Soulmate Sex: Remastered

I

Good evening/morning/afternoon to whoever is reading this. Consider this my preface of sorts, for the all too infamous (if you consider it so) Soulmate Sex series. I deeply doubted the impact my writing would have when I first began writing on this blog, and truth be told, Soulmate Sex is started in my head as a fuck-it-all, all-for-naught, silly knock off of every single soulmate au I've ever read. I didn't expect it to blow up like it did. My life has been filled with both strife and happiness, all coming at me from every direction at unexpected times, leaving me to be confused with my own feelings. It affected my writing in ways I was too lazy to fix. I've gone through a lot of changes these recent months, some bad but mostly good.

And that's definitely not why you're reading this. You are reading this, my lovely Y/n, to see what happens between you and the dork Peter Parker, your horny soulmate and best friend.

This is Soulmate Sex: Remastered.

From the bottom of my heart, I hope you all love this, for I loved writing (and re-writing) it.

And of course, a warning before you read: smut.

You graced yourself with a satisfied smile while shutting the neon notebook, filled with wrinkled pages that are saturated in highlighter ink and colored pencil side notes. These hours of studying, of hard work, would surely pay off for your midterm exams. You love exams. Not the way Hermione Granger loves exams (though bless her soul), but the way Ronald and Harry love exams: the end is near. The end of torturous long nights, spent pouring your soul into books of science. You know that the mitochondria is the power house of the cell, but that's where everything gets fuzzy. It takes a lot of effort for you to invest the energy into studying. And yet, you do it.

Even though you aren't a natural, per se, when it comes to academics, you really push yourself hard. You're a good test taker, thanks to process of elimination. Your motto? When in doubt, C yourself out. A question you can't quite understand—just choose C. It's probably right. You've fooled everyone into thinking that you're a straight A, Harvard Bound, true Midtown Tiger. They line up to be your study partner but they don't know the truth; you're lazy. You work hard so that you can earn being lazy.

You are ready to sleep. That's for sure. You wiggle out of your jeans but don't bother with your shirt, it's comfortable enough to sleep in. You throw onto the bed after making yourself comfortable and fit for a good night of sleep.

You've begun to drift, thoughts swirling and melting together like a cloud of swirled ice cream, beckoning for you to fall into it and sleep.

It's the middle of the night. You feel the twinges of bruises on your torso but ignore them. Pain in a soulmate bond is always lessened; your school teachers says it's because of a long process of evolution. In the early stages of Earth, the human population faced a drastic decline. Women falling dead because their husband's wounds, men dying because their wive's childbirth went a bit wrong—leaving the small baby alone. So, the humans modified themselves without knowing it. Pain, sickness, illness, disease, they would be a mere muffled static to the soulmate that felt it across the bond.

But evolution...humans...any creature...have one goal. One, instinctive goal, to share a bond—physical, emotional, mental.

Sensations of pain aren't strong lest two soulmates are in close, physical proximity to one another. If your soulmate were to die of a stab wound in your arms, then you would too. If you were sitting next to your soulmate and cut your finger, a matching wound would appear on them.

No one said evolution is perfect.

You did not concern yourself presently with the prospect of death. Of your lover's death. Your woman, your man, your pure, simple love, you don't know.

You concerned yourself with the slight shift in your lower core, the pit of your belly, that suddenly began to feel warm like melted butter.

The soulmate bond is complex. There are special classes at school which everyone takes, all to learn about the bond. It's been documented in early history, as far as the Renaissance period and speculation implies the bond began to arise during the Middle Ages. Sensations are common; when a soulmate hits their toe on a coffee table, there's a tingle in your own. When a soulmate gets beat up, as yours often does, you fear, there will appear small, not so sensitive bruises on your torso or wherever your soulmate has been hit. It's all evolution that keeps soulmates safe from harm.

Though the bond cannot protect you from the seductive wiles everyone feels. Every teenager feels it at some point.

You feel it now. No, not you, him.

You know it's a him. When he succumbs to his wanton desires, it feels as though the phantom of him is actually becoming inside of you. Not in a weird way...though it is weird, isn't it? You can't explain it, but somehow when he is touching himself, alone and far from you, you can almost feel his presence conjured in the pit of your stomach.

You writhe over the bed, biting your thumb to concentrate on something. Dead middle of the night, and now, he decides to do this.

A little moan slipped from your mouth. And in your defense, it wasn't your fault. You swore. "Please, don't..." You say, but you really want it. You roll over and shove a pillow over your face to muffle the short, hot pants that have quickly come about.

The heart birthmark across the palm of your hand, a universal sign on every living being, has been colored scarlet, deep and seductive like a rose's petal.

You whimper despite yourself. You hold the pillow tightly over your face, trying to keep calm and relax. You've become a trembling mess on your bed.

If anyone walked in, they might think you were crying. You might start crying soon, but not out of fear or sadness, but of pleasure and a bit of thrill.

You're certain your soulmate is going through a heat of some sort. Of course you two have rubbed one out at times, at one point even at the same time. It's a difficult situation to settle. Consent is key and you've given yours, as he has given his. Of course, you are human, but, with respect, what the fuck has been going on lately?

It's been some time, but...he is constantly—I mean constantly—begging permission to masterbate. The pleas bubble up on your skin, the ink he's using so far away. He ought to be going through a really bad phase. Always horny, always fighting. Always up late.

But honestly, never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, has such arousal come up so quickly. Usually you can feel it coming on and at least prepare yourself.

Right now you can feel your walls pulsing, clit throbbing, every cell in your body begging for the release that your soulmate is carrying on.

How can he keep it going for so...long...? Don't most boys cum in about a minute?

Not your soulmate.

Not him.

You check the lock on your door and then spread out your legs. You're not so tired anymore.

You can feel your soulmate's heart skip a thousand beats when he realizes you've joined him.

"Holy shit." Peter collapsed onto his bed and brushed curls of sweaty hair off his forehead. An hour. That lasted an hour. He'd actually, seriously, just had soulmate sex. It was amazing.

His wrist tingled, the ghost of scribbling just barely there on his skin. He wiped his forehead of sweat then checked his arm the way he would check a watch.

Listen, you goddamn twelve year old BOY-CHILD, I have a test in about eight hours. I have to be awake in five. With all due respect, ask me first.

You throw the sharpie across the room, the cap popping off when it hit the wall and resulting in ink being spattered over the paint job. "Mother fucker," you hiss, balling up knots of hair in your hands.

There was a tickle on the palm of your hand. You look down and see ink spelling out: sorry :)

"Pfft. Whatever."