padmespetal

[padmespetal]

LITERATURE SERIES: Dystopia

“Always, at every moment, there will be the thrill of victory, the sensation of trampling on an enemy who is helpless. If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face — for ever… And remember that it is for ever. The face will always be there to be stamped upon." ― George Orwell (1984)

[padmespetal]

Not a spring chicken :: Hayden Christensen x Fem! reader

Summery :: Hayden, your much older boyfriend, feels like he fails you when he doesn't get you to come during sex and your playful teasing doesn't make it any better so no Hayden has to prove he's still a spring chicken.

CW :: Smut! Minors dni! multiple orgasms, age gap relationship, mentions of self-pleasure, oral(fem! receiving), PinV, unprotected sex, soft dom! Hayden, slight porn with a plot, Hayden being the best boyfriend ever ofc.

Authors note :: If you're reading this, then that means this has left my drafts. I hope you all enjoy. Also, since this one is actually leaving my drafts, consider this my first smut ever to be posted here!

Word Count :: 5,003

Hayden had been quiet all day.

Not cold. Not distant. Just… quieter than usual — that introspective kind of quiet that came when he was in his head too much, and not enough in the moment. You knew why. You’d been teasing him for days now — playful jabs about that one time he came too soon, didn’t finish you off, and hadn’t stopped apologizing since.

You hadn’t meant to get under his skin. Well… okay, maybe just a little.

It was the height of summer — air thick, heavy, clinging. You were curled up on the couch in too-small shorts and an oversized tee, legs stretched out near the fan. Hayden sat beside you, shirt clinging to his sweat-damp chest, mindlessly scrolling on his phone — though the tension in his jaw said his mind was anywhere but relaxed.

He hated feeling like he’d disappointed you. Hated it more than he let on. Hayden had always been the type to put your pleasure first — always careful, always slow and intentional, always watching you with those stormy eyes, making sure he read every breath, every sound, every shift in your body.

And that one time? It stuck with him more than it did you. You joked, sure — but he carried it like it meant something bigger.

“Such a shame,” you murmured, smirking without turning your head. “Still haven’t proven me wrong.”

You felt his gaze before you saw it. That slow, heavy kind of look — the kind that made your skin heat more than the sun ever could.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just let the silence stretch for a beat too long before finally speaking, voice low, husky, and a little frayed at the edges. “…Are you trying to challenge me?”

You turned, kneeling on the couch beside him, a playful grin tugging at your lips as you leaned closer. “Maybe. What’s the matter? Scared you’re not a spring chicken anymore?”

That was it.

His hand came up to your chin — not rough, but firm, deliberate — and pulled you into a kiss that knocked the air out of your lungs. It was messy, deep, and so full of quiet desperation it made your whole body ache. A sound slipped from his throat, low and raw, and you swore you felt it everywhere.

He wasn’t holding back this time.

His hand found yours, guiding it between his legs, letting you feel exactly what you did to him — how wrong your teasing was, how much you still had a hold on him.

“Feel that?” he murmured against your throat, lips brushing soft skin as he kissed his way down. “This is what you do to me.”

Another kiss. A soft bite to your delicate skin that had you squeezing your legs together.

“You think I don’t want you all the damn time?” he breathed, his voice rasping low like he hated admitting it out loud — like it made him vulnerable somehow. “You drive me crazy, sweetheart.”

And you did. You were the most beautiful thing to him and your body just drove him even more crazy plus with your bratty attitude thrown on top of it.

You moaned softly and cupped your hand around his bulge, softly rubbing it which made him whimper.

And you did.

You drove him insane — always had. But it wasn’t just the curve of your body, the way your skin felt under his fingertips, or the softness of your mouth against his. It was the attitude. That fire. The way you looked at him like you knew exactly what kind of effect you had on him… and still pushed every button you could find.

Hayden’s breath hitched as your hand moved slowly over him, cupping him through the fabric of his jeans with a soft, deliberate touch that sent a full-body shiver down his spine.

A low whimper escaped him — quiet, desperate, and completely unguarded.

His eyes fluttered shut for a second, and when they opened again, there was something different in them — a softness, but darker around the edges. Desire layered beneath admiration, and something else too… something like need.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, his voice nearly broken from how much he felt it, “what you do to me.”

You smiled — slow and wicked — but he leaned in before you could answer, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your cheek like he needed to memorize the way you felt. “And you know it. You know exactly how to ruin me, don’t you?”

You didn’t deny it. Not when his voice shook like that. Not when your teasing had gotten him so far gone he looked like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to worship you or completely fall apart in your hands.

His fingers slid under your shirt — slow, reverent — as if asking for permission he already had. He kissed you again, this time slower, deeper, but no less intense. It was a kiss that said I need you. I still want to prove myself. I still want you to feel everything.

And he would. Not just to prove a point — but because nothing else mattered to him the way you did.

You gasped softly when your back hit the cushions, your body already tingling with the heat of his mouth against your skin.

Hayden pulled your shirt over your head with an almost impatient gentleness, tossing it aside without ever taking his eyes off you. And then he was on you — kissing down your neck, tracing the hollow of your collarbone with his tongue, leaving slow, aching heat in his wake.

By the time he reached your chest, you were already arching toward him, needing more — but he stayed steady, deliberate, lips soft against the curve of your breast before wrapping around your nipple.

A soft cry slipped from you.

God, he was so focused. Like you were the only thing in the world that existed in that moment. No distractions. No hesitations. Just Hayden — completely wrapped up in the way your breath caught and the way your hips shifted under him.

When he finally pulled away, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, your hands twitched at your sides, desperate to touch him, to pull him closer — something.

But he was taking his time.

Teasing you.

Punishing you — sweetly, slowly — for the days of merciless teasing you’d given him.

"Hayden..." you whined, voice trembling as he paused at the waistband of your shorts, pressing soft kisses to the sensitive skin just above your hips. "Please don't tease me..."

And he laughed — not mean, not mocking — but low and breathy, like the sound vibrated right from his chest.

