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MidReal Story
Boyfriend Material
Scenario:In a world where men can get pregnant, Jaewoo is a 19 year old korean boy who is dating his boyfriend minho who really wants to be pregnant, who is very possessive but not the kind where he can't have contact with anyone. Jaewoo has a sorta whiney voice, which Minho thinks is sexy. They have wonderful sex. Minho begs jaewoo to try to make a baby. Minho leaves subtle hints about him wanting to be pregnant
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Minho
He is Jaewoo's boyfriend. He is passionate, possessive, and romantic. Minho deeply desires a child with Jaewoo and believes that their love will strengthen it. His intense attachment to Jaewoo often leads to possessive outbursts, but he ensures Jaewoo feels cherished and loved. Minho persuades Jaewoo to attempt to get minho pregnant, seeing it as a chance to deepen their bond and begin a new chapter together.
Jaewoo
He is a 19-year-old Korean man living in a world where men can get pregnant. He is gentle, introspective, and affectionate. Jaewoo enjoys intimate relationships and is deeply in love with his boyfriend, Minho. He finds Minho's possessive nature charming and loves being reciprocally intimate. Jaewoo is determined to deepen his bond with Minho by trying to conceive a child despite in minho the potential risks and societal stigmas associated with male pregnancy.
I am a 19-year-old Korean boy.
I have a boyfriend, Minho, who is also Korean.
Minho has a very possessive nature.
However, it's not the kind of possessiveness where I'm not allowed to have contact with anyone.
He just wants me to be in love with him forever and not have a breakup with me.
I also love him very much, so I don't want to be separated from him.
So we get along well.
Minho is currently reading a book while lying on the bed.
I was watching TV while sitting on the couch and came running to him after seeing him pick up his book.
I climbed onto the bed and sat next to him while he was reading his book and put my head on his lap.
Minho smiled and kissed my forehead while he was reading his book.
After some time, he closed his book and hugged me tightly.
Then he kissed my forehead, nose, cheeks, and lips slowly.
I also hugged him back and kissed him back.
Minho's kisses are always very passionate, as if he wanted to devour me completely.
Minho's hand, which was on my waist, slowly moved to his own stomach and started caressing it in slow circles.
I looked at him and saw that his eyes had become wider and more pleading.
He broke our kiss and took my hand, which was on his back, and placed it on his belly while looking at me.
Then he pressed my hand against his flat stomach with his own hand and looked at me again.
I felt my heart beating fast.
I knew this gesture very well.
He had been doing this for a long time.
Before I could take my hand off his stomach, he whispered in my ear, "I want to carry our baby, Jaewoo."
My hand trembles against his stomach as his words sink in.
The evening light casts long shadows across our bedroom, and the TV drones forgotten in the background.
I study his hopeful expression, watching his chest rise and fall with nervous breaths.
The warmth of his skin beneath my palm feels different now, charged with possibility.
My throat tightens as I try to form words, but they get stuck.
Minho waits patiently, his fingers intertwined with mine against his belly.
"Are you sure, Minho?" I finally manage to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
He nods, eyes shining with determination.
"I've never been more certain about anything in my life, Jaewoo."
I follow Minho through the crowded mall, my eyes fixed on the back of his head as he navigates through the throng of people.
We had planned to meet up with some friends for dinner tonight, and I was supposed to pick him up from his workplace.
But just as we were about to leave, Minho suddenly stopped mid-sentence and clutched his stomach.
His face paled, and he looked at me with a mixture of panic and confusion.
"I think I'm going to throw up," he said, his voice trembling.
Without waiting for my response, he dashed towards the restroom, leaving me standing there in shock.
I quickly followed him, pushing my way through the crowd as I tried to catch up with him.
As I entered the restroom, I could hear the sound of retching coming from one of the stalls.
I stood outside the stall awkwardly, not sure what to do.
After a few moments, the retching stopped, and I heard footsteps approaching.
Minho emerged from the stall, his face still pale and clammy.
He looked at me with a mixture of embarrassment and relief. "I'm sorry," he said softly, his voice barely audible over the din of the mall.
"I don't know what happened."
I shook my head and took a step closer to him.
"It's okay," I said reassuringly.
"Let's get you home."
But Minho hesitated, looking around nervously at the other shoppers who were starting to stare at us curiously.
"I don't want to go home yet," he said quietly.
"I still want to have dinner with our friends."
I frowned in confusion.
"But you just threw up," I pointed out gently.
"Are you sure you're feeling well enough?"
