Work Text:
The windows in your apartment are so old and busted, the frames painted over many times in landlord white, that they don’t lock properly when you jam them closed: they just get stuck, especially when it’s hot or humid, so tightly that anyone who didn’t know better would think they were locked.
You don’t worry about anyone breaking in. Or, at least, anyone you’re not happy to see.
Tonight, the sky is orange when the Green Goblin arrives, smelling like sweat and smoke. The window frame complains as he jams it up. After his feet hit the floor, he takes his mask off and tosses it to the side, already grinning. “Hey, doll. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
“Hey yourself,” you say, putting your Switch to the side. You’re grinning back, like a fool, like a young person with a crush, with a reciprocated crush, which is of course exactly what you are.
“C’mon, up.”
You’re in his arms the moment you’re standing, kissing him eagerly as he guides you backwards. You don’t know what’s adrenaline and what’s superstrength as he lifts you and holds you against the wall. You’re not small. You start peeling his tight suit off him while he paws you. Sweat slicks his chest hair to his skin, and you can see the beginnings of a bruise spreading over his ribs.
“Tough day?” you tease as you wrap your legs around his waist. You’ve been doing this too long to be alarmed by minor injuries.
He tugs your t-shirt to the side and bites your shoulder. “You should see the other guy.”
“Why’d I want to do that? I’m sure he’s not as handsome as you.”
He growls happily. He pulls one glove off with his teeth and plunges a hand into your pajama shorts. His clever fingers, firm pressure on your clit.
“Oh, lookit you,” he coos. “Already wet for me.”
You groan against his neck. You feel weightless when he holds you up like this.
“Gonna let me fuck you, baby?”
“Yeah,” you say breathlessly.
“See, I was gonna go all fast and rough. This whole way over here I was thinking about how you’re gonna be walking funny tomorrow. But now that I’ve got my hands on you I’ve already forgotten what I was all mad about,” he muses. “You’re very distracting.”
“A service to public safety, honestly.”
He laughs and kisses you. He’s got two fingers inside you, now, scissors them, pulls them out and sucks your wetness off them obscenely. A pleased, shameless groan as his cock sinks inside you, delicious friction against your inner walls as he fucks you, making you moan.
The first time you did this, you weren’t used to taking anything more than your own fingers, too lazy most nights to retrieve the dildo from its drawer. Now, your body knows him. You comb your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. His eyes slip closed, head thrown back as he chases his pleasure inside you.
“Cum for me, baby,” you murmur. “Show me how bad you want it.”
“Ohh,” he groans. His bony hips grind against yours, his cock as deep inside you as he can force it. “Right there, yes, fuck, you feel so good.”
You met at a bar. You’d been sitting alone at a table, nervously sipping hard cider, when he walked in, leather jacket over a purple hoodie and windswept hair, hands in his pockets against the chill, and you’d waved, thinking he was your blind date. He wasn’t.
But you’d turned out to have nothing in common with the person you’d been set up with. Sure, they were your age, and they were also nonbinary, and perfectly nice, but there was no spark. Goblin is not your age, nor is he nonbinary, nor is he perfectly nice, but… with the Goblin, there’s sparks.
–
On Saturday you come home late. Well, late for you. You almost have a heart attack when you see the silhouette on the couch, before you recognize him.
“Where the fuck were you?” the Goblin asks. His eyes glint in the reflected light of the hallway. You shut the door behind yourself.
“Missed me?” You’re tipsy, and you can see in his face that he can tell.
He stands up, comes closer. “Maybe. Who were you with?” He’s wearing briefs and an undershirt, his suit folded neatly on the coffee table. You feel like salivating.
“Jealous?” A coworker from another department invited you out with her friends, and it was nice, but the whole time you were worried about seeming like… too much. You watched yourself constantly, careful not to talk too much, laugh too loud, take up space. You don’t have to worry about that with the Goblin.
An instant before he kisses you, he meets your eyes and you see something in him that’s like looking in a mirror. Oh, you’re not a supervillain, of course, but you know what it is to want. Desire is a pit in your stomach, desire is a tiger whose hunger is never sated, an animal insensible to reason. And the Goblin - he gets it. He sees it, and you see it in him, in his nails leaving marks on your back, in his tongue pushing past your lips, the little growl when you brush your knee against his crotch.
