Disclaimer: Do not own Marvel or The 100
Warnings for a lot of mentions and a few scenes of sex work, mentions of past attempted rape, mentions of child abuse and child neglect, heavy drug use, abduction, stalking, captivity and gang rape. Also, warnings for mentions in the club of customers fetishizing non-binary and trans people and bisexual women.
This is both meant as a very messed up story, and also going off of the idea of soulmates, diverting from what many Clarke GriffinxMarvel and DC characters fics have been doing, which is having multiple different types of soulmates, and soulmates being marked by marks and names.
This fic is going off of the idea of there being only one type of soulmate, which is the romantic type, and the only signifying thing that shows that someone is someone else's mate, are the words that are the "first thing a person's soulmate ever says to them."
The foreboding words on your arm
Chapter one
The pleasure of company
The establishment where the music was blaring out of, was called "The pleasure of company." A name that was too on the nose? Probably. But fitting enough a name.
There were flashing, bright lights, loud zippy music, though if anyone wanted to be truly honest? The only music that would have been fitting of this establishment, would have been hardcore rock music. But that was just the opinion of several people that worked at this joint.
The interior of the place was nice enough appearing, at least. Black leather upholstered bar stools, booth seats and regular chairs against the wall for people to view the things going on in the bar. The walls, floor and ceiling were steel gray, and immaculately clean. The stages in the center of the place, was glossy black and polished, with regularly cleaned, gray, metal poles lining the stage.
Not far from the stage, was a glossy countertop where a bartender was serving the drinks.
At first glance, you might not know just the extent of how rough it could get in this joint. And admittedly, in many places like this one? It was to be expected that things could get a bit rough. But this place was in its own category.
The pleasure of company, a bar, a club, a brothel, whatever you wanted to call it? Everyone was welcome, and everyone, if they had the cash for it, could get in on some of the fun. But because this place had a history, it had its own culture and own tight knit group, you would be hard pressed to find people who wouldn't try to take advantage of a customer, because they had learned how to, over the years.
So, tonight? Busy as it was, with so many people packing the booths and the barstools and drinking at the bar and watching the dancers on the stage, and often trying to pay for the…pleasure of one of the dancers or servers' company.
Depending on which dancer or server the customer was propositioning? It just might work.
If a customer couldn't handle being told "no," as an answer, well, there would be trouble for that particular customer.
The mantra that "the customer is always right," was very limited here.
And it didn't help that everyone who worked here, had seen it all, including many who had already found their soulmates, happily cheating on said soulmates.
Mostly men cheating, but yes, some women too.
All along the left arms of each person, were the light blue words of a person's soulmate or soulmates.
The first words that a person's soulmate ever said to them.
Everyone had a soulmate, but even if someone had found their soulmate? They often cheated.
It was enough to make many who worked here, cynical.
And it did make people here cynical, whether it was Anya, who tended to work behind the counter of the bar and serve drinks, or a lot of the servers; Fox, Roma and others, or the dancers and actual sex workers? Everyone had seen their share.
So, as several people that had gotten their drinks, drained their small, thick glasses of whisky or something else, and slapped the drained glasses down onto the stage, watching the dancers, no one was surprised by the leers or cheers.
No one cared.
They all did their job. Played their part.
They didn't care about what the customers wanted or if they were cheating on some poor soulmate of theirs. Just when the next big bills would be pulled out in offering.
After all, wasn't that all that really mattered in this world? Money?
And yes, a lot of the people who came here were married. Even if those who were married came here, took of their wedding rings, there often was a mark on the finger where the ring had been, signifying where the wedding band had used to be.
One might think that the only people on stage dancing or being propositioned, were women. But that wasn't the case.
There were mostly women, yes, but many men too. And many that identified as either neither man or woman, or those that identified as both man and woman. Or those who were biologically different from their gender identity. And well, while it might have been insulting, there certainly was a….niche for those that were interested sexually in individuals like that.
It was insulting and derogatory, yes. But there was a market, and people needed their bills paid.
There were a few dancers, who refused to sleep with any customer, regardless of how much money was pulled out.
There weren't that many who resisted the tempting call of the money, when it came to being propositioned for sex, but there were some.
On the widest part of the stage, was one such dancer, a young blond woman of twenty-two, with bright blue eyes, named Clarke Griffin.
She was dressed in tight, black pants that practically outlined her cunt, a tight, lavender shirt that most certainly outlined every detail of her breasts and her hips swayed back and forth erotically and more than occasionally, she shook her ass, but she would never let any of the customers touch her, let alone sleep with any of them.
Clarke had no disrespect for her coworkers, who would sleep with customers if the money was offered.
Their work was completely legitimate and in her eyes, respectful. But she just couldn't bring herself into doing it.
She didn't want to give herself freely to just anyone.
