Mr. Parker hung back and said good-bye to Ned for the day as he slowly packed his bags. He even waited until the final student had cleared the room before leaving his desk to slowly approach your own. Poor kid looked like it was a death march. You took a bit more pity on him and gave your best comforting smile while you stood and pulled another chair over so that he could sit next to you at your desk. When he finally reached your side, his eyes flicked between you and the chair as if asking permission to sit, despite the fact that you had put it there just for him. You just huffed out an amused snort and gestured to the seat, which he finally slid into after taking a deep breath, looking like he had had to gather the courage to do so.

You shuffled the papers on your desk, already knowing that Peter was not one of the few that had handed their work back in. "Well," the poor kid jumped despite the fact that you'd tried to keep your voice low and soft, "Peter… calm down, you're okay. Just look at me."

The teen finally looked up from his knees, which were pressed together tightly, and he'd been hunched over, with his hands tucked under his legs. Despite the eye contact, he didn't change his posture, and you got the sense that it had nothing to do with the fact that he was nervous.

You tried not to smirk as you thwarted that attempt to hide from you by simply putting two fingers under his chin and pushing up, forcing him to either sit up straight or pull a muscle. Your gave him a quick once-over as you made a comment about children needed to sit up straight more often, and- yeah; poor kid had an inconvenient boner. You pretend not to notice, and instead started talking about his grades and quality of work he was handing in. Eventually you more or less press-ganged poor Parker into helping you after class for a few hours twice a week as a TA, when you threatened to send a note home for Aunt May to sign regarding his poor grades.

"So your not gonna...like...I don't know... give me detention or anything? And all I have to do is stay after school a few hours a week?" Peter asked, looking like he couldn't believe his luck.

"Don't get it twisted, kid." You responded, not bothering to look at him as you spun your chair to face your file cabinet on your other side. You opened the bottom drawer to retrieve a folder full of some of the lesser used documents, and when you finally found what you were looking for you spun back to face Peter again, your school supplied chair squeaking loudly as you did. You pulled one of the forms from the folder, scanned it quickly to make sure it was the right one, and handed it over to the young brunette. "I'm not just gonna hand you an 'A' in this class. If you want this TA thing to carry over to some extra credit on your grades, I'm going to need to see more effort going into your class time too, okay? I know it's been tough since your Uncle Ben passed, and I'm not going to just tell you to get over that. But at the same time, you have to start moving forward with your life. Make him even more proud than you already have."

Peter just ducked his head and mumbled something unintelligible, but you caught the words 'Sorry' and 'Try harder' as he stared resolutely at the light blue parent/guardian permission slip.

You sighed softly. It seemed like Parker had some self esteem issues that needed work. He had terrible problems with eye contact when he wasn't in his costume (or maybe he did, you couldn't tell with that damn mask on). So you reached out for the third time and gently cuffed the underside of his chin with one finger, making him jump slightly as his head quickly turned back to look at you. "Alright. I've given you your ultimatum. Now go catch your bus." You said with what you hoped was a comforting smile.

His eyes went wide for a split second, before he jumped up so fast he knocked his chair over as he stood, shouting out a "Thank you! See you tomorrow!" over his shoulder as he practically sprinted out of your classroom and down the hall.

You smiled and shook your head as that same pair of sneakers came thudding back in the direction of your classroom. Parker darted back through your still open door, snatched up the chair he had knocked over in his haste to leave, and put it back in it's proper place behind the desk. You just raised one eyebrow in question as he backed out of the room, this time blushing a lovely tomato red and rubbing the back of his neck as he stuttered out "S-sorry. That would have b-bothered me all night."

You couldn't help but smile, "Go, Parker."

He spun on his heel, like he'd been waiting for your permission to just that, and ran back down the hall. You heard one of the another one of the staff yell at him for running, and you let out a short giggle, unable to help it. Peter Parker was the physical embodiment of the work 'Adorkable'.

It had taken almost the full three weeks to set up what you thought would be the perfect heist to catch a spider with. Now that you had trapped him under your thumb as Peter, you just had to do the same with him as Spider-man. And really, if it hadn't been for the fact that you had banned homework for all your classes, and had Parker, as your own personal slave-ahem-... TA... to grade the minimal classwork you had been assigning, you never would have been able to do it so fast. A quick peek at the 'Parker, Peter' folder in the main office gave you the boys home address, and a few practice runs in your own car gave you his bus route home. A very boring, and lonely two weeks passed by faster than you would have thought; staking out on a rooftop two blocks over from Parker's apartment. Your military binoculars trained on the boys bedroom window, as it was the most likely route for a late night Spider-man sneak out. You learned that the poor child had to sneak out Spider-man style six nights a week, and stayed out until dawn unless it was a slow night. You had felt a burst of sadness for the poor boy. What had happened with his parents, and then his uncle. And after all that becoming a part time super-hero/part time student/full time teenager... must have been exhausting. Everything that you could remember about being a teenager was unpleasant at the best of times, and you'd had a pretty cushy middle-class upbringing.

