#haniisworld

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You meet Hudson Williams on a typical Monday morning that smells like coffee. He’s already there when you arrive – hoodie up, hands in pockets, pretending he’s not watching the door waiting for you to arrive.

When you walk in, he straightens his back, like someone pulled a string in his spine.

“Hey,” he says, voice warm, soft around the edges. You say it back, and something in his expression flickers – like he’s relieved you sound exactly like he imagined.

The director introduces you two, but Hudson barely hears anything. He’s too busy memorizing the way you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the way you smile politely, and the way you carry yourself.

You shake his hand, his grip is softer than you thought, and yours is steady. And for a moment, the world feels suspiciously quiet.

As the two of you get to filming, the director introduces a stunt that you and Hudson will be demonstrating. The stunt coordinator explains the sequence: you run, the platform collapses, you leap, hudson catches you.

Easy, choreographed, safe.

Hudson stands beside you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off of him. He glances toward you, voice low enough only for you to hear. “I’ll catch you, I promise.”

You don’t know why, but your heart stutters at his words.

The first few takes are fine. You fall into his arms, he steadies you, you both laugh it off. Then take six happens, the platform collapses too early, your foot slips, and your body tilts backward into nothing. You don’t even get the chance to gasp.

Hudson is there – instantly – arms around you pulling you against him with a force that feels almost too protective, like you’re his. You land against his chest, fingers gripping his shirt, breath tangled within his.

The room goes completely silent. His hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, gentle, careful, like you’re a precious doll.

“You okay?” he whispers, voice shaking in a way that he couldn’t hide.

You nod, but you don’t move away from his warmth. Neither does he. For a moment, it’s just the two of you – your heartbeat against his, his minty breath brushing against your cheek, it felt like the world was holding its breath.

Someone on set ends up coughing. Hudson reluctantly lets go, but his hands trail down your arms, he’s memorizing the shape of you.

After that scene, something shifted between your relationship. Hudson walks beside you instead of behind you like he always was, checking your harness himself, he even offers his hand before every stunt – palm warm, steady, waiting. You take his hand, every time.

During lunch, he sits beside you, knees brushing against yours. During his breaks, he asks about your music, your favorite songs, the first concert you ever went to. He couldn’t help but listen to you like every word that came out of your pretty mouth mattered.

And every time you laugh at his jokes, he looks at you like he’s falling more and more in love with you in real time.

Today’s scene is supposed to be tense – hiding from the villain, pressed closely together in the shadows. The camera isn’t rolling yet, Hudson steps into your space, close enough that you can feel his breath against your face.

“Tell me if this is too close,” he murmurs, cheeks slightly flushing.

You look up to him heart racing. “It’s not.”

His smile softened, it was almost devastating to look at. The director calls action, Hudson doesn’t step back.

The final stunt ends with you landing upon his broad chest, both of you breathless, tangled in each other's space, laughing. Your hands are on his chest, his are on your waist, your faces inches apart. He looks at you like he’s engraving this moment into his brain.

“You okay?” he asks again, softer than ever.

“Yup.” You whisper, slightly popping your ‘p’.

Neither of you move for your position, and you know – this is no longer just acting.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

A week later after the movie was released, fans went absolutely berserk over you and Hudson’s chemistry, edits were being made, paparazzi snapped photos of you and Hudson left and right.

Your publicist calls your phone. “You and Hudson are booked for The Tonight Show. Together. The internet is obsessed with you two, including me!”

You blink, ignoring the last part she said. “Together?”

“Yes. The chemistry is undeniable between you two!”

You don’t argue at her words, you knew they were too good to be true.

Hudson calls you right after your publicist hangs up with you.

“So,” he says. “Guess we’re doing Fallon.”

You smile, feeling almost excited for the moment you two are about to share. “Guess so.”

He hesitates, before speaking again. “I’m glad,” he whispers. “I like being ‘round you.”

Your breath slightly catches. “I like being ‘round you too.”

His smile was soft, relieved, a little stunned – though you couldn’t see him through the screen, but he couldn’t believe you said it back to him.

