Chapter 10: Trying for a baby?!?!
A few weeks settled into a tense, watchful rhythm. The outside world’s murmurs became a distant white noise they chose to ignore, focusing instead on the private geometry of their shared space. Baki’s body knitted itself back together with terrifying efficiency, the scars on his throat and belly fading from angry red to slick, pale pink. The apartment was their bunker, their gym, their arena.
One night, the city lights bled a hazy orange through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The only illumination inside came from the silent, flickering glow of a sports channel on the muted television. Yujiro sat in the center of the large, worn leather sofa, a mountain of relaxed muscle. Baki was curled sideways in his lap, his back against the solid wall of Yujiro’s chest, his head tucked beneath his father’s chin. One of Yujiro’s massive arms was wrapped around Baki’s torso, holding him securely. The other hand slowly, absently, stroked through Baki’s hair, fingers tracing the contours of his scalp in a rhythm so soothing it had nearly lulled Baki to sleep.
The peace was a living thing, fragile and earned.
Yujiro’s hand stilled. His voice, when it came, was a low rumble Baki felt through his bones more than heard. It was casual, utterly out of the blue.
“How would you feel about it?” Yujiro asked.
Baki, drowsy, nuzzled closer. “About what?”
“Kids.”
Baki blinked, the cozy haze evaporating. He tilted his head back to look up at Yujiro’s face, but could only see the sharp line of his jaw. “Kids?” He let out a short, incredulous breath. “Why? Since when do you want… that?”
Yujiro shrugged, the motion lifting Baki gently. “I don’t know. It’s a question. How would you feel?”
Baki was quiet for a moment, processing. It was so bizarre, so domestic, so utterly disconnected from the Ogre’s essence it felt like a trick. “I mean… I guess, someday, maybe. Adopting, or something. If we were… different. In a different world.” He said it cautiously, testing the words. It felt like agreeing to a fantasy.
Yujiro’s fingers resumed their stroking. “No,” he said, his voice softening in a way that was unnervingly gentle. “I didn’t mean adopting. I meant how do you feel about us trying for a baby?”
The air in the room changed. The hum of the refrigerator seemed to grow louder.
Baki twisted fully in his lap now, kneeling to face him, searching his eyes. He saw no jest, no mockery. Just a terrifying, simple curiosity. A laugh burst out of Baki—nervous, disjointed. “What? Dad, come on. We’ve been over this. It’s a joke. It’s not… it’s not possible. The plumbing doesn’t work that way. I can’t get pregnant.”
Yujiro’s gaze didn’t waver. He reached up and cupped Baki’s cheek, his thumb stroking the apple of it. “You think in terms of rules,” he said, as if explaining something basic to a child. “Biology has rules. Physics has rules. I break rules. It’s what I do.” His eyes glinted with a profound, unshakable certainty. “My will is a physical force. My seed doesn’t adhere to biological mandates. If I decide it will take root, it will take root. If I will you to carry my child, your body will comply.”
The statement was delivered with the absolute, rock-solid conviction of a man stating the sky is blue. There was no hubris in it, just fact. To Yujiro Hanma, the limits of human reproduction were just another weak system to be dominated by his indomitable intent.
Baki’s smirk died. He stared, his mind scrabbling to catch up. He’d heard Yujiro say outrageous, impossible things his whole life—and then watched him make them true through sheer, brutal force. But this… this was different. This was inside him.
He sat back on Yujiro’s thighs, the warmth of his father’s body suddenly intense. He looked away, out at the nebulous city lights, his own reflection ghosted over the skyline.
A baby.
A child with Yujiro. With the Ogre. His father’s son and his own. The thought unfurled in his mind, dark and strange and magnetic.
He thought of what that child would be. The concentrated essence of Hanma blood, doubled and twisted back on itself. Its strength would be unprecedented, a terrifying new peak. It would be theirs. A creation born not just of sex, but of this specific, fucked-up love. A living testament to it.
He imagined a small, fierce thing with Yujiro’s eyes and his own stubborn mouth. Teaching it to fight. Watching Yujiro hold it. The bizarre, warped domesticity of it clawed at a deep, hidden place in Baki he rarely acknowledged—the same place that yearned for the approval Yujiro now gave so freely in their private darkness.
But then the other images crashed in.
He thought of the world outside, the disgust and the fury. He thought of Jack, and what such a creation would do to his already-shattered brother. He thought of the child’s mind, growing up in the shadow of this relationship, with this as its foundation. The psychology of it would be a minefield. It would be born from a sin so profound it would stain its very DNA. It would be powerful. It would be a monster. It would be theirs.
It would be super fucked up.
“If it were possible…” Baki said slowly, his voice quiet, almost to himself. He looked back at Yujiro. “If your will could actually do that… it would be the strongest creature ever born.”
