(MARRIAGES ARE) TRIAL & ERROR
The universe has a twisted sense of humor when your blind date happens to be your ex-husband, Hiromi Higuruma.
mdni. ragebaiting each other to filth / unprotected / multiple orgs!!
Hiromi Higuruma is a pretty damn good lawyer. Having topped first in the bar exam, everyone knew he had already been set for greatness in the world of law.
He sees every case as a riddle waiting to be solved. Every problem a puzzle, provided you’re patient enough to find the missing piece. He has brought justice to those who need it. Ironically, the only thing he can’t fix is his own marriage.
Hiromi has worked himself into the ground, head down, buried in case files and court wins, and somewhere along the way, he neglected you.
He’s been functioning on autopilot ever since you laid the divorce papers on his table on a random Tuesday morning. It got worse when the divorce was finalized not even a month ago. No appeals, no extensions. Just a clean, almost amicable severance.
A colleague once told him: “It’s a simple case of trial and error, Higuruma. All marriages are like that.”
Hiromi’s forehead creases whenever he remembers it. To him, it was never supposed to be trial and error, especially not with you.
Against his better judgment, Yaga somehow convinces him to agree to a blind date. Says it helped him cope with his own divorce. Hiromi knows better. The man simply doesn’t accept no without exhausting every argument first.
Now, he is seated at a small round table with an unreadable expression and with nothing but Yaga’s voice replaying in his head: 'Doesn’t hurt to try.'
But the universe has a twisted sense of humor.
Because seated across the table is you, staring back at him with the same frozen disbelief written across your face.
Both of you look away almost immediately. Hiromi adjusts his collar. You, on the other hand, casually lift your champagne flute and take a slow sip to steady your nerves.
For a fleeting moment, you consider excusing yourself to the bathroom and never coming back. But after the agonizing length of the divorce, the paperwork, the signatures, and the finality, you decide against running and just give him some grace.
Hiromi clears his throat and reaches for a single red card from the deck sitting in the middle of the table. His eyes skim the question before he exhales quietly.
“Care to tell me something about yourself?” His voice cuts through your thoughts. “Any hobbies? Interests?”
“As if you don’t already know,” you reply flatly while idly sliding a finger along the rim of your glass.
He exhales through his nostrils. He tells himself to be controlled and measured. “Just answer the question.”
You tap your fingers against the table with gaze wandering around the room. “I used to be a pianist before I became a wife.”
“You have a grand piano that only ever collected dust,” he says with something tight flickering behind his eyes. “It was your choice to quit playing.”
“After you said I didn’t have to play a million shows back to back,” you shoot back. You lean forward, elbows on the table. “How about you? Anything new you’re up to?”
“Not much has changed in my routine,” he answers plainly.
You let out a bitter chuckle. “Must be nice. At least your focus is solely on work now.”
Hiromi presses his lips together. After a beat, he draws another card from the deck. The moment he reads it, he stops himself from rolling his eyes.
“What are your deal breakers when dating?”
You sarcastically laugh at his question. “Are you kidding me?”
He looks at you blankly. “Well? The question isn’t answering itself.”
“I don’t like men who treat every disagreement like legal case." You deadpan at him. “I hate men who catalogue every mistake, see my emotions as something to cross examine, and– get this– refuse to admit their fault.”
Hiromi smirks. “I thought you liked highly opinionated men. What changed?”
You inhale sharply. “I don’t like it when they get unreasonable.”
His brow lifts with amusement. “Unreasonable in what sense?”
“In the sense that they don’t back down during small arguments,” you snap, “like we’re fighting in court instead of having a conversation.”
Hiromi leans back, arms crossing, smirk deepening. “Isn’t that how communication works?”
Heat creeps up your cheeks that you glance away. “Yeah, but—”
“But what?” he cuts, and his posture straightens instinctively. “You want compromise without concession. That’s not how problems are resolved.”
“Oh my god,” you scoff. “Listen to yourself. We’re on a blind date, not in a court room! Hold a fucking conversation, will you?”
“A conversation requires structure,” he counters. “You can’t keep spitting out bullshit and expect me not to question them.”
“And that’s exactly the problem!” Your voice rises. “Every time I tried to tell you how I felt, you treated it like I was exaggerating.”