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At the Tonight Show

The studio is buzzing – bright lights, warm laughter filled the air, the kind of energy that makes everything feel a little unreal. You and Hudson sit side by side on the couch, knees brushing, shoulders almost touching. He keeps glancing at you like he’s trying not to smile too hard.

Jimmy grins at the audience. “Okay, Okay – we have to talk about this movie. The chemistry you two have is insane!”

The crowd roars with cheers, Hudson’s facial expression reads ‘overwhelmed’, you hide your smile behind your hand.

Jimmy continues, “And we actually have a clip. Now, this is from one of the… uh… more intimate scenes!”

The audience screams, making Hudson’s eyes widen in shock, and you elbow him gently. He whispers, low enough for only you to hear. “Didn’t know they were showing that one.”

The screen behind you lights up. It’s the infamous rooftop scene – the one where your characters finally stop pretending they don’t want each other. The camera shows you pressed against a wall, city lights glow behind you but just enough to glow against your pretty face.

Hudson’s character steps into your space, close enough that your noses almost touch. Your voice in the clip is soft, unwavering with emotion. “You can’t keep doin’ this – saving me, risking everything.”

Hudson’s character looks at you, like you’re the only girl in the world. “I’m not risking anything,” he says. “I'm choosing you.”

The audience gasps with anticipation. On screen, he lifts your chin gently, thumb brushing against your jaw, and you lean into his touch like it's an instinct. The scene cuts right before the kiss, the studio erupts with screams.

Jimmy is laughing, fanning himself dramatically. “HELLO? That was… wow. That was romantic.”

Hudson is bright red, you’re trying not to laugh at how flushed his expression was.

Jimmy leans forward, curiously. “So, tell me – was it awkward filming that? Because it looks almost too natural.”

Hudson shakes his head, eyes soft, voice warm. “Honestly, Jimmy? It wasn't awkward at all.”

The audience screams with cheers again.

You raise a brow, teasingly. “Not even a little.”

Hudson shakes his head, smiling in that quiet, sincere way that makes your stomach flip. “No,” he says. “She makes it easy.”

The crowd loses it almost immediately. Jimmy clutches his chest. “My god, you two are killing us!”

Hudson laughs, but his foot finds yours under the desk – a small, secret touch the cameras don’t catch. You don’t dare to pull away. And for a moment, it feels like the whole world is watching the beginning of something neither of you can hide anymore.

Weeks after you and Hudson’s appearance on the Tonight Show, the two of you get asked to do another interview based off of all your edits, memes, and the Tonight Show clip.

The interviewer smiles politely, completely unaware of the storm you and Hudson are about to release. She announces what she’ll be showing you throughout the interview.

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A tweet that says “Hudson is down BAD.”

Hudson reads it aloud, then nods furiously. “Oh, 100 percent.”

You whip your head toward him. “HUH?”

He shrugs, completely unaware of how flustered you look. “I mean… have you seen you?”

You blink, the interviewer blink, and the entire internet collectively just lost their shit.

“Hudson,” you whisper, “You’re supposed to lie in interviews.”

“I’m bad at lyin’.” he says, smiling at you like he just confessed to having a massive crush on you.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

A meme of you two labeled ‘married behavior’.

You burst out laughing, Hudson leans against your shoulder, observing the screen.

“Married?” He says. “That’s… something.”

You tease, nudging your shoulder into his. “Scared of commitment, baby?”

He smirks, instantly catching the vibe you’re putting down. “Not with the right person.”

The interviewer drops her pen. You stare at him, appalled. He stares back, mocking your expression.

“Cut that,” he whispers to the camera guy. The camera guy definitely DOESN’T cut it.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

A fancam captioned “they’re in love and i’m tired of pretending they’re not.”

Hudson watches it silently, jaw tight, eyes soft. Meanwhile, you’re watching him watch it.

The interview feels somewhat intimidating. “So… thoughts?”

Hudson turns towards you, voice low. “I think the fans are very observant.”

You nearly fall out of your chair; the interviewer’s jaw is completely open.

