emergency kitty babysitter's club
pairing: platonic ot8 x reader
word count: 7.1k
summary: you have to head out of town and you can't leave your precious cat alone, so you decide to call in a favour from your favourite 8 friends.
tags: fluff. cat nonsense. established friendship. skz being skz
You don't anticipate chaos. Not at first at least.
In fact, you expect this to go quite smoothly. After all, the request is simple, the time commitment minimal, and your companions—though chaotic—are all capable adults. Mostly. You tell yourself that a cat-sitting arrangement with your friend group is no different from asking anyone else. Perhaps it will even be charming. Domestic. Bonding.
You should have known better.
The group chat has barely been appropriately renamed to “emergency kitty babysitter's club🐾” when panic begins to unfold.
channie: wait is something wrong why is it named that???
hyunjin: if this is a real emergency i’m going to cry
seungmin: i bet it’s something ridiculous like ‘her plant looked sad’
you: wow okay rude. it is NOT a plant this time thank you.
you: i need someone to watch my daughter, princess murder volcano for the weekend pls pls pls😼
A long pause follows. A virtual silence, if you will. Then—
han: i’m sorry her name is WHAT...
You pinch the bridge of your nose.
“Princess. Murder. Volcano,” you repeat aloud, as if saying it in your own voice might lend it dignity. As if verbal confirmation would translate through to the men when the conversation was indeed, online. The cat in question is peacefully purring in your lap, snoozing and occasionally huffing or twitching, as if she is in the peak of dreamland.
you: i didn't name her that
you: she chose it herself
jeongin: what kind of cat chooses her own name ???
minho: the dangerous kind. i remember her. she scratched my thigh and then stole my snack.
you: that was one time! she's just a baby
hyunjin: she stared straight into my damn soul. don’t get me started on MY SHIRT. i still have nightmares abt it. she knows things we don't
you: okay....dramatic... no daughter of mine has been raised to behave in such a way
you: anyway listen. i’ll be gone for three days for my cousin’s wedding. i just need you guys to check in, feed her, play with her a bit ! nothing wild. she mostly just sleeps and runs up and down the hallway.... pleaseeee !! i'll treat you when i come back
felix: i’ll do it!! 🥺 i love cats
binnie: me too! this’ll be fun 🤩🤩
minho: you are all fools. she is not a cat. she is a small, elegant war criminal.
seungmin: sounds like your type hyung
You close your eyes and count to ten.
They do, in the end, agree. Through passive-aggressive commentary, chaotic enthusiasm, and mild dread, they do accept the mission. You feel something close to warmth bloom in your chest. Relief, maybe. Gratitude.
Foolish, foolish you.
Because no amount of love or loyalty can prepare a group of overworked idols for one deceptively fluffy, emotionally manipulative, semi-feral feline with the spiteful intelligence of a Victorian widow plotting the downfall of every man who ever wronged her. You're sure that it will be okay—she is not one to misbehave for you!
On the day of your departure, you smile and you wave goodbye to the boys. You leave your precious, sweet, innocent daughter, Princess Murder Volcano in their hands.
And so it begins.
You have yet to even reach the airport security line before your phone begins vibrating incessantly in your bag.
The group chat has transformed into a war room.
channie: she’s glaring at me
felix: nooo she’s just curious 🥺🥺 she’s probably getting used to you
minho: she’s plotting his downfall.
seungmin: if we just don't leave the back door open it'll be fine
You resist the urge to laugh aloud. Instead, you open the chat and peek at the latest photo: Princess Murder Volcano perched on top of your fridge, fluffed out like a disapproving cloud, eyes narrowed at the mere concept of human interaction, let alone with a man. Her ears are slightly tilted outward and back, and her boofy tail curls and uncurls like a fuse.
you: she can be people shy at first! it's fine i promise☺️gtg, i’m at security!
You really should know better.
Day One's debacles begin with Chan, who has shown up with a clipboard.
There are bullet points, color-coded sticky tabs, and a hydration log. He has scheduled enrichment time, litter scooping, feeding windows with optional treat intervals. He has printed out an actual feeding plan and is now consulting it while crouching near her pink food bowl.
“She gets fourteen grams in the morning and ten in the evening, right? Split into two intervals to match her natural hunting cycle?”
“Sure,” Seungmin says, already bored. “Why not teach her to file taxes while you’re at it?”
Princess Murder Volcano sniffs the food and walks away, choosing instead to stare unblinking at Chan from several steps away, paws tucked neatly beneath her body like a loaf of bread with grievances.
He attempts to coax her closer with a laser pointer. She does not even blink.
“Enrichment prevents behaviour problems,” Chan mutters, turning the dot in desperate, swirling patterns across the hardwood flooring. “Keeps their brains active. Lowers stress hormones.”
After an embarrassingly long time, Princess does move, albeit not for the laser pointer; instead she leaps onto the kitchen counter and reaches one paw out. Slowly, with deep intent, she knocks his full water bottle off the island. The metal hits the floor with a loud thud.
