RAMMSTEIN

IMAGINES • REQUESTS OPEN

[frauschneidersfrau]

smut; ✸ fluff; ❀ angst; ◉

requests 𝗮𝗿𝗲, 𝗮𝘀 𝗮𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀, 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻.

-

sniffling and snuggling 〣 till lindemann ❀

a sick reader and a caring boyfriend

big wheels 〣 christoph schneider ✸

when only his hands, can do the job - smut

i can drive you crazy 〣 christoph schneider ✸

young people these days - smut

summertime 〣 richard kruspe ✸❀

it’s fluffy, it’s smutty. what more do you want?

tease 〣 richard kruspe ✸

when teasing leads you exactly where you want to be! smut!

[frauschneidersfrau]

mein frau 〣 christoph schneider

Schneider's alter ego never seems to leave the building!

Title: Frau Schneider’s Last Nerve Pairing: Christoph Schneider x Fem!Reader Word Count: ~2900 (can be adjusted based on final edits) Content: Established relationship, dom!Christoph, playful teasing, lipstick marks, backstage antics, gender-bending stage persona (Frau Schneider), possessiveness, oral sex (fem-receiving and male-receiving), rough smut, public risk, creampie, slight power imbalance, praise/degradation mix, humor, leashes & performance kink, reader testing Christoph’s patience on purpose.

-

Backstage hummed with a low, restless energy—half sweat, half nerves, and the constant pulse of Rammstein’s sound bleeding faintly through the walls. Christoph’s dressing room was cramped, cluttered, a small world of chaos just beyond the roaring crowd. He’d been pounding drums for an hour straight, muscles still buzzing with adrenaline, sweat slicking his skin. Now, for thirty minutes, he had a precious break—a brief window to slip into the outrageous persona that made everyone laugh: Frau Schneider.

You sat on the edge of a battered folding chair, legs swinging, watching him with a mix of affection and amusement. You’d been together for a while now—long enough to know the quiet man beneath the drums, and to treasure these rare glimpses of him letting loose backstage. The contrast was what made it so special. Here he was, your grounded, thoughtful boyfriend, about to transform into a loud, demanding, whip-cracking dominatrix who could fill the stage with just her presence.

Christoph peeled off his shirt and stood before the cracked mirror, muscles gleaming under the harsh light. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, eyes scanning every inch of his reflection as if the transformation depended on perfect detail. His dark hair clung to his forehead, strands sticking in sweaty clumps, and you could see the familiar tension in his jaw slowly melt into a grin as he prepared.

“Did you bring it?” His voice was low, breathy—still rough from the set.

You smiled, already digging through your bag. “Of course,” you said, triumphantly brandishing the bright red lipstick.

The whole Frau Schneider act was ridiculous, and you loved it. Watching Christoph slip into that absurd character never got old. It was a release for him—a chance to be completely unfiltered, bossy, and outrageously theatrical. You enjoyed every second of it, especially now, when you got to be part of the ritual.

“Here,” you said, patting your lap as he stepped closer.

Christoph settled between your legs, his hands resting lightly on your thighs. His body radiated heat, and you felt a familiar flicker of desire just from being this close. You took the lipstick and, with a playful smirk, began tracing his lips. He shifted, trying to make it hard for you, teasing with a crooked smile that betrayed how much he loved this silly game.

“Hold still, Frau Schneider,” you teased.

“Don’t call me that,” he groaned, but his eyes sparkled with mischief.

You finished with a flourish, stepping back to admire your handiwork. His lips were a perfect, ridiculous smear of glossy red—a striking contrast to his dark stubble.

“Perfect,” you said with a laugh.

Christoph caught your gaze in the mirror and raised a brow. “The show’s just warming up.”

You leaned forward, voice low. “I think it’s about to get a whole lot hotter.”

He didn’t wait for another word. Christoph closed the distance, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was hungry and electric. His lips tasted salty with sweat, smeared with lipstick, and utterly intoxicating. You probably looked a mess too, but you didn’t care. You wanted this—now.

“When do you have to go back out?” you murmured between breaths.

“When I’m done with you,” he promised, voice thick.

With that, his hands were pulling at your dress, fingers slipping beneath the fabric. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, drawing him closer. The world shrunk until it was just the two of you—the cluttered room, the stage, the thousands of screaming fans all fading into nothing.

He tugged down his jeans and boxers in one swift motion, revealing himself—hard and demanding. You bit your lip, heart racing, and tightened your legs, urging him inside.

Christoph’s hands roamed your body with reverence, sliding under the hem of your dress to find your soaked heat. His fingers brushed aside your panties, and a startled squeak escaped you when he slipped a finger inside.

“Quiet,” he warned, voice low and commanding.

You whimpered but obeyed, biting back a moan. His fingers moved with patient precision, making sure you were ready—no rush, no pain, just the slow build of delicious tension.

Time was short, so foreplay had to be a tease, a promise of what was coming. Christoph withdrew his fingers, licking them clean before dipping back inside you, coating himself.

His cock nudged your entrance, and he looked into your eyes. “Ready?”

You nodded, hands gripping his shoulders.

He pressed in, slow and deep, covering your mouth with his hand to hush the sound that threatened to break free. Your nails dug into his skin as he set a fierce, relentless rhythm.

Your bodies moved together in a frantic, intimate dance—his hips pistoning, your breath coming in ragged gasps. For a moment, he pulled his hand away, adjusting your legs, and the silence was shattered by your desperate cry of pleasure.

“Fuck—” you gasped, but his palm snapped back over your mouth.

“Quiet,” he hissed fiercely.

You shook your head, tears of pleasure prickling your eyes.

“Bite my shoulder,” he demanded softly.

Confused but overwhelmed, you obeyed, teeth sinking through fabric into muscle. Your nails clawed at his back as you trembled against him, lost in the storm of sensation.

The urgency built, overwhelming and unstoppable.

“I’m close—” you tried to say.

A sharp knock cut through the moment.

“Schneider, one minute!” came the call.

Frustration twisted Christoph’s face. He pulled out, and you whimpered, desperate to hold him.

“Johnny,” you hissed, using the name of the stage manager outside the door. “I was this close!”

“We’ll finish later,” Christoph said grimly, pulling on his clothes.

You wrapped your arms around him, holding tight, not wanting to let go.

He kissed your forehead, voice rough. “I’m sorry, baby. I’ll make it up to you.”

In a flash, the wig was on, the feminine vest draped perfectly, and Frau Schneider was reborn—ready to command the stage again.

He tapped your thigh with the whip, grinning wildly.

“Wait for me,” he winked, then turned and strode back out.

You watched the door close behind him, body still humming with desire, heart pounding with the promise of what was yet to come.

Tonight was far from over.

-

Watching the show from backstage, you caught every wild step of Frau Schneider’s performance—the confident sway, the way he held the others in leashes, pushing them around, commanding the stage like it was an extension of himself. It was ridiculous and perfect, and you laughed quietly to yourself.

When the final notes faded and the crowd roared their approval, the stage lights dimmed. Backstage was buzzing with energy, but Christoph was nowhere to be found. You wandered through the corridors, checking the smoker’s lounge, the bar—no sign of him.

You stopped outside the men’s restroom when muffled noises caught your attention—soft moans and breaths unmistakably his.

Curiosity and desire mingled as you pushed the door open quietly.

There he was, sitting on the closed toilet lid, cheeks flushed, eyes pleading.

“Christoph?” you asked softly.

He unlocked the door, a relieved sigh escaping him. “Doll, you gotta help me,” he said, voice thick with frustration.

“What’s wrong?” you smiled knowingly.

“Don’t play cute. I need… your help,” he said, tone firm.

You nodded, stepping inside.

“Good girl. Get on your knees.”

You knelt before him, feeling the cool tile beneath your knees as Christoph settled back on the closed toilet lid, his breath already catching in sharp, uneven gasps. The sight of him—vulnerable yet commanding—sent a thrill coursing through your veins. His cock was thick and heavy in your hand, the skin warm and taut, veins pulsing with urgent life beneath your touch.

You leaned forward, lips parting, and pressed the tip of your tongue to the swollen, angry red head, tasting the salty-sweet sheen of his precome. Christoph’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his fingers tangling in your hair, a low groan rumbling deep in his chest.

Your mouth wrapped around the tip, warm and slick, the soft press of your lips sending shivers through him. You bobbed your head slowly, careful not to rush, tracing the sensitive ridge beneath the head with the flat of your tongue, flicking gently. His breath hitched sharply, and you looked up to catch the dark intensity blazing in his eyes.

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” he murmured, voice thick with need.