She wasn't a naïve, dazzled eyed child. She didn't believe that she needed to wait till she had found her soulmates-and yes, she had more than one soulmate, since she had multiple words across her left arm, meaning that there were several soulmates, whom she was to meet, who she would hear their first words of to her.
But she wasn't going to wait till she met them. For more than one reason.
She'd had sex several times, both before and after she had first taken this job.
She'd first become a dancer at this place, when she was eighteen. And the first person who she ever had slept with had been a boy when she'd been sixteen. Dax Summers. He had been a bad influence, and even then, she had known it. But that relationship was over now. After taking on this job, she'd gone out afterwards and met people, often dated and yes, slept with them too.
Just not for money.
Men and women alike.
She recalled one of her colleagues and friends here, Harper, saying half serious, half jokingly, "You're hot, a good dancer, young and you're bisexual? Clarke, how are you not accepting offers of sex from customers? You'd have about a million dollars every night, if you did."
Clarke almost had thrown one of the pillows at Harper, that was on the couches in the back of the club when Harper had said that, rolling her eyes. Because yes, she fucking knew that.
Bisexual women were fetishized quite often. Bisexual men often were ostracized by both women they tried to date and by men they tried to date.
But bisexual women were fetishized, as well as ostracized. A double whammy.
They were told by women to "pick a side," or were seen as dirty somehow. But men? Oh, they were happy to fetishize bisexual women. Even if a bisexual woman wasn't interested, they all but insisted upon threesomes.
Clarke had had her experience with that, and had no interest in experiencing it again.
She saw enough of what other bisexual women, trans women, non-binary individuals and the like, had to deal with at this establishment. So, it was enough to make her want to throw something far heavier than a pillow at someone.
In any case, Clarke whirled on her feet, which were clasped in her rarely used, open-toed heels, feeling the eyes all over her form.
As soon as she was done with her job for the night, she was going to change back into her boots.
She ignored the hooting and calling out, just did the dance moves she knew so well, that she knew would get the money she desired. And she especially ignored a few of the words she heard from off of the stage, men's voices and yes, some women's voices too, offering her money, to sleep with them for the night.
She often attracted a mixed lot. But something she'd notice, she'd often attract older women. She supposed women who wanted to be maternal with her, while fucking her, but whatever.
When at last, after several more hours, the night came to a close, at least for Clarke, Clarke all but leapt off of the stage, and avoiding a few of the people reaching for her and went to her employer, Becca, who doled out a good deal of cash that the people had seen her dancing had given, in response to Clarke's time on the stage.
"You can head off now, Griffin," Becca said, nodding to Clarke.
Clarke smiled at her employer and thanked her and grabbed her boots, jammed them on and headed out, grabbing her jacket as she did.
She knew better than to use her money anytime soon, to purchase what she usually purchased, to get her…greatest happiness. For her, sex was not the key to her bliss.
But drugs.
But she knew better than to purchase her particular brand of drugs anytime soon, so as not to attract attention. She had dried out from the drugs a few days ago, making sure not to come in to work, but she had recovered enough.
She would buy some more of the drugs she used in a month from now. She had restraint enough for that.
She would like to think that she had an excuse for her drug use, given her…history. But she wasn't planning on anyone finding out what her extracurricular activities were.
But taking those drugs…had helped her forget many of the things her mother had said to her over the years, and her mother abandoning her…at least, she could forget it, for a time, when she took the drugs.
She always felt a certain satisfaction and safety, when she pulled the sleeve of her jacket, over the words which she eventually, in theory, would hear from her soulmates.
She didn't want to hear those words. Because of the context of the words.
Or at least, the context she was positive that she could divulge from those words on her arms.
One set of words on her arm, said, "It might be better for you if you came with us, that way, we won't have to just snatch you off of the street."
Another set of words said, "It's going to be alright, just come with us and everything will be fine."
Another set of words said, "You're not leaving us anytime soon."
And another set of words said, "It's best that you just come to terms with this."
And on and on.
Clarke didn't know the exact meaning, but she could take a guess. Her mates, apparently, were going to abduct her. Or were going to try to.
She had no interest in people who intended to snatch her off of the street or something like that.
Most people didn't have soulmates that abducted them and held them captive. That wasn't normal.
And Clarke dreaded the moment she might meet whoever her mates were.
It was why whenever she left the club and headed to her home, she would move quickly, and keep her eyes open at every point, keeping an eye on anyone that might approach her in the street.
As she traveled through the dark night, getting closer and closer to her apartment, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. It was a feeling she was familiar with-being watched. You tended to get that a lot when you were a dancer at a club where many men and women alike frequented and drooled over the dancers and other people that worked there.
But the feeling of being watched right now, wasn't a good feeling, as she was alone and getting closer to her apartment.