Chan stares, stunned by her audacity. She blinks unapologetically and returns to her loafing position.
“Well. Okay.”
Minho, predictably, arrives with armour. Not literal armour—but there is a cautiousness to him that screams veteran of previous battles.
“She remembers me,” he mutters, standing stiffly just inside the door. “I know she does.”
“She’s a cat, hyung,” Jeongin says, watching from the safety of the hallway.
“Exactly. She remembers.”
Minho kneels slowly, cautiously. He extends a small stuffed mouse toy attached to a string. She sniffs it once, then lashes out with surgical precision. A single clawed swipe—nothing dramatic, just enough to leave a faint raised red line trailing down his knuckles.
Minho retracts his hand like he has touched a stovetop.
“She’s gentle,” Felix offers, concerned.
“She’s vengeful,” Minho replies, moving to the kitchen and muttering something about boundary-training and spiritual warfare. He proceeds to scatter cucumber slices across the floor in a perfect circle and perches behind the couch to observe.
“She won’t cross it,” he says grimly.
She immediately does, as if spite itself fuelled her small being.
Hyunjin arrives like he is walking onto a battlefield dressed for the Met Gala.
Hair messy but in the most perfect way, rings meticulously stacked on his fingers, scarf flowing behind him like a war banner. He steps inside and freezes, locking eyes with the cat perched atop your windowsill like a queen guarding her castle.
“Ah,” he says softly. “It’s you.”
The others barely glance up. This is normal for Hyunjin.
“I haven’t forgotten,” he continues, toeing off his shoes. “That day you stole my heart... and then shredded it.”
“She sat in your laundry basket,” Han deadpanned from the couch.
“She clawed my silk shirt,” Hyunjin corrects, voice laced with betrayal. “She knew it was silk I swear.”
Princess Murder Volcano yawns.
He drops his bag with theatrical flair and strides forward slowly, never breaking eye contact.
“You and I,” he says, his voice low, “have unfinished business.”
The cat does not move.
Hyunjin crouches, level with her gaze. “Do you yield?”
Her tail twitches, as if challenging him.
A slow, intense silence descends upon the room. Felix stops mid-sentence. Jeongin holds his breath. Even Minho peeks over the back of the couch like a drama-hungry spectator.
And then—lightning fast—she leaps down from the sill and brushes against Hyunjin’s legs on her way to the food bowl. Not submissive. Not friendly. Just... dismissive.
Hyunjin stands there, stunned.
“She... walked past me.”
“She’s over it,” Seungmin says, “You should be too.”
“No,” Hyunjin breathes. “She won. She chose kibble over me.”
He drops onto the arm of the couch like a spurned lover, eyes dark with tragic reflection.
“She’s more powerful than I imagined.”
Changbin enters the space with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever at a birthday party.
“PRINCESS!” he bellows, holding out a treat with both hands. “WHO’S A LITTLE DANGER? WHO’S GOT TINY MURDER IN HER PAWS?”
Princess drawls out a long meow in reply.
The room stills.
“She—she talked to me,” Changbin whispers.
“No, she warned you,” Minho says without looking up from his cucumber circle.
Changbin sits cross-legged, letting her sniff his hand. She headbutts his palm once—then immediately darts to the other side of the room as fast as possible like nothing significant had ever happened.
“She’s playing mind games,” Seungmin notes.
“She’s mysterious,” Changbin defends, completely smitten.
Han, meanwhile, is documenting everything.
There’s a ring light set up in the hallway. He films in whispered tones like he’s in a nature documentary. From behind the bookshelf, you can hear him narrating.
“This is day one,” he says solemnly. “She’s taken the high ground. Morale is fracturing. Chan has retreated to the kitchen. We’ve lost Minho to paranoia and Hyunjin to drama school delusions.”
He zooms in on the cat as she licks her paw like she owns the place.
“She shows no sign of fear. No remorse. Only mild boredom. I think she’s toying with us.”
“She is,” Jeongin says flatly.
Felix brings a level of sincerity no one else can match.
He sits near the coffee table, legs criss-cross on the floor, hands cupped and eyes full of stars.
“Hi, baby,” he coos gently. “You don't have to come over if you don't want to. I'm just happy to share your space with you. I come in peace...”
Princess blinks and lets her eyes bore into Felix.
He gently places a treat in front of him and looks away, nonthreatening. She creeps forward, her tiny white paws creating dainty steps. She swiftly munches up the treat, making loud chewing noises as she looks up to him.
And then, like a miracle, she pads forward, climbs into his lap, and curls up into a small spherical ball of cream fur.
“She chose me,” Felix breathes.
She stretches one paw and knocks his phone off of his thigh to the floor with a soft thud.
He beams nonetheless.
Seungmin does not volunteer to help with the cat. He simply shows up—hood up, earbuds in, sipping a coffee—and looks around like he already regrets it.
“She’s not going to eat you, she’s actually really nice!” Felix assures him.
“That is not what I’m worried about,” Seungmin replies blandly, “I’m more concerned that I will become emotionally attached and she will ruin me.”