"But you've been teasing me for the past four days, sweetheart," he said, gaze lifting to meet yours. His voice was deep, rough at the edges, but his eyes… they were soft. So full of want it made your stomach flutter.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he leaned in again, brushing his lips along the inside of your thigh, making your breath stutter.

“I think you can wait a little longer, mhm?”

God, that smug softness in his tone was torture.

The kind of tone that said he wasn’t just going to make you pay — he was going to make you feel every second of it. And when he finally slid your shorts down, it was slow. Intimate. Like unwrapping something sacred.

Because that’s how he saw you. Sacred. Always had

Hayden’s lips trailed higher, slow and deliberate, his breath ghosting over your inner thigh as he let your leg fall naturally over his shoulder. His stubble grazed against your skin, and the sensation made you shiver — anticipation buzzing low in your stomach.

He kissed the sensitive spot just beside where you needed him most, tongue flicking out to taste your skin, and you couldn’t help the way your back arched, hips shifting restlessly beneath him.

You heard him chuckle — quiet, low, and maddeningly soft.

“I haven’t even barely touched you,” he murmured, voice rough and dripping with heat, “and you’re already soaking wet.”

Your face flushed, breath catching in your throat as his fingers brushed the edge of your panties. His eyes never left your face — not for a second — as he slid the thin fabric to the side and leaned in.

Then finally — finally — his tongue dragged a slow, teasing stripe up your core, and it felt like your whole body lit up.

A moan slipped past your lips, involuntary, and he smiled against you.

But it wasn’t cocky. It was reverent. Like he was proud of what he could do to you — proud that you trusted him with this, with all of you.

He didn’t rush.

Every kiss, every flick of his tongue, was patient and deliberate like he wanted to savor you, make up for every second you’d teased him — and then some. His hands held your hips steady, fingers digging in just enough to ground you as he worked you open, slow and focused, like worship.

Like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

When Hayden ate you out, it was like you were seeing god. every single time your eyes would roll to the back of your head, legs would be shaking so violently before finally you reached that peak. then he would keep going, making you beg for him to stop but also for him not to.

Hayden swore when he was younger, he didn't care about that sort of stuff and never took the time to actually focus on it but now that he's older, god he became amazingly well at it which made you believe he was lying.

You were a moaning mess, your hands fisting the couch cushions underneath you as he went from soft licks and then to fucking you with his tongue. You whimpered, your head falling back before you felt him press a finger inside you.

If you weren't already moaning loud before then you were sure you were now because not only was he fingering you but he was licking and sucking on your clit.

When Hayden ate you out, it was like you were seeing god — every single time.

Your eyes would roll back, your thighs trembling uncontrollably around his head, and your voice would break into desperate moans that filled the room. He always watched you through it all — dark eyes locked on your face like it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

And when you finally hit that high, shaking and breathless, begging him through gasped pleas and twitching hips—he didn’t stop.

That was the part that broke you.

He’d keep going, tongue relentless, lips dragging over your swollen clit as if he hadn’t just pulled the soul from your body. You’d cry out — beg him to stop, beg him not to — and he’d laugh softly against you, low and wrecked, like he lived for the contradiction in your voice.

When Hayden was younger, he never paid much attention to this. Sex had been simpler — less about the details, more about release. But now?

Now, he was older. And with age came patience. Intent.

Now, he needed to see you like this — undone and shaking because of him. He swore he wasn’t this good before, but the way you clutched the couch cushions, the way your body writhed beneath him, had you thinking he was lying.

Because god, he was good.

Your whimpers spilled out uncontrollably as he flicked his tongue from slow, reverent licks to deep, focused thrusts — fucking you with his mouth like he had something to prove. And maybe he did.

Your head fell back, lips parted in a broken moan — and then you felt him press a finger into you. Smooth. Precise. Curling just right.

And if you thought you were loud before...

Now, you were screaming for him.

Because not only was he fingering you — steady, deep, just enough stretch to make your toes curl — but his mouth was back on your clit, sucking gently, tongue teasing as if he wanted to drive you straight into insanity.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby,” he murmured between licks, voice dark and reverent, his breath hot against you. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

That’s what did it.

That final flick of his tongue, the way his fingers curled just right, the sound of his voice telling you he had you — it all snapped together in your chest and then crashed down in a tidal wave of pleasure.

You moaned his name, loud and desperate, as the orgasm tore through you, your back arching, legs shaking uncontrollably around his shoulders while he didn’t stop.

He held you there. Rode it out with you. Pushed you through every aftershock until your body finally gave out, collapsing into the cushions with a gasp.

Sweat clung to your skin, your thighs twitching from the overstimulation, and your chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths. You were limp, dazed, totally at his mercy — and he knew it.

Hayden hovered over you, his eyes dark and full of something wild, something hungry — but still, his touch was soft.

When he reached for your panties, your hips barely lifted.

So he didn’t ask again.

Instead, he hooked his fingers into the thin fabric — and with one firm tug — ripped them in half, tossing the ruined lace to the floor like it didn’t matter at all.

Because right now? All he cared about was you.

Hayden stripped quickly, breath uneven as he pulled off his shirt and boxers — until he was fully bare above you. His cock sprang free, flushed deep red at the tip and already leaking, hard as stone and throbbing with need.

But it was the sight of you — flushed, panting, still glowing from your release — that made him groan low in his throat.

“God, sweetheart…” he whispered, his voice thick, almost hoarse, as he reached out and cradled your cheek. His thumb stroked your skin with the same tenderness he always held for you, even when his body was practically vibrating with need.

He leaned in and kissed you — quick, but full of heat — before pulling back just enough to breathe, “You’re so beautiful like this…" His eyes flicked down your body, drinking you in. Every inch. Every tremble. Every soft, open breath.

“All tuckered out,” he murmured, “but I really wanna show you how much of a spring chicken I still am.”

Then he smiled — that rare, sly smile that only came out when he was about to completely ruin you.

“Spread your legs for me, baby.” His voice dropped an octave — and it wasn’t a request.

You slowly parted your legs for him, your body still trembling, your breath shallow — but the way he looked at you, like you were the most delicate, beautiful thing he’d ever seen, made you feel safe.