You smiled against him, sliding your mouth lower, taking more of him in inch by inch. The taste of him—salt, musk, and something uniquely Christoph—filled your senses, grounding you in the moment. Your hand stroked the base of his shaft in time with the movement of your head, fingers gentle but firm, swirling along the thick veins.

Christoph’s grip tightened in your hair, pulling you closer, the faint scrape of his thumb against your scalp making your pulse quicken. You hummed softly around him, the vibrations sending a fresh rush of pleasure through his cock, making him shudder.

You slowed just enough to swirl your tongue around the sensitive tip, teasing the slit that released his hot, urgent breaths. His hips twitched in response, the tight muscles flexing as he fought to stay steady.

When you took him deeper, your throat stretched around him, and you fought the urge to gag, keeping your breathing steady. Christoph’s hands steadied your head, holding you like a treasure, his eyes closing again as he surrendered to the sensation.

You bobbed faster now, wet sounds filling the quiet stall, mixing with his low groans and the slick slap of skin. Your hand and mouth worked in harmony, the slow build of pleasure winding tight inside him like a coil.

Christoph’s fingers gripped your hair harshly, tugging just enough to make your eyes water and your heart race. “That’s it, baby. Don’t stop,” he breathed.

You answered with a soft moan around him, tongue darting out to trace the underside of his shaft, the most sensitive part. His hips jerked sharply, the tension building as he neared the edge.

Seeing him unravel before you—the way his jaw clenched, the flush spreading across his cheeks—made your own desire spiral higher. You wanted him to come for you, to know how much power you held in this intimate act.

With a final slow swirl of your tongue, you took him fully in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head with renewed purpose. Christoph’s breath hitched, a sharp exhale escaping as his hips bucked lightly.

Your hand pumped in rhythm, stroking the base while your mouth chased the tip, tasting every inch. The sounds between you grew louder—his moans, your wet kisses, the slick slide of skin on skin—creating a private symphony only you two could hear.

His body tensed, fingers tightening cruelly on your hair as he spilled into your mouth, hot and thick, your tongue swirling to catch every drop. You swallowed carefully, the salty warmth flooding your senses, grounding you in this charged connection.

When he finally relaxed, head falling back with a shudder, you looked up at him through thick lashes, a slow, satisfied smile curling your lips. Christoph’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he caught his breath, fingers gently brushing your cheek in a rare moment of tenderness.

“You always know exactly what I need,” he murmured, voice rough but soft.

You reached up to cup his face, pressing a hungry kiss to his hungry lips before rising to your feet, slowly and steadily. You pulled away from his mouth, your breaths ragged and uneven, the heat between you both building like a storm ready to break. The soft glow of the small bathroom light caught the glisten of sweat on his skin, highlighting the sharp planes of Christoph’s jaw and the way his pupils darkened with need. Your lips were still tingling from the fierce, demanding kisses he'd left, his lipstick smeared across your collarbone like a silent signature.

You slid your hands down to the hem of your dress, slowly peeling it away from your damp skin, the fabric whispering as it slid over your curves and pooled at your feet. Standing before him in only your delicate lace panties and heels, you felt the sharp intake of breath he gave. His eyes darkened, full of raw hunger and something deeper—an intimate ownership that had been quietly building between you both, stitched into years of shared nights like this one.

Christoph didn’t say a word as he reached for your hips, thumbs pressing into your skin, pulling you closer. His hands were steady, grounding, even as your heart raced and your breath hitched at the anticipation curling in your belly. Slowly, deliberately, he slid his fingers beneath the lace at your hips, inching lower until his fingers grazed the warm, slick heat between your thighs.

His gaze never left yours as he curled two fingers inside you, slow and torturous, tracing just the edges of your wetness. You bit your lip, a soft moan slipping free as he flexed his fingers, drawing out the delicate shivers that ran through your body. You felt every flick of his touch as if it was a brand searing your skin—pain and pleasure mingled in a delicious tension.

You leaned your forehead against his shoulder, letting yourself fall into the moment, the feel of his strong, sure hands, the steady pulse of his breath against your neck. Christoph’s breathing deepened, the restrained growl rumbling low in his throat as he tightened his grip on your hips, making you lean back just enough so your eyes met again.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, voice thick with need.

His fingers moved more confidently now, a little faster, stretching and coaxing you open. Your hands curled into fists at his shoulders, nails digging lightly into the taut muscles, grounding yourself as the sensation blossomed hotter and hotter inside. Christoph’s lips found your neck again, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin, biting gently, marking you like the lipstick still smudged across your collarbone.

When his fingers finally withdrew, you caught the faintest hitch in his breath—he was just as desperate as you were.

You didn’t hesitate. Lowering yourself onto his lap, you wrapped your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair as you sank down onto his thick length. The slow, delicious stretch of him filling you made your breath stutter, eyes fluttering shut as you adjusted to the familiar fullness.

Christoph’s hands slid down to grip your hips firmly, holding you steady as you began to move—first just gentle rocking, then a slow, deep bounce that sent a fire racing through your veins. The contrast of the cool air in the room against the heat of your bodies pressed together was electric, making every nerve sing.

His grip tightened as you settled into a rhythm, driving deeper with each movement, hitting places inside you that made your toes curl and your breath catch. Christoph’s mouth hovered over your shoulder, his voice low and rough.

“You’re mine, baby. So fucking tight for me.”

You gasped at the possessiveness laced in his tone, biting down on your lip to hold back a moan. His hands slid up your sides, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your waist as he pulled you impossibly closer, his chest flush against your back.

You leaned back, lips brushing his jaw, and he caught your mouth in a fierce kiss, tongue sliding inside as if he was trying to taste every last bit of you. The kiss was demanding, almost desperate, a raw contrast to the smooth, measured way his hips kept thrusting.

Your hands explored the broad planes of his chest, feeling the rapid pulse beneath his skin, the sharp lines of muscle tightening under your touch. Christoph’s fingers tightened in your hair, pulling your head back slightly, exposing your neck and sending a fresh wave of heat rushing through you.

He kissed the hollow at your throat, nibbling gently before trailing wet kisses down to your collarbone. You arched into his touch, skin tingling, breath catching in a steady rhythm with his hips.

Your moans grew louder, echoing off the cold tile walls as Christoph’s pace quickened—each thrust deeper, harder, filled with the kind of need that had been simmering all day, all night. The friction, the heat, the smell of sweat and skin mixed with the sharp scent of his cologne—it was intoxicating, overwhelming.

You clutched his shoulders, nails scraping lightly over tense muscle, heart hammering in your chest as you pushed yourself harder against him, chasing the edge.

Christoph groaned deep in his throat, hips stuttering as he neared his own release. His hands slid down your sides, under your panties, pressing flat against the bare skin of your hips, steadying you as his body trembled.

“Come for me,” he rasped, voice thick and raw.

You didn’t hesitate. Your head fell back against his shoulder, mouth open in a silent scream as the pleasure crashed through you in tidal waves—heat and shuddering release twisting through every fiber of your being. Christoph’s name slipped from your lips like a prayer as you rode the storm, clutching him tighter.

Christoph followed right after, his body convulsing beneath you, breath ragged and voice breaking as he spilled inside you, the slick heat of him filling you completely. He held you close, hips still trembling as you both came down from the intensity together, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

The silence after was thick with heat, your breath still tangled in his. Christoph held you there for a while—forehead to forehead, hands gripping your thighs, your back pressed to the cold tile wall. His chest rose and fell against yours in ragged waves, his body slowly coming down from the high of control and release. You shivered, not from the chill, but from the way his hands finally softened around you, his thumb brushing your skin with something almost tender.

Eventually, he stepped back just enough to give you room to breathe, to adjust your clothes, to laugh softly at the sheer chaos of what you’d just done.

“I think you broke the coat hook,” you mumbled, glancing over your shoulder where your dress dangled halfway off it.

He followed your gaze with a small smirk. “I warned you.”

You hobbled to the mirror, still dizzy, and tried wiping off the streak of mascara under your eye. Christoph stood behind you, adjusting his disheveled shirt, but the moment your eyes met in the reflection, he stilled.

His posture straightened.

Then, in the same absurd, overdone falsetto he used on stage, he said with theatrical flair:

“You did well, meine süße Submissive. Frau Schneider is… pleased.”

Your jaw dropped in mock horror. “No. No—don’t you dare bring her back right now.”

But he was already smirking, slipping fully back into character like a twisted chameleon. He strutted dramatically around you, mimicking the swish of an invisible skirt, his voice dripping with smug, kinky pride.

“So obedient. So filthy. You’ll make an excellent assistant for next week’s act.”

You laughed, doubled over as he reached into his bag and—of course—produced the damn riding crop again, like it had respawned from some theatrical dimension.

He tapped your thigh with it and said, with a wink,

“Frau Schneider never truly leaves. She just waits… in the wings.”