The cat blinks at him from atop your bookshelf.
He blinks back.
A beat passes.
Seungmin sighs and takes a seat on your sofa, pulling out his laptop like he is prepared to work from within enemy territory. He does not try to pet her. He does not speak in high-pitched tones. He simply exists near her, radiating mild disdain and infinite patience.
Oddly… she seems intrigued.
He catches her watching him, head tilted ever so slightly. When he slides his iced coffee onto the side table, she’s down in a flash, silently stalking over.
“Boundaries,” Seungmin warns, not even looking up.
She presses her nose to the condensation on his cup. He shifts the cup a small distance away. She shifts closer. They lock eyes.
“This is not a power struggle,” he mutters. “You will not win.”
She flops dramatically onto the table and begins licking her paw.
Seungmin exhales through his nose. “You’re ridiculous.”
But—he adjusts the cup. Just slightly. So she will not get brain freeze.
“Softie,” Han teases, watching from across the room.
“I will sue you,” Seungmin replies calmly.
When she curls up next to him twenty minutes later, back pressed against his leg like a smug little heater, he pretends not to notice.
He scrolls through his phone at low volume.
She purrs, sending vibrations of a healing frequency through his leg.
He glances down. “You’re manipulative.”
She yawns and stretches, her paw stretching out to push against his thigh.
“…Fine. You are a little cute.”
And finally, Jeongin, youngest, least experienced, attempts to contribute by making popcorn for everyone. But alas, the microwave begins to smoke.
“I can feel her staring at the microwave like she wants to set it on fire with her mind,” he reports, waving a dish towel near the smoke detector.
In attempt to clear some of the smoke from the popcorn bowl, he slides the glass door which leads to the backyard open for exactly twelve seconds.
A breeze slips in. A white blur streaks across the living room floor.
“Wait,” Jeongin says, eyes widening. “Where’s the cat?”
Everyone becomes quiet. Not peaceful quiet. Not earned. Just that too still sort of hush that lands like a dropped pin in a ticking bomb room.
Felix’s head whips around. His whole body jerks upright, like his soul has left his body and come crashing back all at once.
“She was just on the couch,” he says, eyes already scanning the room. “Right here. Right here—where is she?”
No answer.
Only the soft creak of the barely ajar screen door, further nudged open by a lazy gust of wind.
Minho reacts first.
No sound. No warning. Just pure instinct—he vaults over the arm of the couch and lunges for the door like a SWAT officer. He throws it wide, scanning the yard in one sweeping glance, already halfway onto the porch.
“She’s out,” he confirms darkly. “Backyard perimeter compromised.”
“What?!” Chan bolts upright from the kitchen island, eyes wide and already haunted. “How did she—”
“The door,” Seungmin mutters from under his breath, standing with stiff annoyance. “The one I said not to leave open?”
“Technically it was closed,” Han says, following behind with his arms full of cat toys and very little shame. “Just… lightly. Emotionally closed.”
“She’s a cat,” Hyunjin says, appearing in the doorway in a billowing cardigan. “Not a ghost.”
Jeongin is peering out the window, pupils blown like saucers. “She’s in the garden beds. I see her. She’s rolling in the dirt like she belongs there. She's gonna be all dirty!”
And she is.
Princess Murder Volcano—tail flicking, eyes glowing in the sun like two shards of vengeful turquoise—sits proudly among the petunias like a warlord surveying her domain.
“Do not spook her,” Minho warns, raising one hand. “Don't even think about calling her name.”
“She’s already seen us,” Felix whispers, pressing his forehead to the glass. “She’s watching. She knows. She knows everything.”
“She’s licking her paw,” Changbin says, breathless. “Is that... a threat?”
“It’s worse,” Hyunjin replies solemnly. “It’s mockery.”
The mission unfolds in chaotic fragments.
Chan is pacing the kitchen, pulling together what he calls an “extraction strategy.” Of course, no one listens.
Jeongin is already outside with a blanket, tiptoeing through the grass like a nervous cartoon thief. She turns her head slowly, tracking his every step.
“I'm just visiting,” he says softly. “Just a simple gardener. I mean no harm. I'm benevolent—”
She hisses, a sound like a kettle left to scream too long. Jeongin flinches so hard he nearly topples backward into the bush of roses.
“She’s not playing,” he yelps, scampering back toward the house. “She is not playing!”
Felix crouches at the back door, treats in one hand, heartbreak in the other. “Sweetheart,” he calls gently. “You remember me, right? I gave you a treat. You let me boop your nose. That meant something to me.”
She blinks, then turns away nonchalantly.
“Cold,” Hyunjin murmurs from inside. “She’s colder than an ex.”
“She knows we’re panicking,” Seungmin says, rubbing at his temples. “She’s feeding off it.”
“Okay,” Han says, now back with what appears to be a laser pointer strapped to a stick. “New tactic. Diversion and distraction. We blind her with red dot science, someone sneaks in from the east.”
Minho ignores him. He is moving again—silent, smooth, low to the ground.
