Peter Parker should have turned to dust on Titan. But when the Snap tore the universe apart, Peter was ripped to somewhere far worse - a galaxy far far away.
Pairings: Peter Parker x Padmé Amidala x Ahsoka Tano
Genre: Multiverse Crossover, War, Smut!
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Chapter 5 The Moment Between
The command tent was silent.
Only the low hum of terminals broke the stillness, their soft glow flickering over blue holomaps that no longer held her attention. Beyond the canvas walls, clone officers moved in quiet rows, their footsteps precise, their conversations hushed. None of it reached her.
Padmé stood alone.
She had come for casualty reports, as always. It had become a ritual. Count the names. Calculate the cost. Prepare the condolences that no one wanted to hear. She had taught herself not to feel it anymore or so she believed.
Her gaze drifted across the monitors. One of the feeds blinked in the corner, a motion-triggered camera stationed just outside the auxiliary tents.
She tapped it.
The feed resolved into motion. A single figure stepped into view, slipping between canvas walls into the moonlight.
Ahsoka.
The girl moved slowly. Not limping. Not injured. But her gait was unmistakable. Loose at the hips. A softness to her stride. Her thighs brushed as she walked. Each step drawn from somewhere deeper than fatigue.
Padmé's throat tightened.
She recognized that walk.
Her hand hovered above the console. A breath caught in her chest. Then, without knowing why, she scrubbed the footage back. Not five minutes. Not ten. She dragged the slider all the way back, fifty minutes.
She pressed play.
In it, Ahsoka slips into the tent.
Moments later, Peter followed. Bandages still clung to his side. His shirt was half-buttoned, his expression unreadable. He disappeared behind the same canvas Ahsoka had vanished into.
Padmé leaned in closer.
Inside the tent, the lantern had been left on. Its glow cast a warm light against the fabric walls, soft and golden.
For a long moment, nothing moved.
Then the shadows began to shift.
Ahsoka's silhouette circled him. He sat down. She followed. The faint rise and fall of her form came into view. She mounted him slowly, bracing her hands against his shoulders. Her body rocked once, then twice. Then again.
Peter's hands rose. One gripped her waist. The other slid beneath her thigh. The shape of his mouth lowered to her chest.
Their rhythm was built in a steady cadence.
Padmé watched, unblinking.
She could see the moment he flipped her. Her form curled beneath his. Her legs lifted, ankles locking behind his back. His body thrust forward, burying itself into hers. Their shadows merged and parted. Again and again. Until the motion faded and stillness settled between them.
He didn't leave her.
He collapsed into her arms, head tucked against her neck. One of his hands stroked her back. The other never stopped holding her.
Padmé felt something shift inside her.
She had once been the one who calmed his breathing after battles. The one who felt his body tremble in the aftermath. Now someone else lay beneath him. Someone younger and freer.
She blinked, slowly.
Her hand moved down, resting lightly across her abdomen. Through the silk of her robe, she felt the throb of something deeper.
Her thighs pressed together. Undeniably so. The shame came late.
She told herself it was nothing. That this was war. That young people turned to each other in the dark. But the ache didn't go away.
Her fingers twitched once, just above the waistband. A breath hitched. She clenched her jaw and forced her hand back to the console.
One press.
The footage blinked. Gone.
She didn't save it. She didn't need to.
It wasn't the image that haunted her. It was the knowing. The quiet confirmation that something had changed. That Ahsoka hadn't just taken comfort. She had been chosen.
Padmé stepped away from the console, her movement stiff, deliberate. The air felt heavier now. Or maybe she did.
Outside, a wind tugged at the canvas. A faint cough echoed from a sentry post. Somewhere out there, the war carried on.
Inside her, something else stirred.
She didn't tell anyone what she saw.
She didn't tell Peter what had been left behind in her body, growing slowly in silence.
…
Ahsoka knelt by the shallow basin near the edge of the field hospital. The night was still, but the air carried a sharp bite, brushing over her bare shoulders and collarbone. Her breath curled in soft clouds beneath the stars, slow and uneven. Moonlight spilled across the water's surface, painting the basin in shifting silver. But her thoughts refused to match its calm.
She dipped her hands into the water and splashed her face. The cold struck like a slap, but it didn't clear her head. If anything, it only sharpened the ache between her legs, the soreness that pulsed every time she breathed too deeply or shifted her weight.