“Hudson,” you hiss, “You can’t just SAY things like that!”

“Why not?” he shrugs. “It’s biblically true.”

You bury your face into your hands. Hudson pats your back like he didn’t just set fire to the internet.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

As soon as the cameras turn off, the interviewer exhales like she’s just survived a natural disaster. Hudson leans towards you, suddenly invading your space, whispering into your ear. “So… dinner after this?”

You glare at him, cheeks slightly flushed with embarrassment. “You just admitted you’re down bad for me on camera.”

He grins. “And?”

You sigh dramatically. “Fine. But you’re paying.”

Family Video should’ve been safe. But of course, the universe loved watching you suffer – which is why you were currently standing in front of your ex-boyfriend, arms crossed, chin lifted, matching his smugness.

Steve Harrington leaned against the counter like he was posing for a magazine cover. “Well, look who wandered back in,” he said, voice dripping with that infuriating, lazy confidence.

You didn’t blink. “Didn’t realize you still work here. Thought you’d have… I don’t know. Another babysitter gig.”

His smirk twitched – barely, but enough for you to savor. “Oh, trust me. Plenty of times.”

You smiled sweetly. “And yet here you are.”

Robin peeked around a shelf, whispering, “This is way better than cable.”

Steve pushed off the counter, stepping closer. “You always did love pretending you were above it all.”

“And you always loved pretending you didn’t care,” you shot back.

The air around you two tightened. Robin froze like she was watching two lions circle each other. You should’ve walked away, and he should’ve let you. Instead, you both stepped forward at the same time.

And then you two were kissing – or colliding – or just finally snapping after months of pretending you didn’t still want to tear each other’s smug faces off with your mouths. It was heated, messy, inevitable – to the point where you both didn’t hear the door open, but you did hear Dustin scream.

“WHAT THE HELL?”

You and Steve jerked apart like guilty teenagers. The party stood in the doorway – Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Max, Will, El – all staring like they just got caught in a soap opera. And behind them stood Robin, Jonathan, and Nancy.

Dustin pointed dramatically. “You two got BACK TOGETHER?”

“We’re not–” you started.

“It was one kiss,” Steve said at the same time.

Max groaned. “This is exactly like divorced-parents energy.”

Mike nodded in agreement. “Yeah, like when they hook up at Thanksgiving and pretend it didn’t happen.”

Nancy crossed her arms. “Are you two communicating? Because this whole thing seems unresolved.”

Jonathan added gently, “Like, deeply unresolved.”

Robin slapped the counter, making everyone jump in the process. “No. No, no, no. We are NOT doing the ‘we used to date but now we’re weird’ arc again! I barely survived the first time.”

You and Steve stared at them in shock. Steve sputtered. “We’re not– she kissed me!”

You scoffed. “You leaned in first!”

“Because you were already leaning in!”

Lucas threw his hands up. “Oh god, they’re literally fighting like they share custody of us.”

Will nodded.”This feels like a family meeting.”

El tilted her head, tugging on the side of your shirt, eyes focused on your expression. “Do you still love each other?”

Silence.

Steve’s expression softened – just a flicker – before he covered it with a smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

You smile down at the girl, then mirror Steve’s action. “Maybe I already do.”

Family Video filled with everyone’s groans, like they were witnessing emotional whiplash.

Robin pointed at both of you. “Outside. Now. Figure your stuff out. Because I refuse to live through another six months of unresolved tension thick enough to choke on.”

You and Steve exchanged a look – sharp, familiar, dangerous. He opened the door, you stepped through. Behind you, Dustin whispered loudly. “They’re totally getting remarried.”

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The door to Family Video clicked shut behind you, muffling the sound of everyone making bets on if you two were getting back together or not. You exhale sharply, Steve did the same.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Just the parking lot, the two of you, and the echo of that kiss still buzzing through your body. Steve shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to look casual. He failed miserably.

“So,” he said, voice low, “that was definitely something..”

You crossed your arms, chin lifting. “You kissed me.”

He scoffed at your remark, chin also lifting in the process. “You kissed me.”