Hayden moved over you, gently guiding one of your legs up and hooking it over his hip. His hands were big and warm as they steadied your thigh, grounding you. Then he dipped down, brushing his lips against your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth — soft, reverent kisses meant to calm, to remind you he was here with you.

“You good, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, but laced with care.

You nodded, breath catching in your throat.

Because Hayden wasn’t just big — he was the biggest you’d ever had. Thick, long, with that perfect curve that always stole your breath before it gave it back in moans. The stretch was something you never fully got used to — that sweet sting that came with every time he pushed inside you, slow and deep, made you feel split open in the best way.

He lined himself up at your entrance, eyes flicking to yours one last time as if asking silently, you sure?

And then — slowly, carefully — he pressed forward.

You gasped, your mouth parting as inch by inch, he pushed into your tight heat, his cock stretching you open with an ache that made your toes curl. He was being so gentle, his hand gripping your thigh as he whispered soft things under his breath — things you couldn’t even catch through the haze, but you felt them in the way he kissed your shoulder, your neck, your lips again.

A deep groan rumbled in his chest as he sank deeper. “Fuck… you feel so good. So damn tight.”

You whimpered, your nails digging into his back as he bottomed out, the tip of his cock pressing deep, perfectly, before he stilled — letting you adjust, just like he always did.

He remembered the first time. How your eyes had welled with tears, how he thought he hurt you. But you’d clung to him, told him to keep going, and the second he did…

You were wrecked for him.

Just like now.

Your walls squeezed him like a vice, so wet, so warm it made his head spin. He buried his face in your neck, groaning low as he finally settled fully inside you, his hips flush against yours.

“God, baby…” he murmured, his voice barely a breath. “You take me so good. Always do.”

And even though your body was still buzzing from before, you could already feel the build starting again.

Hayden started to move — slow at first, pulling out just enough to feel the drag, then pushing back in with that same deep pressure that made your breath catch in your throat.

You moaned softly, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders, nails raking up his back in long, deliberate strokes. The tension in his muscles twitched under your touch, and when your nails dug in just a little deeper—

He hissed.

Not in pain. In pleasure.

He loved when you left marks. Loved when your body responded to him so instinctively, when you couldn't help but grab, scratch, hold on like your body was trying to claim his.

“Yeah… yes, baby,” he groaned, voice raspy as his pace began to build.

Each thrust was a little faster now, deeper, the wet sound of your bodies meeting filling the room along with your moans. Hayden shifted, one hand reaching back to grip the arm of the couch for leverage, his biceps flexing as he used it to drive into you harder — smoother.

“Just like that, sweetheart,” he muttered, panting as he buried himself deep, again and again, his voice thick and strained with need.

Your name spilled from his lips like a prayer between low, broken moans.

He loved watching your face — the way your eyes fluttered shut, your lips parted, every breath you took syncing with the rhythm of his thrusts. Your body clung to him like it never wanted to let go, your heat pulsing around him every time he drove in.

“God, you feel unreal,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to yours as his rhythm faltered for just a second, overwhelmed by how tight, how perfect you were.

“Look at me, baby.” His voice was firm but soft, commanding but tender.

“Let me see those pretty eyes while I fuck you.”

You moaned loudly, his name tumbling from your lips like a mantra as he drove harder and faster, his movements becoming a blur of urgency and desire.

The couch creaked beneath you, shifting with the force of his thrusts. It felt like everything around you was moving — the room, the air, the very essence of the world outside faded into nothing. All that mattered was him and how deep he was burying himself inside you.

But even the thought of how much you’d hate cleaning this up later flickered out as quickly as it came. Because every thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through you, and the way Hayden was using his body, guiding yours, was mesmerizing.

He pressed your leg further down against the couch, forcing you to spread open for him even more, every inch of you exposed and vulnerable. The sensation was electric, your skin tingling with every push and pull.

“Fuck—Hayden, please,” you whimpered, voice trembling and breathless. But you had no idea what you were begging for; all you knew was the fire he was igniting inside you, how good it felt, how desperately you craved more.

His name fell from your lips again, softer this time, a plea wrapped in a moan, and it sent a shiver down his spine. You could hear the way he was breathing — harsh and uneven, like he was barely holding onto control as he thrusted deeper.

“Just like that, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and thick, pressing kisses against your ear and down your neck, whispering sweet nothings that made your heart race. “You’re doing so good for me. So fucking perfect.”

His words washed over you, and with each thrust, it felt like he was pouring his love into you — every inch, every movement, every whisper.

The pleasure coiled tightly in your core, building and building, pushing you toward the edge. You could feel the heat rising, the pressure mounting, as he lost himself in you, and you lost yourself in him.

“Don’t hold back,” he breathed against your skin, the warmth of his breath igniting the fire within you. “Let it go, baby. I’ve got you.”

You nodded, eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze, filled with that beautiful mix of love and desire. He was everything you needed, and in that moment, you knew there was no one else you wanted.

You whimpered, arms wrapping tightly around his neck as you held on to him, feeling your legs shake beneath you. That familiar coil of pleasure built up deep inside, growing tighter and tighter, and you could feel it threatening to burst free.

“I’m close…” you managed to whisper, voice breathy and trembling, and the sound made him chuckle lowly, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he moaned, the rhythm of his thrusts deepening as he sought out that spongy spot inside you — the one he knew would push you over the edge. Each powerful thrust hit just right, making your whole body quiver in response.

“Come for me, baby,” he urged, his breath ragged, filled with a desperate kind of need that mirrored your own.

His words were the last spark you needed. The heat pooled in your core ignited, that familiar wave crashing over you as your body tightened around him, muscles clenching as you fell apart.

“Oh god, Hayden!” you cried out, the pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave, overwhelming and all-consuming. You could feel every inch of him as he filled you, stretching you perfectly, and with every thrust, he sent you spiraling deeper into ecstasy.

