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When you got the idea for dwbyg did you ever consider Lexa being the pornstar and Clarke being the awkward student? I wonder how that role reversal would have gone.
Not at first, but people did ask me over the years how it would go if their roles were reversed. So I wrote a little something, which then naturally spawned a one-shot au where they’re both porn stars and the pinnacle of crack in the dwbyg universe was reached.
The Dragon Age creators did a thing xD So I can present you Cummander Rutherford 🤣 Uncensored Full pictures (NSFW) after the keep reading! (tags by the wonderful people on the discord channel xD)
I just read your answer to the question about role reversal DWBYG. And... I mean. Omfggggggg. What means of bribery do you accept? Or pleas. Or offerings. Is there a way to remotely summon the writing devil onto your shoulder to whisper sweet inspirational speeches into your ear? *any* way at all to beg you to write this? 🥵
Lol I mean, I love that people seem to be sold on the dynamic in this role reversal but, honestly, I don’t see myself exploring it further. Sorry to disappoint!
Perhaps a small consolation—and tangentially related—I did write The Cummander vs Kassie Skai crack fest, so there is that.
Would Lexa ever participate in some of Clarke's "projects" or no way? Orrrrr would Lexa agree to film something as long as it just stayed private? Or no to that to?
She wouldn’t appear in Clarke’s movies or anything else that Clarke would make public. But something for their own private enjoyment? Clarke miiiight be able to persuade Lexa.
Although... there is an AU of DWBYG where Lexa is a performer too: Kassie Skai v The Cummander.
Oh I know about cummander. I typed it exactly one time into my phone and now my autocorrect changes commander to cummander every mcfuckin time 😂
😂 I feel like I should apologise, but it’s too funny.
may we cum again (E, 9341 words)
aka don’t wanna cum alone
From a tumblr prompt: What would happen if both Lexa (The Cummander) and Clarke (Kassie Skai) meet? Like in a world where they are both in the porn industry? Would they end up only exclusively working with each other? How would their meeting go down?
Or
That DWBYG au of an au.
Read it on AO3.
Oh my God I have to ask, idk if you've ever been asked this before. How different would a role reversal have been for DWBYG? If Lexa was the confident sultry porn star and Clarke was the flailing bisexual disaster dork hopelessly seduced by her? Oh my God. Clarke wouldn't stand a chance
Haha, it has come up. I’ve never elaborated on it properly before but I see it going something like this:
Lincoln tells his friend Lexa about a life drawing class at Arcadia U that he’s been modelling for to earn extra cash and that’s where she meets Clarke, one of the students.
The first time Lexa drops her robe and arranges herself into a regal pose, Clarke makes a close approximation of this face:
Between the legs and killer cheekbones and the slight smirk at the corner of bee-stung lips and a stare that seems to pierce right through her, Clarke is basically a mess. Because, come on, how is she supposed to maintain a respectful, purely objective appreciation of the female form when she’s confronted with all that? Like, Clarke is fiercely feminist but she’s also bisexual AF and it’s too much hotness for her to deal with at 10am on a Tuesday.
But, somehow, she gets through the hour without squirming too much, keeping the perving to a bare (pun intended) minimum, focusing instead on representing the graceful lines of the model’s body on paper.
While Clarke is tidying up her materials at the end of class, she’s startled when the model stops by her easel—the teacher introduced her as Lexa, didn’t he? Clarke’s brain short-circuited as soon as she set eyes on the girl so she can’t be completely sure she didn’t mishear.
“Oh, it’s, um, it’s not finished,” Clarke mumbles, feeling self-conscious as could-be-Lexa’s critical gaze moves over the graphite sketch.
Fully dressed now, Lexa cuts a slim figure in dark skinny jeans and a military-style coat, long, lustrous chestnut brown hair pulled back off her face in braided sections. Striking green eyes slide from the drawing to look at Clarke and she’s unprepared to have Lexa’s full attention turned on her. She feels like a rabbit trapped in a snare.
“It’s an accurate likeness.” A pause, a flick of those eyes over the length of Clarke’s frame. “What are you doing after this?”
It takes a second for Clarke’s cognitive abilities to catch up, too compromised by Lexa’s voice to answer straight away. It’s smooth and crisp with a slight authoratative edge. And a rogue thought enters Clarke’s head, wondering what it would sound like with Lexa’s mouth against her ear, whispering all kinds of dirty things.
With a hard blink, Clarke clears her throat.
“Nothing. I don’t have another class until 12.” Her forehead creases. “Why?”
“I want to buy you a coffee. Meet me outside in five minutes.”
Clarke has to suppress the immediate urge to scoff, because who even does that? It isn’t an invitation, it’s an instruction. As though Lexa couldn’t even conceive of the possibility of anyone turning her down. Which is probably right, but still. The sheer audacity and Lexa’s cool arrogance stir something in Clarke, fluttery nerves giving way to stubborn grit.
She points an eraser at Lexa. “Ten and I choose where.”
Full lips twitch into a subtle smile. “Grounders?”
Admittedly, there aren’t many viable options in a small town like Polis and Clarke has a moral objection to Starbucks. So, “Fine.”
**
At the coffee shop, Lexa sits in an elegant slouch, one arm thrown casually over the back of the stuffed armchair, her legs spread in a way that just screams: lesbian with a capital L. And Clarke is horribly distracted. Distracted and attracted and flustered. So when she asks Lexa what it is that she does (“when you’re not bravely baring yourself to an entire studio of art nerds, that is”), she chokes on her pumpkin spice latte when Lexa tells her matter-of-factly, “I work in porn.”