You would almost think he had trained for this. He probably has, considering his own cats.
He rounds the edge of the deck, eyes locked, stance relaxed. The cat watches him, tail twitching like a fuse.
The moment stretches—
And explodes.
She bolts straight up the nearest tree.
Minho stops mid-step, closes his eyes briefly like he is experiencing a full system failure, then turns slowly on his heel and walks back into the house.
“She is in the oak tree,” he reports dully. “That's as far as I go.”
“She’s gone feral,” Han gasps.
“She's been feral,” Seungmin mutters.
“She’s majestic,” Felix whispers again.
Five of the boys pace aimlessly. One climbs a fence. One googles “do cats feel remorse.”
And Jeongin, still in his socks, saves the day.
He kneels near the garden path—no fanfare, no grand speeches—and opens a pouch of tuna, the stinky kind, the kind you only use in emergencies or emotional blackmail.
The snap of the foil seal is the only sound in the yard.
And slowly, like a queen descending from her throne, Princess Murder Volcano pads down the tree.
She does not run. She saunters. She stops three times to clean her paw. She makes eye contact with everyone.
Then she walks right into the kitchen, brushes the length of her body against Felix’s leg affectionately, and curls up on the floor like nothing ever happened.
Silence again. Except now, it is different. Heavier. Awestruck.
“She is chaos incarnate,” Hyunjin says finally.
“She is victory,” says Minho.
“She is unbothered,” says Jeongin, holding the empty tuna pouch like a relic from war.
“She is grounded,” says Chan, grabbing his clipboard. “Indefinitely.”
The cat yawns and knocks the treat jar off the counter.
Day Two begins with hope. Dangerous, foolish, hubristic hope.
The morning is bright. Birds are chirping. The cat is purring, curled at the foot of Chan’s bed like a cherub who has never committed a single crime.
“You know,” Chan says, sipping coffee and watching her fondly, “I think we’re getting the hang of this.”
Seungmin looks up from his phone. “Did you just say that out loud?”
“I’m just saying she seems… relaxed. Peaceful. Like she trusts us.”
Hyunjin pokes his head into the kitchen, blinking sleepily. “What are we talking about?”
“The cat,” says Felix, feeding her another treat with the reverence of a man giving communion. “She’s mellow today.”
“Oh,” Hyunjin says, yawning. “So we’re jinxing it early. Cool.”
The idea comes from Minho.
Which is important, because it means no one can argue.
“She’s filthy,” he says bluntly, arms crossed. “She smells like mulch and attitude. She's got patches of green and brown all over her, her fur was white when we arrived.”
“She rolled in the flowerbed and played in the grass,” Jeongin adds from the couch, nose wrinkled. “Like, rolled. Fully. I watched.”
“She looks happy,” Han says, filming a slow zoom of her face. “This is the look of a woman who’s done crimes and will do more.”
“Right,” Minho continues, ignoring them all. “Which is why we’re bathing her.”
Silence.
Then seven people speak at once:
“You what—”
“No no no—”
“Do you want to die—”
“Minho, I care about you—”
“She’s going to eat us,” says Seungmin, entirely serious.
“She is literally purring right now,” Minho replies. “It’s the perfect time.”
“That’s a trap,” Chan says.
“She’s coiled,” adds Han. “Like a spring. Or a snake. Or a regret.”
Felix looks pale. “Do we have a will? Like… a shared one?”
Despite every sign from the universe, the decision is made.
The bathtub is filled—warm, shallow, with a drizzle of cat-safe soap.
Hyunjin lights a candle “for peace.”
Han plays gentle jazz “to soothe the mood.”
Jeongin Googles “feline CPR” just in case.
Felix brings in a towel he warmed in the dryer. “Because if we’re going to die,” he says quietly, “we should do it softly.”
Then: the lift.
Minho picks her up—gently, firmly, reverently—and she allows it.
Allows it.
The calm before the storm.
He lowers her into the water.
And hell opens its eyes.
She does not scream. She screeches.
A blood-curdling, feral wail that hits octaves human ears were not built for.
In one fluid motion, she launches from Minho’s arms, scrambles up his shoulder, over the curtain rod, and disappears between the ajar bathroom door and the wall.
“WE LOST VISUAL,” Han yells, diving for his camera like a war correspondent.
“HOW IS SHE WET AND DRY AT THE SAME TIME,” Seungmin shouts, slipping on a towel and crashing into the doorframe.
Felix is on his knees, arms out. “It’s okay, baby. We’re sorry. We respect your boundaries. Please—”
“I SAW MY LIFE FLASH BEFORE MY EYES,” Chan wheezes from the hallway floor, clutching his ribs.
Water is everywhere—on the ceiling, in the walls, soaked into the very foundation of the house. Someone is crying. It might be Jeongin.
Minho stands in the center, drenched and bleeding from a scratch across his cheekbone, eyes distant.
“…She drew blood,” he says faintly.
“You drew her wrath,” Hyunjin corrects, holding an ice pack to his forearm.