“Christoph,” you wheezed, “I’m begging you, I can’t breathe.”

He leaned close, dropping the falsetto just enough to murmur in your ear:

“You’re lucky I’m patient.”

Then he kissed your shoulder, gently now, and helped zip your dress back up—riding crop still hanging from his teeth like a rose.

[frauschneidersfrau]

I wanted to request a part two for the ‘I can drive you crazy’ story with Schneider🥹 where Y/N tries to test him again but he isn’t having any of it. That man aged like fine wine, and so did his dominance

yess!! let's do it!!

you were warned 〣 christoph schneider

The morning after their intense night, Y/N lay sprawled across the bed, tangled in the sheets, her body aching in the most delicious way. Christoph had already gotten up—she could hear the soft sounds of him moving about in the kitchen, the kettle hissing, the occasional clink of a spoon in a mug.

She smirked to herself, her limbs heavy, skin still buzzing. She loved getting a rise out of him. And last night? That had been glorious. But… maybe not quite enough.

Because as much as Christoph had put her in her place, she could still feel the flicker of challenge simmering in her belly. Teasing him was a thrill—watching his composure fracture, his patience threadbare. He was always so calm. So unshakably in control. Until she poked the wrong spot.

Or the right one.

Padding into the kitchen in nothing but one of his black button-up shirts—unbuttoned, of course—Y/N caught him at the counter, stirring his coffee, his back to her. His posture was straight, relaxed. The faintest bruise peeked out from beneath his collarbone.

She bit her lip. Mine.

“Morning,” she said sweetly, arms sliding around his waist, fingers trailing under the hem of his shirt. She pressed a lazy kiss between his shoulder blades.

He hummed. “You’re awake.”

“Barely,” she murmured, resting her cheek against his back. “You wrecked me.”

Christoph chuckled, low and rough. “Good.”

But Y/N’s smile was mischievous. “...Could’ve gone harder.”

His hand paused mid-stir. “Is that so?”

She slid around to face him, standing on tiptoe to kiss the edge of his jaw. “You were still a little gentle.”

Christoph raised an eyebrow. “After what you pulled? You really want to push it again?”

Y/N grinned. “Depends. How mad would you get if I did?”

He set the coffee down, leaned against the counter, and folded his arms. “Mad? No. But you’d regret it.”

The way he said it—cool, calm, too calm—made her knees press together involuntarily. Still, she couldn’t help herself.

Y/N reached behind him, grabbing the waistband of his sweatpants and snapping it playfully. “I think you secretly like it. When I misbehave.”

He caught her wrist mid-motion, not hard, but firm. “Y/N.”

“What?” she purred. “Scared I’ll win again?”

The second the words left her lips, she knew she’d fucked up.

Christoph’s eyes narrowed.

Without a word, he released her wrist and turned off the kettle. The mug remained untouched. He looked at her—really looked—and something in his expression changed. He was done playing.

“Go to the bedroom,” he said.

Y/N blinked. “What—now?”

“You have thirty seconds.”

Her heart dropped to her stomach. Not with fear, not quite, but with the weight of the challenge she’d just lost.

She obeyed.

—

By the time Christoph entered the bedroom, Y/N was on the bed, perched on her knees, trying to look both innocent and brave. Her shirt was still open, the morning sunlight slipping in through the blinds to stripe across her bare chest.

He shut the door behind him slowly, deliberately.

"You think I went easy on you last night?"

Y/N swallowed, suddenly feeling far more naked than she was. “I was just teasing…”

“That’s the problem,” Christoph said, walking toward her, unhurried. “You don’t know when to stop.”

“I just thought—"

“No. You didn’t think.”

He grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her down the bed in one smooth, practiced motion, making her squeal and giggle. But the moment her back hit the mattress and his eyes locked onto hers, the humor died in her throat.

There was heat there. Hunger. And control.

Christoph straddled her thighs, pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, and leaned down, lips brushing hers—not kissing, just barely grazing.

"You want to test me again, Liebling?" he growled. "Then you’re going to take everything I give you."

Y/N moaned under her breath, arching up instinctively, but he didn’t move to meet her. Instead, he sat up, reached over to the nightstand, and pulled open the drawer.

Her breath caught.

His hand emerged holding the soft black leather restraints he rarely used. Only when she truly needed to be reminded of her place.

Her thighs clenched.

"Color?" he asked, voice quiet but firm.

She exhaled. “Green.”

That was all he needed.

Within minutes, her wrists were cuffed and secured to the headboard, spread wide. He ran his hands down her arms, his touch deceptively soft.

"You want to act like a brat," Christoph said, "then I’ll treat you like one.”

He reached for the silk blindfold, gently tying it over her eyes. Her world went dark.

She lay there—bound, blinded, bare. Every breath felt amplified. Every sound made her twitch. The anticipation alone was enough to drive her wild.

“Such a sweet little mess,” he murmured, dragging his fingers lightly down her torso. “But you forget I know how to undo you.”

Y/N shivered. “Christoph…”

“No talking.”

He leaned down and captured one nipple between his teeth, biting just hard enough to make her gasp. Then he soothed it with his tongue, switching sides, repeating the process. She writhed beneath him, the restraints tugging tight.

His hands skimmed down her stomach, teasing just above the place she wanted him most.

"Already wet?" he taunted. “Figures. You love getting punished.”

Y/N whimpered, arching her back. “Please…”

He slapped the inside of her thigh. Not hard. But sharp enough.

"I said no talking."

She bit her lip.

Christoph shifted downward, kissing and licking his way between her legs, spreading her open. She could feel his breath against her soaked folds. Her hips bucked, but he held her down.

When his tongue finally met her clit, she nearly cried out. He licked slowly, deliberately, teasing her with maddening precision. He never gave her quite enough. Every time she got close, he pulled away, kissed her thighs instead, licked the inside of her knee.

“Not yet,” he said when she moaned in frustration. “You haven’t earned it.”

She squirmed, frustrated, desperate, trembling.

Then—without warning—he slipped two fingers inside her.

Y/N gasped, back arching off the bed.

"That’s it," Christoph murmured, "let me hear you now."

His fingers curled just right, thrusting deep and slow as his thumb circled her clit. The pressure built fast, overwhelming. Her legs shook. Her breath came in desperate pants.

“Please, Christoph—fuck—please—”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Just kept working her, merciless and focused, until her body tensed.

"Come now," he growled.

And she did.

She shattered around his fingers, crying out, pulling against the restraints as waves of ecstasy crashed over her. He didn’t let up until her thighs twitched and her cries softened to whimpers.

When he finally withdrew, she lay there panting, boneless, her skin flushed and slick with sweat.

But Christoph wasn’t finished.

“You’re not getting off that easy,” he said, rising to his knees.

She felt the mattress shift. Then, the hot, hard press of his cock against her thigh.

The blindfold remained. So did the cuffs.

“Ready for more?” he asked, voice rough.

Y/N nodded weakly. “Yes…”

He pushed into her in one deep thrust, making her gasp.

Christoph didn’t ease in. He didn’t take his time. He claimed her.

His pace was relentless, driving into her hard and fast. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, her cries mixing with his growls.

“Next time you think about teasing me,” he grunted, "you’ll remember this."

Y/N was lost. Completely at his mercy. Her wrists strained against the cuffs, her moans raw and wrecked. She couldn’t see him, couldn’t touch him—but she felt him everywhere. Inside. Around. Above.

Every thrust forced a cry from her lips. Her body burned, stretched and used and pushed right to the brink again.

“Say you’re sorry,” he demanded.

“I—ah—Christoph—fuck—I’m sorry,” she sobbed, overwhelmed.

“Louder.”

“I’m sorry!”

He reached down and rubbed her clit in tight circles as he pounded into her. She screamed, unable to hold it back.

“That’s my good girl,” he growled.

She came again, harder than before, shaking beneath him, convulsing as pleasure overtook her. Her orgasm seemed to last forever, drawing out with each punishing thrust.

Christoph chased his own release then, fucking her through the aftershocks until he finally spilled inside her with a growl, collapsing forward with a grunt.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

The room smelled of sex and sweat. The only sounds were their ragged breathing.

He eventually pulled out and reached up to unbuckle the cuffs. Her arms dropped to her sides, trembling.

He untied the blindfold, and she blinked up at him, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed.

Christoph cupped her face gently, brushing her damp hair away.

“You okay?”

Y/N nodded slowly. “Mmmhmm. Fuck… that was…”

“Too much?” he asked.

She gave a dazed smile. “Perfect.”

Christoph chuckled, leaning down to kiss her softly. The contrast of his tenderness after such rough dominance always made her melt.