The scalding liquid goes down the wrong tube and it’s half a minute of coughing and wheezing and clutching her throat later before Clarke recovers enough to croak, “Really? Wow. That’s… unconventional. Uh, good for you! Sex positivity, yay.”
She wants to slap herself for her moronic response.
Lexa stares from across the table, a glint of amusement in her eyes. “You’re shocked.”
Clarke shakes her head quickly. “No. No, I’m not. I just—” She offers a sheepish smile. Admits, “Honestly, I don’t really know what to say. I mean, it’s not every day someone tells you they, you know…” Clarke makes a vague hand gesture. “Other people for a living. Not that I’m judging you in any way. I’m all for women having autonomy over their bodies and, like, owning their sexuality.” She raises a clenched fist. “Sisterhood.”
God, why is she such a dork? Lexa must think she’s a fucking idiot.
But, unexpectedly, Lexa laughs and the tiny creases that form beneath her eyes and above her upper lip make her seem twenty five percent less intimidating. She’s gorgeous. The most beautiful person Clarke has ever laid eyes on. It almost hurts to look at her directly.
“If you’re curious, you can ask me about it.” Lexa adopts a low, teasing tone. “It’s only sex.”
Hooking a finger through the handle of her coffee cup, Clarke chews on her lip for a few seconds. “Do you work with men and women?”
“Only women. I’m gay, Clarke. In case you hadn’t noticed,” Lexa adds with a sardonic flex of one eyebrow. The slow drag of half-lidded eyes over Clarke’s chest then makes her flush, warmth spreading through every inch of her body and settling between her thighs. “But I think you did.”
Lexa leans forward, elbows resting on her knees, and the position draws Clarke’s gaze briefly to the lacy edge of a bra cup, visible thanks to the gape of the loose v-neck tee Lexa’s wearing. For some reason, Clarke finds that glimpse of lingerie far more arousing than the earlier nudity.
“I noticed you, too. Looking. How you couldn’t keep your eyes off me.”
“It was an art class, Lexa,” Clarke points out with a note of heavy sarcasm. “I’m supposed to look at the subject I’m drawing.”
Lexa tips her head in wry concession and sits back, crossing one leg over the other. She plucks at the upholstery of the armrest and Clarke can’t help fixating on how long and slender Lexa’s fingers are, tapering into short, perfectly manicured nails.
“So, um.” Clarke swallows. “What kind of stuff do you do? In your movies?” She tries to sound cool, casually unaffected, but there’s a slight waver in her voice. All the same, she’s intensely curious.
“I’m The Cummander.”
She snorts. “The what?”
It must be a joke, surely, but Lexa only regards Clarke with a raised eyebrow, green eyes serious as they bore into her own.
“The Cummander. It’s a persona. I tell my scene partners what to do, to whom, and when.”
“Are you like a… dominatrix or something?”
A smirk. “Not quite. I don’t inflict pain. Although, sometimes I like to keep a girl on the edge for so long it might start to feel like torture.” Lexa wets her bottom lip. “Sometimes it involves ropes or scarves or chains.”
Chains. Jesus.
The kinkiest thing Clarke has ever done in bed is use novelty furry handcuffs and it was more comical than sexy. But now she’s imagining those long fingers making quick work of elaborate knots around her tightly bound wrists and the thought of being at this girl’s mercy makes her wriggle in her seat, uncomfortably aware of the wetness pooling in her underwear.
“When I’m on a shoot, I’m in control. I don’t get fucked on camera. That’s for my private life. To be The Cummander is to come alone.”
Clarke can’t tell if Lexa is messing with her or not but she doesn’t have much time to dwell on it, because Lexa stands and picks up her jacket. And Clarke feels panic rise up within her, a fear that Lexa’s going to walk out the door, never to be seen again except in her fantasies (or unless Clarke goes hunting for one of her movies, which she absolutely does not plan to do when she gets back to her dorm room later, once she’s convinced Niylah to go out for the evening).
So she blurts, “Lexa, wait.”
“I’m just getting my wallet.” Lexa’s gaze softens, lips curving into a smile. “Another coffee?”
Clarke lowers her eyes, feeling foolish. She shakes her head, no, as the heat of embarassment creeps up her neck.
“Be right back.”
Lexa rounds the table to slink up to the counter, but her footsteps pause beside Clarke’s chair. She leans down, and Clarke draws in a sharp breath at the sudden proximity, nostrils filling with the fragrance of Lexa’s perfume. God, she even smells amazing. Like an expensive scented candle. Bringing her lips close to Clarke’s ear, Lexa’s next words send a tingle down her spine.
“Here’s what’s going to happen: after I finish this second Americano, I’m taking you home with me and I’m going to spend the next few hours making you scream yourself hoarse. By that I mean earth-shattering sex, not that I intend to murder you. We’ll have dinner together—I’m vegetarian, by the way, I hope that’s not an issue—then I’ll give you at least three more orgasms before I drive you back to your place, because personal safety on campus is no trivial matter. Okay?”
It’s so breathtakingly presumptuous that Clarke’s natural instinct to push back is rendered inert.
“Okay.”
**
I feel like Lexa would still be the one to catch feelings within .2 seconds since she has zero chill in any universe. Meanwhile, Clarke stubbornly tries to resist growing closer, because if she thinks too deeply about what Lexa’s job entails, she’ll only get jealous.
But the sex is so intense and Lexa is so attentive—Clarke has never experienced anything like Lexa’s single-minded commitment to giving her multiple orgasms—that heavy emotions inevitably come into the equation.
That’s when Clarke realises just how truly fucked she is, in every sense.
**
Bonus: some of The Cummander’s finest work:
Soooo this odyssey of filth is with my betas. Hope you all are ready for Kassie Skai vs The Cummander - Extended Remix.
