Your gangster tom x reader IS SO INSANELY GOOD!! could you also do one where the reader is a, how do i say itđđ like shes in the industry aswell like a gangster theyre BOTH BADDIESđđ
SWEET POISON | TOM KAULITZ
before you were a name whispered through berlinâs streets, before tom kaulitz ever pressed a kiss to your throat or put a gun in your hand, you were just a girl trying to survive in a manâs world.
you came up through south kreuzberg â crooked deals, stiletto heels, bloodied knuckles under lace gloves. no gang claimed you. you were your own army. the men tried to use you, to own you, to break you.
none of them lasted long.
you were sharp. untouchable. you made your living seducing power out of the powerful and bleeding dry the ones who got cocky. your signature? never the same. sometimes theyâd wake up in a hotel bed and all their secrets would be gone. sometimes they didnât wake up at all.
and tom? heâd been running his empire for years.
quietly. efficiently. with a kind of cold, deliberate cruelty that made grown men fold with a single glance. his crew was tight. his circle tighter. twins, guns, and silence â thatâs all he trusted. but there were whispers in his ear: of you.
âsheâs good,â gustav told him once, flicking ash from a cigarette, âtoo good.â
tom didnât believe in âtoo good.â he believed in leverage. in loyalty.
so he sent someone to recruit you.
you slit that manâs throat in a bathroom stall and mailed his Rolex back to tom in a velvet box.
and still, he was impressed.
you met for the first time in an abandoned art gallery â full of shattered glass and bad history. tom leaned against a pillar, dreads pulled back, heavy silver on his neck, cigarette burning slow. he didnât flinch when you walked in with two pistols strapped to your thighs.
âyou wanted me,â you said., âso talk.â
he smirked. âi respect the way you handled oliver.â
âhe tried to kiss me.â
âthen he deserved worse.â
you blinked. âyou came here to flirt?â
ânah,â he said, âi came here to see if you were worth building something with.â
you studied him. tom kaulitz, berlinâs ghost. he looked like trouble, like everything youâd been trying to avoid since the day you first stole a blade from your fatherâs desk.
âyou work with men who obey,â you said, âiâm not that.â
he stepped closer, voice like smoke. âgood. iâm tired of obedience. i want chaos. control. fire. i want someone whoâll walk into a room and make men question everything.â
he stared. âi want you.â
you didnât say yes that night.
three weeks later, you showed up to his club wearing red and dragging behind you the severed ear of a man who tried to sell him out. you dropped it on his table with a smile.
âletâs build your empire,â you said, âbut on my terms.â
âweâll see.â he replied. but he was already gone for you.
the warehouse on the edge of the spree was silent when you arrived.
just you, a blade strapped to your thigh and a gun hidden in your jacket. you walked like you owned the night â hips loose, steps quiet, heart steady. tom was already there, leaning against a rusted metal crate, cigarette between his lips, eyes tracking you like a predator tracks a rival.
âabout time.â he said.
you smirked. âi like to be fashionably late.â
this was your first job together. nothing too flashy â just a loose end from a botched deal, some idiot who thought he could cross tom and still breathe. the plan was simple: youâd get close, heâd pull the trigger. teamwork. easy.
except nothing with you two was ever really easy.
you slipped into the backroom of a strip club with the target already melting under your gaze. he was pathetic. talking too much, laughing too hard, licking his lips when he thought you werenât looking. he thought you were alone. he thought he had a chance.
you sat on his lap like sin, whispering into his ear, hands tracing his chest. and just when his guard dropped â when his hands wandered a little too far and his mouth got a little too eager â
you pulled the knife from your thigh.
âshh,â you said, pressing it to his throat, âitâs better if you donât scream.â
âwhat the fuck ââ he started, voice cracking.
no rush. no panic. just calm, casual destruction.
he didnât even look at the man. he looked at you.
âyou want it?â he asked, nodding toward the gun in his waistband.
