˚｡⋆୨ 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐞 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
justin kohl x fem!reader
summary 𓂃 justin spends the whole set looking for you in the crowd. after the show, you find out exactly what that look meant.
warnings 𓂃 18+ mdni, explicit smut, post-show hookup, backstage tension, shy reader, teasing, dirty talk, praise, fingering, oral sex, protected sex, slightly public setting.
word count 𓂃 3,605.
author’s note 𓂃 requested by anon 💌 i honestly didn’t expect to have this much fun writing justin, but post-show tension at malone’s was too good to resist. hope you enjoy <3
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You weren't staring — that was what you were telling yourself, anyway.
You weren't staring at Justin Kohl from across Malone's like you'd suddenly forgotten how to act in public; you were watching the show, just like everyone else — like a normal person who'd come out with friends, ordered one drink she'd barely touched, and had definitely not spent the last forty minutes watching every movement of his hands on the guitar.
Unfortunately for you, your friends knew you too well.
"Oh my god," Allie said beside you, leaning close enough for you to hear her over the music. "You're staring."
You turned to her a little too quickly. "I'm watching."
"That's literally the same thing."
"No, it's not."
"It is when you're looking at him like you forgot anyone else was in the room."
Heat crawled up your neck, so you immediately took a sip of your drink to give yourself something to do. It didn't help. Mostly because the second you looked back toward the small stage tucked into the corner of Malone's, Justin's eyes were already on you. Again.
The first time it happened, you told yourself it was an accident. The second time, you told yourself he'd just been looking somewhere near your table. The third time, he smiled mid-verse, just enough for one corner of his mouth to lift, and your stomach dropped so fast you almost lost your grip on your glass.
Now, pretending felt impossible.
Justin looked good enough on a normal day, which was already unfair. On stage, though, he was something else entirely
The low lights caught in his hair. His sleeves were pushed up over his forearms, veins visible as his fingers moved over the guitar, and there was this loose confidence in the way he stood behind the mic — like he knew the whole room was watching, but still somehow only cared about where your eyes were.
You hated how much it affected you, but you hated it even more that he seemed to know.
"You're blushing," Hannah said from your other side, way too amused for someone who was supposed to be on your side.
"I'm just warm."
"It's literally February."
"Malone's has terrible ventilation."
Allie laughed into her drink like she didn't believe a word of that. "Sure."
You pressed your lips together to keep from smiling and looked down at the table instead of at him. That lasted maybe ten seconds, right up until the song shifted and the crowd cheered as Justin stepped closer to the mic.
Of course, you looked up, only to find Justin watching you again — and this time, he wasn't even trying to hide it.
His gaze found yours through the dim light, holding there just long enough for your breath to catch; then he smiled, slow and knowing, and looked back down at his guitar.
Beside you, Allie made a sound.
You groaned before she could even say anything. "Don't."
"I didn't say anything," Allie said.
"You were going to."
"I was going to say you're completely doomed."
Unfortunately, she wasn't wrong.
By the time the set ended, your nerves were completely shot.
Justin thanked the room, voice rough from singing, his cheeks flushed, and his hair slightly damp at the temples. People clapped, whistled, and called for another song while Justin laughed into the mic before stepping back from the stage.
You tried very hard not to watch him walk away, and failed almost immediately.
Hannah nudged your side with her elbow. "Come on."
You blinked at her. "Where?"
"To say hi," Hannah said, like that was obvious.
Your eyes widened immediately. "No."
"Yes," Hannah answered.
"No. Absolutely not."
Allie grinned. "You've been making heart eyes at him the whole night."
"I have not."
"Sweetie," Hannah said gently as she stood. "You have."
Before you could argue, they were already pulling you through the thinning crowd toward the back hallway Malone's used as a makeshift green room whenever someone performed. It wasn't exactly backstage, at least not in the glamorous sense. It was a narrow hallway near Della's office that smelled faintly of beer, fried food, and old wood, with a couple of folding chairs pushed against the wall and a door that always stuck unless you kicked it near the bottom.
Still, it felt private enough that your pulse picked up.
When you rounded the corner, Justin was there, guitar case open on the floor and hands busy coiling a cable. He looked up at the sound of footsteps, and the second he saw you, his mouth curved — not at Hannah, not at Allie, but at you.
"There she is," he said.
Your stomach did a little flip.
Hannah's eyebrows lifted immediately, and Allie looked like she was physically restraining herself from screaming.
"Hi," you said, painfully aware of how quiet your voice came out.
Justin straightened and set the cable down. "Hi."
For one ridiculous second, neither of you said another word.
