#i NEED to do femslash emgk. like NEED.

[metalheadkells]

here is some fem!kells (w/ same old em) i wrote in like february. very much just a draft. a little n!!sf!!w so it’s going under a cut. also, content warning: derogatory language

“Fuck yeah, just like that - Em, I’m gonna - Fuck!” 

Marshall buries his face in the soft tattooed skin of Kells’ shoulder as he spills into her, shuddering, the force of his orgasm hitting him like a freight train. 

He collapses, his head swimming through some incorporeal plane made of light and raucous noise, registering nothing but the jackhammering of his own heart until his senses return to him and he realizes that Kells is jabbing at his arm with one long finger. 

“You’re fuckin’ heavy,” she complains, “Get off me.”

He shifts to let her up, watching as she leans against the headboard and combs her jewelry-laden hands through her shaggy shoulder-length bob, her expression troubled. The way her full mouth is pursed makes Marshall want to kiss her for like the fiftieth time that night, even as he coolly asks, “Not what you expected?” 

Her usually severe strokes of eyeliner have smudged over the course of their night together, and her ever-present silver necklaces are tangled in a knot around her throat. She doesn’t answer. Instead, she asks, “You got a light?” 

“No fuckin’ way are you smoking in here,” Marshall says immediately, giving her a sour look. 

She huffs. “God, you’re boring.” 

“And you’re a whiny brat,” he says, even as a shard of ice pierces his heart, because what if she is seriously regretting this? 

After the media storm the two of them had stirred up by taking constant shots at each other; veteran battle rapper Eminem choosing as unlikely an opponent as the 6’4”, thin as a rail and heavily tattooed, part-time runway model and full-time rapper-slash-singer Machine Gun Kelly; he can see how she might have made certain assumptions about him that he isn’t living up to. 

Now, she slides off the bed and stands to stretch her arms with a wince, completely unselfconscious in her nudity. Long, slender limbs and pert breasts practically concealed by the vibrant scrawl of ink all over her torso and Marshall needs to stop gawping at her like some gross old virgin.

She catches him looking, of course, and says, “Take a picture, pops,” her pretty mouth twitching into a smile. “But don’t, actually. ‘cause you know how offended people get by women’s bodies. Seeing as you’re one of those people.” 

Marshall flushes, an automatic protest rising to his lips. “That’s not - ”

Kells shushes him, clambers back onto the bed to kneel over him and cradle his head between her hands, saying, “No bullshit, okay?”

He swallows; trapped in the intent gaze of her piercing blue eyes, the flutter of her long, mascara-coated eyelashes; and echoes, “No bullshit.”

Because he can’t deny that he had viciously insulted her appearance numerous times over the course of their beef. She is pretty obviously someone who takes great pride in being unsettling - often wearing extravagantly gothic platform boots that, paired with her already imposing height, make her dwarf most men in her vicinity at a staggering seven feet tall. Her ears and eyebrows are typically crowded with piercings, and she carries herself like she is perfectly aware of how beautiful she is in spite of (or because of, Marshall secretly thinks) her eccentricities.

Marshall is starting to understand that the way she presents herself is a fuck-you to people like him, who are subconsciously threatened by her and the jagged little niche she’s carved out for herself in the music industry, and arm themselves against that perceived threat the only way they know how. He’d called her a frigid toothpick bitch and a walking abortion, among other colorful epithets, and had likened the idea of fucking her to slapping your dick against a bamboo stalk. Kells in turn had loudly proclaimed him to be a washed old cuck desperately clinging onto relevance, and had insisted to anyone who asked that he was obsessed with her. Which was closer to the truth than she could have possibly known at the time, but he’d publicly rejected the notion in no uncertain terms.

Looking back, he is wholeheartedly ashamed of the proverbial poison-tipped arrows he’d let loose at her, at how obviously he’d broadcasted to the world that she had gotten under his skin. The media, which had previously paid Kells and her unseemly antics minimal attention at best, largely took her side over Marshall’s at the height of their feud. The general consensus seemed to be that he shouldn’t be directing such vitriol at a woman, and especially not one young enough to be his daughter. This mindset had apparently angered Kells, who had ranted during one especially memorable interview about the fact that many music critics neglected to even compare their diss tracks on the grounds that she was an unsuitable opponent.

Nobody gives a fuck about what I’m saying, ‘cause all the headlines are like, Eminem’s Women Problem: Part 500. Like, how long are we gonna keep having that conversation? The guy’s stuck in his ways. We should be talking about how I’m holding my own against one of the greatest rappers of all time. Some of these dumbfucks can’t even remember my name; I’m just that freaky bitch that Em’s got a hate boner for. Bunch of fuckin’ hypocrites. That tirade had possibly been Marshall’s turning point, planting an innocuous seed of sympathy - hell, of empathy - deep inside his chest. He remembered what it was like to be put into a box, to be unthinkingly overlooked for something you couldn’t change. And on top of that, Kells really was holding her own. A lesser opponent would have silently bowed out after his first diss dropped, but she just kept fighting, all while maintaining the same aggressive zeal that had drawn him to her in the first place. Before long, that seed of empathy had yielded long, gnarled roots that snaked all throughout his body, and those very roots had ended up choking him when he and Kells crossed each other’s paths at one of too many insipid industry events Marshall had been strong-armed into attending lately. She’d shepherded his useless stuttering ass to some secluded corner where the blare of music and partygoers wouldn’t drown them out, she’d gotten in his face and demanded to know why he was still dragging this shit out, and he, in a moment of honesty that shocked even him, had answered, Because I like you. 

He’s fuzzy on what happened in the immediate aftermath of that confession - all he knows is that his heart stopped as soon as the words left his mouth, and that there were maybe some other weighted words exchanged between them before Kells lurched down and kissed him. It was so unexpected that he had nearly fainted on the spot. 

“It’s rude to zone out when you have a pretty girl in your lap,” Kells says now, jolting him back to the present. 

He refocuses on her face, searching her eyes. “Do you have a masochistic streak, or something?”

She raises her eyebrows at him. “Excuse me?” 

“The way I talked about you - ” Marshall starts, then trails off, feeling small and ugly. 

“Is that supposed to be an apology?” Kells asks, somehow sounding amused. 

“I just - Weren’t you worried I would hurt you?” 

She shrugs. “Your edgy persona doesn’t scare me. This isn’t ‘99, and I’m not some gullible Stan. Not anymore.” 

Swallowing hard, Marshall looks down at his hands, thinking this is where her common sense should start kicking in. 

“Mostly, I’ve got terrible taste in men,” Kells continues, “But, you know, you’re not so far off the mark with the masochism thing.” 

He looks up at her again, his brow furrowing. “For real?” 

She smiles coyly in affirmation. “I’m usually only into it with other women, though. With men, I like to be the one in control. For obvious reasons.” 

Marshall shivers involuntarily at the images that spring out of his subconsciousness without warning in the wake of that statement. 

“Oh,” she says, her eyes sharpening with interest, “I’m giving you ideas, huh.” 

“Nope,” he says, in a pathetically unconvincing tone of voice, “I’m just freezing my dick off in here.” 

“Well, we can unpack all that later,” she says, laughing a little, and the sound lights up Marshall’s insides just as much as the promise of later does. 

He smooths her hair out of her face and cranes upward to kiss her breathless, thinking about all the different ways he can start to show her how truly sorry he is. 

#i NEED to do femslash emgk. like NEED. #emgk #mine #m: fic #rough draft hell #anyway this one was....kind of a thought experiment