“She did this with her eyes open,” Han says, holding up footage that looks like a scene from a horror film.
Jeongin is curled in a towel cocoon, whispering, “She looked at me and I felt… judged.”
Thirty minutes later, the bathroom is destroyed, the cat is mysteriously pristine, and no one knows how the towel rack got bent like that.
She is lounging again. Dry. Groomed. Purring.
Minho walks past her like a man just out of war.
“She let you think you were in control,” Chan murmurs.
“She let me live,” Minho replies.
“Was the bath worth it?” Seungmin asks.
Minho does not answer. He just opens a can of tuna, places it before her like a tithe to an ancient god, and leaves the room in silence.
Later, evening sweeps through the house. A sweet, domestic dream. One full of good intentions and garlic bread.
“We’ll make dinner,” Chan had said, sleeves rolled up and optimism shining in his eyes. “Something simple. Cozy. Homemade.”
Jeongin had nodded eagerly, already pulling out mixing bowls. “Like a family.”
“We are a family,” Felix had smiled, clutching a whisk like it meant something.
In the background, Minho had narrowed his eyes. “What are you all plotting?”
“Love,” Han replied, unconvincingly.
The house fills with delicious smells. Onion sizzling in olive oil. Dough rising on the counter. Tomato sauce simmering in a pot that Felix insists on stirring with one hand while cuddling a dish towel with the other.
“You stir it so lovingly,” Jeongin observes.
Felix beams. “You have to respect the sauce.”
Hyunjin floats in from the hallway, sleeves rolled, lip gloss shimmering, “I've come to taste.”
“You've come to steal bites,” Minho corrects, slapping his hand away from the tray of garlic bread.
“She’s watching us,” Jeongin whispers suddenly.
All heads turn.
Princess Murder Volcano sits atop the fridge like a gargoyle in judgment, pupils blown wide. Tail twitching. Back hunched.
Chan narrows his eyes. “She’s got the zoomies.”
“No,” Hyunjin murmurs. “She’s got plans.”
It happens all at once.
One moment, Felix is piping filling into ziti shells, Han is singing into a ladle, and Jeongin is kneading dough with flour on his nose.
The next, there is a thud, a growl, and a blur of white fury tearing across the countertop like a tiny demonic tornado.
“NO—” Chan lunges for the sauce pot. Too late. The spoon flips. The tomato sauce arcs in the air like a slow-motion crime.
“THE SAUCE—!” Felix cries out, reaching with both hands.
It lands on Jeongin’s hoodie.
She leaps again—onto the drying rack, which collapses under her wrath. Metal clatters. A bowl crashes to the floor and shatters like a scream.
“She’s climbing the spice rack!” Minho shouts.
“She’s in the spice rack,” Han corrects. “She’s wearing the cinnamon like war paint!”
The cat zips past, yowling—a streak of fur and chaos. She skids across the freshly mopped tiles, slams into the pantry door, then bounces back with renewed energy.
“I feel the adrenaline,” Hyunjin gasps, flattened against the fridge. “She’s faster than light. She’s broken the sound barrier. She’s a myth.”
“She’s going to knock over the—”
CRASH.
Flour. Everywhere. A puff of white explodes like someone’s summoned a baking ghost.
Felix vanishes inside the cloud.
“Are you alive?!” Jeongin coughs, blinking through flour tears.
A flour-covered hand emerges, waving weakly. “Tell the sauce… I loved it.”
They try to corner her. They try.
Minho leads the charge, wielding a laundry basket like a net. “Block the exits. Coordinate. Outthink her.”
“She has no thoughts,” Han yells. “She’s pure instinct!”
“She’s in the cupboard!” Jeongin shouts, peeking inside and immediately slamming it shut. “She stared into me. She knows my sins.”
Meanwhile, Chan stands silently in the center of the room, hands on hips, face unreadable.
“She has chosen violence,” he says simply. “And seasoning.”
Eventually, the chaos fades. The sauce is salvaged. The ziti somehow managed to survive.
Princess Murder Volcano re-emerges covered in flour, a single noodle stuck to her side, and promptly curls up in the sink to nap like nothing happened.
Jeongin leans against the counter, breathing hard. “She broke three things.”
“She broke my sense of peace,” Hyunjin murmurs.
“She broke the laws of physics,” says Han.
Felix just stares into space. “The filling. It… it flew.”
Minho tosses a towel onto the counter and sighs. “Next time, we order pizza.”
“She’d still attack the box,” Seungmin says from the doorway, sipping water like he has seen this all before.
Chan places the last clean dish on the rack, closes his eyes, and whispers, “I miss when we were in charge.”
There is a night time rotation schedule taped to the fridge. A real one. On paper. Color-coded.
“For our sanity,” Chan had declared, waving a highlighter like a sword. “For survival,” Seungmin added, darkly.
Because she does not sleep alone.
Oh no.
She selects her human—a new one each night, like royalty distributing favour—and curls up precisely where they had hoped to stretch their legs.
