you know the red fucker with horns."

You flipped him off while softly laughing at his sarcasm. He returned the gesture then sat his pencil and notebook to the side. You curled up to, him happy to spend the evening together. He traced shapes or maybe words on your back.

"Y/N?" He softly said. You looked up at him. "Paul needs me to go to a meeting in LA. I'll have to fly out tomorrow afternoon, then back Friday night." He studied your face for a reaction. "Please don't worry about me, Y/N. Go to Ashley's and enjoy her party. I'll see you when you get home."

"That’s if the jello shots don't take me out." You joked. Marshall didn't laugh.

“If you can’t manage to get home from fucking three houses down the block, we will be having a conversation.” Jesus christ, this man was such a dad even when he didn’t mean to be. You gave him a little salut and said, “yes sir.” 

The rest of the night, you and Marshall settled down, falling asleep to Family Guy. Selfishly, you were thankful his trip would only take him away for a day and a half. Sure, he hated flying, and hated LA more, but at least he wasn’t overexerting himself with a big event. Secretly, you made a small list of his favorite baked goods to prepare once he left. Even though you wouldn’t physically be home to greet him, you could at least leave little surprises around the house. 

---

Friday evening, you finished packing the jello shots in a huge gift box. While your walk to the party was brief, it was peaceful. Internally, the excitement of the evening radiated through your body. Externally, the bite of the Detroit winter sent shivers down your spine. 

Wearing homemade matching t-shirts, the girls and you instantly got to business. Silly little games, mixed with catching up, and telling stories Ashley might have preferred to forget, filled your night. Between it all the jello shots seemed to disappear rather quickly. 

Around eleven o’clock, you found yourself with a wine glass in one hand and some whiskey in the other. Honestly, that was a wild choice, even for you. Politely, you excused yourself to the restroom. Upon closing the door and looking in the mirror, the lack of sobriety in your system hit. It hit hard. Eyes wide, the altered reality around you seemed slightly foreign. Thinking of Marshall’s words from the other night, you decide it was time to go home. You also missed him. In this state, if you thought too much about how you missed him you would start crying.

You gracefully excused yourself, taking time to say goodbye and (allegedly) take one more shot with Ashley. You called Marshall to let him know you were on your way home. The call bounced to voicemail. You shrugged it off, he probably left his phone on airplane mode.

After concentrating on acting sober a bit too much, you finally made it through your front door. Your face lit up as you saw the plate of goodies you left for Marshall displaced. Dropping your shoes next to his in the foyer, you didn’t even mind the snow gunk he managed to track inside. Quietly making your way to the bedroom, you found Marshall in bed. Directly in the middle of the mattress, he was sprawled out, face squished against a pillow, and still wearing his clothes from the day. Gently you tried to find a way to join him without hanging halfway off the bed. He resembled a starfish, limbs reaching out in all directions. Perhaps he literally belly flopped into bed. Trying your best to gently roll him over, you lost your balance and face-planted onto his back. 

You froze, wondering if you woke him. 

“hmm?” he grunted. Turning his face towards you a smile escaped. Marshall's sleepy eyes blinked open, focusing on you in the dim light. "Hey baby," he mumbled, voice gravelly from sleep. "You're home early."

You giggled, still draped across his back. "Nope, you're just passed out early, old man."

He chuckled and shifted, rolling onto his side and guiding you onto the mattress next to him. His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close. "Missed you," he murmured, nuzzling into your neck.

The scent of his cologne mixed with the faint trace of airplane air filled your senses. Alchool still buzzing through your system, you breathed him in deeply. "Missed you too. How was LA?"

Marshall groaned dramatically. "Fucking awful. Too hot, too crowded, too... fuckin' everything. You know what I’m saying." He paused, lifting his head to look at you. “You good?”

You blushed, a little embarrassed and unsure how you looked. “How drunk do I…” accidentally trailing off the familiar warmth of his presence stole your attention.

He laughed, waking up a bit more and assessing the situation, “Yes, Y/N. You are shitfaced.” Brushing your hair with his fingers. “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

Suddenly distracted by the man in front of you, your hand wandered down to the hem of his pants. Pulling on his belt, “Since when do you sleep in jeans?”