“You leaned.”

“You leaned first.”

You stepped closer. “You’re impossible!”

He stepped closer too. “And you’re still into it.”

Your breath caught – not that you’d ever admit it. “Don’t flatter yourself, Harrington.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, “I don’t have to. You just kissed me like you were trying to win.”

You hated how right he was, hated how much you wanted to do it again. You turned away, mostly to hide the smile threatening to betray you. Steve followed, because of course he did.

“Look,” he said, softer now. “we don’t have to make it a thing. It was just–”

You spun back around. “Don’t you dare call it ‘just’ anything.”

His eyebrows shot up. There was – the spark, the challenge, the thing that always pulled you two back like magnets that pretended they weren’t attracted.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “So what was it?”

You opened your mouth, you had no idea. And then Steve’s car beeped behind you – he’d accidentally hit the unlock button in his pocket. You both stared at the car, then at each other.

He smirked. “We could… talk. In there.”

You mirrored it. “Talking. Right.”

He stepped closer, voice dropping an octave. “Unless you’re scared you’ll kiss me again.”

You stepped even closer, eyes narrowing. “Please. If anyone’s going to break first, it’ll be you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And then he kissed you. No hesitation this time, no collision, just Steve grabbing your waist and pulling you in like he’d been waiting for months for you to challenge him again. You kissed him back, finger curling in his shirt, smugness melting into something hotter, deeper, familiar in a way that made your chest ache.

He pressed you gently against the side of his car, lips trailing along your jaw, breath warm as he whispered, “Still think I broke first?”

You tugged him back by the collar. “Absolutely.”

He laughed against your mouth – that soft, disbelieving sound he only ever made with you – and kissed you again. And again. And–

The Family Video door slammed open. “OH MY GOD,” Dustin yelled. “THEY’RE MAKING OUT AGAIN.”

You and Steve froze. The entire group spilled outside like nosy neighbors in a sitcom. Robin pointed at both of you with a frown. “This is not what I meant by ‘figure it out’.”

Mike nodded, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, they’re gonna pretend this didn’t happen tomorrow.”

Lucas sighed, arm snaking around Max’s shoulder. “We’ll never get out of this storyline.”

Nancy pinched the bridge of her nose. “You two need to have an actual conversation.”

Jonathan added, "Preferably not against a car.”

You and Steve looked at each other – breathless, flustered, caught. And for once, neither of you had a smug comeback. Just that spark again, familiar, inevitable.

You weren’t supposed to be here. That’s the first thing Sukuna thinks when he spots you walking into the Sigma Phi house party – hair done, outfit lethal, expression bored like you’re already highly unimpressed with the entire building.

He’s mid-shot with his friends, but the moment he sees you, he lowers the glass and mutters, “...No way.” Because he knows exactly who you are. Satoru's older sister. The one girl every guy on campus has been warned about. The one girl Satoru would actually commit murder over. 

Sukuna should look away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he watches you glide through the crowd like you own the place, ignoring the stares, ignoring the whispers, ignoring the fact that you’re walking so confidently – hips swaying, chin held up high, heels clicking against the hardwood floor. And then your eyes meet his. You don’t look away either.

You tilt your head, slow and deliberate, like you’re sizing him up. You’re deciding whether he’s worth your time. Sukuna smirks.

Game on.

He pushes off the wall and approaches you, hands in his pockets, tattoos peeking from underneath his shirt. He stops close – too close – but you don’t back away. 

“Didn’t think Gojo would let you out unsupervised,” he says, voice low, teasing.

You raise a brow. “Didn’t think you listened to anything my brother says.”

He laughs, sharps and amused. “Trust me, princess. I don’t.”

You step closer, eyes flicking over his tight jaw, his tattoos, the cocky tilt of his mouth. “Good,” you say softly. “I don’t like boys who follow rules.”

Sukuna’s grin falters for a second – because you’re not flirting. You’re challenging him, and he loves it. He leans in, lips brushing against your ear. “You really shouldn’t say things like that to me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t play fair.”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “Neither do I.”