A short consultation with a teacher in the math department reminded the poor man that he owed you a debt (you had bailed him out of a rather nasty debt, with some very nasty people in the black market) and suddenly he was happy to create an algorithm that could calculate Spidey's rough location at any given moment given the time/date and approximate number of crimes being broadcast on the police radio- within a certain margin of error, of course. Everything you knew about Spider-man and Peter Parker had combined with your casing skills had given you a perfect jewelry store heist about three blocks from Parkers apartment. At 8:15 that evening you would be clearing out a safe that was, honestly, well below your pay-grade. Spider-man should have been within a 3-block radius not long after, and thanks to the fact that you had been tampering with the stores alarm system all week, the cops would see the break in as another false alarm, and be much slower to respond. Normally you would have just disabled the system, but in this case, it had to go off to attract Spider-man. You didn't know it at the time, but the last night of screwing with the alarms, Spider-man had shown up just in time to see you take a running dive off the roof of the five-story building. In the half second it had taken him to make it to where he could have saved you from going SPLAT! all over the pavement, you'd vanished. No stain on the side walk, no nothing. There and gone, like a ...Shadow. He had staked out the jewelry store for weeks hoping to catch you, but you never returned, so now he just managed to swing by the store on his way out and back each night, just to check on things.

And just under three weeks later you'd finally moved everything into place. It had taken too long to set up a spider trap that would be undetectable by his Spidey Sense, and also not kill the poor kid. Not to mention the other supplies. The items that would allow you to finally put the worry of getting caught out of your mind by getting Spidey off your case.

That's why you had ended up where you are now. Vaulting from one roof to another so Spidey could more easily track you, instead of hitting the sidewalk and blending in to the pedestrian crowd, just making sure to stay one step ahead of the kid and his web-shooters. You'd had to double back twice and take the long way to where you'd carefully set your trap in the middle of an abandoned warehouse district, but you'd finally managed to make it.

You intentionally stumbled as you hit the rough tarmac of the old rooftop, clutching your side and feigning breathlessness as you leaned on a partially crumbled stack of bricks that used to be a chimney. You dropped your mostly empty duffel bag of stolen loot at your feet and held up your pointer finger in his general direction, asking for a moment 'to catch your breath'. And Spider-man, ever the good sport, had just shrugged as he jogged to a slow walk mere feet away, "You know," he began condescendingly as he strolled casually over and sat next to you on the brick pile, ",if you're gonna get into a profession where you gotta run from the law, you should probably do more cardio." His advice was sound, but even he was breathing harder than normal. "I gotta say though; this was our longest fight yet, by far. And, hey! I finally caught you!" He sounded so proud of himself. Poor bastard.

"Yeah, yeah, kid." You said with a sigh of false resignation, "Ya did. Now help me up, I think I turned my ankle on that landing."

You hissed in pretend pain as you sat forward, and because the kid was the most cliched version of a modern Prince Charming, Spider-man jumped up with a soft, "Oh! oh, you-right, I'm sorry. Here, lemme just-" and helped you to your feet, throwing your arm over his shoulders to take the pressure off as you walked. As he wrapped his right arm behind your back, a quick flick of his wrist webbed up your stolen duffel and yanked it up into the air and over your heads so that he could catch it with his free left hand. You didn't realize how tiny the kid was in comparison to you until you noticed that he didn't even have to stoop to help you walk, the top of his head leveled off with the bottom of your jaw and his shoulders fit perfectly beneath your arm. Which made things even easier for you.

Quite honestly, you had been absolutely stumped on how to trap Spider-man initially. Anything that would pop, snap, or slam shut around him was effectively useless to contain the boy because it would be thwarted by that God damned Spidey sense. And if this didn't work, you would never get another chance, so everything had to be perfect. You may not have been able to out-think the likes of Tony Stark or Dr. Reed Richards, but as it turned out, you didn't need to. With a little thinking outside the box, a little hope, and a lot of favors called in, you had come to what you believed to be the only possible solution. If humans and machinery both were to inferior to stop Spider-man, then perhaps moving fast was not the right way to go.

So, you went slow.

