Secretly Spider-Man

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Strade likes interesting people. He loves surprises. He's said on numerous occasions that he likes to pull people appart to see what makes them tick. That's why he loves machines so much.

You're at a bar, waiting the station to call you in for the latest body found. You've been neck deep in reports and files all supposedly leading back to the same culprit. Problem is, the police are not doing their job. Or they are, and they're just shit at it. Whatever the case, you were doing what you were payed for, and nothing more.

This man sits down next to you. A friendly smile on his face. He speaks in a heavy German accent. He asks about you, seeming genuinely interested in everything you say. The guy's clearly just looking for a drinking buddy, and you obviously have time to kill.

You tell him a bit about yourself, and he reciprocates. Tells you he's a mechanic. That he enjoys your company and that you seem really interesting.

You immediately know something isn't right. He's got that... Look in his eyes. The same one you have when presented with a fresh corpse. And the smell...

He reeks of motor oil and that distinct smell of death you've spend so long trying to scrub out of your clothes. And the scars across his arms... You didn't buy his "common workplace accidents" bull.

You knew this was your guy.

Didn't mean you were gonna say or do anything about it. He was keeping you in business, so to speak. And it wasn't your job to arrest the criminals, only study their work.

When he asked what you do for work, you were completely honest. He looked stunned, but then he laughed. It was loud and delighted and it made you smile. He clearly knew exactly what you've been doing for the past few months.

When you finally get called in, you bid him goodbye. He doesn't see you for a while after, but he's sure to make you remember him.

He starts toying with you. Engraving certain things onto his victims. Making them swallow stuff for you to find. He gets even more consumed by his "work" now that he knows he has someone to appreciate his artistry and fine touch.

You don't see him for a while, but you certainly haven't forgotten him either. Were you sick for letting him continue to torture innocent civilians? Probably, but at least he was keeping work interesting.

You began to look forward to the calls pouring in from the station. Sure, you loved you job, but it had gotten so... Mundane the past few years. Strade was such a nice breath of fresh air. To you anyway.

Eventually, your own growing curiosity for the peculiar man had led you down a rabbit hole of internet searches. About his work before he moved to Canada. About his achievements, educational background. Anything you could find. After hours and hours of "research" you had stumbled upon a streaming page. Deep, deep into the dark web.

He was making snuff films. He might've concealed his identity, but you could recognize the victims. Every. Single. One.

And he was seemingly enjoying himself too. You were mesmerised. He was so... Precise. It was beautiful. Had had clearly been doing this for a really long time. He knew exactly where and how to cut just so he could make the incisions deep enough to hurt but not cause fatal damage.

You were mesmerised. Naturally, you had become a frequent viewer. And he had noticed you. The comments you left under his uploads were too specific. He knew it was his little forensic behind them. And he was ecstatic.

You had gone to the same bar. And he was there. As if waiting for you. The two of you shared a knowing look. Something no one else could understand. Your love for the macabre and his curiosity for the human mind were a match made in Hell.

He was enchanted by you. Strade saw you as something akin to him. He was infatuated with finding out what made you tick. But he had decided on a different approach.

You had numerous hook-ups. He just couldn't get enough of you. You had even met Ren. Ren seemed to like you too.

The fox could tell you were just as deranged as his captor, but you were kinder... Softer. He liked having you around, as fleeting as your visits seemed to be.

You had liked Strade. Quite a lot actually. You had been so disappointed when you discovered he had died. More so when you found out he had been killed by his last victim.

You kissed his head when you zipped back his bag, pushing him into the cooler unit among with other corpses.

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“It’s uh, Logan actually.” You just grinned at him, patting him on the shoulder, an apologetic smile on your face. “Right, yeah. Sorry, I’m bad with names.” You sat back down next to Tucker, scooting to make some space and patting the seat next to you. Logan sat down immediately, sipping at whatever was in his glass. He watched you talk with the others, whose names you’d apparently already learned. It kind of hurt his ego to realize he was the only one you hadn’t remembered but it’s not like he talked with you a lot, so it was kind of expected. Ten minutes into your rant, he noticed you didn’t have anything in front of you and tapped you on the shoulder again. You turned to him. Logan shouted over the music. “Want me to get you something?” You looked at him confused and he gestured to the table in front of you with his head. Your eyes widened and then you smiled, waving your hand in dismissal and saying something over the music he couldn't hear. 

“What?” You repeated yourself but he couldn’t hear you again. Has the music gotten louder? It would make sense, seeing as more and more people were walking into the club. Still felt kind of annoying. He shrugged and gave up, preparing to get up and order you whatever when you grabbed him by the chain around his neck and pulled. He yelped, falling back into his seat just as you leaned into his ear to repeat yourself again. 

“I said don’t worry about it. I don’t really drink.” You pulled away and turned your attention back to the others, bopping your head slightly to the music and laughing at whatever Dean was doing. 

Logan remained seated, completely frozen. Jesus, what was that? He had a glazed over expression, still focused on the way you had pulled him back. He had gotten a whiff of whatever you had sprayed yourself with earlier. The sweet aroma shut down his brain for a moment. Fucking hell, you smelled like dessert. Sugary, bright and warm like a baked good. Was he hungry? He could really go for some lemon pie or something right now. Logan shook his head, going back to his glass and gulping down the remains, catching the way Garrett was smirking at him from the rim of the glass.

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Take Lawrence, for example.

He's obsessed with this person that lives in one of the neighboring buildings. He aways watches you trough you windows. Cooking or cleaning around your flat and whatnot.

He has no clue what your occupation is, but he's noticed you leaving for work or coming home late before he leaves for the storage house some nights.

One night, he sees you struggling with a flat tire and swallows down his anxiety to approach and help.

You exchange a short, awkward conversation and while you're smoking, asks you where you work and why you're leaving so late.

When you tell him you're basically digging around in corpses for a living the color drains from his face.

Not because he's weirded out, but because he starts wondering if you've ever had to work on any of his.... Guests.

A couple of days after you officially meet, you see him going off to work again and ask him if he's up to go grab coffee sometimes, your treat. Y'know, to repay for helping you fix your car. Totally not because you know exactly what he's done and it makes you shiver just thinking about it.

Yeah... You're not exactly the most sane person. You're fascinated with the concept of death. Since you were little, quite a lot like him actually, not that you realize that. It's just your.... Approach to this morbid curiosity is different to his.

You're easily one of the best in your field in the country. It's why the police never seem to question you, even if one day you bring this rando into the morgue to watch you work. They know they need you there because of all the weird deaths that seem to keep happening.

Lawrence watches you work in a daze. He's infatuated with the manic gleam in your eyes whenever you make a new incision or dig around in the body splayed across the table.

He's almost jealous, not sure if he wants to take your place or that of the corpse.

He's had more than one dream about you. Being under you, unmoving but very much conscious and aware. The way you glide the scalpel across his skin, prying him open and running your hands over his body. He thinks he's going crazy. He'll wake up in cold sweat and realize his slacks and sheets are ruined with his spend.

Funnily enough, you seem to have the same fantasies. It's weird. You've barely talked to the guy but you're becoming increasingly obsessed with him. To a concerning degree.

He's so strange and fidgety. You wanna cut him open and see what makes him tick. You'd drench him in his own blood just to lick it off. If you see him covered in red you might just pounce.

He wonders if you've seen the river... Maybe he should show you.

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