Hayden groaned, the sound deep and primal as he felt you clench around him, the way your body responded to his movements. “That’s it, baby, just like that,” he encouraged, his own pleasure climbing as he lost himself in you, every thrust matched with the rhythm of your release.

You were a beautiful mess beneath him, eyes half-closed, face flushed, and he couldn’t look away. He watched you come undone, heart racing with a mix of love and lust that left him breathless.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispered, burying himself deeper as he rode out your orgasm, driving you both to that point of bliss you’d been longing for.

You felt him twitching inside you, the rhythm of his thrusts growing sloppier, more frantic as he neared his own release. You could sense the tension radiating off him, the way his breath hitched against your neck, and you wrapped your arms tighter around him, grounding both of you in this beautiful moment.

“It’s okay, baby,” you whispered, fingers tangling in his hair, stroking gently as his head buried deeper between your neck and shoulder, savoring every second.

“Please… please come in me,” you begged, and those words were like a switch flipping. They ignited something primal within him — something that made his eyes darken with lust and his body surge with urgency.

“God,” he groaned, and just like that, he picked up his thrusts, driving into you harder, deeper, fueled by the thought of filling you, of seeing you swollen with his child one day. The very idea sent a wave of heat through him, pushing him closer to the edge.

The connection between you two intensified as he pounded into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room, mixed with your moans and gasps. Every thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, and you could feel the heat pooling in your core again, rising to meet his urgency.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he panted, his voice thick with desperation and need. “I’m right there… don’t stop, don’t hold back!”

And with every word, every thrust, the tension built higher and higher, spiraling out of control until you were both teetering on the brink.

“Come for me, Hayden,” you urged, your voice a breathy whisper as you locked your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “I want to feel you.”

That was all it took.

With a primal growl, he surged forward, his body shuddering as he finally let go. “Oh, fuck!” he cried out, thrusting hard as he filled you completely, warmth spreading through you as you both surrendered to that blissful peak together.

You felt it wash over you, a wave of pleasure that mixed with his, leaving you both breathless, wrapped in each other as the world faded away.

The two of you lay there on the couch for a few minutes, breathless, bodies tangled in each other’s warmth, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of your hearts beating in sync, trying to catch their breath.

Hayden didn’t move right away, letting the silence settle between you both. His forehead rested gently against yours, and he could feel your chest rising and falling beneath him, every breath a reminder of how close you were, how completely you had connected.

Finally, he pulled his head away from your shoulder, his eyes searching yours for that fleeting moment of vulnerability. Then, as if drawn by some magnetic force, he captured your lips in a deep but gentle kiss, soft and full of love. His lips were tender against yours, tasting of the shared moments, the heat of the passion that had just taken place, but now it was all about the love between you.

Slowly, he pulled himself out of you, his hand still trailing over your sides as he did. It was slow, deliberate, like he didn’t want to let go of you just yet.

“I love you so much…” he whispered against your lips, his voice quiet and sincere, a perfect contrast to the intensity of earlier. His hands traced up and down your sides, fingers brushing lightly against your skin, as if reminding himself that you were right there with him.

You looked up at him, eyes meeting his with that same intense love, your heart pounding, your own feelings a mirror of his. Every word, every action between you two, spoke volumes about how much you truly meant to one another. It wasn’t just about the heat of the moment — it was about something deeper, something that connected you both in a way nothing else ever could.

“I love you too,” you replied softly, your voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

And in that moment, the world outside seemed to disappear. It was just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s arms, letting the silence speak the words that neither of you needed to say.

After a few more minutes of lying together in comfortable silence, you heard Hayden start softly laughing, the sound light and carefree, which made you lift an eyebrow in confusion.

“What?” you asked softly, the smile on your lips unable to hide your curiosity.

Hayden pushed himself up, locking eyes with you, and cupped your cheeks in his large hands. He gazed at you with that familiar gentle smile, his expression warm and sincere. Then, without warning, he placed a soft kiss on your lips before pulling away just enough to speak.

“I’m not a spring chicken now, huh?” he asked with a teasing grin, his eyes sparkling as if he knew exactly how to push your buttons.

You rolled your eyes playfully, a smirk forming on your lips. “Screw you, asshole,” you shot back, and his grin only widened, making him shake his head in mock disbelief.

“You’re a piece of work, you know that?” Hayden chuckled, his voice thick with affection. But before you could retort, he suddenly scooped you up in his arms with surprising strength, causing you to squeal loudly in surprise.

“Hayden!” you laughed, your hands instinctively clutching him as he began walking through the house, your body still a little wobbly from earlier.

He smirked, his pace slow and confident. “I think one more round will do the trick, what do you say?” His tone was playful but with a certain promise, making your heart race in anticipation.

Before you could respond, Hayden effortlessly tossed you onto the bed with a gentle yet deliberate motion, causing you to land with a soft bounce. You blinked up at him, a mixture of surprise and amusement written across your face as you tried to catch your breath.

Let’s just say, Hayden definitely proved he was still a spring chicken.

Author's note :: I know I already did one of these but I am seriously proud of my work on this one! I hope you guys liked it and sorry if it's bad!

[padmespetal]

kiss me — anakin skywalker

synopsis: Behind closed doors, love defies duty—soft whispers, stolen touches, and a longing the galaxy can never know.

word count: 962

warnings: none <3

note: just a cute small piece I wrote hope you enjoy 🤍

“Senator.”

Anakin’s voice was soft but laced with mischief, his presence a warm, forbidden secret in the dimly lit sanctuary of your quarters.

You barely had time to process the moment before the door clicked shut behind him, sealing the two of you away from the world outside—the Senate halls buzzing with political tension, the looming obligations that pulled you apart more often than they brought you together.

“Anakin, you shouldn’t be here,” you scolded in a whisper, hands pressing lightly against his chest as if to push him away, though you both knew you wouldn’t. It was impossible.

He only smiled, that boyish smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I know,” he admitted, utterly unrepentant. “I just couldn’t help myself.”

His words curled around your heart, warm and intoxicating. You wanted to be angry—truly, you did—but how could you when he was standing there, looking at you as though you were the entire galaxy wrapped in silk and moonlight?