Back in the days when you had just earned your teaching certificate (and were also fairly new to the thief business) you had made several contacts in the black market. Mostly fencers, forgers, and money launderers. But everyone in the business 'knows a guy, who knows a guy' and after some heavy negotiations and a few greased palms, you had managed to get your hands on a small vile of clear liquid roughly the size of your pinky finger. It was odorless, colorless, tasteless, and according to a reputable source, had actually been originally engineered by S.H.I.E.L.D. to sedate Captain America in the event of a necessary surgery. All you needed to do was dip the tip of a sewing needle into the drug and carefully attach the needle to the fingertip of your left glove. You figured, if nothing else you could just try for a wild slap, but fate and Spider-man had helped you avoid that situation. Now, you slowly lifted the ring finger on you left hand, curling it slightly so that instead of the pads of your digits pressing against his costume, the sewing needle sunk right through the outer layer of his uniform and into the skin beneath. You looked down to see if there was any indication of him feeling what had happened, but the mask left you lost. Your only clue being that he still hadn't stopped chattering happily at you since he helped you up. "You were doing really good there for a while, you know?" He commented, "I almost lost you for a few seconds around Bleaker street. Hey, what's your name? I mean, other than 'The Shadow'. You're almost as good with the fighting stuff as you are with the disappearing. How do you do that, by the way?" The boy glanced up at you for a moment, the lenses on his mask were wide with honest curiosity.

"If I told you that," you looked down at him and the lenses of your domino mask narrowed in amusement, "then I'd have to destroy you." You smiled, and behind his mask, so did the young man.

"That would be very ambitious of you." He chuckled.

"You don't have to use traditional weapons to hurt someone, Peter." You felt his shoulders tense immediately at your casual use of his real name for the first time.

"What-uh, w-what did you just call…? M-my name is Spider-man, Shadow. You know… What did you…?" The child quickly tried to twist out from under your arm to get away from your grasp, but he had taken only a few steps when he started to wobble mid-stride, the super-solider sedative working just like you had hoped it would. Now you were the one supporting him. "What's-...wuzz goin...", if it hadn't been for the fact that he was already under your arm, the poor kid would have hit the tarmac face first. Instead you quickly shifted your weight to catch him as his legs finally gave out. "nngh...oh, God." He groaned as the drugs worked their way through his system, and was having enough trouble controlling his limbs that it was easier to move him by shifting around until you could pick him up bridal style.

Jesus H. Christ. This kid needed a hamburger- stat. He had to weigh 150 pounds at most. He must have been into the something similar to your own parkour style work out. Keeping fit enough to run from your pursuers (whomever they might be) while still slim enough (despite the fact that you often taped down your ample bosom) to slip through most any potential source of entrance or egress. You just sighed and walked, with Spider-man cradled in gently in your arms, the last few feet around the roof access door to what you had begun mentally referring to as your 'work-space'.

"I'm sorry we have to do things this way, kid." You said as you gently propped him up on a stack of plastic crates you had piled against the wall for that specific purpose. After making sure he wouldn't fall off, you moved over to the torn and paint stained old tarp you had covered your 'tools' with. Flinging it backward, your eyes danced over everything you'd brought with you for this mission.

The light fixture that was attached to the wall you'd propped Spider-man against gave off just enough light for what would come next, and you quickly snatched up the pair of standard issue police handcuffs, snapping them around Spider-man's wrists as they were crossed in front of him. The drugs in his system keeping him just as immobile as any normal human. You brought your hands up to frame his face for a moment, the opaque lenses on his mask making impossible to tell if he could focus enough to understand you. "A lesson learned the hard way, is a lesson learned for life. This is going to hurt you, and I want you to know that there is no way around it. I know you were raised to be a good kid, but I'm not doing this with any intention to harm you. All you have to do is help me out, okay?" He was definitely awake; every few seconds he'd try to speak or move, but the drug had been administered in just the right dosage that he could barely move his tongue enough to get out a coherent sentence, let alone get his legs under himself.

It took almost a full minute before he was able to get out the most coherent response he could so far, "What'r ya' doin'… t'me? 'S goin' on?" He was no stronger than an infant at the moment, so the hand cuffs were completely unnecessary for keeping him immobile, but they were perfect for keeping him in the proper position for what you needed. You had several options to choose from, but for now, decided to tie the poor child into the prone position. You had prepared this particular rooftop for every eventuality, and there were several anchor points in both the wall Spidey was reclined against and the flat part of the roof itself, that the cuffs were designed to fit in.

Another reach towards your workbench, and you picked up another two pairs of hand cuffs, and attached one end of each to the web crawler's ankles. The poor kid was barely able to put up a fight as you held tight, with one hand wrapped around his lower calf, thumb and pointer finger easily meeting around his Achilles tendons and held him still with minimal effort as you clipped them closed, the open halves of each of the restraints clinking quietly against the ground as he realized that he was being moved again.