Minho nodded determinedly, his eyes sparkling with determination.
"Yes, I'm sure," he said firmly.
"Let's go."
As we walked out of the restroom, I couldn't help but notice that Minho seemed different somehow.
He was quieter than usual, and there was a strange look in his eyes that I couldn't quite decipher. We made our way through the mall once again, this time heading towards the food court where our friends were waiting for us.
As we walked, I noticed that Minho kept glancing at me nervously, as if he was trying to gauge my reaction to something.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we reached our destination and found our friends sitting at a table in the food court.
Minho took a deep breath and turned to me, his voice barely audible over the chatter around us.
"Jaewoo, there's something I need to tell you before we join them," he said, his eyes searching mine.
I nodded, feeling a knot form in my stomach as I braced myself for whatever revelation was about to come.
I watch Minho pick at his food during dinner, barely touching the noodles that he usually devours with gusto.
Our friends chat and laugh around us, but Minho remains silent, his eyes fixed on his plate.
Under the table, I notice his hand keeps drifting to his stomach, a subtle gesture that catches my attention.
When Jimin asks him if he's feeling better after being sick earlier, Minho just nods and grips my hand tighter under the table.
As everyone finishes eating and starts clearing their plates, Minho leans close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin.
"Can we stop at the pharmacy on the way home?" he whispers, his voice trembling.
"I need to get a test."
I drive us to the nearest pharmacy, watching Minho fidget with his seatbelt the whole way.
When we get inside, we wander the aisles awkwardly, scanning the shelves for what we need.
Finally, we find it – the male pregnancy tests, discreetly tucked away behind the counter.
The cashier gives us a knowing look as I purchase two tests, and my cheeks burn with embarrassment.
Back in the car, Minho clutches the paper bag to his chest, his knuckles white as he stares out the window.
At home, I pace nervously outside our bathroom door while he takes the tests.
It feels like hours pass before he finally emerges, his eyes brimming with tears and both tests clutched in his trembling hands.
I sit on the edge of our bed, watching him pace back and forth in the bathroom doorway.
The room is too quiet except for his uneven breathing and the rustling of the plastic tests in his hands.
When I reach out to touch him, he flinches away, pressing himself against the wall.
His eyes dart between the two positive tests and my face, his voice coming out in a stammer.
"I wanted this so much," he whispers, his words barely audible.
"I begged for this. But now... now it feels like too much."
I stand up slowly and take a step towards him, but he shakes his head and slides down the wall to sit on the floor.
He wraps his arms protectively around his stomach, his voice cracking as he speaks.
"I don't know what to do," he whispers, his tears falling onto the plastic tests.
"I wanted this baby so much. But now... I'm scared."
I sit on our bed, watching Minho lean against the headboard, both hands pressed firmly against his stomach.
The bedside lamp casts a soft glow over the room, and I can see the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.
His fingers trace slow circles on his belly, as if he's trying to soothe himself.
He hasn't moved from this position since we got the test results two hours ago.
At first, he'd been panicked – pacing back and forth in our bedroom, muttering to himself, and clutching the pregnancy tests like they were lifelines.
But now, something has shifted inside him.
His panic has given way to a quiet introspection, as if he's finally allowing himself to process the news. I watch him for a few moments before reaching out to touch his hand.
He startles slightly at my touch, then looks up at me with wet eyes.
"I love you already," he whispers, but he's not talking to me.
His fingers continue their slow circles on his belly as he talks softly to our baby.
I wake up to sunlight streaming through our curtains, illuminating the dust motes that dance in the air.
I stretch my arms above my head, arching my back and extending my toes until I feel the satisfying crack of my joints.
When I roll over to face Minho's side of the bed, I notice it's empty.
The sheets are rumpled and his pillow bears the indentation of his head.
I frown slightly, wondering where he's gone so early in the morning.
As I swing my legs over the side of the bed, I hear a soft cooing sound coming from the living room.
Curiosity piqued, I pad barefoot across the hardwood floor and peer around the corner.
Minho is sitting cross-legged on our living room floor, his back against the couch and something cradled in his arms.
The cooing grows louder as I approach, and I can see his lips moving as he hums a gentle tune. When I get closer, I realize he's holding a baby doll – but not just any baby doll.
This one is incredibly realistic, with tiny fingers and toes that look like they could be real if they weren't made of plastic.
The doll's face is serene, its eyelids closed as if it's sleeping.
I can see tiny wisps of eyelashes brushing against its cheeks, and its mouth is slightly parted as if it's about to cry.
