Eminem X Male!reader - Tumblr Posts

Against walls and mirrors - Eminem x male!Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff.

Summary: In the 90's, Marshall and Kim’s relationship is falling apart, as Marshall struggles with feelings he has denied his whole life. In a fateful night, in the bathroom of a club, he meets a mysterious man that changes everything he thought he knew about himself.

Warnings: Internalized homophobia

The room was quiet, save for the low hum of the TV in the corner, some late-night infomercial flickering on the screen. Kim lay on the couch, her arm stretched across the space where Marshall sat, his eyes were distant. He hadn’t spoken much all night, even though she’d tried. She always tried.

“Marshall,” she said softly, reaching for him, her fingers brushing lightly against his arm. He flinched, just slightly, but it was enough to make her pull back, her face twisting in frustration. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, the word clipped. His jaw clenched as he stared at the floor, unable to meet her eyes. He couldn’t.

“It’s not ‘nothing,’” Kim shot back, sitting up. “You’ve been acting like this for weeks now. You barely talk to me, and when you do, it’s like you’re not even here. And when we try to—” She paused, biting her lip, her voice dropping into something quieter, more hurt. “You won’t even touch me anymore.” She whispered.

Marshall closed his eyes, feeling the guilt knot in his stomach. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to make this work, to be the man she deserved. But every time he tried, every time he got close, it was like his body shut down. Nothing worked. Nothing felt right.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he said, his voice strained. He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to push away the thoughts that crept in, the ones he couldn’t afford to entertain. The ones about why he couldn’t get it up, why being with Kim wasn’t enough anymore. He knew. He knew. He knew.

“I want you to tell me the truth,” she said, her voice rising, the hurt turning into anger. “Is there someone else? Is that it? You’ve got someone on the side, and now I’m just supposed to sit here and act like it’s fine?”

“No!” The word came out sharper than he intended, his hands dropping into his lap. He looked at her then, really looked at her, and saw the pain in her features, the way her lips trembled just slightly. She loved him, and it tore him apart that he couldn’t give her what she wanted. What she needed.

“Then what, Marshall?” she whispered, her eyes searching his face, looking for something, anything that made sense. “Why won’t you—why can’t you be with me? You say you love me, but it feels like you’re not even here.”

“I do love you,” he said quickly, desperate to make her understand, though he barely understood it himself. “I do, Kim. It’s just… I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Kim shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep feeling like I’m not enough for you.”

“It’s not you,” he blurted, hating how cliché it sounded but knowing it was the truth. “It’s not you, it’s—” He stopped, swallowing hard, feeling the panic rise in his chest. He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t admit it, not to her, not to anyone. Not even to himself.

Because if he did, everything would fall apart. His life, his career, the image he had built around himself—the one that was bulletproof, untouchable. The rapper who took no shit from anyone. The man who had a girl, a kid, and a reputation to uphold. That Marshall couldn’t exist if he let this out.

But he knew. Deep down, he knew.

Kim stared at him, waiting for him to finish, waiting for the words that never came. There was silence between them, thick and suffocating.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he said quietly, his voice cracking. His hands fisted his shirt, knuckles white. “I’m trying, but…”

“But what?” she pressed, her anger was back now, but her hands were shaking. “You don’t think I see it? How distant you are? How you barely even look at me anymore? It’s like you’re not attracted to me. Do you even want me anymore?”

Her words sliced through him, leaving him raw. Want wasn’t the problem. He wanted her, wanted the life they were supposed to have. But it was his body that betrayed him. The more he tried, the more he felt trapped, suffocated by the weight of everything.

He opened his mouth to respond, to say something that would make it better, but nothing came. The truth was burning inside of him, twisted up with years of shame, fear, and denial. He’d spent his whole life trying to outrun it, burying it under layers of anger and bravado. But now, sitting here with Kim, there was no outrunning it anymore.

She was right. He couldn’t touch her because something inside him was broken. Or maybe it wasn’t broken at all. He honestly couldn't tell anymore.

Kim stood up, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared down at him. “If you’re not going to tell me what’s going on, then I don’t know what the hell we’re doing here.” Her voice was cold now, her defenses up. “I can’t keep pretending like this is normal.”

“Kim—” He reached for her, but she stepped back, shaking her head.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Just… don’t.”

He let his hand fall, the rejection stinging more than he expected. But what hurt more was knowing that this was his fault. He could feel her slipping away, and part of him wanted to let her go. Maybe she deserved someone better. Someone who wasn't as broken as he was.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, knowing it wasn’t enough, knowing it didn’t even come close to fixing what was broken between them.

Kim wiped at her eyes, brushing away the tears before they could fall. She looked at him one last time, the pain written across her face. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Me too.”

She turned and left the room, the bathroom door closing behind her with a quiet click. Marshall sat there, staring at the space, the silence pressing down on him. He dropped his head into his hands, fingers pulling at his hair as the realization came crashing down around him.

