.𓂃🧎🏻‍♀️ ࣪ ִֶָ TYLER JØSEPH. ་༘࿐

The environment inside the rehearsal hall was chaotic and loud. There were only a few days left before the next leg of the tour started, and the tech crew was rushing back and forth adjusting screens, checking light levels, and setting audio frequencies. In the center of the stage, the cold white light of the spotlights fell directly onto Tyler, who stood with his arms tightly crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed on the black wooden floor and a posture radiating sheer stubbornness.

The stage director had just lowered his head with a sigh of frustration, pulling at the radio clipped to his belt. The direction within the visual script for one of the most intense songs on the setlist was simple: during the transition from the bridge to the climax, Tyler was supposed to drop to his knees in the center of the stage so the crew's camera could catch him in a high-angle shot, closing in on his face while the main spotlight isolated him completely from the rest of the band.

However, Tyler had flatly refused.

— I'm not doing it —Tyler repeated for the third time, his tone firm yet low, not raising his voice but making it clear he didn't intend to give an inch —. I already told you it doesn't feel natural. It looks way too dramatic, it feels fake, forced. I'm not throwing myself on the floor just because it looks pretty on screen.

The director gave you a helpless look before throwing his hands up and walking away toward the control desk, leaving the problem entirely to you. As a key part of the production and someone close to him, you were the only person capable of reasoning with him when he got this headstrong. You walked up the small side stairs of the stage, intentionally letting your steps ring out so he’d notice you approaching. Tyler didn't move, though his shoulders tensed up a bit more as you stopped right beside him.

— Tyler... —you began, using a soft yet authoritative tone, crossing your arms to mimic his posture and facing him head-on—. Stop wasting the crew's time. It's just a blocking position.

— It's not "just blocking," {{user}} —he protested, shifting his gaze toward the venue's empty stands with a deep frown—. It looks absurd. People know when I'm doing something because I feel it versus when I'm doing it because a director told me exactly where to put my legs. Dropping to my knees right there breaks all the energy of the song. I feel like an idiot.

You took a step closer, enough to break professional distance and step into his personal space. You studied his face: his furrowed brow, his tight jaw, and that subtle shyness disguised as stubbornness that always surfaced whenever he felt an instruction exposed him too much on stage.

— You don't look like an idiot —you told him calmly, lowering your voice so only he could hear you over the echo of the speakers—. In fact, it's the most vulnerable moment of the entire block. The song asks for it, the transition asks for it. If you just stand there staring at the ceiling like a statue, the tension of the lyrics gets completely lost.

Tyler let out a frustrated huff and ran a hand through his messy hair, clearing his forehead in a gesture full of exhaustion.

— I don't like being down —he muttered, almost through his teeth, finally lowering his head to meet your eyes—. I feel like I lose control of the stage. Being on my knees makes me feel... exposed in a weird way in front of thousands of people. It's not comfortable. There was the real reason. It wasn't an issue with the show's aesthetic, but rather the feeling of defenselessness that particular physical posture triggered in him.

You leaned in slightly toward him, holding his gaze in an understanding way to try and soften his resistance. — Tyler, people aren't going to think you lost control. They're going to be glued to the screen watching you fall apart during that part of the track —you argued, placing a firm hand on his shoulder, feeling the hardness of his tense muscles—. Trust me. I've been watching this rehearsal from down there all afternoon. The shot needs that drop. If you feel embarrassed or weird, do it for the narrative of the show, not for the director. Do it for the people.

Tyler stayed quiet for a few long seconds. His dark eyes scanned your face looking for any flaw in your argument, but he only found the absolute confidence that you knew what you were talking about. For a second, it seemed like he was going to yield, but the discomfort proved stronger. He took a step back, slipping gently out of your hand's grip on his shoulder, and shook his head firmly while pressing his lips together.

— No, {{user}} —he protested in a bitter, frustrated whisper, putting physical distance between the two of you—. I appreciate what you're trying to do, but no. I don't like that position, it makes me feel ridiculous and unprotected. I'm not getting on my knees and that's it, so tell the camera guy to find another solution or cut to the overhead shot, because you're not moving me from here.

The dim light in the room was warm and heavy, illuminated only by the faint glow filtering under the door. Tyler was completely on his knees between your open legs, his body leaning slightly forward and his thighs tense on the mattress. There was an absolute docility in his posture, almost timid, keeping his head down while his hands, trembling but soft, rested on your thighs to gently spread your skin apart.