“Our visit to Alderaan was postponed, so the Council gave us the afternoon off.” He explained it so casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to slip away from duty just to see you. “So, I decided to come see you.”

His voice dropped to something softer, something intimate, as he took a careful step forward. It was always like this—stolen time, fleeting moments, a love that existed in the spaces where duty dared not tread.

Your heart ached with longing, a feeling that had settled deep in your bones after too many days apart, too many nights spent pretending not to search for his face in a crowded Senate hall.

You sighed, pretending to be exasperated, but the way you leaned into his touch betrayed you. His hands found your face, fingertips ghosting over your skin with all the tenderness in the universe.

“Oh, Ani,” you whispered, voice trembling with the weight of unspoken emotions.

His breath was warm against your lips, his forehead resting against yours as if he needed to feel you close just to remind himself this was real.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his robes, desperate to hold onto something solid as the room around you blurred into insignificance. The galaxy could crumble and burn, and it wouldn’t matter—not here, not now, not with him.

“I’ve missed you,” he confessed, and you knew—without a doubt, without hesitation—that every word he spoke was the truest thing in the world.

“Kiss me.”

The words left you in a whisper, almost a plea, as your gaze flickered between his lips and his eyes. You saw it—the shift in his expression, the darkening of his pupils, the way his jaw tensed ever so slightly as his restraint wavered. His thumb traced the shape of your lips, slow and deliberate, sending shivers down your spine.

“Please,” you added, breathless.

That was all it took. His hand tangled into your hair, pulling you forward as his lips crashed into yours. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was everything you had been missing, everything you had been forced to suppress in the name of duty.

Love, longing, desperation—they poured into the way his lips moved against yours, how his hands traced the curves of your waist as if committing you to memory.

Anakin pulled you closer, as close as humanly possible, as if he could mold you into him, as if proximity alone could fuse your souls together.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, mirroring his own, and when the need for air became unbearable, you broke apart just enough to breathe.

But Anakin wasn’t finished. He pressed soft, fleeting kisses along your cheek, down to your jaw, along the column of your throat. Each one sent a spark of warmth through your veins, and you giggled, the sound light and breathless.

“Anakin, stop,” you teased, though you made no real effort to move away.

He grinned against your skin, his lips lingering just below your ear. “You torture me by denying me,” he murmured, his voice laced with faux dramatics, though the truth of it burned beneath his words.

You were about to respond—something playful, something light—but a sudden knock at the door shattered the moment into pieces.

“Senator Y/L/N, your presence will soon be needed,” a voice called from the other side.

The atmosphere shifted instantly. Anakin’s shoulders tensed, the playful spark in his eyes dimming as reality reared its ugly head.

You let out a quiet sigh, smoothing down the wrinkles in your robes as you prepared to face the world beyond this room.

“I’m sorry, Ani…” you whispered, reaching for his hand. Your fingers laced together effortlessly, grounding you, anchoring you.

“It’s not your fault,” he reassured you, but his voice was quieter now, touched with something somber.

You squeezed his hand one last time before pulling away. “I’ll see you tonight?”

His nod was small, but the longing in his gaze spoke volumes. “Tonight.”

You took a deep breath and stepped toward the door, but just as your fingers grazed the handle, his voice stopped you in your tracks.

“I love you.”

You froze, the three words sinking deep into your heart, filling the spaces left hollow by distance and duty. Slowly, you turned back, meeting his eyes, and for a moment, time stilled.

A smile—soft, genuine, filled with every unspoken promise—curved your lips. “I love you too,” you whispered, voice steady, unwavering. “Always.”

And with that, you stepped beyond the door, back into the world that would never truly understand what existed behind it. But as long as Anakin was waiting for you on the other side, none of it mattered.

© padmespetal 2025 - I DO NOT APPROVE OF MY WORKS TO BE TRANSLATED OR COPIED ANYWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION

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[padmespetal]

apocalypse — bruce wayne

synopsis: after weeks of silence, bruce shows up wounded, and as you tend to him, unspoken emotions unravel, leaving everything hanging in delicate uncertainty, part two of casual

word count: 1.3k

warnings: bleeding and wounds, cussing

note: English is not my first language as always sorry if there are mistakes I hope you enjoy reading <333 I felt like the ending was maybe a little rushed though lol / recommended listening to the song by cigarettes after sex while reading!🤍

It had been weeks since you last spoke to Bruce. Weeks since you last saw him. Weeks since that wretched night, the one you kept replaying in your mind like a scratched-up vinyl stuck on the most painful note. Since you stormed off in anger and hurt, since he let you walk away after that lingering moment with Selina. Since he didn’t call.

So, you didn’t go back.

Each passing day without hearing his voice only drove the knife deeper into your ribs. No apology. No explanation. No effort. Just silence, thick and suffocating, curling around you like cigarette smoke. Was he ignoring you? Had he finally realized you were a liability? A dead weight he never needed?

The thoughts burrowed deep, festering like wounds left unattended.

You spent most of your time in a state of half-sleep, half-existing. Draped in an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants, you lounged on your couch, listless. The dim glow of the television painted shifting shadows across the walls, a political debate about Gotham’s corruption playing in the background. Rain drummed softly against the window, but you didn’t move to open the curtains. The moonlight had no business watching you like this.

And still, your mind played the scene over and over. The way his eyes lingered on her. The way he didn’t stop her. The way he didn’t stop you from leaving.

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself up, only to knock over the cup of tea you’d made hours ago but never drank.

“Shit,” you muttered, too numb to feel properly annoyed as the cold liquid seeped into the fabric of your sweatpants. With a tired sigh, you padded to the sink, leaving the mug behind without a second glance.

You needed a change of clothes.

Slipping into your bedroom, you stripped off the damp sweatpants and tossed them into the laundry bin. The closet door creaked open as you rummaged for another pair, but a sudden, muffled thud in the other room stopped you cold.

Your breath hitched.

That was unmistakably the sound of a window shutting.

Your stomach twisted. You knew for a fact you hadn’t left any windows open.

