Disclaimer: I don't own Spiderman or any of the characters.

Summary: Harry just wanted to make his dad happy. He'd do anything. Anything. Even if it meant giving up himself.

Warnings: Rape, self-abuse, eating disorders, abuse, language


"Please Dad, no," Harry Osborn's eyes burned as he tried not to cry, his voice taut with desperation. "Please Dad, anything but this."

"Shut up," his dad barked, slapping him hard across the face. Harry flinched at the smell of alcohol; he hated it when his dad got this way. "You want to make me happy, right?"

"Please Father, no, no-" Another slap caused Harry to stop talking, a tear finally rolling down his cheek.

"You want to make me happy, right?" Norman's voice was tense and unwavering as he stared coldly into his son's brown eyes which were widened in fear.

"Yes, Father," Harry replied numbly, his body starting to tremble. He knew what was coming next. "But please, Father, is there anything else I can do, please?"

"You can't do anything right," Norman slurred, spitting on Harry's face. "You can do this right," he stood and unzipped his pants, pulling down his boxers. He took Harry's head and shoved it between his legs. "Now make Daddy happy, you worthless piece of shit."

Harry's eyes stung and a few more tears ran down his face, but he placed his mouth around his dad's member and started to suck, burning with shame as he heard his father's guttural moans. It's just skin, he willed himself, trying to make himself feel clean even though he knew it was useless. He felt his father's fingers tangled into his thick hair and didn't look at the man who was violating him.

He just wanted to make his dad happy.


"Harry, are you ok?" Peter Parker asked worriedly as he stared at his best friend who seemed to be in a daze. Class had finished and Harry was still dozing off on his desk.

Harry snapped out of it. "What? Oh… yeah."

"You sure?" Peter asked him.

"Yeah, I'm ok," Harry said, rubbing his eyes. "I'm just tired."

"Yeah, ok," Peter told him. "Anyways, I have to tell you something."

"Tell me what?" Harry asked, shaking his head still.

"I can't tell you here; come with me," Peter stepped up and started walking out of the classroom. Harry grabbed his stuff and followed Peter. Peter's actions were unstable and shaky; Harry wondered where on earth Peter was going and what he had to keep so secret.

Peter shook some of his dark brown hair as his nervous blue eyes scanned for a room. He finally chose and empty one and Harry followed him, shutting the door behind him as Peter requested.

Peter sighed. "Harry, look."

"At what?" Harry murmured, and then watched as Peter showed him the underside of his arm.

"What's that? Do you need to go to a hospital or something?" He gaped at the large bump on Peter's skin.

"No, check this out," Peter said as he shot a load of white stuff from his arm.

"What is that?" Harry asked, feeling it. It was sticky and twisted.

"I don't know," Peter told him. "I don't know; I don't need my glasses anymore or anything. I have perfect vision and watch-" he pushed his fingers against the door and started climbing up it.

Harry gaped. "What—what happened to you?"

"I have no idea," Peter stated flatly. "But my reflexes are really good; Flash didn't even touch me today because I dodged all of his punches."

"What? No offense, Peter, but you're one of the most uncoordinated people I know," Harry smiled, his brown eyes flashing.

"I don't know," Peter told him. "You think your dad could figure it out—someone?"

"I wouldn't tell my dad," Harry said quickly, feeling like he was going to cry. "He might try to perform experiments on you or something; maybe I can figure it out."

"Harry, please," Peter laughed at him lightly, "no offense but you suck at Science."

"Well don't tell my dad," Harry told him. "Just don't tell anyone; have you told anyone?"

"Not except you, Harry," Peter said honestly. "Hey, why don't I come over to your house this Saturday, tomorrow, or something and maybe we can fool around with your dad's stuff and figure it out?"

"Umm…" Harry thought about it; this Saturday his dad had a meeting so he wouldn't be home. "Sure."

Peter smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow then."


"You're my little slut," Norman whispered into Harry's ear as he pulled the teen's slender frame up against his body. Harry whimpered but his dad just unbuttoned Harry's pants, slipping his hand into Harry's groin. He ripped down Harry's boxers and as Harry tried to pull away, Norman kicked him hard in the stomach, causing the teen to double over.

"Harry, you want to make me happy, right?"

Harry looked up into his father's maniacal face but couldn't make his voice function. He numbly nodded as he saw Norman's expression.

Slipping down his own boxers, Norman pushed Harry onto his bed and started to thrust into him.

Harry screamed into the pillow on his dad's bed so no one could hear him as his insides were ripped apart. His dad thrust rhythmically in and out of his abused body, seeming to mistake Harry's cries for moans of pleasure.

"Oh, you're such a tight fuck, Harry," his dad murmured. "You little whore; that's all you're good for, isn't it?"

Harry's mind exploded with thoughts as he screamed out in agony, begging his father to stop. Tears ran down his face, mixing with mucus as he sobbed.

The pain was incredible. He'd never felt something that hurt so incredibly much, and with each thrust he wished more and more that he could die.

Norman just looked at him coldly as he pulled out, letting Harry have a view of his bloody member.

"That's all you're ever good for. You're my little whore."

Harry whimpered as Norman pushed himself in again, a small scream the only thing his hoarse throat he could muster.