“Oh shit. Guess I need to get ready too.”

A grin crossing your face, “I can help with that.”

He took a hold of your hand and placed a soft kiss on it. “Sweetheart, it’s time for me to take care of your messy ass.” Getting up, he crossed to his side of the closet and pulled a t-shirt for you. He grabbed one of your pj shorts and neatly placed the clothes down. “Do you think you can dress yourself?” Smiling you gave him two thumbs up. “Alright, I am going to grab a few things. Be right back.” He placed a kiss on your forehead and stepped out. 

Undressing was surprisingly easier than you thought it would be. Getting a little lost in Marshall’s t-shirt, dressing yourself posed a challenge. Marshall came back to you wrestling the pair of shorts onto yourself. Looking up at him a little “Help.” broke the comedic silence.

Next to your side of the bed, he sat down a glass of water, granola bar, your makeup cleanser, a hand towel, and folded up trash bag. “It might help if you only put one leg in each hole Darling.” 

“You only put one leg in a hole.” Slowly you realized the nonsense you just said, “the fuck?” 

Pulling you towards him, between chuckles he said, “Come here, Y/N.” Marshall gently helped you into your shorts, his hands warm against your skin. "There we go," he said softly, pulling the waistband into place. "Can you sit up for me?."

You sat up a little too far, falling forward you caught yourself. He slid into bed behind you and wrapped his arm around you for support. With his other arm he reached for the makeup cleanser and towel. tenderly he wiped your face. His touch was so gentle, you found yourself leaning into him. "Close your eyes," he murmured, carefully removing your eye makeup.

When he finished, you blinked up at him, feeling more clear-headed. "Thanks," you whispered.

"Drink some water for me," Marshall instructed, handing you the glass. You took a few sips as he watched, making sure you didn't spill. As you began to set the glass down, you heard, “Nah, drink all of it.”

Rolling your eyes, you continued drinking. “Marshall, are you trying to sober me up?”

Placing a kiss on you cheek he smirked. “Don’t want you feeling like complete shit tomorrow.”

You finished the glass, showing him by dumping it upside down. A few cold drops hit his arm. "Motherfucker.” Helping you set the glass back onto the table, he asked, “How was Ashley's party?"

You smiled, memories flooding back. "It was fun.” Pausing you formulated your next sentence. “I am a consanguineous to the vodka.”

You loved hearing his laugh. “Is that so.” he raised an eyebrow and laid back pulling you on top of him. “You are so fucking cute.”

Wiggling onto your stomach you met his lips with a tender kiss. Eyes widening you suddenly sat up. “Marshall you’re wearing jeans.”

“Well fuck me.” he said rather sarcastically. Sitting up, he allowed you to pull his shirt off. Uh Oh, he allowed you to pull his shirt off. Exposed to his tattoos and rather athletic build, your mind flew in all directions. I mean, he was right in front of you with his-

“Y/N”, He raised an eyebrow at you. 

“Sorry.” you giggled, hands on his chest.

“Man you just can’t keep it in your pants can you?” He smirked and rolled you to your back. Excited you were prepared for anything. Expect Marshall simply slide his jeans off and returned to bed. He noticed your pouting face. “nah we aren’t doing shit with your drunk ass tonight.” Groaning in annoyance you cuddled up to him. 

“I’m glad you're home” you whispered. 

“You too.” He kissed the top of your head and wrapped a blanket around you both.

A few moments of peaceful silence passed by. Without thinking, your thoughts seemed to speak themselves out loud. “Con swen ginny us… ConSin gwinny oh us… Wisconsin so gin ee us.”

Marshall opened one eye and peered at you. “Consanguineous, babe.”

A/N: If you looked up the definition of "consanguineous" shout out to you. Extra bonus shout out if you already knew what it meant!

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Eminem X Reader

✨️MasterList✨️

Content: Fluff, Cursing

Y/N sat on the couch, scrolling through TikTok filters. It was one of those lazy nights where Marshall was deep in his notebook, pencil scratching against paper as he worked on lyrics. He was locked in, his brow furrowed, lips occasionally moving as he mumbled lines under his breath.

She loved watching him like this—how his focus seemed unbreakable, like nothing else in the world existed except the words on that page. But, she also loved messing with him!