âiâve got him.â you said.
tom raised an eyebrow. âprove it.â
and just like that, the balance shifted.
you hesitated. not because you were afraid â but because you didnât like being tested. you pressed the blade deeper, just enough to draw blood. the man whimpered. tom watched, still silent.
you realized then: this wasnât a job. this was a test.
he wanted to see what kind of monster you were.
so you smiled and dragged the blade across his neck. clean. deliberate. never letting tomâs gaze go.
tom exhaled like heâd been holding his breath.
you turned to him, breathing steady. âwas that good enough for you?â
he walked over. slowly. stopped inches from you. his hand reached up â not to touch you, but to tilt your chin up with a single finger.
lyouâre dangerous.â he said.
âbut you need control.â
you scoffed. âand you think you can give it to me?â
âno,â he said, âi think i can take it from you.â
the tension between you tightened â thick as smoke, sharp as glass. you didnât move. neither did he. the body on the floor cooled between you.
you hated that he made your pulse race.
later, in the car, you sat beside him â blood drying on your hands, adrenaline still humming under your skin.
ânext time,â you said, âdonât test me.â
he glanced over, mouth curled into a smirk. ânext time, donât hesitate.â
and just like that, the war began.
because you were both built for power.
but him? he was born to rule.
and you were starting to wonder what itâd feel like to be ruled by him â just once.
just enough to see if he could really handle it.
the next deal was simple.
you had to go in first â alone â smooth things over with the bratva contact. you flirt, buy some time. tom waits outside. watches from the car, a ghost in the shadows, gun within reach. he doesnât interfere unless it goes sideways.
he shouldâve known. he shouldâve seen it coming the second you stepped out of the car in that little black dress and cocky smile, chewing on a toothpick like you had nothing to lose. tom had warned you â âthese guys arenât stupid. donât play too hard.â
twenty minutes later, he saw the panic flare inside the warehouse â one of the russians shoved you against the table, another pulled a pistol. he didnât think. he moved.
two shots. one scream. chaos.
by the time tom stormed in, you already had a broken vodka bottle held to a guyâs throat, lip busted, hair falling over your face like war paint. your eyes lit up when you saw him.
âtook your time.â you said, voice breathless.
tom didnât answer. didnât look at the bodies. didnât care.
he grabbed your wrist â hard â yanked the bottle from your hand, and dragged you out the back door like a misbehaving child.
âthe fuck is your problem?â you snapped, stumbling after him in heels, blood drying on your hands.
he slammed the car door behind you, peeled off down the road, knuckles white on the wheel.
âthey had it coming.â you muttered, licking the blood off your bottom lip.
but you saw it â the way his jaw clenched, the muscle ticking, the heat rising behind his cold stare. he was silent all the way to his place. dark apartment on the top floor of a converted factory. gunmetal walls. heavy black curtains. a wolfâs den.
he didnât say a word until the door slammed shut behind you.
before you could speak, his hand was on your throat â tight, bruising, firm. your back hit the wall.
his face was inches from yours. âyou couldâve been fucking killed.â
you smiled, slow, shameless. âbut i wasnât.â
âyou think this is a game?â he said, voice low, dangerous, âyou think i wonât bury every man in that room just to keep you alive?â
âi knew youâd come.â you whispered.
âyou shouldnât have needed me.â
your hand slid up his arm, nails grazing the veins there. your breath was fast, chest rising against his. âbut you like it. when i make you lose control.â
his lips were at your ear now. âyou donât want me to lose control, schatz.â
a pause. electricity crackling in the space between your bodies.
you leaned forward, just a little. voice almost soft now. âi like it⊠when you get like this.â
âlike what?â he asked, quiet. almost a threat.
you looked him dead in the eyes. âlike you own me.â
the air shifted. then he kissed you.
it wasnât gentle. it wasnât sweet. it was hot, and deep, and messy. teeth clashing. breath stolen. a war you didnât want to win. his hand still held your throat as he kissed you like it was the only language he knew â like your mouth was the only thing that had ever shut him up.