He helped her sit up, pulling her into his lap and wrapping her in his arms.

“You keep testing me, baby,” he murmured into her hair. “And I’ll keep reminding you who you belong to.”

-

Y/N was still trembling in Christoph’s lap, her legs spread over his thighs, skin glowing with sweat, flushed and boneless in the aftermath of her second orgasm. He was still buried deep inside her, softening slowly, but the weight of his cock was heavy and hot. She could barely speak, let alone think.

But then—he moved.

Not away.

Deeper.

Her breath hitched.

“You thought I was done with you?” he murmured against her neck. His voice was so low it felt like a second heartbeat.

She shivered. “I—I don’t know if I can—”

Christoph growled and bit her shoulder, just hard enough to make her squeak. “No,” he said darkly. “You don’t get to tease me like that and think I’ll let you off after one round.”

He slipped out of her with a wet sound that made her gasp. In one smooth motion, he flipped her over onto her hands and knees, not bothering to ask.

She barely had time to adjust before he was gripping her hips, hauling her back into position.

“You wanna act like a brat?” he hissed, lining up. “Then take it.”

He slammed into her from behind—harder than before, deeper, angrier.

Y/N screamed, the force of it knocking the air from her lungs. Her fingers dug into the sheets as he drove into her over and over, each thrust snapping her hips forward.

The bed frame slammed against the wall, rhythmic and brutal.

“F-Fuck—Christoph—” she choked.

He leaned forward, grabbing a fistful of her hair at the base of her neck and yanking her head back until her back arched.

“Too hard?” he growled in her ear.

Y/N’s lips parted, eyes wide, breath ragged.

“…You can go harder.”

The grin that spread across his face was dangerous.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purred, “you shouldn’t have said that.”

He didn’t hold back.

Christoph let out a snarl and pummeled into her, punishing and relentless. His hips slammed against her ass, the sound obscene. Her moans became cries, then gasps—completely wrecked. She felt every inch of him, the stretch and pressure too much and not enough all at once.

Her arms collapsed under her, cheek pressed to the sheets, body bouncing with each violent thrust.

He leaned over her again, chest to her back, still holding her hair tight in one hand. The other gripped her hip so hard she knew she’d bruise.

“You like that?” he growled into her ear.

“Yes—yes—fuck, yes—”

“You wanted harder,” he said, hips snapping forward. “You wanted this cock to break you.”

“God—yes—don’t stop—please—”

He growled and bit the back of her neck, never slowing, fucking her like he owned her, like he needed to bury himself as deep as he could or he’d go insane.

The room spun. Her world narrowed to nothing but the way he used her. Her slick, the sweat, the burn. Her whole body ached. Her core throbbed with every impact, nerves overstimulated and soaked. It was too much—and yet not enough.

“Look at you,” he snarled. “Taking it so well. You want to come like this? On my cock while I break you?”

Y/N screamed, her third orgasm blindsiding her, slamming into her with blinding force. Her body seized, legs trembling, her vision going white.

“Fuck—yes!” she sobbed, tears streaming down her face from sheer overstimulation.

But Christoph didn’t stop.

He kept going, hard and fast, riding her orgasm out with brutal thrusts, chasing his own.

“You’re mine,” he growled. “This body is mine. Say it.”

“Yours!” she cried. “All yours—please, please—"

His grip in her hair tightened as he slammed into her one final time, groaning deep in his chest as he came—hot and hard—filling her, still grinding through the aftershocks.

He held her there, impaled on his cock, chest heaving against her back.

Then, slowly—finally—he let go of her hair and let her collapse to the bed.

They lay like that for a long moment, tangled, sweating, completely undone.

He brushed the hair from her face, now damp and wild, and kissed her temple gently. "You okay?"

She let out a soft, shattered laugh.

“I’m gonna feel that for a week.”

“Good,” he smirked. “Maybe then you’ll behave.”

“…No promises.”

Christoph groaned. “Brat.”

Then he rolled over and pulled her into his arms, already planning the next time she tested him.

Because she would.

And when she did?

He’d be ready.

[frauschneidersfrau]

I've had this idea forever but I'm too lazy to do it myself lol, can you do one where you work for Richard as an assistant on tour and you both are flirty all tour and at the final crew party he makes his move? Super smutty please 🙏 🖤 thank youuuuu (also I love your fics they're amazing!!)

after the final bow 〣 richard kruspe

Title: After the Final bow Pairing: Richard Kruspe x Female Reader Setting: On tour, final crew party Genre: Smut, Flirty Tension, Assistant x Boss dynamic Word Count: ~2100-ish

-

You weren’t sure when it started.

Maybe it was that first night you brought him a towel and caught him shirtless, sweat-soaked and smiling. Maybe it was in Frankfurt, when his hand brushed your lower back and lingered. Or maybe it was when you realized Richard Kruspe was always exactly where you were—backstage, side stage, soundcheck—eyes always on you, hungry and dark.

You were supposed to be his assistant. Professional. Efficient. Buttoned-up. But professionalism got harder every time he smirked at you, every time he said your name like a secret.

Now, weeks of tension had led to this: the final crew party of the tour. Alcohol flowed like water, laughter echoed down concrete halls, and someone was blasting industrial remixes from a Bluetooth speaker. But you were barely aware of any of it.

Because Richard was watching you again.

He stood across the room in all black—tight t-shirt, silver chains, eyes fixed on you like he was already undressing you with his mind. He didn’t look away when your gaze caught his. Just tilted his head slightly and lifted his glass in a silent toast.

The moment stretched out, thick with promise.

You made your way toward him, heart thudding behind your ribs. “You’ve been staring,” you said, feigning nonchalance.

“I’ve been waiting,” he said, voice low, thick with something darker.

“For what?”

He leaned in, breath ghosting your ear. “For you to stop pretending you don’t want me.”

A chill ran down your spine, and before you could reply, he gently grabbed your wrist and tugged you toward the back exit. Past the noise. Past the crew. Down a dim hallway that led to one of the band’s private lounges—quiet, locked, soundproof.

The second the door clicked shut, his mouth was on yours.

Hot. Demanding. Possessive.

He backed you into the wall and kissed you like he was starving—tongue sliding past your lips, hands already under your shirt, gripping your waist. You gasped as his hips pressed against you, unmistakably hard through his jeans.

“You’ve been teasing me all tour,” he murmured against your lips. “Do you even know what you do to me?”

You smiled, eyes lidded. “Maybe.”

“Little brat,” he growled, dragging your shirt up and over your head. “Let’s see if you can still smirk when you’re screaming my name.”

You barely had time to gasp before he was kissing down your neck, your collarbone, your chest—rough stubble scraping your skin in the best way. He dropped to his knees, tugging your jeans down with practiced ease, and looked up at you like a man ready to sin.

“Take these off,” he said, nodding to your panties. “Now.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you slid them down, baring yourself completely in the low light. His eyes darkened, lips parting just slightly as he took in the sight of you.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I’ve dreamed of this.”

And then his mouth was on you—hot, wet, and devastating.

You moaned, one hand flying to his hair as he licked up your slit and sucked your clit between his lips. He worked you slowly at first, savoring it, groaning like he was addicted to your taste.

“God, you’re soaked,” he growled. “You wanted this too. Knew it.”

Two fingers slid inside you, thick and curling perfectly as he latched onto your clit again, tongue flicking in tight, fast circles.

You gasped, back arching, thighs trembling. “Richard—oh my God—”

He didn't stop. Didn't let up. Just kept going, pushing you higher, dragging it out until you came hard around his fingers with a cry, legs nearly giving out.

When he pulled back, your slick glistened on his lips and chin. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes still locked on yours as he stood.

“My turn,” he said simply, already undoing his belt.

You watched as he shoved his jeans and boxers down, revealing his cock—thick, flushed, leaking at the tip. He stroked it slowly, deliberately, watching your reaction.

You dropped to your knees without being told.

“Good girl,” he murmured, threading his fingers through your hair. “Open your mouth.”

You did, and he slid in slow, groaning as the head passed your lips. You took him deeper, using your hand to stroke what you couldn’t reach, tongue swirling as he began to thrust shallowly into your mouth.

“Look at you,” he breathed. “On your knees for me. Just like I imagined.”

You moaned around him, the praise making heat bloom low in your belly again. You hollowed your cheeks, letting him hit the back of your throat, spit dripping messily down your chin.

“Fuck,” he gasped, pulling out suddenly. “Too good. Need to be inside you before I lose it.”

He hauled you up, turned you around, and bent you over the nearest armchair. One large hand gripped your hip, the other guided himself to your entrance.

He pushed in slowly, letting you feel every inch.

You both groaned—he from how tight you were, you from how deep he reached. He bottomed out and paused, one hand splayed against your lower back.

