Eminem Imagines

V.I.P. Party

//Creds to KingKxya for this ill idea. This was low key inspired by all the things I want to do and become as time goes on lmao. One, two y'all. Yk I rocked ya. You stepped in the realms of juniormafiaa. Stay da illest//

"Bombs Over Baghdad" by OutKast was pulsating throughout the club, striking a feeling of immorality in your heart, making you want to do things teenager style-consequence free and dauntless.

You were kinda like that, in a sense that that's how you chose to live life. You had several tattoos, and scars in every location, souvenirs that showed you had done more in your thirty years of life than settle down.

You were everywhere. You smoked mad weed in Jamaica, sitting around on beach with about seven Rastafarian guys, the orange sunset casting a soft light over the limitless ocean. You partied with porcelain complected, pink haired punks in Britain. You lived on a large farm in the south of Georgia, on a trailer park giving a new meaning to trailer trash. You were in New York, living it up at penthouse galas, swigging from champagne glasses with Ciroc, shopping in stores with the likes of Lil' Kim and Missy Elliott and DJing at jams for Ma$e, Nas, Lauryn Hill and at one time before his fame: Notorious B.I.G. You loved your job as a ghost music producer.

It's difficult to believe, but you were always beginning new adventures. So tonight standing outside in Detroit, Michigan freezing cold as soft colorless snow fell from the sky, you wonder what you were going to start this time. Your outfit was a yellow, stylishly blinged out strapless dress and high Stiletto boots. Not the best outfit, admit it.

There was a harsh, white light shining down from outside the brick building. There was a mad line and you were somewhere near the back.

"Yo, yo. You look so cold." Someone comments. You go to spite back but at a closer glance, the light shines on his face. He possesses a pointy nose, creamy white skin and sparkling cyan eyes. He's attractive but not really your type. Too much like a bad boy.

"I do?" You query, playing along. You loved to go along with conversation, wanting to know where it would take you.

"Sorry, it's the dad coming out in me. This line is so fxckin' long." He declares loudly, hoping to capture the brawny bouncers attention. You giggle as a result. He smiles.

"I'm Marshall." The man says, offering his hand. You take it.

"______." You say.

You both engage in some more conversation. It must have been several hours before you get sick of the cold and waiting.

"You know what! Fxck this line!" You announce and Marshall agrees. So he likes going along with things too you note.

You both exit, pondering aloud on where to go. Marshall suggests the bar. You both get inside his gray Mercedes and ride off into the unknown.

>A couple drinks later<

You must be about twelve years old. No seriously. You're buzzed, playing a drunken game of ski ball with another thirty year old adult. Your shoes are off, the arcade is actually closed. A fan of Marshall's opened it right before you both got there, Marshall swearing bad publicity on the place until they shut down.

Your both telling dirty jokes, laughing so loud that it echoed all throughout the place, the arcade games were also noisy.

And somehow, it's one of the best moments in your life. And you didn't even have a scar to show for it.