Tom Kaulitz had always been off-limits—my brother’s best friend, untouchable, dangerous in ways I wasn’t supposed to notice. But standing in the shadows of my living room, leaning casually against the wall with that infuriatingly confident smirk, he made it impossible to pretend I didn’t feel something I shouldn’t. Every brush of his hand against mine as he reached for a drink, every flicker of those dark, calculating eyes, sent a jolt straight through me, part fear, part desire. I knew the rules—he was off-limits, untouchable, untamed—but in that moment, I realized desire didn’t care about rules, and Tom Kaulitz had a way of making temptation feel like a weapon aimed straight at my heart.
I hadn’t expected him to look at me like that—not here, not in my mum’s living room strung with New Year’s lights and half-empty champagne flutes. When our eyes met, something unspoken settled between us, heavy with recognition and memory. Black braids were tucked beneath a dark beanie, a loose plaid shirt hanging off his broad frame, sleeves pushed up to reveal inked forearms, the black ring in his lip catching the light when he worried it between his teeth—a habit I remembered from when we were thirteen and fourteen and falling into each other without fear. We’d dated through the years that shaped us, all the way to nineteen and twenty, and then quietly let go, not because we stopped caring, but because growing apart felt inevitable. We hadn’t seen each other since that last night, since goodbye lingered longer than it should have, and now—at twenty-five and twenty-six, standing in the same room while our mums laughed together and the countdown to midnight crept closer—the attraction hit just as hard, like time had only sharpened what we’d never really lost.
The second I stepped through the door, the noise hit me—bass shaking the floor, laughter spilling from every corner, someone yelling over the music about running out of vodka. I was trying to look like I belonged, clutching my drink like a lifeline, when I saw him. Tom Kaulitz. He was impossible to miss—leaning against the couch with that trademark smirk, dark eyes glinting with mischief, a confidence that filled the room louder than the music ever could. He looked like he’d been born for this kind of chaos, like he owned every beat, every glance that came his way. And when his gaze landed on me, slow and deliberate, I swear the air shifted—like the party had suddenly become his stage, and I’d just wandered into the spotlight.
The first time Tom Kaulitz comes home, she’s twenty-one and curled up on Bill’s couch, laughing at something ridiculous, fully convinced she knows everything there is to know about her best friend—until the door opens and proves her wrong. Tom steps in without warning, twenty-eight and towering at six-foot-five, dark black braids pulled back, tattoos peeking from his sleeves, a black lip piercing catching the light as his eyes land on her and linger. The room shifts. She hadn’t known Bill—twenty-three, chaotic, glamorous, loudly gay—had a brother at all, let alone one who feels this heavy with presence, this calm and assured, this undeniably dangerous. Tom takes her in slowly, deliberately, like he’s already aware of the effect the height difference has, of how small she looks when she tilts her head up to meet his gaze, and her stomach flips because she finds it hot as fuck—the age gap, the size, the way he carries himself like a man who’s already lived and knows exactly where he’s going. Bill groans dramatically at his brother’s return, but Tom barely reacts, already stepping further inside, already teasing her height with a lazy comment, already smiling like he knows he’s just disrupted something permanent. From that moment on, she knows this isn’t just Bill’s brother coming home—it’s the beginning of a tension she’s not sure she wants to escape.
Tom stumbled inside, breath hitching, blood glinting dark on his jaw—but even wrecked and half-broken, he still managed that wicked, knowing grin. He braced a hand against the wall, chest rising hard beneath his torn shirt, and his eyes dragged over me with slow, deliberate heat. “You should see the look you’re giving me,” he murmured, voice roughened by pain and something far more dangerous. “Like you’re torn between yelling at me and… something else.” He pushed off the wall and stepped closer, close enough that the warmth of him curled around my skin, close enough that I could smell sweat, metal, and the faint trace of his cologne. “Careful,” he whispered, leaning in until his lips nearly brushed my jaw. “If you keep staring at me like that, I might forget we’re supposed to hate each other.” His fingers brushed my waist as he passed, an infuriating, electric touch. “Go on,” he added over his shoulder, voice dripping with heat, “tell me you don’t want to help me out of this shirt.”