Spider-man's P.O.V.:

Not far. Just a few feet away to a tattered old mattress, and what he realized with growing horror was large hooks screwed into the rooftop that the chain links of his restraints would easily fit into.

His drugged brain made the connection with exactly what was going to happen far too late and he discovered that he was still too weak to ever escape this hell.

Peter Parker didn't know how to deal with this situation, he could feel the panicked tears to start to run down his cheeks and soak through the mask. He didn't want this. 'No' was all he could think, 'I'm Spider-Man, this can't happen!' After that it was all just a litany of 'Nono-pleaseGod-No-' as his head was cradled gently against the warm shoulder of the woman he'd been touching himself to since he'd first laid eyes on her crawling backwards out of an air duct over a year ago.


Flashback:

He'd been fourteen and he had absolutely no idea on how to sew a single stitch. Just trying to make sure he didn't go out fighting criminals looking like a complete moron in his current home-made wreck of an outfit was hard enough. But he'd managed to cobble together a costume that was somewhere in the realm of Not-Completely-Shit, while not exceeding the self imposed thrift store budget of $30.

He was still webbing about the city at random, and there hadn't been any immediate danger, so he'd been catching a 5 minute break on a building ledge when there was a small commotion across the street, and one of the vent covers on top of the building swung open. He had webbed over just in time to see an incredibly shapely pair of legs begin to slide out of the vent work feet first. They had been followed by a pair of equally shapely calves , and a thick pair of thighs that were parted just far enough for him to make out her puffy pubic mound. Following them up further, there was a thick, bubble ass, that just begged to be slapped. It jiggled perfectly as the woman's full weight finally slipped free of the vent and her feet hit the shingles of the roof. His eyes followed the curve of her back upwards as she turned to face him, and he was rewarded with the sight of largest, most beautiful, pair of breasts he had ever seen outside of porn. There had been an instant boner problem, and it had made for one of the most uncomfortable, humiliating fights of his Spider-man career. Her fighting style had almost mirrored his own and not only had she rubbed up against his hard on several times, but there had even been an instant when he had tried to pin her down and had grabbed a handful of her left breast instead. He hesitated, she struck… she got away.


His mind drifted back to the present as he felt himself be laid down gently in the center of the mattress. She moved his legs until they were spread wide enough for her to clip the trailing ends of his restraints onto the steel grommets that had been anchored to the rooftop. To lift his still cuffed hands, all she had to do was hook one finger under the hinged center of the cuffs and tug upwards, where she then hooked them into another anchored steel grommet. His restraints pulled uncomfortably at his joints, but at the moment there was no pain, and for that he was grateful for the small concession from his horrible luck. Any warm and fuzzy feelings went right out the window, however, as The Shadows masked face hovered over his own for a moment before she looked down and he could feel her gloved hands prying at the seam where his shirt tucked into his pants. He tried to struggle, but whatever he'd been dosed with -and he was sure it was something, he just didn't know how- still had him far from in-control of his body. Even his mind felt slightly out of sorts, almost like the time he'd shared his first beer with Ned, and his 12 year old self had managed to get buzzed off of half a bottle. There was even a slight euphoric feeling wriggling at the back of his mind that was urging him to -just relax and enjoy the sensations he was experiencing, because how could anything hurt him when the world felt this wonderful? The longer he was under the influence the farther away his panic seemed to drift. He still knew this was wrong, still knew he didn't want it, even knew he should still be crying, he just wasn't sure why anymore?

Someone moaned; he could have sworn that he could hear Shadow laugh as her footsteps carried her away from him, and he realized it had been him. Peter turned his head to follow her movements sluggishly, and by the time his eyes could track her again, she was already returning to him, a brand new camera phone in one hand and a small tripod in the other. She carefully set the tripod up, before settling the camera on its mounting bracket at the top, and adjusting everything just so she could get an excellent video of what was about to happen. Peter managed to roll his head back towards the sky and squeeze his eyes shut in an attempt to block this out, because his about-to-be rapist was also going to film his humiliation. His breathing picked up even though his panic didn't, and he wondered at that for only a breif moment before he tried to speak again, "Nnnn-no, please. Don't." His voice was barely more than a whisper, and he had to pause for a moment to gather his mind to coherency before he could continue his plea, but it didn't matter. Before he could open his mouth, a gentle hand clamped down over it, and with his diminished strength, he couldn't find it within him to resist any further. He allowed himself to go limp.

If Shadow was going to record his rape, for God only knew what reason, at least she had left his mask on.

If she was going to tear down the identity of Spider-man, at least he still had his identity as Peter Parker to hide behind.