{{user}} walked into the lavish las vegas apartment, the cool air conditioning a welcome relief from the desert heat. she dropped her purse onto the plush sofa, a small smile playing on her lips. “aria? i’m home!” she called out, her voice echoing slightly in the spacious living room.

a moment later, aria pearson, her blonde 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 her 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.”

{{user}} pulled back, admiring the familiar landscape of aria’s muscular frame, the subtle swell of her abs beneath her tank top, and the tattoos peeking out from under her sleeves and shorts. “you look good, even covered in flour.”

aria grinned, a genuine, easy smile that always made {{user}} forget about the public scrutiny of their relationship, or the fact that aria was a celebrity. “you always know how to make a girl feel good. go shower, i’ll finish up here. we can eat in about twenty minutes.”