WORSHIP. | TMR CAST x Reader
Summary: Tensions within the Glade’s Packhouse reach a boiling point, shattering the fragile peace of the territory. When a violent altercation breaks out between Hyunjin and Felix, you burst through the window in wolf form to intervene. After forcing Hyunjin back and shifting into human form to shield Felix, you are met with a heartbreaking accusation from Jeongin: the pack is fracturing, and he believes your recent absences for an acting gig are to blame.
Reader/You x Stray Kids (Platonic/Gen)
Hyunjin vs. Felix (Conflict)
Implied Pack/Family Dynamics
Physical Violence: Depiction of fighting, tackling, and pinning.
Property Damage: Breaking a window and shattering glass.
Body Horror/Mentions of Nudity: Detailed description of shifting from wolf to human (bone rearrangement, fur receding) and brief nudity immediately post-shift.
Emotional Distress: Panic attacks, anxiety, and interpersonal conflict within a found family.
The next few days have been an unexpected oasis of normalcy in the chaotic landscape of your dual existence. Right now, you're sitting with Will, Thomas, and Dylan at a rustic outdoor restaurant, the wooden table worn smooth by countless patrons. The establishment sits just a stone's throw from the Maze Runner filming location, where you've all been spending grueling hours bringing that dystopian world to life. But here, under the warm afternoon sun, with the clinking of silverware and murmured conversations surrounding you, reality feels comfortably mundane.
The air carries the scent of grilled burgers and garlic fries, mixed with the faint aroma of coffee from the espresso machine behind the counter. Thomas has his usual iced tea, condensation dripping down the glass and pooling on the coaster beneath it. Dylan is nursing a craft beer, the amber liquid catching the light as he tilts the bottle. Will sits closest to you, his arm occasionally brushing against yours as he gestures while speaking.
"It's been nice," says Will, his voice warm as he leans into you, his shoulder creating a comforting pressure against yours. You can smell the faint scent of his cologne—something woody and understated that suits him perfectly.
God, it's been so long since I've felt this... human, you think, sipping your own drink. The cold liquid slides down your throat, a welcome relief from the afternoon heat. "It has, hasn't it?" you say, sharing a glance with Thomas across the table. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, that genuine Thomas smile that makes fans swoon and your own heart flutter just a little.
If only they knew, you muse, watching them laugh at something Dylan just said. If they knew what I really am, what I do when I'm not on set with them. They'd run screaming.
A waiter approaches your table, his black apron stained with what looks like ketchup. "Anything else for you folks?" he asks, pen poised over his order pad.
"Another round of these," says Dylan, gesturing to their drinks. "And for you?" he asks, turning to you.
"Just water is fine," you say with a smile. "Thanks."
The waiter nods and hurries away, leaving you once again in the comfortable bubble of friendship.
"We should hang out like this more," says Thomas, his blonde hair catching the sun in a way that makes it almost glow. "When we're not running from Grievers or covered in mud."
Dylan nods enthusiastically. "Definitely. Maybe we could actually finish a meal without getting called back to set."
You laugh, the sound genuine and unforced. "I'd like that."
If only, you think, the familiar pang of guilt twisting in your stomach. If only I could promise them that without lying.
Your phone buzzes violently in your pocket, the vibration so intense it's almost painful against your thigh. The screen displays an unknown number, but you know who it is before you even answer. Only one person would call you from a blocked number.
"Excuse me," you murmur, pushing back your chair. "I need to take this."
As you step away from the table and toward the restaurant's entrance, you can feel their eyes on you—concerned, curious. Thomas's brow furrows slightly, and Will's smile has faded into a neutral expression.
Once outside, the city sounds rush to fill your senses—the rumble of traffic, distant sirens, the chatter of pedestrians. You press the phone to your ear, your heart already beginning to pound with that familiar adrenaline.
"What now? I was hanging out with my friends," you say curtly, your voice sharper than intended. The wolf inside you is already stirring, sensing urgency in the unknown.
"Y/N!" breathes the familiar voice of Bang Chan, strained and urgent. "Oh, thank God! Come quickly. It's Felix and Hyunjin. They're tearing into each other."
You blink, the restaurant's comfortable atmosphere already feeling like a distant memory. "What? Can't you handle them? They're your brothers!"
Not again, you think, a headache already forming behind your eyes. Not when I finally felt... normal.
"Just come," Chan snaps, his Australian accent thickening with stress—a clear sign he's at his breaking point. You blink. He never raises his voice to you. Never.
The line goes dead before you can respond. You stand there for a moment, phone still pressed to your ear, the city sounds suddenly too loud, too chaotic.
Turning back toward the restaurant, you catch Thomas's eye and wave him over. He rises immediately, concern etched on his face as he approaches.
"I need to go. Can you cover for me?" you ask, your voice lower now, more controlled.
"Where are you going?" Thomas asks, his blonde hair catching the sun as he steps outside with you. His eyes search yours, and for a terrifying moment, you think he might see right through your carefully constructed facade.
"Just a pack matter, Thomas. You need to stay here with the boys and tell them I'll be back," you say, using the formal tone that always signals business rather than pleasure. Then, before he can ask more questions, you hurry off.
Your feet carry you quickly down the sidewalk, weaving through pedestrians with practiced ease. The wolf inside is pacing now, anxious to be released. Two blocks later, you duck into a narrow alleyway between a bakery and a pawn shop. The air here smells of stale bread and desperation—perfect for what comes next.