She didn't want anyone who might be following her, to know where she lived.
Before she made the last turn, she whirled around and scanned the space around her. She saw no figure or car nearby or around any nearby corners, so, she turned back around and made the next turn.
Unbeknownst to her, there were in fact, several cars parked many feet from Clarke's apartment, all of which held people who were leaning close to the darkened window and looking out at where she disappeared into her building.
They had been following her for a while now. Watching her, studying her.
It hadn't been easy for them to figure out that it was her that they had been looking for, for years, and they hadn't even heard the words that she had said, to know that she was their mate.
But they knew.
Because it was difficult not to know, when one of the things that was said on the arm of one of them, were the words, "Even if we are mates, I'm not sleeping with you-I might be a dancer, but I'm not sleeping with you."
Now, those words could have alluded to any place where people danced-to which there were many-this WAS Los Angeles, after all, but there was a rather key thing. Another one of the people in the vehicles, had the words on their arm that said, "Look, you can ask one of the servers, Roma, to bring you a drink or spend time with you, but I'm busy now."
They had learned the names of every person who worked at that establishment, "The pleasure of company," that Clarke Griffin worked at.
And they knew for a fact, that there was a young woman who brought drinks and food to customers in the club, named Roma Bragg.
Here was the proof before them.
Clarke Griffin was their mate. They were assure of this.
And they had seen the marks along her left arm, from a distance. There were multiple lines of things that her soulmates would say to her. Meaning she had multiple soulmates.
When the twenty-seven of them had started putting the pieces together of who their mate was, they had begun stalking around the area where she worked.
It might have been an extreme reaction for anyone else. But they had done their research on Clarke. She had…issues. Like, serious issues.
Her father, Jake Griffin, had died of cancer when she had been ten years old, and her mother, Abby Griffin, had abandoned her, practically two weeks later.
And if the research they had looked up was anything to go by? Abby had thrown Clarke away after finding something out from a doctor. What that thing was? They had no idea. But Abby had thrown her own daughter away. They had wanted to go into the club, grab Clarke and hold her, hug her for hours, just knowing that, even if it had been against Clarke's will. But they hadn't.
They had known they'd need to be more careful.
They had no problem with Clarke's job.
Clarke enjoyed her job, and she wasn't interested in sleeping with anyone.
Even if Clarke was a sex worker? If she enjoyed her job, even while having sex with people who weren't her mates, they wouldn't be angry. As long as she enjoyed what she did.
But they were taking these measures, because they knew that she would most likely run from them, first chance she got.
Even if all they wanted was to love her, take care of her and please her.
But when the first of them had started to suspect two years ago that she might be their mate, and they had first met each other, and through talking with the other, realized they shared a mate-because they had to have, since the things on both their arms, were things that would be said by someone far too paranoid for it to be said by two separate people.
From what they could tell, their soulmate, Clarke, had worked at the club for years. Literally everyone there knew her.
What troubled them, was knowing how likely young Clarke had been, when she had first started working there. If they were right? She couldn't have been any older than nineteen or something.
If that was the case, they weren't sure they didn't want to kill whoever had put her in that situation in the first place.
And what was more? Clarke had a very, very unhealthy habit.
She took specific types of drugs. Cocaine. Opioid pills.
They clearly would have to look after that particularly unhealthy habit of hers. And yes, they wanted to kill whoever gave her those drugs, as well as whoever employed her so young in the business she worked in.
But they knew that the main target of their anger, when it came to Clarke's life here.
Either way, they all decided it didn't matter, as they watched the light in the window of Clarke's apartment, switch on and saw the silhouette of Clarke's body behind the blinds.
The twenty-seven people, who were Clarke's mates; Steve, Clint, Laura, Natasha, Wanda, Pietro, Maria, Yelena, Melina, Sam, Jessica, Luke, Danny, Frank, Loki, Sylvie, Thor, Hela, Rhodes, Tony, Pepper, Brunnhilde, Barney and Simone, Bruce, Carol and Elektra, knew that they were going to claim Clarke. Soon.
Very soon.
Clarke might have been afraid. Might have dreaded meeting her mates. But that wouldn't matter soon.
Soon, they'd have her.
Author's note
In case anyone has doubts, yes, Clarke's mates are very twisted in this one.
Also, on the mention in the club of customers potentially fetishizing non-binary and trans people, I have no doubt this happens in real life. People like that will fetishize non-binary and trans people, but hypocritically won't value them as people. I meant it as commentary on such prejudice against non-binary and trans people. Bisexual women as well, since bisexuality tends to be treated in general, with stigma.
And with this fic, I wanted to play up the idea of how a person would find their soulmate, if all they had to go on, wasn't a name or anything, but just the first sentence that person's soulmate says-which honestly, isn't much to go on.