When she arrives at her new school, no one knows what to make of her—the girl who speaks softly, keeps to herself, and carries an air of quiet mystery wherever she goes. She’s not popular, not loud, not interested in being seen, yet somehow everyone notices her. There’s something about the way she moves through the world, untouched and unclaimed, like she belongs somewhere no one else can reach. Tom Kaulitz notices first. Maybe it’s her calm in a place full of noise, or the way her eyes seem to hold a thousand thoughts she’ll never say. She isn’t like anyone he’s ever met—and for once, he doesn’t want to be the one who’s wanted. He wants to be the one she chooses to see.
You and Tom were tucked into the back corner of the cafeteria, trying to stay out of the spotlight, but your friends weren’t having it—Jenna leaned over with that teasing grin, elbow nudging you. “So… why don’t you just date him?” she asked. Tom, lounging with that infuriating, lazy smirk, draped an arm over the back of your seat, fingers brushing your shoulder like he owned the space, and murmured in your ear, voice low and teasing, “Because I like knowing you can’t stop thinking about me even when everyone’s watching.” Mark groaned beside her, pestering for an answer, but you only felt a shiver run through you as Tom leaned closer, thumb stroking the side of your neck possessively, and you realized your friends’ questions weren’t going to get the confession—they were just making the tension between you two deliciously impossible to ignore.
She’d never run races—only observed them with sharp detachment—standing beside Chloe as engines screamed and men postured, platinum blonde curls spilling thick and wild to her hips, tattoos and piercings sharpening a beauty that felt more dangerous than inviting. She hated men with a quiet, hardened certainty, worn down by years of boys wrapped in ego and incompetence, and beneath that contempt sat a raw, unspoken truth: she was severely sex-deprived, starved not just for touch but for control, for a man who knew what he was doing. Finn lingered close to her side, her younger brother, watching the chaos with wide eyes, and she stayed half-turned toward him without thinking—protective, grounding, the only constant he’d ever had after growing up with no mother and no father. She’d learned early how to be everything at once: provider, shield, authority, and she’d convinced herself she didn’t need anyone else. Then Tom Kaulitz arrived—completely new, unknown, carrying a quiet dominance that bent the space around him without effort—and something inside her certainty fractured. She didn’t look at him, didn’t react, didn’t soften, but the realization settled deep and unsettling: it wasn’t that she didn’t need a man—it was that she’d never allowed herself to want one until now.
I’m a professor, and Tom Kaulitz is my student — an adult, surprisingly steady for his age, but still mine to teach, not to touch. He looks at me with that quiet intensity, as if he’s already handed me every unspoken secret he has… including the fact that he’s never been with anyone before. He doesn’t say it outright, but the way his voice softens around me, the way he lingers after class as if he’s trying to build up the courage to ask for something he knows he can’t have — it’s impossible not to hear the truth beneath it. He tells me he’ll wait until the semester is over, that he wants me to be the first person he chooses when he finally steps into that part of his life. And I hold my professional composure like armor, pretending his honesty doesn’t shake me, even as something deep inside me trembles at the thought of what he’s asking — and the impossible, dangerous fact that part of me wants him too.
Tom Kaulitz walked into school like he wasn’t sure he was supposed to be there—glasses slipping down his nose, a backpack covered in nerdy fandom pins, and a schedule clutched in his hand like it was written in a foreign language. The hallway was its usual chaos of gossip, laughter, and people trying way too hard to look cool, so most students only gave him a passing glance before moving on. But not me. Something about the way he hovered near the lockers, trying to shrink himself into the background, pulled my attention like a magnet. Maybe it was the quiet confidence hidden under all that nervous energy, or the way he seemed completely uninterested in impressing anyone. Whatever it was, I found myself walking toward him before I even realized it, watching his eyes widen in surprise when he noticed me—me, the girl everyone else usually tries to impress. And in that single moment, as he pushed up his glasses and gave me the softest, shyest smile, I knew I liked the new nerdy boy way more than I was ready to admit.