Yujiro nodded once, a faint, proud smile touching his lips. As if Baki had finally grasped the obvious.
Baki continued, the thoughts tumbling out. “But it wouldn’t just be strong. It would be… a lot. Our kid. Jesus.” He ran a hand through his own hair, mirroring Yujiro’s earlier gesture. “Can you imagine? The therapy bills alone. The first day of school. ‘What do your parents do, little Hanma?’ ‘Oh, my grandfather is also my dad, and they fuck and fight to decide who makes breakfast.’”
He laughed again, but it was hollow, edged with a thrilling kind of dread. He met Yujiro’s unwavering gaze. The fantasy was seductive. A new purpose. A permanent, living bond. A project they could build together, beyond just trying to kill each other or fuck each other into oblivion.
But the reality was a bottomless chasm of complication.
“It’s a nice dream,” Baki finally said, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Yujiro’s. “A really fucked-up, beautiful dream. But it’s a dream, old man.”
Yujiro’s hands came up to frame his face. His eyes were black pools of absolute certainty. “It’s not a dream,” he whispered, his breath mingling with Baki’s. “It’s a possibility. And I’m considering it.”
He sealed the statement with a kiss, deep and possessive, a physical claim that felt different now—like a brand, a prelude to a planting. When he pulled back, he simply looked at Baki, his expression serene with a newfound, terrifying resolve.
Baki’s heart hammered against his ribs. He saw it then, the genuine belief. Yujiro wasn’t just fantasizing. He was planning. The Ogre had identified a new horizon, a new form of conquest. And Baki, his beloved, stubborn son, was the territory to be claimed.
The night pressed in around them, the silent television flickering across their still forms. The question, absurd and impossible, now hung in the air between them, solid as a vow.
It was no longer a joke.
It was a mission.
It was a mission.
The silence after his declaration wasn't empty. It was charged, like the moment before a lightning strike. Baki could feel the intent radiating from Yujiro’s skin, a tangible heat that had nothing to do with body temperature. That terrifying, simple curiosity had solidified into a focused will. Baki’s mouth went dry.
Yujiro stood, the movement fluid and final. He looked down at Baki, who still knelt on the sofa, and his expression was one of pure, predatory possession. “Get on the bed,” he said, his voice a low command that brooked no debate. “On your back. Legs spread. Now.”
A shiver, equal parts fear and white-hot anticipation, arced down Baki’s spine. He moved automatically, his body obeying before his mind could formulate a protest. The cool sheets were a shock against his skin. He settled back against the pillows, watching as Yujiro approached the bed with the deliberate, silent pace of a stalking animal.
Yujiro didn’t undress. He simply unbuckled his pants, freeing his already erect cock, which stood thick and heavy against his stomach. The sight of it, the sheer biological reality of it, made Baki’s breath hitch. This was the instrument of that impossible will.
“You said it was a dream,” Yujiro murmured, kneeling on the mattress between Baki’s spread thighs. He ran his hands up the inside of Baki’s legs, pushing them wider, his thumbs digging into the tense muscle. “I’m going to show you it’s not.”
He produced a bottle of lubricant from the nightstand, coating his fingers with a slick, clinical sound. He didn’t prepare Baki with gentle teasing. One thick, slick finger pushed straight into him, a blunt invasion that made Baki gasp and arch off the bed. A second finger followed almost immediately, stretching him, the burn sharp and clarifying.
“You’re going to take my cock,” Yujiro stated, his eyes locked on where his fingers disappeared into Baki’s body. “You’re going to take my cum. And you’re going to keep it. Every last drop.” He scissored his fingers, the stretch deepening. “You understand? Your body doesn’t get a choice anymore.”
“Fuck,” Baki choked out, his head thrashing side to side. The pain was subsiding, swamped by a rising tide of need. The crude, impossible words were weaving a spell. “Yujiro…”
“Say you understand.” A third finger pressed in, stretching him to a breathtaking fullness. Yujiro curled them, seeking and finding that devastating spot inside him. Baki cried out, a broken sound.
“I understand!” Baki gasped.
Yujiro withdrew his fingers. He slicked his own cock, the sound obscenely wet in the quiet room. He positioned himself, the broad, leaking head pressing insistently against Baki’s stretched entrance. He paused, holding himself there, a promise of penetration.
“This is where I put my baby in you,” Yujiro growled, his voice dropping to a filthy, intimate rasp. He pushed forward, an inexorable inch. “Right here. This tight, hot little hole is gonna be the cradle for my son. My seed’s gonna swim so deep inside you it’ll rewrite your fucking DNA.”
He sank another inch, the burn glorious and brutal. Baki clawed at the sheets, his heels digging into Yujiro’s back.