you moaned softly into it. and he grinned against your lips like heâd known all along.
when you finally pulled away, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathless, he whispered:
ânext time you try something that reckless⊠iâll fuck the attitude out of you.â
you smiled. âcanât wait.â
the kind of job that leaves your knuckles bruised and your breath thin. blood on your ribs, gunpowder in your hair, and silence hanging thick between you and tom like fog.
the car ride back to his place was quiet.
not angry quiet, just⊠heavy.
like something was about to shift.
you didnât look at him. not until the engine cut off and the night wrapped around the building like a shroud.
âcome upstairs.â he said.
you hesitated. swallowed. then nodded.
you followed him up the concrete steps â boots echoing in time with his. he held the door open for you. didnât speak. just watched you from behind his lashes like he was afraid youâd vanish.
inside, the lights were low. warm. golden. the place smelled like tobacco, leather, and something faintly sweet â maybe you.
you kicked off your boots, peeled off your jacket, revealing the blood-streaked tank top beneath. tom watched you from the kitchen, lighting a cigarette with one hand and grabbing a bottle of water with the other.
you expected him to make a comment. tease you. flirt.
instead, he held out the water. âyouâre shaking.â
you blinked. âno iâm not.â
his eyes softened. âyes, you are.â
you took the bottle. drank. didnât look at him.
his hands were on your face. not rough. not demanding. just⊠there. steady. his thumbs brushed under your eyes like he was memorizing the shape of you.
âyou scared me tonight.â he whispered.
he never said things like that.
âbecause you didnât flinch when he pointed that gun at you.â
you smirked. âwhy would i?â
he leaned in, his voice dropped. âbecause iâve got something to lose now.â
and just like that, the walls cracked.
your mouth was on his before either of you could think. it wasnât rushed â it was deep. slow. hands gripping his shirt, his neck, his jaw. your body pressing into his like gravity had finally won.
he lifted you gently â not like a trophy, but like you were sacred. he walked you to the bedroom, lips never leaving yours. the way he kissed you⊠it wasnât how killers kiss.
it was how men in love kiss.
that night, he didnât rush you.
he backed you against the bedroom door, hands braced beside your face. not touching yet. just looking. like he needed to memorize you before the mask fell.
âsay it.â he whispered.
you swallowed. âsay what?â
you didnât answer â you kissed him again instead. harder this time. hungrier.
he groaned against your mouth and finally touched you. fingers curling around your waist, pulling you into him like gravity had been waiting for this moment since the beginning of time.
when his hands slipped beneath your shirt, they didnât rush. they were reverent. slow. like he knew what it meant for you to let him this close â to take off armor and offer him skin.
he lifted the fabric over your head and stared.
he looked at you like a man at confession.
you reached for his hoodie, tugging it upward. he let you take it off. let you see the sharp lines of his chest, the ink curled around his ribs, the scars that told stories heâd never speak aloud.
âyouâre beautiful.â you murmured, almost surprised.
his throat flexed. âso are you.â
you backed toward the bed, pulling him with you. he let you climb into his lap, straddling his thighs, hands in his braids, your lips pressed to the side of his neck.
âiâm not gentle.â you whispered.
âi know,â he said, âiâm not either. but i want to be.â
he flipped you carefully, laying you beneath him. his mouth moved from your jaw to your collarbone, your chest, your stomach â kissing like he had all night to worship every inch of you.
and when your body arched beneath him, he smiled.âtell me what you need.â
âtouch me.â you breathed out, taking his hand and guiding it between your thighs.
his lips parted and he didnât ask any other question, just begin to move his finger inside you, panties moved aside.
you moaned, throwing your head back as your hands traveled up your own body, caressing it as he watched you silently.
soon he added a second finger, and your voice had never been that high. you kept repeating his name, over and over, like a spell.
he lowered down, taking your nipple in his mouth and sucking on it, making you shiver.
your hands found his braids and you tugged on them as you pressed him more against your flesh.
he looked up at you, slowly tracing his tongue around it before kissing you.
you came, moaning against his mouth and biting his lower lip as your hips kept searching for his fingers.
that seemed to make him crazy.
his fingers found the buckle of his belt, pulling it loose in one practiced motion. the sound â leather sliding through denim â hit you like thunder. he kicked off his jeans with low curses under his breath, all while watching you like you were something holy.
and then he was back over you, bare and burning.
he cupped your face like he was trying to ground himself. like he was making sure this was real.