The transformation is always painful, but you've learned to bear it. Bones crack and reshape, muscles stretch and tear then reform. Your skin prickles as thick fur erupts from your pores. Within seconds, you're no longer human but something else entirely—something powerful, primal, and utterly free.
Shaking out your new form, you test the air with your enhanced senses. The city's cacophony resolves into distinct sounds, each carrying its own meaning. The scent of your pack house is faint but clear, a beacon calling you home.
With a powerful push of your hind legs, you launch yourself onto the dumpster, then to the roof of the bakery. From this vantage point, the city sprawls before you—a maze of concrete and steel that, for once, feels less confining than the comfortable restaurant you just left.
This is who I really am, you think, not without a touch of bitterness. Not the actress who laughs with handsome co-stars, but the Alpha who must constantly mediate between squabbling packmates.
The thought barely forms before you're bounding across rooftops, the wind rushing through your fur, the call of duty pulling you back to the responsibilities you can never truly escape.
The scent of the Glade hit you first—that cloying mixture of damp earth, cut vines, and the metallic tang of the Box’s old hinges—but underneath it was something sharper. Panic. The acrid, bitter stench of aggression.
You didn't slow down. Your claws, thick and curved, tore into the dirt as you rounded the corner of the Homestead, the structure looming like a dark skeleton against the gray sky. The Packhouse was just ahead, a rugged outbuilding meant for respite, not war.
They’re in there. The noise is stopping. That’s worse than the noise.
Your muscles bunched, coiling tight like springs, and you launched. The window wasn't open; it didn't matter. The glass didn't just shatter; it disintegrated into a galaxy of jagged diamonds that caught the pale light and refracted it into a thousand tiny rainbows. You hit the wooden floor with a heavy, bone-shaking thud, splinters digging into your pads, shards of the window raining down like lethal confetti around you.
The scene inside was a blur of motion and fury. Hyunjin, broad-shouldered and teeth bared in a snarl that distorted his usually handsome features, had Felix pinned. The younger wolf’s chest was heaving, his cheek pressed against the rough-hewn floorboards, eyes wide and wet with humiliation and pain.
You didn't think. You just moved.
You cleared the distance between the window and the tangle of wolves in a single, fluid arc. Your momentum slammed into Hyunjin’s flank, knocking him off balance. The three of you—a tangle of fur, limbs, and snarling breath—crashed into the wall. You shoved your massive, furry bulk between them, forcing Hyunjin back with a shoulder to his chest. You turned your head, your maw inches from his face, and let out a bark. It wasn't a warning; it was a detonation. A sound that vibrated in the floorboards and shook the dust from the rafters.
Hyunjin froze. The madness in his eyes flickered and died, replaced by a sudden, cooling clarity. He blinked once, looking at you, then at the drool gathering at the corner of his own mouth. He slowly retracted his claws, the sound like sheathing a knife, and scrambled backward, putting three feet of distance between himself and Felix.
You turned your attention to the boy on the floor. Felix was trembling, a fine vibration that rattled his ribs. You lowered your head, nudging his shoulder with a wet nose, inhaling his scent to check for blood beneath the fear. Sunshine and anxiety. Just fear. Good. You growled softly, a low rumble meant to anchor him, urging him to stand. He scrambled up, using the wall for support, his knees knocking together.
You didn't wait for him to compose himself. The change ripped through you, violent and familiar. Bones shortened and realigned with sickening pops that echoed in the sudden silence. The thick, coarse coat receded, sucked back into pores that opened to the cool air. Your muzzle shrank, jawline sharpening, hands elongating from paws into fingers with blunt human nails.
In seconds, you stood on two legs, naked and breathless, steam rising from your skin. You grabbed Felix by the arm, pulling him firmly behind you, placing your body as a physical barrier between him and the rest of the room. You could feel his heartbeat hammering against your spine.
"What the hell happened?" Your voice was raspy, scraped raw from the shift.
The silence stretched, taut and uncomfortable. Dust motes danced in the shaft of light piercing through the broken window, indifferent to the tension.
"It was your fault," Jeongin said simply.
He was leaning against the far doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, looking older than his years. His expression was blank, a stark contrast to the chaos of moments before. "They were talking about you again. You're spending too much time on that acting gig of yours, and the pack is falling apart."
"Not true," Lee hissed, stepping out from the shadows of the kitchenette. The older wolf’s eyes were narrow slits, glaring daggers at the youngest. "We are handling the perimeter. We are handling the Maze runs. Don't blame the Alpha's schedule for your lack of control."
"It's not just the schedule," Jeongin shot back, his voice rising an octave. "It's the attention. If we are divided, the Grievers will smell it. They already are."
You ignored the squabbling for a moment, turning your attention to Hyunjin. He was standing still, rubbing his forearm where you had slammed into him. He met your gaze, his dark eyes surprisingly calm, almost serene amidst the wreckage of the room and the shattered glass at his feet. He looked at you, then at Felix cowering behind your back, and his shoulders slumped.
"Tell me everything," you commanded, your voice leaving no room for argument. "And start with why Hyunjin had his hands around Felix's throat."
Hyunjin let out a long, shaky breath, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "It wasn't about Felix," he said quietly, his voice rough. "It was about the supply run tomorrow. And the rumors about the.getMap."
And so they did, their words spilling out like water over a dam, painting a picture of a fracture that went deeper than a simple scuffle.