“I’m gonna fuck a child into you, Baki.” Each word was a hammer strike, punctuated by a shallow, grinding thrust. “I’m gonna pump you so full of me you’ll taste it in your throat. You’ll feel it take. You’ll feel my will working in your guts, making a space for him.”
“Yes!” Baki screamed, the fantasy obliterating all reason. The violation was the point. The impossibility was the allure. “Do it! Please, Dad, fuck it into me! Get me pregnant! I want it, I want your baby so bad, please!”
His begging seemed to unleash something feral. Yujiro snarled, a vicious, triumphant sound, and slammed the rest of the way home in one brutal, sheathing thrust. Baki saw white, his body bowing, completely impaled. Yujiro didn’t let him adjust. He set a relentless, pounding rhythm, each drive aimed to bury himself as deeply as possible.
“You feel that?” Yujiro grunted, his hips a piston. “That’s where he starts. Right at the end of my cock. I’m planting him so fucking deep in your womb you’ll never be empty again.” He leaned down, capturing Baki’s mouth in a biting kiss. “You’re gonna swell for me. Your tight little body’s gonna bloom with my child.”
“Yes, yes, make me bloom!” Baki babbled, incoherent with pleasure, each brutal thrust jolting the words out of him. “Fill my womb, breed me, I’m your bitch, just breed me, please, I need your baby!”
“You’ll carry him,” Yujiro promised, his pace becoming erratic, desperate. The slapping of skin was a rapid, wet applause. “You’ll carry my son and everyone will know. They’ll see my claim on you. They’ll see what we made.” He was close. His control was shredding. “Now take it. Take my seed. Take your fucking baby.”
With a final, ground-shaking roar, Yujiro drove in to the hilt and held, his body locking. Baki felt the hot, pulsing flood erupt inside him, jet after impossibly thick jet, a surreal mimicry of conception. The feeling, paired with the violent possession in Yujiro’s eyes, tipped him over his own edge. His orgasm ripped through him silently at first, a seismic internal convulsion, before a ragged, shattered cry was torn from his throat as he painted his own stomach with stripes of wet heat.
Collapse was gradual. Yujiro’s weight settled upon him, crushing, spent. He was still inside, still pulsing weakly. Baki’s whole world had narrowed to the feeling of that intimate flood, the filthy, beautiful promise cooling within him. He was overcome, a used vessel, completely claimed.
Yujiro nuzzled into his neck, his breath hot and ragged. “It’s done,” he whispered, the conviction absolute. A final, quiet statement of fact.
A final, quiet statement of fact.
He rolled off, leaving Baki feeling horrifically empty, a slick warmth already seeping from him. Before the chill could even settle on his skin, Yujiro’s hand was back between his thighs, fingers probing the mess he’d just made.
“Still leaking,” Yujiro muttered, his voice rough. “We can’t have that. We need to keep it inside. For absorption.”
His touch was firm, almost clinical, pushing the leaking seed back into Baki’s body. The intimacy of it was shocking, more invasive than the act itself. Baki flinched, a low whine escaping him. Yujiro leaned over, his face a grim mask of determination in the low light.
“We need to go again.Now. We have to reinforce the deposit. My virility is a known quantity, but this is a complex negotiation.”
He pulled Baki onto his side, then onto his hands and knees. Baki, still trembling and over-sensitized from his recent climax, braced himself against the headboard. Yujiro’s hands gripped his hips, fingers digging deep into the flesh, pulling his ass back.
Baki felt the blunt head of Yujiro’s cock again, already impossibly hard, nudging at his slick, well-used entrance. “Wait—Dad, I’m still—“
Yujiro shoved in without preamble.
It was a rougher, deeper angle, stealing Baki’s breath. “This is for penetration depth,” Yujiro grunted, setting a punishing pace immediately. “Initial seeding is done. Now we ensure motility. My swimmers need a clear path. Your cervix needs to be softened. You understand me, boy? I need this channel to remember that it has one job now. Obedience.”
His thrusts were not rhythmic. They were a relentless barrage, a battering ram aimed at the core of him. Each impact forced a punched-out sound from Baki’s lungs. His arms gave out. He collapsed onto his stomach, his face pressed into the pillow, which only allowed Yujiro to sink deeper, his massive weight pinning Baki flat to the mattress.
“Better,” Yujiro growled above him, his hips pistoning. “The deepest possible merge. Your musculature is taking a stretch you’ve never known. And you’re going to keep it open.”
He leaned down, his breath hot and ragged in Baki’s ear. His voice became a filthy, wet whisper. “You feel that sting? That raw, burning stretch? That’s your body learning to be a womb. It’s swelling. Becoming receptive. Your fascia is learning new limits, and those limits are your purpose now. To hold my child."