Moving purely on instinct, you reached for the gun in your bedside drawer—an old habit from your time with the GCPD. You gripped it tightly, heart hammering against your ribs as you crept down the hallway, each step careful, precise.

The living room was dimly lit, the flickering TV screen casting jagged silhouettes across the walls.

And then you saw it.

A figure. A tall, broad-shouldered shadow looming in the darkness.

Your breath stilled.

You rounded the corner, raising the gun—

And then your heart nearly stopped.

It was him.

Batman.

Bruce.

Your hands trembled as you lowered the gun, the breath you didn’t realize you were holding rushing out in a shaky exhale. But the relief was short-lived because he was bleeding.

Badly.

Blood dripped in thick, dark pools onto your carpet, staining it crimson. His movements were sluggish, his breaths uneven. When he tried to speak, only a strained grunt escaped.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, instantly dropping the gun onto a nearby table as you rushed toward him. “Bruce, what the hell happened?”

He barely managed to collapse onto your couch, gripping his side with gloved fingers, jaw clenched in pain.

“Thought you were gonna shoot me for a second,” he rasped, voice laced with exhaustion and amusement.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—this is really not the time for jokes,” you snapped, panic flaring in your chest as you took in the full extent of his injuries.

He was trying to distract you. That’s how bad it was.

You needed to move fast.

“Stay here. Don’t—don’t move.”

You bolted to the bathroom, yanking open the cabinet and grabbing a first-aid kit, a needle, stitches—anything that might keep him from bleeding out all over your damn couch. When you returned, his breathing had become even more labored.

“Okay, I need you to get this off,” you instructed urgently, motioning to the armored suit.

Bruce grunted but didn’t argue. That alone told you how much pain he was in.

His movements were sluggish as he attempted to sit up, and you immediately reached out to help him. He didn’t protest.

You worked quickly, peeling away the blood-soaked material. Every hiss of pain he let out was a stab to your chest.

And then, when the last piece of fabric fell away, your stomach turned.

Bruises. Old and new. Ugly shades of blue and purple blooming across his skin like war paint. And the worst of it—a deep, jagged wound slashed across his abdomen, still oozing.

“Jesus, Bruce,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “What the hell did you get yourself into?”

He exhaled sharply as you pressed a cloth soaked in alcohol against the wound, his body tensing under your touch.

“Just… dealing with some thugs,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Things got messy.” A shaky breath. “Couldn’t drive. Figured you were closer.”

He came here. To you.

Even in your frantic state, that realization hit somewhere deep. Bruce never let people take care of him. Ever.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus as you threaded the needle.

“I need you to keep talking,” you said, voice tight as you began stitching up the wound. “It’ll help with the pain.”

He huffed weakly. “Not sure how much talking I can do.”

“Try.”

A beat of silence.

Then, softer—“I didn’t mean to ignore you.

Your hands faltered for the briefest moment before you forced yourself to continue.

“Yeah?” Your voice was sharp, bitter. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He didn’t answer right away. Maybe he knew he had no excuse.

Another moment passed before he spoke again.

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” he murmured. “I just… didn’t know what to say.”

You let out a breathless, humorless laugh. “That’s a first.”

More silence.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the worst was over. You pulled away, staring down at your blood-covered hands. Your heartbeat was erratic, your emotions frayed at the edges.

“Y/N—”

“No.”

He froze.

“You don’t get to do this, Bruce,” you said, voice raw. “You don’t get to disappear for weeks and then break into my apartment, bleeding out, and act like that’s okay.”

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

“You didn’t call,” you whispered, throat closing up. “You didn’t even try.”

His expression twisted into something like guilt. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“You thought I didn’t care,” he said finally.

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“I thought you were done with me,” you admitted, voice barely audible. “And then—then you show up like this—”

The words broke apart as a sob escaped before you could stop it.

Bruce moved before he could think, reaching for you—only to wince sharply, pain shooting through his body.

You caught his hands before he could pull away.

And then, in a blur of frustration, relief, and something far too overwhelming to name, your lips crashed against his.

The kiss was desperate, breathless—like two people drowning and trying to drag each other to shore. His gloved hand cradled your face, gripping you like he needed to feel you solid beneath him.

When you finally broke apart, your forehead rested against his, both of you breathing hard.

“Never do that again,” you murmured.

He exhaled, a ghost of a smile flickering across his face. “Twice was enough.”

You huffed out a tearful chuckle. “More than enough.

A pause.

Then, quietly—“Alfred bought circus tickets.”

You blinked. “What?”

“He was going to make me call you. To apologize.” A beat. “So… come with me?”

You stared at him. “Is this seriously what it took for you to ask me out?”

He gave you the tiniest, sheepish look.

You shook your head, laughing softly despite everything.

“Yes, Bruce,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his bruised knuckles. “Of course I’ll go with you.”

And just like that, something between you shifted.

Neither of you knew it yet.

But the night at Haly’s Circus would change everything.

© padmespetal 2025 - I DO NOT APPROVE OF MY WORKS TO BE TRANSLATED OR COPIED ANYWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION

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[padmespetal]

i’m so appreciative to suzanne for reframing the rebellion from the original trilogy as a “they saw their moment and took it” type situation and showing us that they’ve been trying, over and over, with so many failed attempts, to break the arena and incite a rebellion for decades. in this current political climate never giving up hope is so essential. haymitch wasn’t the first nor the last, and they kept going even when it seemed completely futile, and that’s what counts, and what ultimately saves them all.

[padmespetal]

I wish Maysilee Donner would've met President Snow. He wouldve said some corny shit like "Snow lands on top" and she would've eaten the words and chewed them right back up so nasty that he would've been so ashamed to say them ever again.

