🎮⌇ player two has entered the chat (and somehow is winning)
pairing: gamerdad!wonwoo x f!reader x toddler!son
genre: domestic fluff, crack-ish, gamer au tropes: competitive wonwoo, toddler chaos, tiny betrayal
word count: 0.8k
minnie's note: I can definitely imagine wonwoo doing this 😭🙏🏻
the day started peacefully.
too peacefully.
you had just finished writing the grocery list when wonwoo appeared from the hallway holding his son like a sacred offering.
“we’re going to have quality time,” he announced in that deep, serious voice that made everything sound like a documentary narration.
“quality time doing what?” you asked suspiciously, eyeing the way his glasses were already pushed firmly up the bridge of his nose.
“developing motor skills.”
your son was already reaching toward the living room. toward the console.
you should’ve known.
the second you stepped out of the house, wonwoo transformed.
glasses adjusted. hoodie sleeves pushed up. ps5 humming to life. he sat on the floor instead of the couch because “pro gamers sit closer to the screen.”
your three-year-old plopped beside him with a dramatic sigh, holding his sippy cup like a seasoned spectator.
“today,” wonwoo began, as if giving a lecture at a university, “you learn fundamentals.”
he handed him a controller. it was slightly too big for your son’s hands; he held it like a steering wheel. wonwoo loaded up a fighting game.
“this is simple. light attack. heavy attack. guard.”
your son blinked at him. and then he pressed everything. all of it. simultaneously.
wonwoo’s character flew across the screen. combo. spin. slam.
KO.
wonwoo stared. “...what.”
your son gasped dramatically and clapped for himself. “i win! i win!”
wonwoo adjusted his glasses again. surely that was a fluke. “beginner’s luck,” he muttered.
second match. wonwoo leaned forward, posture perfect, competitive aura activated.
your son this time decided pressing with thumbs wasn’t enough. he used his whole palm. random. chaotic. unstoppable. his character somehow landed another devastating combo.
wonwoo’s health bar? gone.
KO.
the room fell silent except for your son’s delighted giggling.
“appa bad at game,” he declared confidently.
wonwoo blinked slowly. “...that is factually incorrect.”
by round five, wonwoo was fully locked in.
leaning so close to the screen his glasses almost touched it. meanwhile, your son had decided the controller was also a musical instrument and was tapping it rhythmically.
and still winning.
that’s when wonwoo made a decision. slowly. carefully. with villainous calm.
“let me check something,” he said gently.
your son, trusting and unaware, handed over the controller. wonwoo turned it around, opened the battery compartment with expert precision, removed the batteries, and slid them into his hoodie pocket.
click. closed it. handed it back.
“upgraded,” he said softly.
your son smiled brightly. “thank you, appa!”
next match. your son mashed buttons again. nothing. he frowned. pressed harder. nothing. meanwhile, wonwoo’s character was moving beautifully. flawless combos. perfect timing.
KO.
wonwoo leaned back, satisfied. “ah,” he said calmly, “looks like you’re tired.”
your son’s eyebrows scrunched. he pressed again. harder. the controller remained peacefully dead. his lower lip trembled.
“appa… broken?”
wonwoo gently patted his head. “sometimes technology fails us.”
another round. another flawless win for wonwoo. he was unstoppable now. confidence restored. ego repaired.
he even texted you:
wonwoo: balance has been restored.
you replied:
you: did he eat lunch.
wonwoo glanced at the clock. “...soon.”
ten minutes later, your son crawled into wonwoo’s lap, still determined, aggressively pressing the useless controller while wonwoo carried them both to victory.
“we are teamwork,” your son announced proudly.
“yes,” wonwoo nodded solemnly. “our synergy is unmatched.”
the front door opened. wonwoo froze.
you walked in carrying grocery bags. first thing you see: your son violently pressing a controller. second thing you notice: his character on screen not moving at all. third thing: wonwoo looking way too composed.
you slowly set the bags down. “...wonwoo.”
he didn’t look away from the screen. “hm?”
“why isn’t his character doing anything?”
your son immediately pointed at his father with dramatic betrayal. “appa broke it!”
wonwoo sighed softly like a man misunderstood by society. “that is a strong accusation.”
you crossed your arms. “jeon wonwoo.”
he finally looked at you. the silence stretched. then, without breaking eye contact, he reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out the batteries. placed them gently on the coffee table.
“he was humiliating me,” he admitted quietly.
“he’s three.”
“exactly,” wonwoo said, wounded pride clear in his voice.
your son crawled toward you dramatically and collapsed into your lap like he’d survived a great injustice. “appa cheater.”
you kissed his head and tried not to laugh. “put them back.”
wonwoo obeyed immediately. because gamer dad wonwoo may sabotage a toddler’s controller… but he absolutely cannot win against you.
batteries reinserted. game restarted.
your son resumed his chaotic button assault. first round back? wonwoo lost again.
your son erupted into giggles so loud the neighbors probably heard. wonwoo slowly removed his glasses.
“...this child is dangerous.”
you leaned against the couch, smiling. “maybe he just has natural talent.”
wonwoo looked at his son, who was now proudly yelling “comboooo!” despite definitely not knowing what that meant. a slow, competitive grin spread across wonwoo’s face.
“fine,” he said quietly. “i’ll train him properly.”
your son looked up at him with sparkling eyes. “again!”
wonwoo handed him the controller. this time, fully functional. and as they started another match, your son pressed random buttons again—and somehow. somehow. won.
wonwoo stared at the screen. then at you. then back at his son.
“...i’m raising a monster.”
you laughed softly. “no,” you said. “you’re raising your son.”