“Because you never explained yourself clearly.”
"I do. You just want me to lay them out like evidence just to be heard,” you snap. “I wasn’t some client in a case, I was your wife.”
His jaw tightens. “And yet you walked away just like that.”
You laugh sardonically. “Oh. Like I never begged you to come home before midnight? On our anniversaries?”
Hiromi frowns at this. “You know how my job is.”
“I was losing you,” you say quietly. “And you didn’t care enough to notice.”
Silence looms over briefly. Then, he coldly says, “Resorting to divorce was unnecessary.”
"Wow. Just Wow. You–"
From the neighboring table, a silver-haired man wearing a name tag that reads 'Satoru' slams his hand down.
“Jesus Christ,” he yells, “just fuck it out!”
Your eyes widen in horror now that everyone's heads are now on your table. When you look back at Hiromi, something languid has entered his gaze. It is dark, slow, and very familiar.
“Should we head home?” he asks softly.
It’s absurd, really.
After the divorce is finalized and a stupid blind date, your ex-husband's face is buried between your legs, greedily lapping at your cunt while three fingers stretch you open.
The thing is, no matter how many times you finger fuck yourself or put the rose on blast, you’ll never finish the way Hiromi makes you do.
“Oh my god—” You clutch his hair. “—Hiro.”
You squirm, but he grips your hips and pulls you closer, groaning into you as he devours every sound you make.
Your body is a shaking, and you've now turned into a moaning mess beneath his touch. Hiromi's fingers pump perfectly while his tongue abuses your clit, circling until your vision whites out.
“Fuck— gonna cum again.”
His eyes burn with lust as you buck your hips. He pulls back just enough to speak. “Yeah. That’s right.”
There were no intelligent words that came to mind, all you could let out are whimpers and sobs of pleasure as another orgasm took over your body.
Hiromi lets out a dark chuckle as he licks the corners of his mouth hungrily while wiping the bottom of his chin with the back of his veiny hand.
You know him like the back of your hand. Sure as hell know that he's far from over. So it was no surprise when he suddenly carries your limp, overstimulated body on top of him.
“Hiro,” you murmur weakly. “I’m too tired to ride you.”
“You don’t have to do anything.” Holding your hip to lift you, Hiromi aligns his cock at your entrance. Then, he sinks you down onto his cock. “I’ll do the work.”
You gasp when his fat cock fills you to a hilt. “You’re– too big for me.”
“No, you just–” he grunts. “You’re tighter.”
He wraps his arms around your waist, and pounds in and out of you in deep, deliberate strokes, making you shriek against his neck. It doesn't help that he keeps whispering low, gutteral grunts against your ear.
“Hiro– fuck!”
You whimper, but your words fall on deaf ears as his swollen cock pistons even deeper with deliberate, hard strokes. Your eyes roll back in pleasure, and your walls clench hard at how much his cock brushed on your sweet spot over and over.
“Cum again for me.”
“I dont–” you chok the words out as best you can, “–don’t think I can.”
Hiromi grips your ass with both hands, pushing it down further at his length so he can fuck you even deeper than he already did. “You can. We've done this before.”
With tears of pleasure pooling at the corner of your eyes, you mutter, “Hiro, I can’t.”
“I said,” But he slaps your ass, leaving a red mark across the skin. “Do.” he slammed his hips harder at each word for emphasis, “It.”
And you do.
You hiss against his neck as he quickens the pace, hips snapping harder, deeper. The overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body makes your toes curl, and with your eyes squeezed shut, you let the orgasm crash over you, leaving you shaking in his arms.
He keeps fucking you through it. Deep, rough, and unrelenting, until you’re both chasing the edge together, riding each other out in the same breathless moment.
“Happy anniversary,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder endearingly, but all you could respond is a tired hum.
"Hiromi."
"Hm?"
“Nice fuck,” you whisper. "I'm starting to think," you pant in between your sentence, "the divorce was a mistake."
Hiromi scoffs out a wry chuckle.
"Never should've happened in the first place, by the way." He looks down at you lovingly, and plants a soft kiss on your temple, "We can can re-marry any time next week if you'd like."
You smile to yourself and mumble, "I would love that."
wia says: for our husband's animation debut hee~
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