ghosty .

he should be asleep, he knows that.

jisung’s muscles ache like he’s ran a marathon—not a horrible analogy when taking into consideration the ungodly amount of dashing across the stage he did tonight. he always over does it, but he can never seem to do any less. he likes the ache, the way his right hand twitches slightly from how tight he has to hold his mic. likes hearing his beats blasting through his in ears. but what does he like more than anything?

his audience.

the cheering, the familiar syllables of his name echoing through stadiums, the way the fans fucking scream.

he really can’t help it, the way it seeps into his veins and pushes him throughout the rest of their stage. jesus christ, it just feels so fucking good. it’s moments like that when he gets it, gets why people like being in the spotlight.

jisung’s never usually one to be fully confident in his body—cheeks to big, never quite lean like felix, never enough muscle to rival changbin—but hearing the cheers and the chants make him feel like someone else. it leaves him bouncing off the walls with unbridled charisma and an ego bigger than chans (if that’s even possible).

and once the group takes their leave from the stage, ushered into the green room by staff? that shit sticks with him for hours.

so much so that he can reminisce on it with ease later in the solitude of his hotel room, hand shoved down the front of his boxers as his wrists burns with that same ache the rest of his body shares. he’s came once already, but that just serves to make the glide easier, the feeling richer with each stroke of his palm. his nerves are alight, never having fully cooled after the performance he’d given.

if only stay knew… what would they say? would the label him a freak? some stupid horny perv who gets off under what he can only describe unconditional praise?

his hips buck into his hands at the same time a moan falls half choked from his plush lips.

fuck, he’s gonna come again. jisung lets his grip tighten around the base of his dick in semi-desperate attempt to stall the inevitable.

he can still hear it, the way they’d screamed when he’d teased the barest peak of his abdomen, flashing that pretty tattoo on display before letting his shirt fall back into place. he can hear it, and he’s so close, so fucking close to—

riiiing

jisung’s entire body locks up, frozen.

riiiing

who in the hell is calling him at this hour??

riiiing

with the hand not currently painted white and sticky with the aftermath of his previous release, jisung reaches a shaky hand out to where his phone is buzzing on the nightstand.

riiiing

…..

your name slips so easily off his tongue when he sees it lighting up his screen. something about the familiarity of it sends his hips stuttering into the tight fist of his hand.

he should press that little red button at the bottom of his screen, or at the very least toss his phone to some forgotten place on the mattress and let it ring out. it’s late anyways, you’d just take it as him being asleep and carry on with your evening. his fingers twitch around his cock as his thumb hovers over the ‘accept’ button.

bottom lip caught between his teeth, jisung’s already slush of a brain seems to melt even more. honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if his brain slowly started seeping out of his ears, leaving him nothing but a stupid horny mess with no purpose other than—

“holy shit, sungie! do you even *know* how good of a performer you are?!”

jisung blinks once, twice. his thumb must’ve slipped. fuck. he should just end the call now and talk his way out of this when he doesn’t actively have his hand down his pants, but somehow the words “…ya think so?” is tumbling out of his mouth instead.

the question is small, timid almost. shy in a way that doesn’t at all match his current predicament. people on the internet did always mention how striking his duality was, maybe they were right.

he can vaguely make out what sounds like a scoff on your end of the line before you’re hoping back into your own flavor of praise.

“what the fuck do you mean ‘do you think so’? we’ve talked about the whole fishing for compliments thing, ji,” a moment of silence. jisung swallows so hard it feels like his throat is constricting. “…if i wasn’t so awestruck i would hang up on you and toss my compliments at the wall instead. you’re lucky you’re performance was so good, because seriously, ji, how the fuck do you even do that?”

your words go on and on, but they all started fading together whenever his hand started its drag again, the movement being slower now, more tentative. your voice is a beautiful drone in the background of his pleasure, not dissimilar to how the crowd had buzzed during his rap chorus. he manages to pick up a few things though, it’s so fucking hot when you get really in the moment and watching move on stage like that is actually insane, ji are some of his favorites.

he offers no response to your praise, to preoccupied with digging his thumb into the head of his cock and letting out a breathy sound he prays passes as a hum of acknowledgement.

the next time he tunes into your awe filled ramblings, he almost regrets it.

“you really are incredible, jisung. my little rockstar.”

where as everything previous had taken the path to his head, inflating his ego to no bounds, that comment went straight to his dick. he can’t help it this time, the whiny moan that forces it’s way from his throat as his hips force themselves forward into his fist. he doesn’t even think about it, what little filter remained being thrown to god knows were as he chases his peak.

rockstar. my rockstar.

he was so busy letting that name spin in his head like a broken record that he couldn’t even be bothered to register the way your voice had trailed off, letting his little gasps and shattered breaths echo on the otherwise quite line without a second thought.

“…jisung?”

oh. oh fuck.

jisung scrambles for his phone with his free hand, the device long having been laid beside his pillow so the sweet tune of your voice could feed straight into his ear.

“fuck. sorry about that- i, uh, stubbed my toe.” if his other hand hadn’t been pumping down his length with reckless abandon, he’d have half the mind to slap himself upside the head. “i’m gonna like, go now. bye!” he hangs up before you can get another word in.

and that’s how he reaches his second release of the night—head tilted back into the pillows with his phone clutched in one hand and his dick in the other, thumb and forefinger pinching hard under the head as he spills yet another load into his boxers.

oh, and your name on his lips, of course.

because he’s yours after all, isn’t he? you’d said it yourself in full confidence. he’s your little rockstar, so it only feels right to sing a sweet call of your name as he simmers in pleasure and fading adrenaline.

[a/n 2]: are we so back or what??!? what do we think??? im assuming my writing will get better over time, cuz it’s a muscle in my brain that i havent worked in a good long while, but i’m sure it’ll get better guys trust 🙏🙏 i really do hope you enjoyed, and to my darling 🪼 anon: i hope you enjoyed my attempt to bringing your request to life :D