“So fucking tight,” he growled, voice strained. “Mine now. All mine.”

Then he started to move.

Hard. Deep. Relentless.

Your fingers gripped the arm of the chair as he fucked you from behind, his hips slapping against your ass, the wet sounds of your bodies echoing obscenely in the small room.

“You like that?” he gritted. “Being used like this?”

“Yes—fuck, yes—”

He grinned darkly. “You’re gonna be sore tomorrow. And every time you sit, you’ll remember who fucked you like this.”

His hand slid between your thighs, finding your clit again, rubbing tight, fast circles as he pounded into you.

You came again with a strangled moan, body convulsing around him. He groaned loud, fingers digging into your hips as he slammed into you a few more times before spilling inside you with a rough growl of your name.

He stayed there, chest pressed to your back, breathing ragged.

After a long pause, he pulled out and turned you gently around, cupping your face in both hands.

“You alright?” he asked softly, brushing your sweaty hair from your face.

You nodded, breathless and dazed. “More than alright.”

He smirked, kissed your forehead, then your mouth. Slower now. Almost sweet.

“So,” he murmured, “still planning to be my assistant next tour?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Only if it includes benefits like this.”

Richard grinned, wicked and knowing. “Baby, this is just the beginning.”

[frauschneidersfrau]

I would love some possessive/jealous seggs with Christoph

Him dirtytalking in German or something🥵

sag, dass du mir gehörst 〣 christoph schneider

Title: “Sag, dass du mir gehörst” (Say you belong to me) Word count: ~2,500 Pairing: Christoph Schneider x fem!reader (Y/N) Tags: NSFW / smut, possessive Christoph, jealous sex, semi-public, German dirty talk, rough dom/sub dynamic, creampie, praise & possessiveness, light hair pulling, slight edging, semi-rough but consensual

-

You didn’t even notice Christoph watching.

Not at first.

The tech guy—some newer hire from the lighting team—had wandered over with a joke about your lanyard photo and lingered longer than necessary. He was charming in that overeager, young-guy way, and you laughed politely while fiddling with the zipper on your hoodie.

That was enough.

From across the room, Christoph’s gaze burned into your back like a spotlight. He stood stiffly, arms folded across his chest, jaw clenched. He’d been tolerant lately—cool, calm, composed—but this? This tested him. And you could feel it in the shift of energy.

Your body stiffened when you heard heavy boots behind you.

“Mitkommen,” Christoph’s voice snapped—low, tense. “Jetzt.” (Come with me. Now.)

You opened your mouth to respond, but he was already gripping your wrist, pulling you away from the chaos backstage. No time for questions. No time for resistance.

He hauled you through a side hallway, past stacked crates and forgotten equipment, into a dim, soundproofed storage room. The moment the door shut behind you, the silence roared.

“Christoph—” you started, breathless.

“What the fuck was that?” he hissed, eyes sharp, body taut with barely restrained aggression.

You blinked. “He was just talking. It was harmless.”

“You were laughing. Leaning in like he was your fucking boyfriend.”

You stared, stunned at the sheer heat of his jealousy.

“You think that’s cute? Making me watch that shit?” he growled, stepping in close until your back hit the wall. “Think I won’t remind you who you belong to?”

“Jesus, Christoph—”

“You’re mine,” he growled in German. “Du gehörst mir, Y/N. Nur mir.” (You belong to me. Only me.)

Before you could answer, his mouth crashed into yours—rough, claiming, unrelenting. You gasped as he deepened the kiss, his hands dragging down your body, gripping your ass tight enough to bruise.

“Take off your jeans,” he commanded, voice gravel.

The way he said it left no room for argument. You obeyed, breath shaking as you unbuttoned them and stepped out. Christoph’s eyes flicked downward.

“No panties?” he asked with a dangerous smile. “Fucking teasing me all day.”

You shivered.

He turned you around and pressed your front against a crate, his hand sliding between your legs. “So wet. From a few dumb jokes? Or from knowing I’d lose it?”

“I didn’t—fuck—”

He slapped your ass. “Liar.”

The sound echoed off the walls.

He unzipped, pulled himself free, and rubbed the thick head of his cock through your folds, teasing you mercilessly.

“You want this?” he growled.

“Yes—please—”

“Then say it.”

“What?”

“Sag, dass du mir gehörst.” (Say that you belong to me.)

You moaned, face flushing.

“Ich—ich gehöre dir.”

“Louder.”

“Ich gehöre dir! Please, Christoph, bitte—”

With a growl, he drove into you in one brutal thrust, knocking a cry out of you. You barely had time to breathe before he began fucking you hard, fast, deep—like he was trying to fuck away every trace of that tech guy’s attention.

“Fühlst du das?” he snarled. (You feel that?) “That’s me. No one else gets this. Niemand.”

The crate scraped slightly under your weight, your moans muffled by your arm as you braced yourself. Christoph’s rhythm never wavered—every stroke deliberate, deep, possessive.

“You’re mine when you come. Mine when you scream,” he whispered into your neck. “Du bist mein. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you sobbed. “Fuck, Christoph—I’m yours—”

“Good girl.”

He slid a hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to tilt your head back, to force your eyes to meet his.

“You going to come for me?”

You nodded, desperate.

“Not yet,” he said darkly. “Not until I say so.”

You whimpered, thighs trembling.

“Du bist so süß, wenn du bettelst.” (You’re so sweet when you beg.)

Your legs buckled when he finally whispered, “Jetzt.” (Now.)

Your climax exploded like fireworks, leaving you shaking, breathless, tears in your eyes. He followed seconds later, grunting deep in his throat as he buried himself inside you, spilling with a possessive growl.

When you both finally stilled, he didn’t let go. His arms wrapped around you from behind, mouth brushing your ear.

“You’re mine, Y/N. You make damn sure they know it.”

You nodded weakly. “I know. Fuck, I know.”

He smirked, softening just enough to press a kiss to your temple.

“Gut,” he murmured. “Now fix your jeans. I’m not done with you. Not even close.”

[frauschneidersfrau]

threesome between y/n, christoph and richard?

stars in your eyes 〣 christoph schneider and richard kruspe

sorry it took so long!!!!

Setting: Berlin, 2001. Rammstein's album release party for Mutter. Private room, velvet couches, expensive liquor, soft music playing in the background.

Summary: After Rammstein's album party, you're taken by Christoph and Richard—praised, ruined, and made theirs all night and again the next morning.

-

The afterparty was loud. Bodies brushed, drinks spilled, and the bass rattled glasses. But somehow, the moment you stepped into the penthouse suite with them — Richard and Christoph — the noise fell away.

You didn’t plan this. You didn’t even flirt.

But Richard had a way of watching you that made your skin heat. Like he was already unwrapping you in his head. And Christoph? He didn’t leer. He watched like he was measuring the distance between you and safety, ready to close it if needed.

You were younger — not just in age, but in how untouched your world still felt. Maybe that’s what drew them in. Maybe it was how obedient your body went when Richard tilted your chin and said, “Come here.”

You followed. Of course you did.

The door shut. The noise of the party vanished. And you were between them.

Richard kissed you first — hard, with no hesitation, one hand fisted in your hair. You gasped, instinctively pressing into him, just as Christoph’s hands slid around your waist from behind.

“So pliant,” Richard murmured against your lips. “You’ll let us ruin you, won’t you?”

You nodded, breathless.

Christoph’s voice ghosted across your ear, lower, measured. “We’ll take care of you. Even if it gets overwhelming.”

“Especially then,” Richard added, eyes dark with promise.

And it did get overwhelming. Quickly.

They undressed you like you were some rare thing. Christoph’s hands were warm, guiding, even reverent — but not weak. He turned you, unhooking your bra with practiced ease and letting it fall as his mouth brushed your shoulder. Richard’s gaze raked over you like he was already imagining what you’d sound like broken.

By the time they’d stripped you bare, your thighs were trembling.

“You’re shaking,” Christoph murmured. “Already?”

“I— I’m okay,” you whispered.

Richard smirked. “Oh, you will be.”

He was the first to take you — dragged you into his lap on the bed, your knees bracketing his hips, your bare skin flush against the cool leather of his open shirt.

“Look at you,” he muttered, dragging his fingers down your spine. “So wet for us already. You’ve been wanting this.”

Christoph’s hands were at your back, massaging your hips as Richard teased your clit with slow, heavy strokes. You whimpered, hiding your face in Richard’s neck. He only chuckled, rough and smug.

“You going to cry already, kleine?” he asked. “We haven’t even started.”

You nearly did — from need, from embarrassment, from the fullness of it all.

“Let her feel it,” Christoph said from behind, voice low and firm. “She can take it.”