âyou sure?â he whispered.
you nodded, eyes locked to his. âtom,â you breathed, âiâve never been more sure of anything in my life.â
he didnât say another word.
he kissed you â deep, slow, desperate â as his hips met yours and he finally slid into you, filling you all at once. the breath you let out wasnât a gasp â it was a surrender.
he groaned against your mouth. âfuck, baby.â
his forehead pressed to yours, hands gripping your thighs, your hips, your waist like he needed to hold onto every piece of you or lose himself completely.
you clung to him just as tight.
âmove,â you whispered, âplease.â
his rhythm was urgent, but careful â every thrust deliberate, every sound you made etched into his memory. his mouth never left your skin, trailing kisses over your neck, your chest, your shoulder.
the heat between you was wildfire â fast and consuming.
you were tangled in sheets and sweat and whispered curses, neither of you letting go. every time you moaned his name, he moved harder. deeper. like he wanted to feel your heartbeat wrapped around his.
âlook at me.â he said, voice rough and shaking.
you did and in that moment, with your eyes locked and your bodies joined, it wasnât just about sex.
it was about everything youâd never said. everything you were both too afraid to want.
and he gave it to you â every inch of control, every piece of devotion â until you shattered underneath him.
he followed a heartbeat later, biting down on your shoulder, body trembling against yours.
when it was over, he didnât move away.
he stayed wrapped around you, breathing like heâd just come back to life.
âiâm never letting you go.â he said into your neck.
you smiled, weak and honest. âgood.â
the morning after was warm.
the kind of warmth that didnât come from sunlight â but from still limbs wrapped in a sheet, skin pressed to skin, silence soft as breath. tom lay behind you, one arm across your waist, the other tangled in your hair. his nose brushed your shoulder, and every so often, youâd feel the lazy trail of his fingers down your ribs, your hip, like he couldnât stop touching you even in sleep.
his hoodie was still on you â oversized, smelling like him, sleeves too long. your legs were bare, curled up beneath his, and for the first time in months⊠maybe years⊠you felt still.
just a man whoâd laid himself down beside you like he belonged there.
he opened his eyes slowly, lids heavy. and when he saw you, he smiled.
not the cocky one, the real one.
âmorning, baby.â his voice was rough. wrecked from the night before.
you leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth. âyou look stupid when you smile.â
he grinned wider. âyou like it.â
he rolled you onto your back, his body moving over yours again, but softer this time. slower. it wasnât about taking anymore. it was about staying.
you kissed lazily. deeply. like there was nothing else to do.
and then â the world snapped back.
his phone buzzed across the room.
the third time, it didnât stop.
âfucking hell.â he muttered, dragging himself up, bare feet hitting the cold floor. he grabbed the phone off the dresser, answered without looking.
you watched from the bed.
the second you saw the way his shoulders stiffened, the way his back tensed â you knew.
âhow much?â he said, voice low.
his jaw locked. âare you fucking kidding me?â
then â the sound of glass and metal cracking. you jumped slightly as he hurled the phone at the wall, shattering it in half.
he stood still, breathing like heâd just sprinted a mile.
you sat up in the bed, legs crossed, hoodie sliding off one shoulder. âwhat happened?â
his eyes were wild. blood-hot. he couldnât even speak.
he finally looked at you.