[padmespetal]

Since comments are off for your posts, I just really wanted to let you know that I really really really LOVE your work. Like it's so good. Masterpieces even. So thank you for writing them! <3

thank you so much! it means a lot since I am quite a new writer and every single comment or reblog means a lot🤍🤍 (btw I had no idea comments were turned off lol ty for letting me know)

[padmespetal]

post part 2 of casual rn PLEASE IM BEGGING YOU POST IT IT WAS SO GOOD PLEASEEEE

hahah tysm I’m really glad you liked it<33 I’m currently quite busy but I’m working on a fic that isn’t exactly a sequel to casual but it’s connected to it!! 🤍

[padmespetal]

nourishing the soul

[padmespetal]

casual — bruce wayne

synopsis: you were the voice in his ear, the shadow behind the screen, the one who stayed when the city chewed him up and spat him out. but you were never his. he was never yours.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: just angst </3

note: heavily inspired by the song of chappel roan, again english is NOT my first language so sorry if there are any mistakes! Again I used a pic of bale batman but you can imagine really any version of bruce you want. I enjoyed writing this little piece hope you enjoy reading 🤍

You and Bruce weren’t exactly in a relationship.

You didn’t know what you were, really. Partners in… crime? No, that wasn’t right.

You weren’t criminals, and you weren’t his equal in the field. You weren’t his lover, either, despite the nights spent tangled together in the dark.

You were just there. A presence in the cave, a voice in his ear. A necessity, maybe, but never something more.

It hadn’t always been like this.

You had been a detective in the GCPD, filling in for Gordon while he recovered from an injury—one he’d sustained on one of his evening patrols with Batman.

You hadn’t trusted the masked vigilante at first. A man dressed as a bat fighting crime in the dead of night? It all sounded ridiculous. Borderline insane.

And yet, somehow, he had proven you wrong.

He’d saved your life. You’d saved his. That had been the turning point, the moment when your worlds became entangled in a way you never anticipated.

He’d bled out in front of you, the infamous Bat crumbling to the floor, and in the frantic rush to keep him alive, you discovered the truth: Bruce Wayne was Batman.

At the time, it hadn’t even registered. The billionaire playboy façade was so far removed from the bleeding, broken man before you that it barely mattered.

All that mattered was keeping him breathing. You’d tried—and failed—to drive the Batmobile before fumbling for his phone and calling the only contact he had labeled as ‘Emergency.’

Alfred Pennyworth.

You hadn’t thought about the strangeness of it all until hours later, when Bruce was stable in the Batcave and you were left sitting in the cold, damp silence, staring at the cowl he had carelessly discarded.

That was how it started. How you became his.

Not in the way you wanted. Never in the way you wanted.

You were the voice in his ear, the one watching through the high-tech lenses embedded in his cowl, the one guiding him through the streets of Gotham from the shadows of the Batcave.

He never said it, but you knew he relied on you. Needed you, in a way. But not enough. Never enough.

Tonight had been like any other night.

Bruce had intercepted a mugging, left the thugs broken and whimpering in a dark alley, and now he was prowling through a warehouse rumored to be a hub of criminal activity.

You were in your usual seat, shrouded in dim light, eyes locked onto the monitors displaying his every move.

Then she appeared.

“Fancy seeing you here, Batman.”

The voice was unmistakable. Sharp, sultry, carrying the kind of confidence you could never quite master. The moment Bruce turned, his lenses scanned her features and displayed the name you already knew by heart.

Selina Kyle.

Catwoman.

Your stomach twisted as the sleek silhouette of her body came into view, wrapped in that infamous leather suit.

The pointed cat ears, the glint of mischief in her eyes—she was perfect, in a way that made you feel painfully ordinary.

Bruce grunted something in response, but you weren’t really listening. Your mind was caught in an endless loop, analyzing every interaction, every glance exchanged between them. You knew their history. Everyone did.

The bat and the cat.

She stepped closer.

Your breath caught.

You told yourself you were imagining it, that you were just seeing things through the distorted, blue-tinted lens of the cowl’s feed. But then it happened—

She kissed him.

It wasn’t a long, drawn-out affair. Just a brief press of lips. But it was enough.

You felt your chest tighten. A stupid, irrational reaction.

Pull yourself together.

You forced a breath out, clearing your throat as you leaned back in your chair, trying to appear casual. Trying to be casual.

“Well,” you said, feigning indifference. “Care to introduce me to your lady friend one day?”

Bruce barely spared you a glance. “She’s not my friend.”

“Oh.” You let out a humorless chuckle. “Then whatever she is.”

He didn’t respond. Just moved forward, deeper into the warehouse, his focus shifting back to the mission.

Your fingers clenched around the edge of the desk.

Right. The mission. That was all that mattered.

You swallowed down the bitterness rising in your throat and forced yourself back into the rhythm of things.

It should’ve been easy—you’d spent months perfecting the art of detachment, training yourself not to expect more than what Bruce was willing to give.

But something about tonight felt different.

The silence stretched between you, heavier than before. You spoke only when necessary, feeding him intel in clipped, mechanical sentences. And Bruce—Bruce noticed.

He always noticed.

The warehouse turned out to be a dead end. By the time dawn was creeping over the horizon, you were already halfway out the door, eager to escape before you did something stupid.

But then—

“Wait.”

You froze.

Bruce’s voice, still rough from the night, still filtered through the comms, stopped you dead in your tracks.

“Stay,” he said. Blunt. Direct.

And you knew what he meant.

You had done this dance before.

Batman was just a man, and men had needs. Carnal needs.

And when the weight of the city grew too heavy, when his demons clawed at his throat, he turned to you. Not out of love, not even out of affection, but because you were convenient.

And maybe, for a time, that had been enough.

But not anymore.

You closed your eyes, inhaling sharply. “No. Not tonight.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“Maybe you can go find Selina.”

The words left your lips before you could stop them, laced with something sharp, something you couldn’t swallow down fast enough.

Bruce scoffed. Not angry, just exasperated.

“You need to let this go.” His voice was clipped, impatient, like he was reprimanding a child.

And that—that—was what did it.

Your jaw tightened. “Good night, Bruce.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You tore the earpiece out, slammed the monitor off, and grabbed your things with shaking hands. You were done.

Alfred met you at the entrance of the Batcave, ever the picture of quiet understanding.

His gaze flickered over your face, taking in the unshed tears clinging to your lashes, and in a rare show of restraint, he said nothing.