The first time you saw him at the bar, he was all lazy confidence and half a grin, the kind of stranger who made the room tilt just slightly in his direction. He caught your stare over the rim of his glass — dark eyes that lingered a second too long, amused, like he’d already read every thought you hadn’t dared to say out loud. When he finally moved toward you, he didn’t rush; he walked as if he knew you’d still be there when he arrived. The hum of the bar dimmed around you, every sound fading beneath the weight of his attention. And when he leaned in to speak, his voice was low enough to make it feel like a secret meant only for you.
I arrived a few minutes early for pickup, expecting to wait in the hallway, but Mr. Kaulitz stepped out of the classroom just as I approached, brushing chalk from his hands and offering me a quick, surprised smile. “You’re early today,” he said lightly, and there was something almost teasing in the way his gaze flicked to mine before drifting back to the doorway. I shrugged, pretending I hadn’t noticed. “Lucky timing, I guess.” He nodded, the corner of his mouth curving like he was amused by something he didn’t plan on saying out loud, and for a moment we just stood there—me trying not to look too flustered, him looking far too composed for someone who’d just spent the day wrangling seven-year-olds. Then he added, softer, “Ava’s finishing up a drawing. You can come in, if you’d like.” And even though it was such a simple invitation, the warmth in his voice made it feel like more than just good manners.
Living together had always been a mess of laughter, teasing, and far too many accidental touches—his knee brushing yours on the couch, his hand lingering just a second too long when he handed you your mug, the way he leaned in close to whisper something that made your stomach flip. One night, sprawled across the couch in your pajamas, you nudged him with your foot, and he nudged back, smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing. “Okay,” you said, trying to sound serious while your cheeks heated, “we need a rule. No dating. No… messing around. Nothing.” He leaned closer, voice low, teasing, eyes glinting like he was daring you to protest. “Fine. A pact,” he said, grinning, “six months. We keep each other in check.” When your hands met for the handshake, it lingered too long, and the air around you sizzled with something neither of you wanted to admit, because living together, flirty and touchy as you already were, made this so much harder than either of you expected.
The rodeo was all noise and dust and heat, a shock to my senses after the city I’d just left behind, and I moved through it feeling small and out of place, five feet tall and newly arrived, still learning how silence could be loud in a town like this. Somewhere in the arena, Tom Kaulitz—thirty-three, six-five, a bull rider whose control drew the crowd breathless—was doing what he did best, every movement measured, every risk calculated. He was discipline in motion, the kind of man who kept his life tight and orderly for the sake of his four-year-old daughter waiting beyond the rails, a softness the town liked to focus on. We didn’t notice each other then, not really, just two lives crossing the same dust-heavy moment without touching, but the air still felt charged, like something had shifted anyway. Even from a distance, there was a tension to him that had nothing to do with the bull beneath him—a sense that whatever he kept hidden wasn’t innocence, but something private and restrained, waiting patiently for the wrong—or right—set of eyes to finally see it.
Tom Kaulitz made the bet stretched out on the steps outside the lecture hall, talking with the kind of careless confidence that made his friends listen even when they pretended not to, his gaze flicking toward the girl cutting across the quad like she owned the space beneath her boots. He told them he could get her into his bed before midterms—no strings, no effort, just inevitability—and said it with a smirk sharp enough to make the laughter around him turn approving. She didn’t hear him. She was too busy existing in a way that made men misjudge her—platinum-blonde curls piled high and wild, piercings catching the light at her tongue, eyebrow, belly, and the small of her back, tattoos blooming and coiling beneath her clothes like secrets she didn’t offer up lightly: soft reddish-pink lilies cascading along one shoulder blade in a watercolor haze, and down her spine, a black-ink dragon twisting through cherry blossoms, bamboo, lanterns, and vertical script. Tom watched her like a certainty, already convinced her sharp mouth and solitary stride were just layers he’d peel back with charm alone, never considering that she wasn’t walking unaware—just uninterested—and that the bet he’d made so easily was about to make him the fool.