Minho looks up at me with a nervous smile, his eyes shining with excitement.
"Good morning," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I didn't want to wake you."
I kneel down beside him on the floor, reaching out to touch the doll's soft hair.
It feels like real human hair – fine and silky under my fingertips.
"Where did you get this?" "I ordered it online last week," Minho says, gently rocking the doll in his arms.
"I wanted to practice holding our baby before it arrives."
He looks down at the doll with such tenderness that my heart swells in my chest.
I can already imagine him holding our real baby with that same love and care. "Do you want to hold it?" he asks, looking up at me with hopeful eyes.
"I can show you how to support its head."
I nod eagerly, scooting closer to him on the floor as he carefully hands me the doll.
It feels surprisingly heavy in my arms – almost like holding a real baby would feel.
I sit on our couch watching Minho practice with the baby doll for the third hour straight.
He cradles it against his chest, mimicking feeding motions with an imaginary bottle and humming lullabies under his breath.
The doll's plastic limbs dangle limply in his arms, but he treats it like a fragile human being.
Suddenly, he presses a button on the doll's back and it lets out a loud, electronic wail.
The sound fills our living room, making me jump slightly in surprise.
Minho doesn't flinch, though – instead, he shifts the doll to his shoulder and begins patting its back with gentle, rhythmic movements.
"Shh, it's okay," he whispers, his eyes fixed intently on the doll's face as if it were a real infant.
I wake up to muffled sobs coming from the living room at midnight.
Groggily, I pull on a pair of sweatpants and shuffle down the hallway to investigate.
When I reach the living room, I find Minho frantically tearing apart the couch cushions, his face streaked with tears.
He's muttering "where is she" over and over under his breath as he checks under the coffee table and behind the curtains.
His hands keep moving to his stomach protectively as if he's trying to shield our baby from whatever's happening.
I frown in confusion, rubbing my bleary eyes as I try to make sense of what I'm seeing.
"Minho, what's wrong?"
I ask, my voice rough from sleep.
He turns to me with red-rimmed eyes, his cheeks flushed with distress.
"I can't find her," he says between hiccups, his voice trembling as he speaks.
"I have to find her."
I glance around the living room, taking in the scattered couch cushions and overturned chairs.
It looks like a tornado tore through our apartment while I was asleep. "Who are you looking for?"
I ask gently, trying not to startle him further.
He blinks at me as if I've just asked the most obvious question in the world.
"The practice doll," he says, his voice cracking with emotion.
"I have to find her."
Without waiting for my response, he dives back into his search – checking under the rug and peering behind the bookshelf as if our doll might be hiding there.
"Minho, it's just a doll," I say softly, trying to calm him down.
He shakes his head vehemently, tears still streaming down his face.
"No, you don't understand," he whispers urgently, "I need to find her before she becomes real."
"I lost her," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own sobs.
"How can I be trusted with a real baby when I couldn't even keep track of a doll?"
I find Minho sitting at our kitchen table, staring blankly at his untouched breakfast.
Dark circles ring his eyes from lack of sleep, and his shoulders slump forward as if he's carrying the weight of the world on them.
When I place a hand on his shoulder, he flinches slightly, as if startled by my touch.
"Minho, it's okay," I say softly, trying to reassure him.
"We can buy another doll. It's not a big deal."
He shakes his head violently, pushing his plate away from him with trembling hands.
"It's not about the doll anymore," he says, pressing his palms flat against his still-flat stomach.
"I keep having these dreams where I can't find her, and it feels so real."
His voice cracks again, and he looks up at me with a mixture of fear and desperation.
"What if it's a sign that I'm not ready to be a father?"
I sit down next to him on the bed, watching as he clutches his stomach protectively with both hands.
His shoulders shake slightly as he tries to hold back tears.
"It started after I lost the practice doll," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I keep having this nightmare where I wake up and my belly is empty. The baby is just gone, without any explanation."
He swallows hard, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape from his own fears.
"I read some statistics online about male pregnancy," he continues, his voice cracking again.
"The risks are higher for us, you know? Complications during childbirth, miscarriages... there are so many things that could go wrong."
I reach out to hold him, but he flinches away from my touch.
"What if my body rejects the baby?" he whispers, pressing his hands harder against his stomach as if trying to shield it from harm.
"I don't want anything to happen to our child."
"Minho," I say gently, trying to meet his eyes, "we're in this together, and we'll face whatever comes our way."
He looks at me, his expression softening just a little as he nods slowly.
"But what if I'm not strong enough?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.