And you did. You let Richard slide into you, thick and slow, stealing the air from your lungs. Your fingers curled into his shoulders as your walls clamped around him. His groan was deep, almost feral.

“Fucking tight,” he hissed. “You’re squeezing me like you’ve never done this before.”

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. Christoph was at your back, whispering again.

“Doing so well,” he murmured, brushing your hair back. “Just let him in. Just take him. You’re made for this.”

Each thrust made you twitch, whimper, your eyes rolling back. Richard held your hips down, grinding deep with a pace that wasn’t hurried, just possessive — like he knew he had you and wanted to remind you with every push.

“Say it,” he growled. “Say you’re ours.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped. “I— I can’t—”

“You can,” Christoph said, hand now stroking between your legs, just above where Richard filled you. “You’re doing it, liebling. Taking him so well.”

“Almost too well,” Richard groaned, hips slamming up harder. “Gonna cry already, aren’t you?”

You did. A single tear slipped out, and Christoph caught it with his thumb.

“Oh, schatz,” he murmured. “Look at you. You feel that deep in your belly, don’t you? You’re seeing stars already.”

You were. Richard’s cock hit that spot inside you so perfectly, again and again, until your legs spasmed and your throat let out something between a sob and a moan.

“I can’t— I— please—”

“What do you need, baby?” Christoph asked. “Tell us.”

“Don’t stop.”

That made Richard grin. “You heard her.”

He flipped you over in one quick motion, pressing your cheek to the sheets and dragging your hips up. The stretch made you keen, the whimper in your throat barely human.

And then he was in you again — rougher this time, deeper. Christoph knelt beside you, stroking your hair as you shook.

“Just breathe, little one,” he said softly. “That’s it. Let him fuck you dumb.”

Your mouth hung open in a silent cry as Richard pounded into you, the sound of skin on skin loud and obscene.

“Your cunt was made for this,” Richard growled. “Look at you— drooling into the pillow, crying from being so full. So fucking perfect.”

Your hands fisted the sheets. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. Just feel.

Christoph kissed your temple, grounding you with every breath. “You’re not bad for liking this,” he whispered. “We love how eager you are.”

The praise made your body light up again, a sob slipping out before your orgasm tore through you.

You screamed into the bed, walls clenching hard around Richard’s cock as your vision blurred.

“That’s it,” Christoph whispered, rubbing your back as you convulsed. “Let go for us.”

Richard cursed and drove into you harder, deeper, before he stilled — releasing inside the condom with a ragged groan, fingers digging into your waist.

You collapsed, panting, shaking. Christoph pulled you gently into his arms, holding you as your body trembled.

“You did so well,” he whispered, kissing your hair. “So proud of you.”

Your eyes fluttered, still wet with tears, your body boneless against his chest.

“You still with us, liebling?” he asked gently.

You nodded weakly. “Mhmm…”

Richard lay down beside you, one arm flung across your hips, chest still heaving.

Christoph pulled the blanket over your shoulder, his voice still low, calm. “We’ll clean you up. But for now, just rest.”

And you did — between the two of them, wrecked and warm, safe in a way that made no sense except in that room, in that moment.

You saw stars again — not from pain or pleasure this time — but from the way they held you like you were something worth keeping.

-

You didn’t wake with a start.

You woke with a whimper.

Warm hands were already on you — one sliding up your stomach, slow and steady. Another palm cupped your breast. You couldn’t remember falling asleep between them, only the dizzy, sobbing pleasure that had left your body limp and your mind floating. But you were still bare beneath the sheets, their scent clinging to your skin, and now, you were being coaxed awake like something treasured — slowly, deliberately, like they weren’t done with you yet.

Christoph’s body was flush against your back, cock nestled between your cheeks, hard and hot and impossibly thick. You were tucked into his chest, his large hand cradling your breast in his palm, stroking his thumb over your nipple until it pebbled.

“Mmh,” you whimpered, instinctively arching.

“Still sensitive?” he whispered into your hair, voice rough with sleep.

You nodded. Couldn’t speak yet.

Richard’s voice came from lower down the bed — amused, dark.

“She’s soaked again.”

You startled — barely — just enough to register the soft sound of sheets moving, the press of a mouth between your thighs.

He’d already pushed your legs apart.

Christoph held you down when you squirmed. “Shhh, baby. Let him taste.”

Richard didn’t ease you in.

His mouth locked onto your cunt like he’d been starving for it, tongue flicking over your swollen clit with precision that made you jolt.

“F-fuck,” you gasped, one hand grabbing Christoph’s arm, the other fisting the sheet.

“Oh, she’s still so reactive,” Richard muttered between strokes. “You want to cry again for us, hm?”

Christoph tightened his grip, humming against your neck. “Don’t fight it. Let us take care of you.”

His cock rubbed against your ass as he rolled his hips slowly — not thrusting, just letting you feel how hard you made him. His mouth brushed the shell of your ear. “You did so well for us last night. You’re going to do it again.”

Richard buried his face between your thighs like it was his last meal, his tongue slow but insistent, curling and dragging in circles that made your vision blur.

It hurt—but in that delicious way, like you were already overstimulated before he’d even started.

You were shaking.

Christoph held you tighter, hand massaging your breast now, rolling your nipple between two fingers just enough to tip you further.

“That’s it, liebling,” he whispered. “Let him take you apart. You’re so fucking good for us.”

Richard moaned into you and sucked harder.

Your back arched. Your breath hitched. The sob caught in your throat before you even knew you were crying again.

Christoph kissed your forehead as your whole body trembled. “There it is. That’s it. Let go, little one.”

You came hard — thighs shaking, eyes welling, one sharp, high cry breaking from your throat as Richard didn’t stop. His tongue lapped you through it, relentless, until you whimpered and weakly tried to push him away.

“Too much,” you breathed. “I— I can’t…”

“You can,” Christoph soothed, his voice firm. “Just breathe. You’re ours. Let us have it.”

You hiccupped against him, wrecked, gasping as your body slowly relaxed, wet and pulsing and completely undone.

Richard finally pulled away, licking his lips, looking smug and flushed. “Still the sweetest thing I’ve tasted.”

You blinked up at him, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes, your chest heaving.

Christoph wiped one away, soft now. “Look at you. You’re perfect.”

They didn’t ask you to do anything. They just let you melt between them, kissing you slowly, holding you close, every inch of you still tingling with aftershock.

You barely noticed when they helped you into Christoph’s shirt and underwear, your body moving bonelessly between their hands.

You were curled up on the couch between them — hair mussed, thighs damp, lips kiss-bruised — when the knock came.

A heartbeat of silence.

Then Richard stood, slowly, smirking.

“That’ll be them.”

And just like before, he opened the door with zero shame, letting the rest of Rammstein in.

Till, Paul, Flake, and Olli strolled in with coffee, bread rolls, and champagne.

Till took one look at you — flushed, floating, barely able to sit upright between Christoph and Richard — and grinned like the devil himself.

“Looks like we missed round two.”

Paul snorted. Flake coughed into his drink. Olli didn’t say a word but raised a brow.

Christoph, ever composed, passed you a mug. “She needed breakfast first.”

Richard lounged beside you, his hand draped over your thigh like a signature. “We’ll fuck again later.”

That shut everyone up — for a beat.

Then Till laughed. “You bastards.”

“She wouldn’t survive all of us,” Flake muttered.

“Wouldn’t mind trying,” Till said under his breath.

Christoph shot him a look. “She’s not a toy.”

That silenced the room again.

You sipped your coffee slowly, head fuzzy, body aching in the best way. But your skin flushed when you caught Paul watching the finger-shaped bruises on your thigh. When you shifted, the soreness in your core made you bite your lip.

They all knew.

No one needed to say a word. The air was thick with it. The heat. The claim.

You weren’t just the friend of the group anymore.

You were theirs — in more ways than one.

[frauschneidersfrau]

fluffy till lindemann sickfic? pretty please?

sniffling and snuggling 〣 till lindemann

warnings! fluff!

words: around 1000

summary: Till lovingly cares for his sick girlfriend, soothing her with warmth, tea, and constant attention until she drifts off to sleep, feeling safe and cared for.

-

You had never been one to get sick often, but when you did, it was always the kind of thing that left you exhausted and miserable. Your throat burned, every muscle felt sore, and the pounding headache wouldn’t go away, no matter how much water you drank or how many pills you took.

Till hadn’t been home yet when you woke up feeling awful that morning. You managed to make it to the couch, but that was about all the energy you had left. The blankets felt like a hug, the heat from the tea cup offering a sliver of comfort as you leaned back against the cushions. You’d thought about calling him—he would come home early, he would help—but you didn’t want to bother him. He had a concert later that week and had been working on a new track with the band.