He’s about to say something reckless – something that’ll definitely get him punched by your little brother – when a familiar voice cuts through the music. 

“Hey!” 

Satoru Gojo. 

Storming across the room.

Looking like he’s ready to commit a felony.

Sukuna doesn’t move, neither do you. 

Gojo points at Sukuna first. “Back. Up.” Then he points at you. “And YOU – what are you doing talking to him?” 

You cross your arms. “Breathing, existing, being an adult?” Sukuna snorts, making Satoru glare at him. 

“Shut up, Sukuna.”

Sukuna raises his hands in a mock innocence. “Relax, Gojo. I was just sayin’ hi.”

Satoru steps between you two, blocking Sukuna from your view. “You don’t say hi to my sister. You don’t look at her, don’t even breathe in the same direction as her.”

Behind him, Sukuna mouths to you. “Text me.”

You bite back a smile. 

Satoru whips around. “What was that?”

Sukuna shrugs. “Nothin’.”

But you already know this isn’t over, not even close to being over. Because Sukuna watches you leave the party with your little brother dragging you by the wrist – and he’s smiling like he’s already planning the next move. 

But today, sitting in the Harrington kitchen – the table with a stack of textbooks, you’ve met your match. But unfortunately, your match is Steve. He leans over your shoulder, peering at the open page. “You’re stuck again.”

“I’m not stuck,” you say, even though you knew his words were very much true. “I’m just… thinking.” 

Steve hums, unconvinced. “You’re making the same face you made when you tried to explain quantum mechanics to Dustin and he asked if atoms had feelings.” 

You glare at him. “This is different.” 

“Mmm.” He pulls out the chair beside you and sits, knee brushing against yours. “What part is tripping you up?”

You hesitate. You were hesitating? The girl who can recite the entire scientific theories from memory, hesitated. “It’s just… anatomy,” you mutter.

Steve brightens instantly. “Oh! That’s my thing.”

You shot him a look. “Since when was anatomy your thing, Steve?”

He shrugs, casual. “Since always. I had to learn a lot for first aid, sports injuries, helping the kids, all that. Plus, I dunno… keeps me interested.” You flip the page, trying to hide your embarrassment. “Well, obviously I’m not great at it.”

Steve leans into you, reading the diagram that sat on the textbook. “Okay, so this is the deltoid. It’s responsible for lifting your arm. And this–” he taps on the page lightly “--is the scapula. Kind of the anchor point.” 

You blink slowly, trying to process what he had just said. “How do you just… know that?”

He grins, slightly lopsided. “Told you, sweetheart. Anatomy’s my thing.”

You try to focus, but he’s close. Way too close. And he’s talking about muscles and bones and joints with this calm, confident ease that makes your heart race. And he most definitely notices. 

“You’re getting red,” he says softly. 

“I’m not.”

“You are.” He tilts his head, studying your expression with that curious face he always makes when he’s trying to figure something else. “You get flustered when we talk about anatomy.”

“That’s not– I don’t–” You inhale sharply. “It’s just not my strongest thing.” 

Steve smiles, warm and a little proud of himself. “That’s okay. You’re good at everything else.” 

You look down at the diagram again. “Explain it one more time, please?”

He shifts closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Sure. So, think of the body like a system of levers. Every muscle has its job. Every bone has a purpose. It’s all connected.” 

You swallow. “You make it sound simple.”

“That’s because it is,” he says, nudging you lightly. “You just overthink it.”

You open your mouth to argue with him, but he gently taps his finger against the page again. “Here,” he says, voice becoming softer now. “Lemme walk you through it.” And he does – patient, steady, surprisingly persuasive. You follow along, cheeks warm, heart doing something in your chest. 

When he finishes, he leans back with a satisfied smile. “See? Look at you. You got it.”

You exhale softly. “I guess I did.”

Steve's eyes train against your pretty face, eyes soft. “Y’know… it’s kind of nice.”  

“What is?”

“That I get to be smart for once.”

You look at him – really look – and your flustered embarrassment melts into something else entirely. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “It is.”