You’d both agreed that night meant nothing — just heat, impulse, and the kind of chemistry that didn’t need a future — and you were fine leaving it exactly there. But when you cut through the haze of the club and accidentally knock into someone, you feel a steady hand catch your waist, and you look up to find Tom standing right in front of you. His expression flickers with quick recognition, the kind that isn’t sentimental but definitely isn’t indifferent, either. No feelings, no expectations — just the unmistakable tension of two people who know exactly what they’re capable of together, and the silent understanding that the night might not be over after all.
Tom Kaulitz stepped into the house like he was daring the walls to hold him back—6’4” of broad-shouldered, smirk-wearing confidence that made your 5’0” frame feel even smaller than it already was. Your mom introduced you quickly, blurting out something about him staying in the guest room, but you barely heard her over the way his dark eyes dragged over you, slow and deliberate, like he was already sizing you up. “So this is the little troublemaker,” he said, voice low and teasing, making your stomach tighten. You folded your arms, trying to act unimpressed. “Tiny,” he murmured, leaning just close enough for his shadow to swallow you, “you’re half my size… and somehow, I’m already entertained. Hope you’re ready for me, Kleines.”
You stop at the bottom of the stairs and freeze—Tom Kaulitz, your childhood best friend turned enemy, now 6’4 with black braids brushing his shoulders and a black lip piercing glinting against his smirk, is sitting in your kitchen like he never vanished, casually eating a muffin while your mom explains that he and his mother will be living with you until they find a house; he meets your stunned stare with a slow, taunting grin, eyes dragging over your 5’0 frame before murmuring, “Miss me, shorty?” and you bite down the urge to throw something at him, snapping, “Not even a little,” despite the inconvenient rush of heat in your chest.
She’s twenty-one and curled up on Bill Kaulitz’s couch, laughing about something stupid the way best friends do, when the front door opens and a presence she hasn’t felt in years steps back into her life. Bill—twenty-three, familiar, safe, her constant—barely has time to announce his brother’s return before Tom is standing there again, twenty-eight now, six-foot-five, dark black braids pulled back, tattoos and a black lip piercing making him look nothing like the sixteen-year-old who moved away for college all those years ago. She hasn’t seen him since then, and the shock of him—older, broader, heavier with confidence—hits her all at once, the height and age difference suddenly impossible to ignore in a way that makes her stomach flip. Tom’s eyes find her immediately, slow and assessing, like he’s taking stock of how she’s changed too, and when he steps closer to join them, teasing her height with a lazy grin, the air between them tightens. It’s subtle, charged, built from memories and new awareness, from the way he towers over her now and the way she can’t stop noticing it, and from the quiet certainty settling in that Tom didn’t just come home—he came back into her orbit with a kind of attention that feels anything but accidental.
Every day she told herself she wouldn’t rush to the mailbox, and every day she still found herself running, breath tight with anticipation, searching for the envelope marked with his sharp, arrogant handwriting. He had no idea what she looked like—had never seen a picture from behind the walls he was locked behind—yet somehow he’d already figured out how untouched she was, how inexperienced, how carefully she’d kept herself, and he wrote to her like a man who found that dangerously enticing even from a prison cell. She didn’t understand why someone like her had become the one he trusted with that taunting, razor-edged charm, always testing the boundaries of her innocence just to see how she would bend. And this time, buried in his dark, confident teasing, he made a bold request that sent heat climbing her throat: he wanted her to slip a pair of her panties into the next letter, written so casually it was clear he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on the virgin girl hanging on every word he sent from behind bars.