âitâs that prick from antwerp. stefan. the one we let walk last time. he took the money and ran. seventy thousand. gone.â
you blinked slowly. âand breaking your phone helps⊠how?â
âi swear to god, baby, iâm gonna find him myself andââ
you stood up, walking toward him. barefoot. calm. a storm in still water.
âno,â you said, âyouâre not.â
he looked at you like youâd slapped him. âwhat?â
you stepped closer. âwe donât lose control over rats. we cut off their tails.â
his chest rose and fell hard. he wanted to argue â you saw it in his jaw, in the fire in his eyes â but he didnât.
you lifted a hand, rested it gently on his chest. âthink straight. be smarter.â
he didnât speak, so you did.
âweâve got eyes on every side of this city. all you have to do is give the word.â
you turned away from him, grabbed your own phone off the nightstand. scrolled. dialed.
âleo,â you said when the line picked up, âyeah. weâve got a problem. that man from antwerp, remember him? yeah, he stole from tom. find out where he lives and get it back. now.â
tom stared at you, like he was seeing you for the first time all over again.
âyouâre scary when you do that.â he muttered.
you smiled faintly. âyou like it.â
âfuck yeah, i do.â he stepped forward, slipped his arms around your waist from behind, pressed his lips to your neck.
âyou keep me sane.â he said.
âi keep you powerful.â
you were still in the bedroom, the wreckage of the shattered phone in the corner, your fingers lazily wrapped around a coffee mug tom had handed you ten minutes earlier.
your gaze was razor sharp, tracking him with the ease of someone whoâs seen worse mornings and survived them all.
then â your phone lit up.
leo. you answered instantly, putting it on speaker.
âweâve got him,â leoâs voice rasped on the other end, the sound of wind and movement behind him, âmotherfucker was trying to book a train to rotterdam with a fake passport. real sloppy.â
a muffled voice could be heard in the background. desperate. trembling.
âplease â please, i didnât know theyâd come back so soon â i swear, i didnât â just let meââ
you could hear the slap â sharp and flat. the man went silent.
leo chuckled darkly. âhe says he doesnât have the money anymore. swears he can âget it back.â wants time.â
you didnât look at tom. you didnât have to. you could feel the heat radiating off him.
he stepped closer to the phone, voice low and lethal.âput him on.â
there was rustling. a pause.
his voice cracked like a teenagerâs. fear leaked through every syllable.
âlisten to me,â tom said, slowly. coldly. âyou had one job. one chance. and you fucked it.â
âiâ i didnât mean toâ i justâ i didnât think youâd noticeââ
âi notice everything,â tom snapped, voice still somehow quiet, âand now youâre mine. do you understand that?â
the man whimpered. âplease donât kill me. just give me time, i swear iâll get it backââ
âfine.â tom said, and your brows lifted slightly.
the man paused, confused. âwaitâ you mean it?â
âi mean,â tom continued, âyou have three days. seventy-two hours. and until then?â
you met his gaze, gave him a single nod.
he turned back to the phone. âleoâs going to follow you. everywhere. sleep outside your door. watch you piss. breathe down your neck. and the second you do anything stupid â blink too fast, text someone, look over your shoulder â he puts a bullet in your knee.â
âdo you fucking understand me?â
ââŠyes. yes, i swearââ
tom hung up without another word.
then he turned to you, eyes still hard.
you sipped your coffee slowly. âyou let him live.â
you tilted your head. âmercy, or message?â
he smirked, finally. âboth.â
you walked toward him, pressed your lips lightly to his jaw. âthatâs my boy.â
the night started like any other.
the club was closed for the night.
lights dimmed. backroom cleared. just tom, you, and leo in that velvet-drenched space behind the glass doors â the one built for business that never reached the books.
and now⊠the man who owed seventy thousand euros stood in front of you, shaking.
slick mouth, slicker hands. always thought he was smarter than the room. and now?
his face was swollen. bruised. split lip bleeding. shirt stained. hands trembling behind his back where leo had zip-tied him just tight enough to remind him what pain was.
leo shoved him forward. he stumbled.
you sat perched on the edge of the desk, legs crossed, dress riding high. tom stood behind you, arms folded, silent and still. a shadow with teeth.
you tilted your head at stefan, almost amused. âlook what the cat dragged in.â
stefan coughed hard, spit blood onto the floor.