Steve beams, and you swear your heart begins to skyrocket. 

Maybe anatomy isn’t so bad after all.

taglist(??)::

Sukuna was last, always last when they had won.

The door slammed open hard enough to rattle the shelves of supplies. He looks like a mess – jersey bunched up into a crop, shoulder pads hanging loose, blood smeared from a reopened cut above his left eye, tape on his knuckles spilt and dark. Crimson eyes locked on you immediately – no greeting.

“Out,” he rasped.

You didn’t move from the edge of the treatment table where you’d been prepping fresh ice packs. “No.”

His laugh came out short, ugly. “Don’t test me tonight.”

“You’re the one who tested the refs, the post, and apparently your own goddamn common sense.” You crossed your arms. “Sit. Or bleed on my floor. I don’t care which.”

He stalked forward, towered over your smaller figure. The heat rolling off him was almost violent. “You think I need your mouth right now?”

“I think you need someone to tell you that cross-check was fucking idiotic, yeah.” You tilted your head up, unflinching. “And I think if you don’t let me clean that cut, it’s gonna scar worse than your ego already has.”

Something snapped behind his eyes. His hand shot out – fingers curling around the back of your neck, thumb pressing underneath your jaw, not gently but almost as if he was claiming you.

“You always this mouthy after we lose?” he growled, voice low enough that it made your heart flutter.

“Only when the captain plays like he wants to lose.”

He yanked you forward by the neckline of your shirt – mouth crashing into yours with a bruising force. You bit his spilt lip on purpose, making him hiss and shoving you back against the table so hard the metal legs scraped against the tiled floor.

Clothes came off in pieces – jersey ripped over his head, your scrub top yanked off and tossed, his base layer shoved down just enough.

He spun you around, bent you over the padded table. One hand fisted in your hair into a makeshift ponytail, the other shoved your pants down with zero hesitance. You braced on your forearms; he didn’t wait for one second.

He drove in hard – thick, hot, unforgiving. You let out a high-pitched gasp, he groaned something guttural against the side of your neck.

“Still mad?” he snarled, hips snapping forward with punishing rhythm.

“Oh! Furious,” you hissed back, pushing against him just as hard. “You choked. You fucking choked on that power play.”

He laughed, raggedly, and slammed deeper. “Keep runnin’ that mouth.”

“You–” thrust “–gave them–” thrust “–the game–”

His free hand cracked across your plump ass–sharp, stinging. You mewled despite yourself, he felt it, felt you clench around him, making him rut against you harder.

“Say it again,” he dared, yanking your head back so your back met his chest.

“You choked, Sukuna–”

He pulled out abruptly, flipped you onto your back, hooked your legs over his shoulder and drove back in so deep your breath punched out. His mouth found your throat– biting, sucking, marking – while his hand slid between you, rough fingers circling your clit with precision.

“Come on my cock,” he ordered, voice wrecked. “Since you like mouthing off so much–scream for me instead.”

You shattered– nails digging into his broad shoulders, back arching off the table, cry muffled against his neck. He didn’t stop. Kept pounding through your spasms until his own rhythm broke– hips stuttering, low growl tearing from his throat as he came hard, buried into your womb, pulsing deep enough you felt it everywhere.

Silence followed after, just ragged breathing, sweat. The faint drip of the water from the sink trickled in the corner.

He stayed inside you, forehead pressed against yours, fingers still tangled in your hair. “...We’re down 0-1 in the series,” he muttered eventually, voice hoarse.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “And you still owe me for that cross-check.”

He huffed a tired laugh– almost soft. Bit your lower lip lightly. “Next loss,” he promised, “I’ll fuck you slower. Make it hurt differently.”

You smirked, fingers tracing the fresh bruise you left on his collarbone. “Only if you stop getting penalties, asshole.”

He kissed you again – slower this time, still possessive, still him. “No promises, doc.”

Outside the suite door, faint voices drifted down the hallway – Gojo’s laugh, Toji’s low rumble, Nanami telling someone to ‘shut the hell up.’ They were already plotting revenge on the opposing team.