The front door clicked open, and the sound of Till’s boots hitting the floor reverberated through the apartment. A few seconds later, his tall frame appeared in the doorway, a look of confusion crossing his features when he saw you huddled under the blankets, eyes half-closed and a deep frown tugging at your lips.

“You’re sick.” His voice was firm, like a statement of fact. You could tell he was already assessing the situation, mentally making a note of how pale you looked and how little energy you had.

“Just a cold,” you croaked, trying to brush it off. But when he came closer, you couldn’t stop the small, painful cough that left your chest. You winced, feeling the ache that followed.

He didn’t say anything right away, but he walked over to you and crouched down, his hand finding your forehead. His eyes softened instantly, a slight concern flickering behind them.

“You’re burning up.” His tone was rough, but there was a tenderness beneath it that made your heart skip. “How long have you been like this?”

“I don’t know… since this morning,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

Till shook his head, a frown deepening on his face. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Didn’t want to bother you.” Your voice was weak, but you didn’t want to admit just how miserable you felt. It was hard for you to accept help, to be taken care of. You had always been the one doing the caring.

“You’re not bothering me,” he said simply, pulling away from you to set his things down. You watched him as he moved with purpose, the way he silently assessed the situation, and you felt that familiar wave of affection for him—how he could be so strong and yet so gentle with you.

He returned moments later with a bowl of soup and a glass of water. His hands were steady as he placed them in front of you, his eyes scanning your face.

“Eat. It’ll help,” he said, his voice gruff but somehow warm, like he was more concerned about you than you realized.

You nodded and took a slow sip of water. Your throat felt raw, and the soup was comforting, even if it didn’t completely clear the ache in your chest. Still, you managed to finish a few bites before placing the bowl aside.

“You’re still too warm,” Till murmured, checking your temperature again. He pulled away the blanket from around you and helped you sit up slowly, making sure you didn’t tip over. “We need to get you in bed. Rest is what you need now.”

“I’m fine here,” you protested softly, not wanting to move. The couch had become your safe little nest, and the thought of leaving it felt like too much.

“Not with a fever like that,” Till said firmly, lifting you gently from the couch. You were too weak to fight him, and his arms were like steel, holding you steady as he moved you into the bedroom.

The warmth of the bed felt like heaven when he settled you under the covers. You sank into the pillows, trying not to let your eyes flutter shut. Till tucked the blanket tightly around your shoulders, his hands brushing lightly against your skin. He reached over to adjust the pillows behind you so you could sit up comfortably.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked, his voice quieter now, though still filled with that quiet intensity.

“A kiss would be nice,” you murmured, feeling a little silly, but you couldn’t help it. You wanted comfort, and what better comfort than Till’s gentle affection?

He didn’t hesitate. His lips pressed against your forehead, his thumb brushing the skin around your temples. The coolness of his touch seemed to counterbalance the fever, and you sighed in relief, your body finally feeling like it could rest.

Till didn’t leave your side. He moved around the room with ease, preparing tea for you and taking your temperature again. Every time you shifted or coughed, he was there, a reassuring presence, his hand lightly stroking your hair.

You managed to sip a little more tea, but you were fading fast, the weight of your body pulling you into the comfort of the blankets. You heard Till settle next to you, his body heat immediately surrounding you like a shield.

“Sleep, Liebling,” he said softly, pulling you against his chest. He kept you close, his arms wrapped firmly around you, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

The heat from his body seeped into yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest grounding you. You felt safe, loved in a way that made everything feel manageable. You barely noticed when he hummed a soft lullaby in German, just for you, his voice a low, soothing murmur.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his lips grazing the top of your head. “I’ll always be here when you need me.”

You didn’t need to reply. Your body finally succumbed to the exhaustion, your breathing evening out, and the sickness seemed a little less overwhelming with Till at your side.

Hours later, you woke up to the feeling of his fingers softly brushing your hair away from your face. The fever had broken, and the headache wasn’t as severe, but there was something about his presence that made you feel like you could conquer anything—even sickness.

“I’m still here,” he said, his voice as calm as the gentle touch of his hand. “You feeling better?”

You smiled, your lips soft from the warmth of his care. “A lot better now that you’re here.”

Till leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Good,” he murmured, “because it’s my turn to take care of you now.”

You didn’t argue. Instead, you allowed yourself to rest, knowing that he would always be there, just as you would be for him.

[frauschneidersfrau]

𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 〣 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐤𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐩𝐞

i’m so glad that this was requested! just wanna say that im getting a lot of rammstein requests on my slipknot acc; @jimsbeetroot it’s fine, but if you could write them to this account, that would be great! thank you!

warnings! dirty talking! teasing! fingering! oral sex!

words; 2.417

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦; 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒

-

The city lights shimmered as you and Richard stepped out of the sleek black car, the grandeur of the gala awaiting you. His hand, warm and possessive, rested on the small of your back as you made your way inside, a rush of excitement tingling through you. Dressed in an immaculate black tuxedo, Richard was the epitome of rockstar elegance, his intense gaze flicking over to you every few seconds, eyes gleaming with something dark and mischievous.

You had chosen a dress that evening with Richard in mind—a deep, midnight blue gown that hugged every curve, the fabric shimmering with every step. The plunging neckline and high slit revealed just enough to be suggestive, and you knew from the way his eyes darkened when he first saw you that the night was bound to be filled with tension.

The gala was packed with Berlin’s elite—artists, musicians, and celebrities, all mingling under the sparkling chandeliers. Richard held a glass of champagne to his lips, his gaze never straying far from you as you moved through the crowd. He was calm, collected, but the smirk playing on his lips told you that he was thinking of far more than polite conversation.

As you stood beside him, chatting with a famous photographer, you felt the slightest brush of his fingers against your lower back. The touch was so subtle, yet it sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly. You tried to keep your composure, responding to the conversation, but your mind was elsewhere—on the way his fingers teased at the edge of your dress, just beneath the fabric.

When you excused yourself to get some air, Richard followed, his presence a constant weight against your senses. The two of you slipped onto a balcony, the cool night air a stark contrast to the heat between you. You leaned against the railing, the city sprawling out below, and felt his hand slide up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“You’re driving me crazy tonight, you know that?” Richard’s voice was low, a growl that resonated deep in your chest.

You glanced at him, your eyes catching the fire in his. “I could say the same about you.”

He took a step closer, his body pressing against yours, trapping you between him and the cold metal of the railing. His hands roamed your sides, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin just beneath your breast. Your breath hitched, the tension crackling between you, both of you knowing exactly where this was headed.

“I’ve been imagining taking that dress off you since the moment I saw you,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. “But I think I’ll make you wait… just a little longer.”

You bit your lip, the ache between your thighs becoming almost unbearable as he teased you, his lips skimming your neck, his hands holding you in place. The combination of his scent, his warmth, and the cool night air sent your senses reeling.

But you weren’t one to let him have all the control. Sliding your hand down his chest, you felt the hard lines of his muscles beneath the crisp shirt, and then lower still, to the waistband of his trousers. You felt him tense beneath your touch, a low growl escaping his throat as you pressed your palm against him.

“Two can play this game, Richard,” you whispered, looking up at him through your lashes.

His eyes darkened, and he captured your lips in a searing kiss, one hand tangling in your hair while the other gripped your waist, pulling you tight against him. The kiss was deep, consuming, a promise of everything to come once the gala was over. His tongue claimed yours, and you responded with equal hunger, the two of you losing yourselves in the taste and feel of each other.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your heart racing in your chest. He smirked, his thumb brushing across your swollen lips.

“We’re leaving. Now.”

The ride back to his place was electric, the air charged with anticipation. As soon as the door to his apartment closed behind you, all pretenses were gone. Richard was on you in an instant, his hands tearing at your dress as his mouth captured yours in a hungry kiss. He didn’t bother with gentleness, and you didn’t want him to. You needed him, now.

He pulled back just long enough to rid himself of his jacket and shirt, and then he was on you again, his hands rough as they roamed your body, stripping you of the gown that had driven him wild all night. The cool air hit your bare skin, but you didn’t care—he was everywhere, his lips, his hands, his teeth, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You let out a gasp as he hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the bedroom. He tossed you onto the bed, the look in his eyes pure desire, his gaze raking over your naked form.

“You’re mine tonight, Y/N,” he growled, his voice rough with need. “And I’m not letting you forget it.”

The heat in his gaze sent shivers through you as he climbed onto the bed, his hands gripping your wrists and pinning them above your head. He kissed you hard, teeth nipping at your bottom lip, making you gasp. His fingers trailed down your arms, brushing lightly over your breasts, teasing you until you were arching beneath him, desperate for more.