She is warm. She is heavy. She is a little loaf of tyranny.
Tonight, the duty falls to Han.
He approaches the bedroom like a man entering war.
Blanket: comfortable. Pillow: fluffed. Water: on the nightstand. Notebook: ready, just in case inspiration strikes.
He is calm. Composed. Hopeful.
“She’s already in there,” Felix warns from the hallway, whispering like it is cursed knowledge. “Claimed the center of the bed.”
Han squares his shoulders. “This is fine. I’m flexible.”
“She sleeps diagonally,” Jeongin says, walking past with the empty cat food dish. “No remorse.”
“Love requires sacrifice,” Han mutters, and enters.
The light is soft. The sheets are warm. She is… watching.
Perched on his pillow. Eyes glowing faintly in the dark. Tail curled, neat and smug.
Han smiles with gentle dread. “Hey, queen. Mind if I…?”
He lifts the blanket. Slips in.
She does not move.
The seconds tick by.
He turns slightly. She adjusts her weight—to press directly against his ribs.
“…Cool,” he exhales. “This is fine.”
12:38 a.m.
He receives a text.
you: hey!! just checking in! is my daughter being good? 🐱apparently you have the night shift💤
Han types back with one thumb beneath the blanket, moving as little as possible.
han: define good
han: i’m not allowed to roll over and she has full custody of the blanket
you: lmaoo she does that 🫣 just don’t breathe too loud
you: i can't lie to you she's not amazing to sleep with when you're a new person... something about unfamiliarity or wtvr
han: great to know💀
2:17 a.m.
Han is awoken to a pressure on his ribs. He slowly opens his eyes to see Princess Murder Volcano sat upright, directly on his body, her tail slapping lightly against stomach.
“Can I help you,” he whispers.
She steps forward, kneels gently… and places one paw on his mouth. Astonished, he slowly reaches for his phone and texts the group chat.
han: her FOOT is on my MOUTH.
felix: do not resist. accept her.
binnie: you must be on the left side. she likes the left side of the bed. your mistake.
seungmin: sleep is a concept. not a right.
channie: stay strong😫😫
hyunjin: do you have any idea how many tiny teeth she has. do not make her use them.
3:03 a.m.
Another message from you causes Han's phone to chime.
you: also she sometimes sleepwalks. so like if she gets up and stares at the wall… do not engage
He reads it and gazes to where Princess Murder Volcano is situated.
She is already sitting at the corner of the bed, staring into the corner of the room, her tail occasionally twitching.
Han tosses the blanket over his own face.
3:49 a.m.
Han dares to shift by one inch. Which subsequently causes the white furball to let out a low growl. A warning, if you will.
He texts the group chat once again.
han: i made eye contact. she knows i thought about moving. i am not safe
felix: if she headbutts you, congrats. that means she’s claimed your soul
seungmin: stop being dramatic. she’s like 4kg
han: 4kg of fury and emotional manipulation. she blinked and i felt shame for existing
5:10 a.m.
You receive a photo from Han. A close-up of his arm, pinned beneath her white little loaf-shaped body. Her head rests between his elbow and ribs. One eye open. Watching.
han: my arm is asleep but she is not. i have not moved in hours
You find yourself cooing at your screen. Your cat is typically not one to cuddle up so comfortably with strangers.
you: omg she likes you 🥹 this is such a good sign!!
Han does not respond. Instead, he stares at the ceiling, a man transformed. Broken. Blessed. He is vibrating with exhaustion, fear, and the slightest sense of pride.
“She picked me,” he says aloud to the dark room. “I was chosen.”
She promptly moves to sneeze on his neck and falls back to sleep.
7:00 a.m.
The sun rises, leaking golden warmth through the once dark room. The serene morning silence is interrupted by the bedroom door creaking open. Chan peeks inside.
“You alive?” he whispers.
Han stares at the ceiling with hollow eyes. “She took my soul and the entire blanket.”
“She does that,” Chan nods.
“I think she forgave me for existing,” Han mutters.
Princess Murder Volcano is curled on Han’s chest, peaceful as can be, one paw flopped over his heart like she owns it.
Maybe she does.
The rest of Day Three began with an unsettling silence. Not the cosy, purring kind that hinted at nap time, but a stretched, suspicious quiet that crept beneath doorways and settled behind bookshelves. No zoomies. No morning murder-screech. No judging loaf formation in the hallway. Just… stillness.
Felix, already on edge after surviving her 8 a.m. biscuit-serving ritual on his spine, narrowed his eyes as he passed the laundry room.
“Where is she?” he muttered, peering around the corner with all the suspicion of a nature documentary narrator about to witness a predator strike.
Then he saw her. Striding slowly across the hall, tail lowered, ears relaxed, but with a strange hesitance in her step—as though she was deep in feline contemplation. She paused just outside the laundry room door, glanced around as if checking for witnesses, and slinked inside. Felix followed at a careful distance, peeking around the doorframe with theatrical stealth.
She sat in the litter box. Still. Unmoving. For twenty long seconds.
