The Rapper's Favorite || An Eminem Fanfiction

Chapter 21: So Bad

Marshall's POV

It's late—way past midnight. The studio feels like it's holding its breath, wrapped in shadows and the low hum of the soundboard. Everyone's gone but security, leaving Aria and me in our own little bubble. We've been at it for hours, working on So Bad, a track that's pure audacity wrapped in cocky charm. The atmosphere's thick, heavy with unspoken tension that mirrors the track itself, as if the room is dialed into something simmering beneath the surface.

Aria's settled across from me, completely in her element. She's got on a black dress that clings in all the right places, the kind that's just shy of too short, with an oversized denim jacket hanging off one shoulder. Her dark waves spill over her shoulders, catching the faint light whenever she moves. She catches me looking, a smirk curling at the edges of her lips.

"Enjoying the view, Mathers?" she teases, her voice low and challenging.

I lean back, letting a grin slip onto my face. "Just wondering how someone so small can pull off that much attitude."

Her laugh is soft, taunting, with an edge that reminds me exactly where she's from. "Maybe you just bring it out of me," she says, her voice carrying that Queens bite. "Growing up in Queens, you either learn how to give it back, or you don't last long."

I chuckle, shaking my head. "Guess that explains it."

We go back to playing with the lyrics, leaning into the over-the-top lines and laughing at how ridiculous they sound out loud. It's all bravado, dripping with overconfident swagger, but I can't deny that it's a little fun—pushing boundaries, even if it's just for show.

She tilts her head, raising an eyebrow. "These lines are a whole new level of cocky, you know that?"

I smirk, crossing my arms as I lean back. "Maybe, but that's half the point, right?"

She laughs, shaking her head. "Alright, Slim. If you're gonna go all-in on this, let's make it interesting. How about a challenge?"

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "What are you thinking?"

"Dirtiest pick-up line wins," she says, her eyes sparking with mischief. "Bet you can't keep up."

"Oh, you're on," I say, leaning in, a smirk tugging at my lips. "But don't get too confident, Bennett. I'm about to show you how it's done."

I lean in, my voice dropping as I hit her with my first line. "Alright. I know at least three ways to make six inches disappear."

She laughs, rolling her eyes but clearly impressed. "Nice start, Slim. But here's one for you—I'm so hungry for chicken. You got any? No? What about cock?"

I let out a low chuckle, feeling the weight of her gaze. "Alright, I'm impressed. You got me with that one. But let's see how you handle this—if you were an elevator, what button would I have to push to get you to go down?"

Aria's eyes glint with that playful edge as she holds my gaze, unfazed. "Not bad, but I've got another one for you," she says, voice dropping slightly. "That shirt's very becoming on you. If I were on you, I'd be coming too."

I chuckle, shaking my head as I give her an appreciative nod. "Damn, Bennett, didn't know you had that in you."

She shrugs, leaning back in her chair, still watching me with that wicked gleam in her eye. "Oh, there's plenty you don't know about me, Mathers."

Her gaze flicks down for just a second before coming back to mine, and for a second, I swear the air between us thickens, this tension building that's way more than just a game.

"Well, let me give you something to think about," I say, my tone dropping to a near-whisper. "Would you kiss me in the rain? Because I'd love to get twice as wet."

Aria's smirk falters, just a little, and I know I've scored. But she recovers quickly, leaning in just a bit closer, her eyes glinting with challenge. "Not bad, Slim. But I've got one for you—are you a firefighter? Because you make me hot and leave me wet."

The line catches me off guard, and I shake my head, chuckling low. "Alright, Bennett. I think we've officially crossed a line."

"Maybe," she murmurs, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "But you're still here."

Her confidence stirs something deep, and I realize we've both stopped pretending this is just banter. Our words are coming out slower, the laughter fading into something a lot more intense, something that's been simmering between us for a while now.

Aria shifts slightly, leaning closer, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "You know, Mathers, I want you to treat me like a tortilla. Flip me over and eat me out."

For a split second, I'm speechless, caught off guard by her boldness. But I recover quickly, smirking as I lean closer, feeling the heat radiate between us. I decide to take it up a notch, voice low and deliberate as I say, "Are your legs tired? Because as long as I have a face, you'll have a place to sit."

Her breath hitches, and for a second, she loses that razor-sharp edge, her gaze faltering just slightly before she regains control, cheeks flushing. I know I've scored, probably more than she'd like to admit.

We're both silent, just staring at each other, the weight of our words settling between us. Suddenly, I'm acutely aware of how close we're sitting, our knees nearly touching, her perfume filling my senses. The world outside this room feels like a distant memory, and for the first time, I wonder if either of us is ready to walk away from whatever this is.

The silence between us holds for a second longer than it should, our gazes locked, each daring the other to be the first to look away. There's a quiet understanding in her eyes—a challenge, maybe, or a question she's not willing to voice just yet. She gives me a slow smile, almost like she knows I'm feeling it too.

"Guess it's a tie," she finally says, voice a little husky, a little uneven, but still carrying that edge of challenge.

"Not quite," I counter, leaning back just enough to give her space but not enough to let the tension fade. "Pretty sure I was winning, Bennett."

She rolls her eyes but doesn't hide the slight flush on her cheeks. "Keep telling yourself that, Mathers."

For a second, neither of us moves, both fully aware of how close we're sitting, the charged air between us thick with everything we haven't said. The weight of it settles, a line between us that we're both daring the other to cross.

Finally, she shifts, clearing her throat as she glances back at the soundboard. "We should... probably get back to work."

"Yeah." I sit up, feeling the shift back into focus but acutely aware of how hard it is to shake the fire she's stoked. I look back at her, one last lingering glance, letting her know this is far from over.

I slide into the booth, headphones over my ears, but my eyes stay on her through the glass. As the beat drops, and I start delivering the first lines of So Bad, I hold her gaze, refusing to let go. The lyrics spill out, cocky and brash, but every word feels layered with the weight of everything unspoken between us. Each line, each verse, hits harder with her watching, her expression unreadable but locked onto mine.

She doesn't look away, and neither do I. There's something raw in that eye contact, something that's pulling us closer even as we stay on opposite sides of the glass. I can feel the fire in my chest, each word echoing what we both know is simmering just beneath the surface.

As I hit the final lines, my gaze stays locked on hers through the glass. Each word hits with a force I didn't see coming, fueled by the tension that's been simmering between us all night. Whatever this thing is between us, whatever we're both holding back—it's like a live wire, humming just below the surface, ready to snap at any second.

We've got a few tracks left to lay down, a few more nights working side by side, but this? Whatever's building between us? It's wild, barely contained, and it's only getting harder to ignore. The space between us feels like it's shrinking, like we're one word, one glance away from tearing right through the line we've been trying to hold.

But as I step out of the booth, catching her eye one last time, there's one thing I know without a doubt: this is far from over.