You kiss him back, fiercely, your arms over his shoulders.
“Mmm, there they are,” he says. “Mine. I’m not worried. I know nobody treats you like I do.”
“Nope. Nobody,” you gasp as he gropes your crotch, a promise of orgasms to cum. You get wet just from smelling him, these days.
You know he doesn’t fuck anyone like you. Norman Osborn may have lived a whole other life - you’ve got a picture of him cut out from a magazine, now, his businessman smile at the camera flash, his suit immaculate - but the Goblin is yours. A virgin, in his way. He takes you to restaurants where Norman wouldn’t be caught dead, and buys you cocktails, and feels you up afterwards in a way that makes you feel like champagne.
He gave you a number to message him on Signal, and you wake up to messages like are you still asleep? and oh, sleeping beauty, if you’re not careful one of these nights I’ll climb in and see how far I could get without waking you up. and no being shy for you, then, you can’t keep your pretty thighs closed. and I’ll be patient. Petting you until I can get in one finger, so gently you’ll barely feel it, except you’ll dream of me.
Twice now you’ve been late to work before because you took time to masturbate before you got out of bed.
The Goblin’s hands roam over your back as he kisses your neck. “Let me fuck your ass,” he says into your neck. “I brought lube. Haven’t been able to get it out of my head. I’ll make it good for you, I promise.”
“Are you sure you’ve got the patience for that?”
He grins, playful. “Patience? Like I won’t enjoy every moment of splitting you open for me?”
“Alright, alright.” You tug him after you into the bedroom and tumble down onto the bed. You kiss him. He unbuttons your jeans and yanks them down off your legs, peels down your underwear next.
Kissing isn’t enough. You suck the skin of his neck between your teeth, relishing his gasp of pain and surprise. You need to leave a mark.
“Alright, you little vampire, you promised me your ass.” You go easily now when he pushes you over to lie on your front. He shoves your thighs apart and straddles your legs.
He likes your legs, grown thick and solid by the work of carrying around the rest of you all day. He likes tying your wrists to the headboard and settling down between your fat thighs to lick and kiss and leave bite marks until you’re begging.
He nudges your thighs apart and drips lube over your asshole. You gasp into the pillow as he rubs the pads of his fingers over it. “Relax for me, sweetheart, I won’t hurt you. Just this. Let yourself enjoy it.”
You groan as you melt into the mattress. Just the tip of one finger nudges past your entrance and you force yourself to stay relaxed. He makes a deep, filthy, pleased noise. “Lookit you. Taking it like a natural.” He wiggles the finger slightly, pushing deeper, and then withdraws it a little and pushes back in, gently, deeper. He kisses your back affectionately. “My perfect little whore.”
You’re not a whore. But he almost makes you feel like one - like the kind of person who’s confident enough to undress in front of a stranger, who’s sure they won’t be disgusted by you, whose body has nothing to be disgusted by.
The head of his cock presses against your entrance. Of course you feel it as it goes in, of course it’s a strain, being claimed in this deep and filthy way that has him panting as he presses in. You tighten up around him and he gasps.
“Shh,” he scolds you. “I’m trying not to shoot off too fast, and you’re so tight, sweetheart, I can’t resist you.” He presses your thighs even further apart, until you feel the strain, completely spread for him. You know he can see your cunt, too, how wet you are, and he puts his other hand on it, his fingers rubbing over your folds, over your clit, as you keen. He’s on top of you, his chest pressed to your back, his arm around your stomach to reach your clit, and his teeth find the place where your neck and shoulder join, sucking marks into the skin.
As though torn between determination to fuck you and reluctance to pull out, he grinds his cock deep inside you, gasping for breath. He pushes two fingers clumsily into your cunt, filling you both ways, and you clamp down tight around him as your orgasm pulses through you.
“Oh,” he groans, and follows you a moment later, emptying deep into you. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, holding him, being held, as the waves of pleasure wash over you.
–
The next day finds Norman Osborn in his gothic penthouse, standing in front of a mirror with his pajama pants slung low on his hips. “What did you do?” he hisses. The deep bruises of a lover’s teeth mottle his chest and throat.
His reflection grins, monstrous. “I’ve met someone special.”