Tom Kaulitz didn’t get nervous—ever—but when the assassin girl stepped into his office, her curly, voluminous platinum-blonde hair haloing a face carved in confidence, something inside him bowed before she even spoke. Her siren-sharp, winged eyes swept over him with the quiet dominance of someone who decided who lived, who died, and who followed—and Tom, the most feared mafia boss in the city, felt an unfamiliar pull settle low and certain, the kind that warned he’d do anything she asked long before she ever asked it. And as her gaze held his, steady and unbothered, he had the unsettling sense that she already knew.
The innkeeper handed them a single key with an apologetic shrug, and when they stepped into the tiny room, the sight of one bed hit them like a punch neither wanted to acknowledge. Tom Kaulitz exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he shot her a look that was half annoyance, half something hotter, something neither of them had ever dared name. The air between them tightened instantly—months of bickering, sharp words, and stubborn pride compressing into a tension that felt almost tangible. “Don’t start,” she muttered, tossing her bag onto the mattress just to stake a claim, but Tom only stepped closer, his smirk slow and infuriating and unfairly attractive. “Wasn’t going to,” he said, voice low, eyes dragging over her in a way that made her pulse stutter. “But if you think I’m sleeping on the floor, you’re out of your mind.” The room felt too small, the bed even smaller, and as his shoulder brushed hers on his way past, she realized the real problem wasn’t the lack of space—it was how badly she suddenly wanted even less of it between them.
The moment I stepped into the boxing gym, I spotted him immediately—leaning against the ropes, jaw clenched, shoulder wrapped awkwardly, and a glare that could cut through steel. Tom Kaulitz, 6’4 of bruised, cocky energy, smirked at me like he already knew he was untouchable. “You my nurse, sweetheart?” he asked, voice teasing but edged with irritation, clearly not used to being on the other side of care. I didn’t flinch. My stance shifted subtly, the instinctual balance from years in the ring humming beneath my skin. “Assigned nurse,” I corrected smoothly, letting my smile stay faint but sharp. “And I only go easy when patients behave.” His smirk wavered, just for a beat, replaced by a flicker of interest—or maybe challenge. “Oh really?” he murmured. “Yeah,” I said, letting the tension settle between us like a drawn wire, “and sweetheart… I don’t go easy on anyone.”
The bass still pulsed through the floor when I slipped toward the quieter edge of the club, trying to catch my breath, only to notice Tom Kaulitz drifting after me with that easy, knowing smile that made my stomach flip; he leaned beside me like he’d been invited, his cologne warm and soft beneath the haze of smoke, and asked—almost casually, but with this spark in his eyes—if he could take me out somewhere real, somewhere we wouldn’t have to shout or pretend, and for a moment the fantasy of saying yes felt almost too sweet to touch. But then the truth pressed gently at my ribs, the truth of bedtime stories and sticky fingers and a four-year-old boy who had rearranged my universe long before Tom ever looked at me like this. As he waited, genuinely interested, his voice low and patient, I felt the familiar knot of fear twist—how do you tell someone like him that dating me doesn’t just mean late-night laughter and stolen glances, but stepping into a life already full, already claimed by a tiny person who means everything? And yet, as Tom’s eyes held mine, soft and steady, I wondered if maybe this time… saying it wouldn’t make him walk away.
You met Tom Kaulitz on move-in day, stepping into the apartment with a box in your arms just in time for him to stomp out of his room, hair a mess, expression even worse. He stopped short when he saw you, scowl deepening like the universe had personally decided to irritate him. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered—not at you exactly, but definitely loud enough for you to hear. You introduced yourself anyway, bright and polite, and he just grunted, rubbing a hand over his face like this was the last thing he had energy for. “Great,” he sighed, already turning away, “another morning person.” He pointed vaguely down the hall. “Your room’s over there. Try not to… be loud.” Then he brushed past you without looking again—except for the tiny, involuntary side-eye he shot you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.