And then—without scratching, burying, or doing anything at all—she stood, turned around, and walked away.
Felix's jaw dropped. “She did nothing.”
He pulled out his phone, thumb flying across the screen as he typed into the group chat.
felix: she entered the litter box room.
felix: stood there. did NOTHING.
felix: then LEFT.
felix: with PURPOSE.
The replies came quickly.
jeongin: maybe she just forgot what she was doing
minho: or maybe she's smarter than all of us and doing psychological warfare
But Felix had already descended into veterinary message boards. In the next ten minutes, he had read five conflicting articles, started a pros-and-cons list of emergency vet clinics within driving distance, and built himself a surveillance pillow fort near the hallway with granola bars and a water bottle, determined to document her every move.
She reappeared eventually, strolling past him like he was a coat rack. She leapt up onto the back of the couch, sneezed so hard her whiskers twitched, then dramatically flopped onto her side in a sunny patch like an overworked heiress.
Felix gasped audibly. “Oh my god, she fainted,” he breathed, frantically texting the group.
felix: SHE FELL
felix: I THINK SHE FAINTED
felix: THIS IS AN EMERGENCY
By the time Chan arrived in the room, Felix had both hands in his hair and a cold rag on his own forehead. “She’s sick. She didn’t go. She looked at the box and left.”
Chan blinked. “Felix, she’s literally sunbathing.”
“She sneezed, Chris. That is how it starts. I’ve been researching. She could be hiding a bladder infection. Or worse—emotional constipation.”
Chan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before unlocking his phone. “Alright. Time to bring in the expert.”
You were just finishing lunch when your phone rang—FaceTime from Chan. You accepted with a smile, instantly greeted by Felix’s frazzled face and the distant sound of your cat dramatically licking her paw.
“Is she dying?” he asked before even greeting you.
You blinked. “What? No? What’s going on?”
Felix spun the camera dramatically, showing your cat flopped halfway off the couch cushion, tail twitching like a lazy metronome. “She went into the litterbox. Did nothing. Came out. Sneezed. Collapsed. Collapsed.”
“She does that,” you laughed at their turmoil around a bite of your meal. “It’s her post-zoomie burnout pose. Very theatrical.”
Chan appeared on screen beside him, eyes squinting. “Would she… fake something like this?”
You nodded immediately. “Yes. Absolutely. One time she limped for a full afternoon because I didn’t give her a bite of my toasted sandwich. The limp vanished the second she saw me grabbing treats.”
Felix’s entire soul left his body in that moment. “She’s too powerful. I believed her.”
“I always do too, it's okay,” you said fondly, watching her slowly roll over and bite the couch cushion for no reason at all.
“She trusts you,” Chan offered Felix quietly after a moment, smiling as he looked down at her now curled into a lazy pretzel. “She doesn’t act like this around all of us.”
“She's showing Felix her weirdest sides,” you confirmed. “That’s like… soulmate trust. I think she's selected her favourite.”
Felix looked into the distance, visibly moved.
Later that afternoon, she returned to the litter box, did her business without fanfare, then strutted out like she had not just sent a grown man into an existential spiral. She leapt into Felix’s lap without warning, turned exactly one circle, and settled.
He did not move for the rest of the night.
“She forgave me,” he whispered, one hand resting on her back like she might disappear if he exhaled too quickly.
Seungmin glanced over, unimpressed. “She just stole your seat.”
“Same thing,” Felix sighed, blissful.
By the time the third and final day of the babysitting debacle had come to a close, all eight of your friends were waiting by the door before you even stepped inside.
The moment your car pulled up, the house shifted into high alert. Shoes half-on, limbs frozen mid-motion, the boys gathered like war survivors at the threshold of sanctuary, a desperate hush falling over the living room.
“She’s here,” Chan muttered, peering through the front blinds. “Everyone act normal.”
Hyunjin tossed the feather toy behind the couch like it was a weapon. Jeongin kicked a half-chewed slipper under the rug. Felix, wild-eyed and exhausted, stood silently clutching a lint roller in one hand and an empty treat bag in the other. Han wordlessly pointed at a scratch across his thigh, his expression haunted.
And then… the front door opened.
You stepped inside with a bright smile and a suitcase sat behind you, immediately greeted by a chorus of overlapping chaos.
“She is not normal,” Seungmin declared, pointing accusingly toward the armchair.
“She bullied Jeongin out of his beanbag,” Minho added flatly.
“She licked a power outlet,” Changbin said, somewhere between awe and concern.
“She gaslit me,” Felix whispered, eyes unfocused.
But before you could react, a blur of fur bolted across the hardwood floors—and suddenly she was there.
Your cat.
Your sweet, precious baby girl, appearing like a cherub descending from above. She meowed softly, nuzzling your shin with gentle affection before curling herself around your ankles like a silk ribbon.
You leaned down immediately, scooping her up into your arms, cooing with all the love in the world. “Hi, my love! Did you miss me? You were a good girl, weren’t you?”
Felix made a noise like he had just been stabbed. “GOOD GIRL?”