He looked up for just a second. His dark eyes stared up at you from below, filled with a hot blush creeping up his neck, implicitly seeking your approval before lowering his face completely toward your center. — Tell me if you like it like this... —he muttered in a low, submissive voice, brushing his warm breath against your sensitive skin before surrendering his mouth entirely.

As soon as the tip of his tongue touched your clit for the first time, a shiver ran down your spine. Tyler didn't rush anything. He started with absurdly soft strokes, licking from bottom to top, tasting the racing pulse of your swollen lips as he settled deeper between your legs, overwhelmed yet completely devoted to you.

His tongue was warm, firm, and wet.

He began tracing slow, precise circles right over your most sensitive spot, alternating the pressure to draw out your first moans. Every time you let out a sigh or slightly arched your hips, Tyler responded by sinking in a little deeper, letting his lips encircle your clit to apply a soft, steady, and rhythmic suction that took your breath away. Your fingers tangled into his brown hair, and instead of resisting or taking control, Tyler tilted his head into your hands, letting himself be guided by you. If you pressed his head down slightly, he obeyed instantly, intensifying his tongue's work inside your pussy.

He slid his tongue lower, tracing the wet cleft of your entrance. With a slow, deep motion, he inserted the tip of his tongue into the opening of your vagina, tasting you deeply while his lips continued to press against the outer area. The wet sound of his mouth working on your pussy filled the quiet of the room, blending with the rapid pace of your breathing.

— ... you're so wet... —he whispered against your skin, using the brief pause only to lick up the slick gathering at your entrance again, surrendering completely to the taste and texture of your center.

He refocused on your clit with renewed speed, flicking his tongue from side to side firmly while using two fingers of one hand to part your labia and expose your sensitive spot to the direct warmth of his mouth. The suction became more continuous, pulling at you with an almost desperate devotion to make you come, while his other hand remained planted on the sheet, barely holding himself up as he unraveled while giving you all the pleasure.

Every flick of his tongue was meant solely for you, giving you total control over the situation while he continued devouring your pussy from below, submissive and entirely given over to every single one of your moans.

The dim light in the room was warm and heavy, illuminated only by the soft glow filtering under the door. Tyler was completely on his knees between your open legs, his body leaning forward and his thighs tense on the mattress. There was an absolute docility in his posture, almost timid, keeping his head down while his hands, trembling slightly yet firm, rested on your thighs to settle himself better.

He looked up for just a second. His dark eyes stared up at you from below, filled with a hot blush creeping up his neck, implicitly seeking your approval before bringing his face all the way toward your pelvis.

— Tell me how you like it... —he muttered in a low, submissive voice, feeling the hardness of your erect cock brushing against his cheek as the warmth of his breath sent shivers down your skin.

Without hesitating any longer, he brushed the tip of his tongue against the head, tasting the first drops of precum. He let out a deep sigh against your skin, a muffled groan of pure devotion as he opened his mouth to wrap around the head of your cock. The contrast of his warm, wet mouth tightening around you drawn out your first moan, echoing in the silence of the room.

Tyler began to lower himself slowly, relaxing his throat to take you in. With every inch he swallowed, his eyelashes fluttered and his cheeks hollowed slightly from the suction. The pressure was constant, firm, and desperately pleasurable. He licked all the way up the shaft from bottom to top, tasting you with absolute surrender, relishing the firm texture and steady throb of your erection.

Your fingers tangled into his brown hair. Instead of taking control or pulling away, Tyler tilted his head into your hand, letting himself be guided completely. If you gently pressed his head down to make him go deeper, he obeyed instantly, choking back a small groan in his throat as your cock hit the back of his mouth.

He paused briefly to catch his breath, cradling your balls in one hand while his mouth stayed glued to the base. He looked up at you, his eyes glossy and clouded with the pleasure of serving you. — It's so big... —he whispered, his voice raspy and breathless, letting a string of spit connect his lower lip to your wet skin

—. It tastes so fucking good, {{user}}... I can't stop.

He wrapped around you again with a faster, more determined rhythm. He used his tongue to trace circles around the underside of the head while sucking hard, making the wet sound of saliva and air fill the room in a continuous, filthy hum. He moved up and down with a fluid cadence, taking your cock all the way to the base before sliding back out slowly to lick the entire length, only to swallow it whole once more.

His hands gripped your hips tightly to hold you still against him, completely surrendered to the task of making you come, focused solely on the sound of your moans and the tension building in your body with every thrust of his mouth.

—,