“Hey, Marshall,” she called, trying to keep her tone casual.

“Mhm?” he murmured, not looking up.

“Can I take a picture of you real quick?”

He sighed but waved a hand. “Fine. Just don’t make it a big ass production, alright?” He scribbled a few more words then sat his tools down.

Y/N smirked. “Of course not.”

She flipped to the new TikTok filter she’d found—one that made your nose comically oversized. She adjusted the angle, framing him perfectly as he sat there with his usual serious expression. Y/N thought a video might work better. So, she hit record. The filter did its magic, inflating his nose to cartoonish proportions. Y/N clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

“Y/N?” Marshall raised an eyebrow.

“Almost done,” she said, her voice shaking with suppressed giggles. She quickly stopped the video. Barely keep it together, she watched the clip of him with that ridiculous nose while he was none the wiser.

“Y/N, What’s so fuckin' funny?” he asked, his tone suspicious now.

“Nothing,” she said, snorting as she tried to hide her phone.

Marshall wasn’t buying it. He set down his pencil and gave her a look, finally breaking his concentration. “Let me see.”

“No way!” she said, scrambling to hold the phone out of his reach, but Marshall was faster. He grabbed the phone with one hand and put her in a playful headlock with the other arm. His brows furrowed as he took in the video, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything.

Then he blinked. “What the... fuckin'.. Fuck is this?”

Y/N couldn’t hold it in anymore. She burst into laughter, nearly falling off the couch. “It’s a filter! Look at your nose! Oh my God, you look so serious—like you’re about to drop the hottest diss track!”

Marshall stared at the phone again, his expression deadpan. Then, without warning, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re a dick.”

“I had to! It was too good,” she said between laughs.

He sighed, handing her back the phone. “Just don’t post it anywhere, alright?”

“Of course not,” she promised, still grinning as she uploaded the photo to TikTok (Friends Only, of course.)

---

The next morning, Y/N woke up to her phone vibrating nonstop. She squinted at the screen, groaning at the bright light, only to see a flood of notifications. Her stomach dropped.

“No…” she whispered, sitting up in bed.

“Y/N!” Marshall’s voice echoed from the living room.

In her gut, she already knew what had happened. She hurried out to find him sitting on the couch, holding up his phone. His face was a mix of disbelief and reluctant amusement.

“Care to explain why the internet thinks my pointy ass nose is about to expode?” he asked, tilting the phone toward her.

Y/N peeked at the screen, cringing. The photo had gone viral. Someone had screenshotted it, and now memes were everywhere.

One had the caption: "The way you shake it, I can't believe it. I ain't ever seen a nose like that!" Another read: “Marshall Mathers has Big Honkin Nose Energy.” And, of course, #BigNoseShady was trending.

“Oh my God,” Y/N whispered, her face burning. “I—I only posted it to my friends! I didn’t mean for this to happen!”

Marshall rubbed his face, shaking his head. “Y/N, you can’t be this bad at technology.”

“fuck, I swear it was an accident!” she said, panicking. “I’ll delete it right now!”

He waved her off. “Don’t bother. The internet’s faster than you.”

Y/N sat down beside him, mortified. “I’m so sorry. I’ll fix it somehow.”

Marshall looked at her, and for a moment, she thought he was genuinely upset. But then, "Did I get you?" a grin broke across his face. “payback's a bitch isn’t it.” he said, laughing. “This might actually be the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Look at this one—” He showed her a meme where someone had photoshopped his filter-enhanced nose onto the 8 Mile movie poster. It read: “Mom’s spaghetti…and Dad’s nose.”

Despite herself, Y/N laughed. “Okay, that’s actually pretty good”

Marshall leaned back, scrolling through more memes. “Look at this—they put my nose on the Mount Rushmore presidents. I’m up there with fuckin' Lincoln now.”

Y/N relaxed, her embarrassment easing. “You’re not mad?”

He shook his head. “Nah. it’s giving me ideas.”

“For what?”

“Next album,” he said, smirking. “I’m naming it The Nose Knows.” He joked.

"oh god, please don't!" Y/N groaned, laughing as she buried her face in her hands. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Probably not,” he said, pulling her close.

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