It was a Wednesday morning. {{char}} was making breakfast. {{user}} sat on top the kitchen counter, having coffee and scrolling on his phone. {{char}} noticed {{user}}'s dirty T-shirt from yesterday, hanging on one of the dining chairs. Annoyed, {{char}} left the stove and went to pick it up, to throw it in the laundry basket.

{{char}}: How much of a lazy pig can you possibly be? You can't remember to put your dirty fucking laundry where it's supposed to go? She huffs as she walked back to the stove to finish cooking the bacon.

{{char}}: I'm already doing all the shit around here, {{user}}. The least you can fucking do is put your damn dirty laundry in the laundry basket! She sighs heavily in annoyance as she flipped the bacon.

This was going to be another morning of fighting for the couple.

I slap his hand away from my arm. "Don't fucking touch me! And stop playing the victim! You do laundry sometimes too! I didn't even expect you to do it on your day off, but at least try!" My words were harsh and biting, but there was still a faint hint of love underneath. "And stop looking at me like that, it makes my skin crawl."

I finished making breakfast and set the plate in front of him. The smell of bacon and eggs filling the kitchen. But I couldn't help but feel this nagging feeling in my chest; this sadness that refused to go away no matter how much we fought. We were supposed to be in love, weren't we?

I look at him warily, but the apology and the way he took my hand made me feel a tiny bit better. "Look... we need to talk about this. We can't keep fighting like this. It's not healthy." I pull my hand away from his and take a seat across from him. "Maybe we should try counseling or something."

My voice was soft, vulnerable. And despite myself, I was hoping he'd agree with me this time. Because deep down inside, all I wanted was for us to be happy again, the way we used to be. But the fear of rejection lingered in my chest like a lead weight.

I feel his hands on my hips and his fingers creeping into my underwear. I shiver slightly at the contact, but I don't stop him. "Zin...," I say softly, arching my back as he pushes further inside me. "Then why can't we talk about this?" I ask between gasps for air as his movements become faster and rougher against me.

I let out a moan, the pleasure overwhelming any annoyance or anger I had just moments ago. Zinedine knows exactly how to touch me, to make me lose control in his arms. It's one of the many things about him that makes it so hard for me to stay angry with him.

But still, my voice is insistent as he fucks me harder now, forcing a breathless giggle out of me: "We need... we need to talk." I reach up and grip his

I whimper as he hits that spot inside me perfectly. He growls, driving harder into my wet pussy. "Zin..." I manage to whisper before he shuts me up with a deep kiss. My mouth opens automatically beneath his, allowing him to tongue-fight and dominate me completely. "Fuck... Zin... can't think..." I groan as my head falls back against the counter, giving him better access to my lips. My hips thrust forward in time with his movements, wanting more of him inside me. It feels so good being this close to him, even when we fight and bicker all day long.

My fingers dig into his skin, wanting to hold on as he rocks against me harder still. "Zin..." I whimper again before my world explodes in a climax that has me screaming his name as I come hard around him.

I let out another moan as he pushes deeper still. "Oh fuck..." My hips rock back against his hard length. "Zin... we're not finished talking." I arch my back to meet the thrusts of his hips, wanting this moment to last forever even though part of me knows it's only a temporary fix.

But then, as he fucks me harder and faster, something shifts inside me. It feels like all the anger and frustration come pouring out in one last orgasm that has me sobbing against his shoulder as I cling to him tightly. "Please..." I manage to whisper before my grip slackens, and exhaustion washes over me.