Her body still remembered him.
She pressed her palms to the edge of the basin, the stone cold and wet beneath her fingers. Her arms trembled slightly, not from the air but from the residual tremors crawling down her thighs. Every part of her ached with the aftershock of what they had done.
Peter had filled her more than once.
She shifted, and a slow, unmistakable warmth slid from her cunt, trailing sticky down the inside of her thigh. Her knees pressed together instinctively, but it kept dripping. Thick. Heavy. Her walls still fluttered every few seconds, clinging to the emptiness he had left inside her.
She hadn't told him to pull out.
She hadn't wanted him to.
Her breath came shallow as she dipped her hand into the basin again and brought it between her legs. The first touch made her wince. Her folds were sensitive and swollen, still parted slightly. Her fingers slid along slick skin, warm and slippery. She cupped herself and felt how much he had left inside her.
Not just traces. A full load, still clinging to her walls, refusing to leave.
She bit down on her lip and pressed in with two fingers, not out of pleasure, but need. Her muscles tightened in protest as she eased past her entrance, her fingertips curling inward. A faint, involuntary moan slipped out when she found the soft spot he had bottomed out against. It was hot and sticky there.
She pushed deeper.
The squelch was wet and obscene, and her body clenched again. Her cunt was still trying to hold him in. But she needed to get it out.
She angled her wrist and dragged her fingers downward, pressing along the inside of her walls. A sudden rush spilled past her knuckles, thick and hot, pouring into her palm. Another followed, louder, messier. It ran down her hand, dripped along her wrist, and splashed into the water below with a muted slap.
She gasped.
Her free hand gripped the basin. Her hips trembled as more warmth spilled out, an uncontrollable gush that felt like her womb had surrendered. It slid from her body in waves, a mixture of his cum and her own mess, built up from every round he had emptied inside her.
She stayed like that for a moment, doubled over slightly, thighs trembling, the last of him spilling free.
When she finally pulled her fingers out, they were coated in white, glistening from knuckle to tip. Her scent clung to them. His scent clung to them. She rinsed her hands quickly, shaking as she reached for more water and splashed it between her thighs. The cold made her flinch, but she didn't stop. She scrubbed until the water ran clear. Until the warmth was gone.
But the ache remained. It wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this. Not with him.
But it had. And she didn't regret it.
Her breath slowed as she sat back on her heels. She remembered the first time, the way he kissed her in the dark, hesitant but desperate. The way he groaned into her mouth when she pushed him down and pulled her robes off.
He had touched her like he couldn't believe she was real. His fingers trembling when he first slid inside her, slow and deep, curling against her walls as she rolled her hips. She had whispered against his lips, begged him to stop teasing. Told him to fuck her.
And he had.
She remembered how thick he felt, how her body stretched to take him in. She remembered crying out, clutching at his back, her legs locking around him as he tried to hold still.
But she didn't let him.
She made him fuck her harder. Rode him with all her weight, moaning his name, her breasts bouncing against his chest as her thighs slapped his. Her nails raked his shoulder blades. Her cunt squeezed him every time he bottomed out. He groaned helplessly when he came the first time, spilling deep inside her with a flood of warmth she felt in her belly.
And then he flipped her.
He took her from behind, pinning her down by the hips. His cock slammed into her over and over, fast, brutal, until she was crying out loud enough to wake the whole damn camp. Her orgasm hit her like a burn. Her legs collapsed beneath her. Her body shook. Her voice broke when she came.
Even then, he didn't stop.
The third time, she had been the one to climb back onto him. Still full. Still sore. But I need more. She had leaned down and made him look at her. Told him not to pull out.
And he didn't.
He begged to finish inside her again.
She said yes.
Now, in the silence of the field, her body pulsed with every heartbeat. Her cunt ached in slow throbs. Her legs barely held her.
She stood carefully, knees shaky, water dripping from between her thighs. The chill stung where she had scrubbed raw. But it didn't matter.
She didn't feel clean. Not really.
She wiped her face with her sleeve and looked up at the stars. They burned high and cold above her, silent witnesses to what she had become.
She didn't know what she was now.
Not a Jedi.
Not just a soldier.
But something else.