Then Hannah cleared her throat, apparently remembering someone had to speak. "Great show."
"Thanks." Justin smiled at her, though his eyes flicked back to you almost immediately. "Glad you guys came."
Allie looked between you and Justin before grabbing Hannah's arm with far too much enthusiasm. "We're gonna go get another drink."
You turned to her, panic flashing across your face. "What?"
"Another drink," she repeated, smiling far too sweetly. "You're fine."
"I'm not—"
"Fine," Hannah agreed, already letting Allie drag her away.
Traitors, both of them.
The silence they left behind felt louder than the music had been.
Justin leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. "Your friends are subtle."
You let out a nervous laugh. "They like to think they are."
"They're wrong."
"Usually, yeah."
His smile widened, and you looked down at your hands, because looking at him for too long felt dangerous now that there wasn't a stage between you anymore. No crowd, no guitar, and nothing to pretend you were focused on except him.
Justin noticed immediately. "You got quiet."
You glanced up at him. "I'm always quiet."
"No." Justin pushed off the wall and stepped closer. "You were singing earlier."
Your cheeks went hot immediately. "You saw that?"
"I saw plenty."
The words settled low in your stomach.
You tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out breathier than you'd meant it to. "You were supposed to be performing."
"I was." Justin tilted his head, eyes moving over your face. "Didn't stop me from noticing you."
Your mouth went dry at that.
Justin stepped closer again, not touching you yet, but close enough that you could see the sheen of sweat at his throat, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the way his pupils looked darker in the hallway light.
"You looked like you enjoyed yourself out there," he said.
You swallowed, trying to sound normal. "It was a good show."
"That all?" he asked.
You tried to hold his gaze, and failed.
His smile softened, though the teasing didn't leave his voice. "Don't get shy now."
"I'm not shy."
"No?" His voice dipped. "So if I asked why you kept looking at me like that, you'd tell me?"
Your heart beat a little too fast.
"I could ask you the same question."
That surprised him for half a second, and then his grin turned sharper. "There you go."
You looked away again, embarrassed by your own boldness, only for Justin's fingers to touch your chin gently and guide your face back to his.
"Hey," Justin said, and your breath caught. "Wasn't making fun of you."
"I know," you said softly.
"Do you?" he asked softly.
You nodded, though the truth was you didn't know much of anything when he was standing this close.
Justin's thumb brushed over your lower lip, barely there.
"You came back here for a reason?" Justin asked.
Your voice came out almost like a whisper. "Hannah brought me."
"That's not what I asked," he said.
The hallway suddenly felt too warm.
The noise of Malone's faded into the background, muffled behind the door at the end of the hall. Outside, you could hear people laughing, glasses clinking, and Della yelling at someone to stop blocking the register. And Justin was waiting.
You took a small breath before admitting it. "I wanted to see you."
Justin's eyes darkened. "Yeah?"
You nodded, not trusting your voice yet.
"I've been wanting that all night," he murmured, and then he kissed you.
It wasn't slow or careful; it was the kind of kiss that felt like the end of something you'd both spent the whole night pretending not to start. His hand slid into your hair, the other settling at your waist as he pulled you in until your chest pressed against his. A soft sound slipped out of you against his mouth, and Justin groaned like he'd been waiting all night to hear it.
The sound went straight through you, warm and sharp.
He walked you back until your shoulders hit the wall beside the office door, never once taking his mouth from yours. The kiss turned messier and hotter, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt while his thigh pressed between yours.
"You looked so sweet out there," he murmured against your mouth, "trying not to stare."
Your face burned. "You looked too."
"I was," he said, kissing your jaw. "Never said I wasn't."
"You knew exactly what you were doing."
His mouth curved against your skin. "So did you, sweetheart."
"I didn't do anything," you said, though it came out a little less convincing than planned.
Justin's hand slid down your side, over your hip, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your skirt. "You looked at me like you wanted me to stop singing and come over there."
A whimper slipped out of you before you could stop it.
Justin froze for half a second before his grip tightened.
"Oh," he breathed, grip tightening like the sound had done something to him. "That's what you sound like?"
You turned your face away, embarrassed, but Justin caught your chin again.
"No, don't do that," he murmured, his lips brushing yours. "I like it."
Your stomach did that stupid little flip again.
He kissed you again, slower this time but no less hungry, while his hand slipped beneath your skirt and his fingers brushed the outside of your thigh. Your breath hitched when he found the edge of your underwear.
"Justin," you breathed.
"Tell me to stop, and I will."
You shook your head quickly, voice barely steady. "Don't stop."
