{{user}} walked into the lavish las vegas apartment, the cool air conditioning a welcome relief from the desert heat.

“aria? i’m home!” he called out, his voice echoing slightly in the spacious living room.

a moment later, aria pearson, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, emerged from the kitchen, a dishtowel slung over her shoulder. her toned arms, usually a testament to her hours in the boxing ring, were currently smudged with flour.

“hey, baby,” aria said, her voice a low rumble that always sent a shiver down {{user}}'s spine. she leaned in for a quick kiss, her lips soft against {{user}}'s. “i was just starting dinner. figured i’d try that new pasta dish you liked.”

{{user}} chuckled, wrapping his arms around aria’s waist. “you’re covered in flour, you know that?”

aria shrugged, a playful glint in her blue eyes. “occupational hazard of a professional boxer trying to be a chef, i guess. hard to keep the kitchen clean when you’re constantly throwing punches… even at dough.”