âyou look good,â you said, smirking.,âfor a rat.â
just looked between you and tom, sweat dripping down his temple. you could feel the fear coming off him like smoke.
you slid off the desk, walking slow.
heels clicking, dress brushing your thighs.
âyou remember me, donât you?â you asked, voice soft, lilting, âyou remember how good i was at getting you to talk.â
he flinched when you touched his jaw, brushing a knuckle along the bruise.
âyou liked it.â you whispered, mouth close to his ear. âdidnât you? liked how soft i got just to make you feel safe.â
he looked at you â and for a second, you saw it flicker. the memory. the want.
his face hardened. he shook his head.
ânot this time.â he croaked. âi know what you do. i know what you are.â
you smiled slowly. âdo you?â
he reached into his coat pocket â slowly, carefully â and pulled out a black plastic bag.
leo moved to stop him, but tom lifted a hand.
âitâs all there,â he said, âevery cent.â
you took the bag instead, walked it over to the desk, and dumped the contents onto the polished wood â stacks of cash, rubber-banded and dirty, but there.
you counted one. flipped through it with your thumb.
âseems legit.â you murmured.
tom still hadnât spoken.
his silence was louder than any gunshot.
stefan looked up, breath shaking. âi gave it back. i did what you said.â
âwhat do you think, baby?â you asked, sweet. teasing. âdo we let him go? second chances and all that?â
tom walked toward stefan slowly.
he looked him in the eye.
and then he pulled the gun from under his jacket and shot him once â straight to the heart.
the sound echoed off the walls.
stefan dropped like a stone, blood blooming under him like spilled wine.
you stepped forward slowly and crouched beside the body. leaned in. and pressed a kiss to stefanâs still-warm cheek.
âshouldâve walked away when you had the chance.â you whispered.
when you stood, tom was staring at you.
âwhat?â you asked, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. âhe liked me. figured he deserved a goodbye.â
he didnât answer right away.
âdonât do that again.â he said, voice low.
âkiss another man,â he growled, âdead or not.â
your smile curved like a knife. âare you jealous, tommy?â
you walked toward him, slow. smug. dragging a finger down his chest.
âyou kill them,â you murmured, âi make them talk. thatâs how this works.â
âyou donât have to touch them.â he snapped.
his hand gripped your waist, pulled you into him hard. your breath hitched.
âdonât care,â he whispered, voice sharp at your throat, ânext time you try to be cute for another man â iâm reminding you who you belong to. right then and there.â
you leaned into his mouth. âpromise?â
and for a second â the room went quiet again.
you tilted your chin up, challenging. âgonna punish me for it?â
he didnât answer â not with words.
he grabbed your hand, rough and fast, and pulled you through the back hallway of the club without another look at leo or stefanâs blood cooling on the floor. the red lights made everything feel more dangerous, more cinematic. his grip never loosened.
by the time he shoved the private door open and kicked it shut behind you, you were already smiling.
âjealousy looks good on you.â you whispered, backing into the room.
his voice was low. possessive. ruined.
he cornered you against the wall. one hand flat against it beside your head. the other still gripping your wrist.
âyou think this is funny?â he asked, chest pressed to yours. âyou think you can fuck with me?â
you leaned up, brushing your lips along the sharp line of his jaw. âi think itâs hot.â
he dragged your face to his.
âyouâre mine.â he whispered.
you smiled. âi always was.â
and when he kissed you â bruising and deep, all tongue and teeth and punishment â it wasnât out of lust.
it was out of possession.
because even though you were dangerous, powerful, untouchable â youâd always let him have the last word when it came to you.