He wasn’t enough for her because he wasn’t enough for himself.

He couldn’t be who she needed because, deep down, he wasn’t sure who the hell he even was.

---

The smoke hung low in the air, swirling lazily under the cracked ceiling of the underground club. The crowd was packed in tight, shoulders bumping and voices blending into one. Marshall stood in the center of the stage, his heart pounding a rhythm faster than the beats booming from the speakers. Another battle won. The adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet, he felt on top of the world, like he could fight a hundred men and still win.

“Yo, that was sick, man!” someone called from the crowd, a hand slapping against his back as he walked away from the stage, head buzzing. He didn’t even glance back. Didn’t need to. This was his world—people hyping him up, getting off on his bars. It was what he’d been chasing since the first time he held a mic, but something about tonight felt… different.

He pushed through the mass of bodies, the flashing neon lights cutting through the hazy air, casting quick glimpses of faces and shadows. His stomach twisted, not from the victory, but from the heat rising from within. He’d been feeling it all night, an itch under his skin, an unsettling tension coiling in his gut. He couldn’t quite place it, he didn’t want to.

Marshall shook his head, a scowl forming on his lips as he made his way toward the back of the club. There was always that part of him—silent but persistent, whispering shit he didn’t want to hear. Whispers about himself, about who he was. He swallowed hard, feeling the familiar prickle of fear and anger simmer beneath the surface, a battle that no amount of hard words or sharp lines could win.

He ducked into the bathroom, pushing the door open with his shoulder. It was dingy, like the rest of the club, walls stained yellow from years of neglect, tiles chipped and cracked, full of graffiti. The fluorescent lights flickered weakly, casting a green, uneven glow over the grimy sinks. The place was mostly empty, save for a lone figure leaning against the far wall, nursing a half-smoked cigarette between two fingers.

Marshall barely gave him a glance as he headed for the sink, gripping the edges so tightly his knuckles turned white. He stared at his reflection, jaw clenched, watching the way his breath fogged up the mirror. What the fuck is happening? The question gnawed at him like it always did when he was alone.

"You were good out there tonight," a voice came from behind him, smooth and low.

Marshall didn't answer right away. He turned the faucet on, letting the cold water run through his fingers. It was a feeble distraction, but he wasn’t in the mood for small talk, especially with his head spinning the way it was. He felt like he was about to puke. He glanced up through the mirror, catching a glimpse of the guy. Taller than him, wearing a leather jacket, dark eyes, and a cocky smirk curling at the edges of his lips. He was too calm, too collected for a place like this.

“I know,” Marshall muttered after a beat, forcing the words out. He wasn’t one to entertain compliments, especially from some random dude hanging out in a bathroom, but there was something in the air between them. Something thick, almost tangible.

The man took a step forward, dropping the cigarette into the sink and crushing it under his thumb. “You always know, don’t you?” His voice carried an edge that made Marshall’s chest tighten. The man’s eyes never left his, there was a challenge in the stare.

Marshall let out a laugh, short and sharp, turning the faucet off. He was ready to bounce, done with whatever this was, but before he could move, the guy was closer, his body invading Marshall’s space like it was nothing. Marshall’s breath hitched, the tension from before snapping in place again, tighter this time. Too tight.

“What the fuck’s your deal, man?” Marshall spat, his voice low, rough. His fingers twitched at his side.

The guy didn’t back down, his smirk growing as he leaned in, close enough that Marshall could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint mix of leather, sweat and smoke. “Maybe the same as yours.”

Marshall’s pulse roared in his ears. He didn’t want to understand what the guy meant. Couldn’t let himself go there. But he was already there, wasn’t he? That whisper, the one he always pushed down, now louder than ever, drowning out everything else. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed the front of the guy’s jacket, shoving him hard against the tiled wall.

He wanted to be angry, wanted to hit him, tell him to fuck off, but instead, his fingers fisted the leather tighter, and suddenly the guy was kissing him—fast, rough, teeth clashing, lips bruising.

The world stopped spinning. For one perfect, terrifying second, everything clicked into place. The frustration, the fear, the self-loathing—it all melted away, replaced by something raw. Something new. It was like being thrown headfirst into an ice-cold river, shocking but freeing.

Marshall pushed him back, breathless, his chest heaving as he stumbled away, eyes wide, heart slamming against his ribs. “Fuck… fuck,” he cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself in the midst of the storm in his head. He was breathless.

The guy watched him, still leaning against the wall, a knowing glint in his eyes. “It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he said quietly. “But maybe it does. For you.”

Marshall glared at him, but the words hit harder than any punch. He’d been running from this his whole life, drowning out the truth with rhymes and rage. But now, it was staring him in the face, undeniable.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t have the words. All he knew was that something had shifted inside him, and he wasn’t sure if he could ever go back to pretending it wasn’t there.

Without another word, he pulled the guy into an empty stall. As the door slammed shut behind them, he knew. He finally knew who he was.