“She’s an agent of chaos,” Jeongin protested, watching as your cat blinked up at you with pure, wide-eyed innocence, a slow blink that screamed loyalty and purity and complete, unprovable deceit.
You looked between them all, frowning. “What are you talking about? She’s perfect.”
“She knocked over a plant on purpose,” Minho insisted. “Made eye contact and everything.”
“She scaled the bookshelf,” Chan added, crossing his arms. “Like, the entire thing. And sat on top like she owned it.”
“She stole my hoodie,” Han muttered. “Dragged it under the table. Growled when I tried to get it back.”
“She has mood swings,” Seungmin said, pointing again. “I saw her smack Hyunjin in the face. Twice. For breathing too loud.”
You blinked at them, brow creased in disbelief, while your cat snuggled into your chest in your embrace, already purring loud enough to be heard across the room.
“She’s literally purring,” you said gently. “You guys must’ve imagined it. She’s my baby.”
“She’s playing you,” Hyunjin whispered. “She’s been training for this moment for all three days.”
As if on cue, she looked toward the rest of the group from the safety of your arms, eyes glinting, tongue just slightly poking out in a silent mockery of their pain. Then she nestled her head into your shoulder, curling her fuzzy tail around your wrist with practiced sweetness.
You kissed her head. “Aw. She’s tired. You guys must’ve worn her out from playing so much.”
Eight boys stood in varying stages of psychological collapse. Felix actually sat down.
“She’s gaslighting you in real time,” Chan said quietly.
“I think I have to go lie down,” Jeongin whispered.
“Is this what defeat feels like?” Han asked no one.
You only smiled, oblivious, heading toward the hallway with her still in your arms. “C’mon, baby, let’s go to your room.”
Your cat peeked over your shoulder at the others as you left the room, her face calm, smug, and victorious.
Hyunjin pointed a trembling finger. “Did you see that? She winked. I SWEAR—”
The door shut gently behind you.
Silence hung heavy over those remaining in the room.
Then Felix collapsed backwards onto the couch. “She won.”
By the time night settled in, the house had mostly recovered. Mostly. Chan was nursing a scratch on his bicep with a glass of wine he insisted was “purely medicinal.” Seungmin was researching feline behavioural psychology. Felix had fallen asleep mid-rant while laying on your sofa, with his legs tossed carelessly over your lap.
You sat nestled on the couch beside beneath your shared blanket and a cup of tea, your troublemaking child curled in your lap—technically on Felix's shins—like she had never once wronged a soul. She blinked slowly, innocently, while you gently stroked her back.
The TV screen flashed on.
“Alright,” Han said as he stepped into the room like he was about to deliver a TED Talk. “Enough lies. Enough manipulation. The truth... needs to be witnessed.”
You turned toward him with a raised brow. “What is this?”
“A documentary,” Han said, remote in hand, pride in his stance. “Or rather... a document of war.”
The screen lit up with an opening title:
“Emergency Kitty Babysitter's Club: A House Held Hostage” Directed by Han Jisung. Edited by Han Jisung. Victims: All of Us.
It began with hidden cam footage—timestamped clips from every chaos moment of the week. Your cat skidding across the hardwood at 3 a.m. like a possessed banshee. Knocking over a cup of coffee with surgical precision while Minho gasped in the background. Standing on the kitchen counter, face inside the butter dish, as Felix whispered, “Not again…” from behind the camera.
Cue dramatic music. Zoom-ins. Slow-motion replays. Commentary snippets from the boys layered over the clips like it was some kind of crime series.
“She stared at me and shoved my AirPods off the table,” Chan’s voice narrated solemnly as the clip played. “She knew.”
“She stole a sausage right off my fork,” Jeongin said during a cutaway interview, looking dead inside.
It was ridiculous. It was over-the-top.
It was brilliant.
And yet, as the footage continued to play, you gently scratched behind her ears. “Princess... this isn’t you, is it?”
She yawned, long and slow, and nestled deeper into your lap—unbothered. Unmoved.
“She is literally in the footage,” Hyunjin said, exasperated. “She bit me in 4K.”
“She’s misunderstood,” you murmured, kissing the top of her head.
Han hit pause and turned to you, devastated. “You’re choosing her over us.”
“She’s soft,” you said, petting her side. “And pink. And perfect.”
"Pink doesn't even make sense!"
“She screamed at the mailman like he owed her money,” Changbin snapped.
But you just smiled down at her. “My little angel.”
The credits rolled. The final clip played without sound: your cat perched regally atop the fridge while Felix cried in the corner, holding a can of tuna she had rejected minutes earlier.
A masterpiece. A warning. A call for justice.
And completely ineffective.
Because by the time the lights came back on, you were already dozing off on the couch, her purring against your chest, the embodiment of peace and domestic bliss.
She opened one eye, glared at Han, and flicked her tail once like a queen dismissing her critics.
The boys would never recover.
But you? You were exactly where you belonged.
inspired by my beautiful sweet innocent daughter dior
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