His eyes dropped to your mouth, voice dipping. "Say that again."
Your fingers tightened in his shirt as you said it again. "Don't stop."
Something shifted in him.
He pushed open the office door beside you and guided you inside, shutting it behind him with a quiet click. The room was small and cluttered, barely big enough for the desk, the filing cabinet, and a stack of boxes in the corner. It smelled like paper, dust, and the faint sweetness of Della's perfume.
It shouldn't have felt sexy. It did, mostly because Justin locked the door, then looked at you.
Your pulse jumped at the look.
He crossed the room in two steps and cupped your face, kissing you again. You stumbled back until the edge of the desk hit your thighs, and Justin lifted you onto it like he'd been thinking about doing exactly that all night.
A stack of papers slid sideways across the desk.
You gasped against his mouth. "We shouldn't—"
"We won't break anything," he murmured.
"That is so not what I meant."
Justin grinned against your skin, kissing down your throat. "Then be quiet."
The words made your thighs press together, and of course, he noticed.
His fingers slipped under your skirt again, nudging your knees apart as he stepped between them.
"You like that?" he asked, his voice low. "Knowing they're right outside?"
You swallowed, voice barely steady. "Maybe."
His mouth brushed against your ear. "That's not very shy."
Whatever answer you had disappeared into a gasp when his fingers pressed against your clothed cunt. The fabric was already damp beneath his fingers, and Justin made this soft, rough sound when he felt it.
"Fuck," he murmured, fingers pressing a little firmer. "This from watching me?"
A whimper slipped out of you.
He rubbed you slowly through your underwear, eyes fixed on your face. "Answer me."
"Yes," you breathed.
"Yes, what?" he asked.
You looked at him, your breath shaking. "Yes, from watching you."
His jaw tightened, and the praise came out rough enough to make your thighs press together again. "Good girl."
Your whole body reacted before you could even think to hide it, and Justin smiled as he'd felt it.
He pushed your underwear aside and touched you directly, fingers sliding through your wetness before settling into slow circles over your clit. Your head fell back as a quiet moan broke from your lips.
"There it is," he murmured, sounding far too pleased. "That's what I wanted to hear."
His fingers moved slowly at first, teasing more than giving, until your hips started chasing his hand on their own. You were aware of everything: the locked door, the muffled noise outside, the way your skirt was bunched around your waist, and the way Justin watched you like the show hadn't ended at all.
"Justin," you breathed, barely getting his name out.
He leaned closer, voice low. "Right here."
"Please," you breathed.
His eyes darkened when he heard that.
He slid one finger into you, then another, curling them just right until your hand flew to his shoulder. The stretch pulled a louder moan from you, and his other hand came up to cover your mouth for one brief second.
"Careful," he murmured, though he was smiling. "Unless you want them to know what you're doing in here."
Your eyes widened at that.
He moved his hand away slowly, eyes still fixed on yours. You should've been embarrassed, and you were, but you were also wetter, and Justin noticed that too.
"Oh, you like that," he whispered, fingers moving deeper. "Pretty girl likes having to stay quiet."
"Justin—fuck."
His thumb found your clit again, rubbing tight circles as his fingers pushed into you, and your body tightened fast — too fast. The whole night had been built up — his eyes on you from the stage, the smirk, the hallway, his voice in your ear. You were already so worked up that every touch felt like too much and still somehow not enough.
"I'm close," you whispered, sounding almost surprised by it.
Justin's mouth curved like he'd been waiting to hear that. "Already?"
Your cheeks warmed immediately. "Don't be smug."
"I'm not," he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. "I'm flattered."
You laughed, only for it to break into a moan when he curled his fingers just right.
"Come on," he murmured, his voice low. "Let me feel it."
The orgasm hit you hard and sudden, and this time your hand clamped over your own mouth as your body shook around his fingers. Justin watched you through it, lips parted and eyes dark, his hand gentle on your thigh as he slowed without stopping, not until you whimpered from the sensitivity.
"Fuck," he breathed, like the words slipped out before he could stop them. "You're gorgeous."
You barely had time to recover before he dropped to his knees, and your heart stopped.
"Justin," you breathed.
He looked up at you, his hands sliding up your thighs. "You said not to stop."
Your mouth went dry, and then his lips were on the inside of your thigh, scattering every thought you'd had.
He kissed higher, pushing your skirt up farther before dragging your underwear down your legs and tucking them into his back pocket, grinning when you made an offended sound.
"Seriously?" you hissed.
"Souvenir," he said, looking far too pleased with himself.
