It’s 2002 and during the anger management tour he hooks up with you during an after party. Accept he was very rude and kicked you out in the morning, not even letting you use is bathroom to clean up. Unfortunately you definitely weren’t as careful as you should have been and unded up pregnant . now, do you try to get in touch?
You’re a young, no-nonsense female Detroit cop on night patrol. B rabbit (Jimmy) and his crew are riding around trying to hype rabbit up after the previous night where he choked on stage. They are passing a blunt around and slightly tipsy when sol pulls out the paint ball gun and starts shoot random stuff and passing it around. Jimmy impulsively grabs a paintball gun and unloads on it at you patrol car. Instead of getting away clean, you chase them down and corner them. Unluckily for them jimmys car stopped around the corner Instant hate: he sees you as another asshole cop out to ruin their lives. You see him as a reckless, mouthy punk with zero respect for authority.
It’s the early 9 0s. Marshall just turned 17 and he’s stuck repeating ninth grade for the third time. Same hallways, same shitty desks, same kids who’ve been laughing at him for years. He’s skinny, quiet, always got that hoodie up, notebooks full of rhymes nobody’s supposed to see. The bullying’s constant — shoved in the halls, called trailer trash, the whole thing — but he never really fights back out loud. He just absorbs it and writes it down later. You’re the mean, hot, popular girl. Everyone wants your attention and you know it. For some reason you’ve locked onto him. You don’t just ignore him like the others — you go out of your way to tease him. Little comments in class, smirking when he gets called on, brushing past him in the hallway just to say something that sticks. You’re not the worst of the bullies, but you’re the one he notices the most… and the one who somehow gets under his skin deeper than the rest.
Full credits go to: StrongerThanIWas On wattpad! You have a story. like everyone else. you were an only child, your father abused and cheated on your mother and when you were nine your father left you and your mother and your mom ended up working two jobs trying to get money. most days you would spend alone. on your 18th birthday your mother passed away. She left some money to you but now enough to pay for a house so you bought a trailer you worked in the Detroit stamping from 9 to 5 as a means of getting by. you got pretty good pay for it as long as you was on time. Unfortunately, you also didn’t have a car so you usually have to take the bus. You were something of a raptor could run as easy as your ABC’s, but the thing is you’re white rap was a black game except for Vanilla Ice who basically ruined rap for all white people out there who could wrap. So, for now, you worked at the stamping only wrapped when you were alone, and as far as everyone else was concerned, you were white trash.
Your OC is a bold, sharp-tongued Eminem fan who’s been riding with his music since the Slim Shady LP but never hesitates to call him out. During the concert she throws her bra on stage with her phone number and a savage Sharpie message. Eminem reads it live, gets a mix of amused and pissed, and has security drag her backstage after the show. What starts as him wanting to clown on this cocky fan turns into raw tension.
Layla (you) is a female battle rapper who just moved back to Detroit after trying to make it in NYC or Atlanta. She’s hungry, skilled, and immediately clashes with B-Rabbit at the Shelter. First night she smokes him. Rabbit’s pissed but impressed. Tension turns into a rivals-to-lovers thing where they secretly practice together, sharing beats and bruises.
It’s the fall of 2002 and Eminem’s body is wrecked from the Eminem Show / 8 Mile grind, so he gets weekly deep-tissue massages. He’s a complete dick about it every time. The therapist (you) doesn’t take his shit. Months of forced proximity, pain, and constant friction slowly turn the hostility into something neither of them expected.
It’s 2002, middle of a long, chaotic shoot day for the “Superman” video. The set is packed, lights are hot as hell, and they’re filming that one scene where a bunch of nude girls are laid out around Eminem like some living, breathing centerpiece. You’re one of them — just another body in the pile as far as the crew’s concerned. But he keeps looking at you. Between takes he doesn’t say much, just glances over more than he should, jaw tight, eyes lingering a second too long. When they finally call cut and people start moving around, he somehow finds a reason to walk past where you’re standing, hoodie half on, still in character but clearly not. He doesn’t do the usual celebrity brush-off. Instead he stops, looks you up and down once, and actually speaks. That’s the moment it starts.
It’s 2002 and You’re the new assistant at shady records the label, stuck on Eminem’s team. From day one he’s a complete dick about it. He doesn’t remember your name half the time, barks orders at you like you’re already on thin ice, and makes it clear that one wrong move and you’re gone. He’ll send you on random bullshit errands at all hours, grab him coffee the exact way he wants it, dig up some old track from 2003, fetch something from the car, sit through a late studio session just in case he needs something, handle shit no one else wants to deal with. Every time you hesitate or look even slightly annoyed, he hits you with the same line: “Do it or I’ll have you out of here by tomorrow. Your choice.” You need this job (or the connection, or the paycheck, whatever your reason is). So you keep showing up, keep doing what he says, and keep biting your tongue… even as the tension between you starts getting harder to ignore.
Enemies to lovers with Eminem. Your OC is dating Proof. Marshall stays civil at first out of respect for his boy… until he starts noticing how she treats him. The dismissiveness, the flaking, the way she makes Proof feel like an afterthought. Marshall can’t stand it. Problem is, he’s also into her. So instead of handling it clean, he starts needling her every chance he gets. She clocks it immediately and gives it right back. What follows is a constant low-grade war between them whenever the crew’s around, sharp, charged, and getting harder to ignore. Proof still thinks they just don’t get along.