He had touched places inside her that she never knew existed. Had made her lose control. Had made her feel like something more than a weapon.
For one night, she had let herself want. And she had taken. Her fingers lifted to her lips. She could still taste him there.
And the truth she couldn't say aloud curled behind her tongue like a secret.
Would she let him do it again?
...
The surgical tent was quiet, lit by a soft blue wash from the diagnostic unit humming beside the cot. Peter stood over Rex, sleeves rolled, palms steady, breathing controlled. But under the surface, his body hadn't quite settled. His muscles still hummed with the echoes of what had come before. His wrists still bore faint heat where her hands had held him down.
He hadn't showered. There hadn't been time. Only a rinse of his arms and chest. Beneath the fabric of his trousers, his skin still smelled faintly of her. Of sex. Of sweat and need and surrender.
But right now, there was no margin for distraction.
The clone captain lay unconscious, still and expressionless. A medical scanner hovered above his head in slow arcs, trailing a ring of diagnostic light across his skin. Electrodes blinked along his temple. The pulse from Peter's arc reactor glowed quietly, synchronized to the micro-surgical probe waiting at the edge of his palm.
The inhibitor chip sat deep within the brain. No traditional tool could reach it without risking damage. But Stark tech, fused with the fine instincts of the Force, could.
Peter closed his eyes.
The hum of machines drifted into the distance. The tent faded. His senses folded inward, stretching out with his breath. He felt Rex's vitals before he read them. The gentle rise of his chest. The tension was buried beneath the sedation. The quiet flickers of unease.
A click whispered from the probe as it slid forward, the filament piercing skin with precision. The interface lit up. Data streamed across the screen in bursts of green and blue.
There it was.
A foreign presence, lodged like a splinter near the amygdala. A line of code designed to overwrite a soul.
Peter guided the probe forward. The Force rippled through his awareness like silk under his palms. His thoughts sharpened to a single line. He isolated the chip. A push. A flick. Then release.
The chime was soft, but final.
He exhaled.
The probe retracted. The unit dimmed. The light in the room seemed to settle.
Rex stirred beneath the blanket, eyes fluttering open with a shallow breath.
"Where am I?" the clone rasped.
"You're safe," Peter said gently. "The chip's gone."
Rex blinked up at the ceiling. His gaze turned, slowly finding Peter's.
"You're not Jedi, are you?"
Peter looked down at his own hands. Still gloved in the sterilizer. Still trembling faintly from more than surgery.
"No," he said softly. "But I fight for them."
Rex stared a moment longer. Then, with quiet effort, he nodded.
Whatever came next, he would face it free.
Peter stepped aside as the medics entered. The tent was cold behind him. The night was even colder.
He found Ahsoka just outside, perched on a stack of supply crates near the command post. Her hood was up. Arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Her back was straight, but not relaxed. Her breathing was even, but not calm.
She looked at him as he approached.
"It's done," he said. "Rex is free."
"I felt it," she said quietly.
She didn't smile. She didn't thank him. But her eyes met his and held there.
Peter stood in silence for a moment. The night around them pulsed with quiet weight. He wanted to say something. Needed to. But the words caught somewhere deep in his throat.
He sat beside her.
The crates creaked under his weight. Their shoulders brushed. The contact was brief, but it left a trail down his arm.
He could still feel the heat of her skin. The press of her thighs against his waist. The way she had clenched around him when she pulled him deeper and whispered for him to stay inside.
"I've been studying the chips for weeks," he said finally, voice low. "They're in all of them. Every clone. Not just Rex. They're set to trigger. To turn them against the Jedi."
Her posture stiffened, just slightly.
"You're saying… they were built to betray us?"
He looked at her face. At the slight tension in her jaw. At the shadow that passed behind her eyes.
"Not by the Republic," he said. "By something behind it. A design. A setup. I don't know who yet. But I've seen what happens if no one stops it."
Ahsoka lowered her gaze. Her hands curled tighter around her legs.
"I've felt it too," she murmured. "That cold is creeping in. Like we're walking straight into something."
Peter looked out across the field. His eyes found the stars above the treeline, dim and flickering.
"I think about what happens after this," he said. "If we survive it. If there's still time to run."
She turned slightly toward him.
"Run where?"