Tears of overstimulation and a terrifying euphoria pricked Baki’s eyes. He was being rewritten from the inside out, the language of conception a brutal mantra carved into him with every thrust. “It’s learning! I can feel it learning, make it remember, make it work!”
Yujiro came with a snarl that vibrated through them both, pumping another hot load into Baki’s ravaged insides. He held himself there, his cock pulsing, and they lay locked together like that, panting. The air stank of sweat and sex.
Ten minutes later, Yujiro pulled him flat onto his back again. He arranged Baki’s legs over his shoulders, raising his hips with a pillow crammed underneath.
“What…?” Baki mumbled, exhaustion and confusion blurring his thoughts.
“Gravity,” Yujiro stated. “The precise posture ensures alignment and retention. Missionary isn’t just speculation. It’s physics for incipient generation.”
The absurd, furious sincerity in Yujiro’s eyes robbed Baki of any remaining sarcasm. He merely nodded, let his head fall back. Yujiro entered him for the third time. This insertion was slower, agonizingly deep, the new angle making Baki keen as Yujiro’s cockhead seemed to burrow into uncharted, sensitive territory. He stayed there, grinding instead of thrusting.
“Talk to me,” Yujiro demanded, his face a sculpture of strain inches above Baki’s. “Talk to your fucking womb. Tell it what it’s receiving. Name it.”
Baki, half-delirious, obeyed. “Take it… womb, please,” he panted, the words a bizarre and humbling prayer. “Take his son. Accept his seed. It’s yours… Yujiro… Yujiro’s getting me pregnant right now, I can feel it, I’m your receptacle…”
The degrading litany sent Yujiro over the edge faster. He slammed home, roaring as he emptied himself.An hour passed. They drank water. Neither spoke about stopping. The mission was absolute. When Yujiro began to harden again, he manhandled Baki onto his back once more, scrapping the pillow for his own muscular forearms which he slid beneath Baki’s lower back, arching it unnaturally high, suspending Baki almost completely off the mattress, pinned in place like a doll.
“Targeting,” Yujiro hissed, slicking himself with yet more lube, spitting into his palm for good measure. “Precise targeting.”
He plunged in.Baki screamed. It felt not like sex, but like a vivisection aimed at something that didn’t exist. His body could take it. He had trained it to take anything.
But this psychological onslaught—the unwavering belief, the complete erasure of biological fact, the total subjugation of his body to Yujiro’s reproductive fantasy—was fracturing his mind. Pleasure was indistinguishable from torture.
“Who owns this hole?” Yujiro demanded, his voice hoarse, jaw tight with a titanic concentration. He pounded into that fixed, raised angle, over and over.
“You do!”
“And for what fucking purpose?”
“To get me pregnant! To carry your baby!”
The fourth climax was silent for Yujiro, a vast, trembling, internal convulsion that made the tendons in his neck stand out like cables. He simply held still, shuddering, his head hanging, as his seed transferred.
The fifth and final time was near dawn.
Yujiro was hollow-eyed with something akin to madness, his movements almost clumsy with fatigue. Baki’s insides ached abominably, swollen and raw, but he rolled onto his back and spread his legs anyway, a silent, devoted invitation.
Yujiro slumped over him. He entered with a hoarse groan. The thrusts were weak, shallow, but desperate in their intent. This was purely about superstition now. A ritualistic pouring of the final remains of his will.
“Tonight…” Yujiro panted against Baki’s collarbone, words slurring with exhaustion. “Tonight we made a child. I felt it… catch. I planted a life in this darkness. So fucking deep.” His hips gave a final, feeble press. “A boy. It’s going to be a boy.”
He collapsed onto Baki, utterly spent, a dead weight of belief and muscle. Outside the window, the orange haze of the city gave way to the cool, sterile blue of pre-dawn. They did not move. The sheets were cold, stiff with drying fluids.
Baki, bruised and overflowing, stared at the ceiling. The constant, impossibly sensual ache within his body felt like a phantom memory of generations. He felt populated. He felt insane. He let his hand drift to his own abdomen, laying his palm flat against the faint scar tissue from the mountain rock. He would wait, quietly, for the feeling inside him to shift from Yujiro’s fluid warmth to something else—to swollen promise, to flesh.
For the first time, he believed it possible. Because the strength of Yujiro’s conviction was a law of nature in itself, superior to mere biology.
Sleep took them tangled in that sour-smelling bed. In Yujiro’s mind, it was a task completed. For Baki, it was the beginning of a strange vigil. A beautiful sick dream had been given jurisdiction over his actual flesh. And he had consented. No, he had begged for it. The nightmare was home now, and the demons wanted a baby. He pressed back against the solid heat of his father. Dawn was a liar anyway. The real world was this musk-drenched darkness, this living cycle of brutal possession and whispered creation, a seamless tapestry of seed and bone.