Because he knew.

Of course he knew.

You left without another word.

And when Bruce returned to the cave hours later, peeling off the cowl with the same stoic expression he always wore, Alfred was already waiting for him.

The older man said nothing at first. Just set down a cup of tea with deliberate slowness, watching as Bruce methodically stripped off his gear.

Then, finally—

“Was it worth it, sir?”

Bruce didn’t look up. “Don’t start, Alfred.”

But Alfred only sighed.

“I do wonder, Master Wayne… how many times must you push away the ones who truly care for you before you realize you’re running out of people to come back to?”

Bruce stiffened.

For a moment, the cave was silent.

“She was never mine to begin with.”

A pause. A flicker of something in his expression, something unreadable.

Alfred shook his head. “No, sir. But you were hers.”

And Bruce said nothing.

Because they both knew it was true.

© padmespetal 2025 - I DO NOT APPROVE OF MY WORKS TO BE TRANSLATED OR COPIED ANYWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION

tags:

[padmespetal]

my love mine all mine — bruce wayne

synopsis: the weight of loving a man like him.

word count: 984

warnings: none, mentions of blood

note: my first fic i’m posting <33 sorry if there are mistakes english is not my first language i used a bale batman picture but you can imagine any version of bruce you want, hope you enjoy reading !! 🤍

Everyone always says you are so lucky to be Mrs. Wayne.

They say it in whispers behind champagne glasses at charity galas, in the sharp-edged comments of online forums dissecting your every move, in the glossy spreads of magazines that parade you like a prize.

They say it like a mantra, like an undeniable truth—because to them, you are the woman who won.

The tabloids adore you. Or rather, they adore picking you apart.

They scrutinize every dress you wear, every way you style your hair, the minute fluctuations in your weight as if it were a stock market chart. Did you gain a pound? Lose two? Was that diamond bracelet new, or just an old piece resurfaced to keep up appearances?

The public treats you like a living exhibit, a fragile doll encased in glass, standing at the side of Gotham’s most infamous bachelor-turned-husband.

No one thought it would last.

Bruce Wayne, the Bruce Wayne, had been through more relationships than anyone could count.

Women entered his orbit and just as quickly disappeared, leaving behind only the fading scent of expensive perfume and speculation in the tabloids.

He was a playboy. A heartbreaker .

The kind of man who could smile just right, make you feel like you were the only woman in the world—only for you to wake up one morning and realize you’d just been another name on his list.

And yet.

You had to be different, didn’t you? Because somehow, against all odds, against the expectations of an entire city, you weren’t just another chapter in his book. You were the last page.

But no one ever talks about what it actually means to be Mrs. Wayne.

They don’t know about the weight of it, the exhaustion, the sharp edges that come with the soft silks and diamonds.

They don’t see the sleepless nights spent staring at the clock, waiting for him to come home—wondering if this will be the night he doesn’t.

They don’t see the way your hands shake as you press them against his bloodied skin, patching him up in the dim light of your bedroom, biting back the tears because you knew what you signed up for.

Because crying never stopped him from going back out there.

They don’t see the fights, either. The yelling that ricochets off the walls of Wayne Manor like gunfire, your voice raw from screaming at him because how dare he be so reckless—because does he not realize what he’d leave behind if he didn’t come back?

“You don’t get to be careless,” you had shouted once, eyes burning with unshed tears. “You don’t get to act like your life doesn’t matter.”

And Bruce—stoic, unshakable Bruce—had just stared at you, jaw tight, breathing heavy, as if he wanted to argue. As if he wanted to tell you that Gotham came first. But the words never left his lips.

Because Gotham might be his city, but you—you and the messy, complicated family you built together—you were his home.

Everyone thought it was impossible for him to let someone in. Even he thought so.

Batman never thought he’d find someone who could understand.

He had learned the hard way that loving him was dangerous. He had been burned before. He had loved and lost, and he had told himself that it was better—safer—to be alone. And for a long time, he believed it.

There was Selina, of course.

The woman who had come closer than anyone else before you. The one he almost, almost married. But they were fire and ice, drawn together by their similarities yet always breaking apart because of them. They wanted too much from each other—too much change, too much compromise, too much that neither of them could ever truly give.

But you…

You weren’t like the others.

You didn’t fall for the mask. You weren’t enamored by the money, the power, the legacy of the Wayne name. You didn’t flinch at his darkness. You saw him—not just the billionaire, not just the vigilante, but him.

And that terrified him.

You saw through the careful facade, through the charming smiles and effortless grace, through the masks he had perfected over decades of hiding.

He tried to push you away. Oh, how he tried.

But you were persistent. Stubborn. You told him you weren’t going anywhere, that you’d rather walk through fire with him than live a life without him.

“You’re a fool,” he had told you once, voice low, rough.

“And you love me for it,” you had whispered back.

He married you months later.

So yes, being the new Mrs. Wayne was glamorous.

It was champagne-filled nights at high society events, breathtaking gowns, luxurious vacations, and a life most people could only dream of.

But it was also bruises hidden under expensive fabrics, exhaustion masked by perfectly applied makeup, whispered arguments behind closed doors.

It was being Batmom to the family of misfits and broken souls he had adopted along the way—learning to navigate the chaos of a home filled with vigilantes, each carrying their own wounds and ghosts.

It was being the one person who could ground Bruce, the one who reminded him that he was more than his mission, more than the cowl, more than the trauma he carried like a second skin.

It was waiting up at night, staring out at the city skyline, waiting for the Bat-Signal to disappear—because that meant he was coming home.

It was waking up to the sound of him slipping into bed beside you at dawn, his body aching, his mind heavy, but his arms pulling you close like he needed you to breathe.

It was love, in all its messy, painful, beautiful glory.

So let them talk. Let the tabloids speculate, let the world watch and judge and never understand.

Because they’ll never know what it truly means to be Mrs. Wayne.

And you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

© padmespetal 2025 — I DO NOT APPROVE OF MY WORKS TO BE TRANSLATED OR COPIED ANYWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION

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