"Naboo's nice," he said. "Quiet. Clean air. Water that doesn't smell like engine coolant."
A flicker of amusement touched her face.
"You? In a garden? Feeding ducks?"
"Tatooine's an option," he offered, nudging her gently. "If you enjoy sweating through your boots."
She laughed softly, but it didn't last.
Silence settled between them again. Their knees brushed. Her lekku shifted closer. She didn't lean away.
He could still taste her. Still feel the way she trembled when she came. Still hear the sound of her voice begging for more.
There was so much he hadn't told her.
The surveillance. The future. The possibility that she might already be carrying the one thing neither of them had planned.
He looked down at his hands again. Open. Empty.
"I need to tell you something," he said.
Ahsoka turned her head, watching him closely now.
Peter didn't finish the sentence.
But he would. He had to.
And when he did, it would change everything.
For now, they just sat together beneath the stars, not Jedi, not soldiers. Just two people caught in a war they hadn't started, holding onto each other because there was nothing else left to hold.
…
High in the tallest spire of the Jedi Temple, where Coruscant's wind could not reach and the noise of the world fell silent, Yoda sat in meditation.
He had not moved in hours.
Around him, the stillness pressed like ancient stone. The chamber was dim, its walls curved like a shell, echoing with the breath of the Force. Outside, a billion souls stirred beneath the metal sky. Inside, only the old Master remained, surrounded by nothing but silence and time.
He slowly inhaled.
And the galaxy let go.
The veil of the present pulled back. The current of the Force stirred, revealing its patterns like ripples in water. Threads of possibility stretched in every direction, glowing strands of light and shadow spinning across eternity. Some were frayed. Others tangled. And many had begun to vanish.
Then he saw it. A single thread of gold. Foreign. Gleaming. Not born of this galaxy. It spiraled through the weave like a comet through stormclouds. It was shaped by fire, by courage, by pain.
Peter.
That was the name it carried now.
The golden thread had no place in the original design. Yet it moved with forceful intent, brushing lives that had once been untouched. It wrapped itself around others with unnatural gravity. Where it passed, the weave thickened.
Two new lights followed in its wake.
One shone with fierce, pulsing strength. The other flickered in quiet sorrow.
Ahsoka. Padmé.
Their futures had changed.
And within each of them, the Force sparked again.
Children.
Yet these were not part of prophecy. Not written in the sacred texts. Not seen by the visions of the Kyber or the songs of Mortis. The Force had not foretold them. It could not hold them. These children existed beyond prediction, born of choices the Force had not offered.
Yoda frowned. The pattern trembled.
He traced another thread. Darker. Thicker. It pulsed with heat and turmoil, coiling in upon itself like a serpent. Its energy choked the surrounding strands, consuming light with every beat.
Anakin.
The boy's soul flared with pressure. Not balanced or doubtful. But his fear had become hunger. His pain had become anger. And his love, twisted by desperation, now sought possession instead of peace.
The vision cracked.
Yoda saw flashes.
The Temple in flames. Statues shattered. Younglings silenced.
A mask breathing in the dark.
Ahsoka, kneeling in grief.
Peter, broken. His suit torn, blood pooling beneath him as the sky turned red.
The two children, one unborn, the other screaming as arms pulled it away.
Yoda's breath caught.
The threads pulled out of reach.
The web, once so certain, now refused to speak.
He opened his eyes slowly.
The meditation chamber was still. The wind pressed faintly against the high glass. The city beyond glimmered with a thousand lights, none of them wise enough to see what he had seen.
He closed his fingers into the fabric of his robe and whispered into the dark.
"Changed, everything has. And in shadow, it grows."
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Thanks so much for reading. This fic is planned for 10 chapters total, possibly more if the response keeps building. It's a slow descent through war, betrayal, and increasingly unwise sexual decisions.
Chapters 6 and 7 are now live on Patreon, and this is where everything shifts. Nothing stays secret. Padmé finds out and makes a choice that changes everything. After the threesome, Peter finally opens up, and the climax begins.
I'm open for commissions and prompts, and you can always reach me on Discord. Profile name: omni_nymph
Got a kink, a scene idea, or thoughts on this chapter? Let me know. I read everything. If I missed something or if there's something you'd love to see, yes, including specific kinks, DM me on Discord.