"You're unbelievable," you said, even though your voice didn't sound nearly annoyed enough.
"You're still spreading your legs for me," he said, like that settled the argument.
That shut you up pretty fast.
Before you could say anything else, his mouth was on your cunt, tongue flattening over your clit in one slow stroke that made your body jerk. He groaned against you, his hands gripping your thighs as the sound sent another wave of heat through you.
You were already too sensitive. Still, you didn't even try to push him away.
Your fingers slipped into his hair, tugging the second his tongue circled your clit, and Justin's hands tightened like he liked the reaction.
"Oh my god," you whispered, head tipping back before you could stop it.
He hummed against you, then sucked softly, and your hips lifted toward his mouth before you could stop them.
Justin pulled back just enough to look up at you. "That's it. Don't get quiet on me now."
"People will hear."
"Then make me work for it," he said.
Your entire body flushed, and Justin smiled before going back down.
By the time Justin stood again, your legs were trembling, your breathing uneven, and you weren't entirely sure you remembered how to function. Justin's mouth was wet, his hair messy from your hands, and he looked so pleased with himself that you would've hated him for it if you hadn't wanted him so badly.
He kissed you, slow and filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
A moan slipped into his mouth before you could stop it.
"Condom?" he asked, his voice rough.
You nodded quickly, too breathless to pretend you weren't desperate. "Please."
He fumbled in his pocket, and you might've teased him for it if your own hands hadn't been shaking too. He rolled it on before stepping between your thighs again, lining himself up while your arms wrapped around his shoulders.
The head of his cock pressed against you, and both of you went still for a second.
Justin dropped his forehead to yours, his voice softer now. "You okay?"
You nodded, voice barely steady. "Yes."
"Yeah?" he asked softly.
"Justin," you whispered, impatience slipping into your voice now. "Please."
He groaned, then pushed in slowly.
The stretch made your mouth fall open, your fingers digging into his shoulders while he filled you inch by inch. He went slow enough that you felt every bit of him, slow enough that your breath hitched halfway through, and by the time he finally bottomed out, both of you were breathing hard.
"Fuck," he murmured, voice rough. "You feel so good."
"You too," you whispered, and his eyes snapped to yours like hearing it had done something to him.
Then Justin started moving. He moved slowly at first, deep and controlled, his hands firm on your hips as he fucked you on Della's desk with the crowd still muffled outside the door. It felt filthy and unreal, your skirt around your waist, his mouth against your neck, the desk creaking softly beneath you.
Justin's voice stayed low against your ear. "Thought about this all night."
"The way you were watching me."
"Trying to act like you weren't thinking about this too."
You moaned, your nails dragging over his back as the admission slipped out. "I was."
His hips snapped harder at that. "Yeah?"
"Yes," you moaned, your head falling back. "I wanted you."
That did something to him, hearing you finally say it.
The pace changed then, sharper now, more desperate. His hand slipped between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, and you nearly cried out before burying the sound against his shoulder.
"Shh," he murmured, even though his own voice sounded wrecked. "I know."
Your thighs tightened around his waist, holding him closer.
"Justin," you gasped. "I'm close again."
"Good," he murmured, his thumb moving faster. "Come for me."
The pleasure built quickly, your body still sensitive from his mouth and fingers, but this time, when it hit, it rolled through you slower, deeper, making you clench around him as you buried your face in his neck to muffle the sound.
Justin cursed under his breath, his hips stuttering.
A few more thrusts and Justin followed, groaning against your shoulder as he came, his hands gripping you like he needed something to hold onto.
For a moment, neither of you moved, both of you still breathing hard. The room was quiet except for your breathing, his, and the distant noise of Malone's outside the door.
Then Justin let out a soft laugh.
You lifted your head to look at him. "What?"
He looked at you, his smile lazy, warm, and entirely too smug. "That was definitely better than the show."
You groaned and pushed weakly at his chest. "Don't say that."
"I'm serious," he said.
"You are not," you said.
"Okay, maybe the show was pretty good," he said, kissing your cheek. "But this was better."
He helped you clean up as best as possible in Della's office, which shouldn't have felt romantic but somehow did, mostly because he was gentle now, hands careful on your thighs and smile soft whenever you got shy again.
When he handed your underwear back, you snatched them from him, glaring.
"You're a thief."
"Temporary borrower."
"You're not keeping them."
"Next time, then," he said, far too casually.
Your stomach fluttered, and of course, Justin saw it.
He stepped closer and brushed your hair back from your face. "Come to the next show."
You looked up at him, still a little unsteady. "Why?"
His smile curved slowly. "Because now I know where to look."
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