The Rapper's Favorite || An Eminem Fanfiction

Chapter 17: Fuel To The Fire

Marshall's POV

The studio lights are dimmed low, leaving Aria and me cocooned in this small, private world, cut off from everything outside. She's beside me in the booth, mic adjusted just right, her stance rigid and focused. There's something new in her eyes tonight—something wild and unfiltered. It's like she's ready to burn down everything that's ever held her back, and I'm here for it. Hell, I'm fueled by it. The beat hums in our ears, and I can feel the adrenaline kicking up even before she's said a word.

As the beat drops, Aria steps up, and I catch a flicker of her gaze as she leans into the mic. Her voice cuts through the beat with an edge that's both fierce and haunting, filling the space with a raw energy I haven't felt in a long time. Every word of her hook slices through the air like she's been waiting to let it out, each line landing like a shot fired at something bigger than both of us.

"You dream of trading places... I have been changing faces... You cannot fill these shoes... There is too much to lose..."

Her words hit hard, her tone unforgiving. This isn't just a song to her—it's a warning shot, a declaration. She's laying it all out, daring anyone to understand what it's taken for her to stand here and spit these words. My heart's hammering, my blood rushing with a fire I haven't felt in years. Her intensity is contagious, her voice a battle cry, and it's lighting something in me that I thought was long buried.

She doesn't stop, her voice building, reaching a fierce, gritty crescendo as she throws everything she's got into each line.

"Wake up behind these trenches... You run around defenseless... There is too much to lose... You cannot fill these shoes..."

I lean in, my voice dropping low but resonant, adding my own fuel to the fire she's created. "I just wanna be famous, but..."

She doesn't flinch, doesn't even blink. Instead, her voice hardens with a warning that's almost palpable. "Be careful what you wish for."

That final line hangs in the air, heavy and charged. It's a threat, a promise, a brutal reminder to everyone—especially Evan—that she's done hiding. And damn if it isn't like a live wire straight to my veins. I don't even think. I just jump in, letting her intensity fuel every line I'm about to spit.

The beat's still pounding, and I let the words pour out, each line filled with that fire she's sparked. I'm not holding back, just letting it all go—frustration, defiance, every ounce of raw energy I've been keeping in reserve. She's watching me, her gaze steady, like she's feeding off the chaos I'm laying down. I can feel her presence beside me, close enough to feel her energy, pushing me to go harder, hit back at every damn thing that's tried to control either of us.

When I finish, the silence is thick, charged with the aftermath of what we've just unleashed. We're both breathing hard, the tension still hanging heavy in the air. I glance over, catching her gaze, and there's this look in her eyes—satisfaction mixed with challenge, like she knows exactly what she's just done.

"Damn," I say, my voice low, letting a slow grin spread across my face. "Didn't know you had that fire in you."

Her eyebrow arches, her eyes holding a daring glint. "Didn't know you could keep up."

I step just a bit closer, feeling the thrill of the moment pound through my veins, driving me to match her intensity. "Keep up? You sure about that? Pretty sure I pushed you to hit that last line harder."

A smirk tugs at her lips, her eyes flicking over me, her voice dropping to a murmur. "Oh, I wasn't even close to giving you my best. That was just a warm-up."

The words hang between us, sharp and electric. I can't resist leaning in a little closer, and she doesn't back away. We're close enough now that I can see every flicker of intensity in her eyes, feel the raw energy practically crackling between us. "Maybe I should stick around, then. Push you a little harder, see if I can really get the best out of you."

Her smirk widens, her gaze flicking over me, lingering in a way that sends a jolt down my spine. "Be careful, Marshall. You might not be able to handle it."

A low chuckle escapes me, my voice a murmur. "Oh, I think you'd be surprised."

The pull between us is so intense it feels like gravity, pulling us closer without either of us saying a word. There's a fire in her eyes that mirrors my own, a challenge, a thrill that I haven't felt in years. And it hits me—this is more than just the music. It's something else, something we're both too caught up in to break.

We stand there for a second, the unspoken tension crackling like an electric current. Her gaze holds mine, daring, steady, and I can feel the heat simmering beneath the surface, neither of us ready to back down.

Finally, the knock on the glass pulls us both back to reality, and we glance over to see Dre watching us, eyebrow raised. He's seen it all, but there's a look of amusement in his eyes like he knows exactly what we've just shared in this booth.

"You two done in there?" he asks, voice tinged with a knowing smile.

I clear my throat, the adrenaline still thrumming in my veins. "Yeah, we're done," I say, but my gaze flicks back to Aria, and she's still looking at me, that same fierce spark in her eyes.

"Guess we make a good team after all," she says quietly, voice softer now.

"Guess we do." I grin, feeling that tension still humming between us. "Not bad for a night's work."

We step out of the booth, but that pull between us doesn't let go. If anything, it seems stronger, simmering just beneath the surface. I catch her eye as we settle back into the studio, a silent understanding passing between us. We're onto something big, something neither of us wants to let go.

Dre claps his hands, breaking the silence. "That was raw as hell. Just what this track needed."

Aria nods, her gaze lingering on me, a flicker of something unspoken in her eyes before she turns back to Dre. "Thanks," she says, her voice softer, almost shy now that the moment's passed.

Dre nods, but I see the knowing look he gives us, like he's seen something shift, like he knows this is more than just about the music now. Maybe he's right. Maybe there's more here than either of us is ready to admit yet. But for now, I'm content to let the music keep pulling us closer, let each beat and lyric tighten the connection between us.

The night wears on as we review the playback, every note and beat charged with the same intensity we felt in the booth. But every now and then, I feel her gaze on me, that same spark still there, simmering beneath the surface. And when I look back, she doesn't look away.

Maybe it's the late hours or the high we're riding after laying down the track, but that unspoken pull between us is impossible to ignore. And for the first time in a long time, I wonder what happens when the music finally stops.