When his mouth finally descended on your breast, you moaned, the sound low and throaty. He licked and sucked at your sensitive skin, his teeth grazing your nipple, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You writhed beneath him, trying to pull your hands free, but he held you firm, his grip unyielding.

“Patience,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with control. “You’ll get what you want… when I’m ready.”

His free hand slid down your side, his fingers dipping between your thighs, barely grazing your heated skin. You bit your lip to stifle a whimper, your hips lifting off the bed in search of more, but he was merciless, keeping his touch light, teasing, until you were trembling with need.

Finally, when you thought you couldn’t take it any longer, his fingers slipped inside you, slow and deliberate. The feeling of him filling you, combined with the firm press of his thumb against your clit, was enough to make you cry out. He watched you closely, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he worked you with expert precision, his fingers curling inside you, stroking that spot that made you see stars.

But just as you were on the brink, when the world started to blur at the edges, he pulled away, leaving you gasping, teetering on the edge of release.

“Richard,” you pleaded, your voice trembling. “Please…”

He shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “Not yet. You teased me all night. It’s only fair I return the favor.”

Before you could protest, he flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up so you were on your knees, your back arched, your ass in the air. The anticipation was almost too much as you waited, feeling his hands on your hips, his body pressed against yours. You could feel the heat of him, the hard length of his cock against your thigh, but he made you wait, drawing out the tension until you were practically begging for it.

And then, with one hard thrust, he was inside you, burying himself to the hilt. The sudden fullness made you cry out, the pleasure intense, overwhelming. He didn’t give you time to adjust, didn’t hold back. He fucked you with a brutal, punishing pace, each thrust deep and hard, pushing you further and further toward the edge.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your gasps and moans. Richard’s grip on your hips was tight, his fingers digging into your flesh as he drove into you again and again, claiming you with every thrust. His name spilled from your lips in broken gasps, your mind lost in the haze of pleasure.

When he reached around to press his fingers against your clit, the added stimulation sent you spiraling. Your body tensed, your muscles clenching around him as you finally came, the orgasm crashing over you like a wave. You screamed his name, your vision going white, your entire body trembling with the force of it.

But Richard didn’t stop. He kept fucking you through it, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased his own release. The sensation was almost too much, pleasure turning to pain, but it only heightened the experience, pushing you to the brink of another climax. When he finally groaned your name and came inside you, the feeling of his release triggered your second orgasm, your body convulsing around him, milking him dry.

He collapsed onto the bed beside you, both of you panting, your bodies slick with sweat. You could still feel the aftershocks of your orgasm rippling through you, leaving you breathless and sated.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your heavy breathing, the room filled with the scent of sex and sweat. Richard turned to you, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch surprisingly tender after the roughness of before.

“You’re a dangerous woman, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “But I think you already knew that.”

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him, slow and sensual, savoring the taste of him on your lips. The earlier intensity had burned through both of you, leaving a warm, lingering glow in its wake. You felt the connection between you deepening with every breath, every gentle caress.

As the kiss broke, you met his gaze, seeing the satisfaction and something softer behind his dark eyes. “I might be dangerous,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, “but you wouldn’t want me any other way.”

Richard chuckled, a low, satisfied sound that vibrated through your chest. “No, I wouldn’t. But I think you should know,” he added, his voice taking on that familiar commanding edge, “teasing me like that has its consequences.”

A shiver ran through you at his words, a mixture of excitement and anticipation stirring within. “Is that so?” you replied, your voice laced with playful defiance.

Without warning, he rolled you onto your back, his body pressing down on yours, pinning you beneath him. His hands were firm as they slid up your arms, gripping your wrists and holding them above your head, just like before. This time, however, there was a dark, smoldering intent in his gaze, something that sent a delicious thrill racing through your veins.

“Oh, it is,” he purred, his lips brushing against your ear, making your breath hitch. “I think you’ve learned that the hard way tonight. But I’m not done with you yet, Y/N. Not until you’re begging me to stop.”

You trembled beneath him, your body already responding to the promise in his words. The soreness from earlier only heightened your anticipation, making you crave more, despite the ache in your limbs. Richard knew exactly how to push you to your limits, and tonight, he was going to make sure you remembered who was in control.

He moved down your body, his mouth leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, down your collarbone, and over your breasts. He sucked on your nipples, hard, making you gasp as the sharp pleasure-pain shot through you. He licked and nipped his way further down, his hands still holding your wrists captive, ensuring you couldn’t escape his torment.

When his mouth finally reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. You squirmed, your hips arching toward him, desperate for his touch, but he merely chuckled, his tongue flicking out to tease you, just barely brushing against your clit.

“Please, Richard,” you whimpered, the need in your voice clear.

“Please what?” he asked, his tone taunting as he continued to toy with you, his fingers spreading you open as his tongue circled your swollen nub.

“Please… fuck me,” you begged, your voice shaking with the intensity of your desire.

Richard hummed in approval, the vibration sending shockwaves through your core. “Good girl,” he murmured, before plunging his tongue inside you, his mouth devouring you with a hunger that made you cry out. He ate you with a ferocity that left you breathless, his lips and tongue working in perfect rhythm, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You writhed beneath him, your hands straining against his grip, desperate to touch him, to pull him closer, but he held you firm, refusing to let you go. The pressure built inside you, the tension winding tighter and tighter until it snapped, sending you hurtling into another earth-shattering orgasm. Your entire body convulsed, your muscles clenching around his tongue as you came, the pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable.

But Richard didn’t stop. He continued to suck and lick at your overstimulated clit, prolonging your orgasm until tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You sobbed his name, your body trembling, completely at his mercy.

Only when you were a quivering, breathless mess did he finally release your wrists, letting you collapse onto the bed, your limbs heavy and spent. He climbed over you, his lips finding yours in a deep, possessive kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Remember this,” he whispered against your lips, his voice dark and commanding. “Next time you think about teasing me.”

You nodded weakly, still dazed from the pleasure, unable to form words. But deep down, you knew that this wasn’t the last time. You loved pushing his buttons, loved the way he took control, punishing you in the most delicious ways. And you knew he loved it too.

As you lay there, tangled together in the sheets, your bodies slick with sweat, the dawn light began to filter through the curtains. Richard’s hand traced lazy patterns on your skin, his touch gentle now, soothing in the aftermath of your shared intensity.

The night had been a whirlwind of teasing, tension, and explosive passion, but as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, one thought lingered in your mind—this was only the beginning.

[frauschneidersfrau]

So, could you write a richard smut with Lots of fluff... maybe on a hot summer day, like that. Thankss :)

yay! thank you for this request! hope you enjoy!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 〣 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐤𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐩𝐞

the following story is indeed smutty, but the lovely kind. the warnings are as follows; it’s just sex.

-

THE SUN BLAZED HIGH IN THE SKY, casting a golden hue over the quiet countryside. A soft breeze teased the long grass, carrying the scent of wildflowers and the distant echo of cicadas. The heat was almost oppressive, pressing down like a heavy blanket, making the air shimmer and wave. In the middle of this sun-soaked paradise, you found yourself lying under the shade of a large oak tree, enjoying the brief respite from the relentless summer sun.

Next to you, stretched out lazily on the soft blanket, was Richard. His shirt was unbuttoned, revealing the glistening sheen of sweat on his chest, a few stray drops trailing down his toned abs. His dark hair was damp and tousled, falling carelessly over his intense eyes as he looked at you, a lazy smile playing on his lips. Despite the heat, or maybe because of it, everything felt slow and languid, the world seeming to narrow down to just the two of you in this secluded spot.

“Too hot for you?” Richard asked, his deep voice rough but teasing. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. The warmth of his touch sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“It’s perfect,” you replied, your voice soft, almost a whisper. “Just like this.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, resonating through the stillness. “You always know how to make a man feel good,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. His lips were warm, a contrast to the cool shade, and the simple touch made your heart flutter.

The two of you had escaped to this hidden spot, far from the chaos of his life on the road. Here, there were no cameras, no fans, and no distractions—just the hum of nature and the steady thrum of your heartbeats, in sync with each other.

You shifted closer to him, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. Richard wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your back. It was moments like these that you cherished the most—when the world fell away and it was just you and him, wrapped up in the simplicity of your love.

“You know,” he began, his voice a soft rumble, “I could stay like this forever. Just us, away from everything else.”

You smiled, closing your eyes as you savoured the feel of his heartbeat against your cheek. “Me too,” you murmured, your fingers trailing over his chest, feeling the rise and fall of each breath. “It’s perfect.”

The heat of the day wrapped around you both, a cocoon of warmth and comfort. Richard’s hand slid up to tangle in your hair, his fingers gentle, but firm as he tilted your head up to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark.

“Come here,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, passionate kiss that seemed to melt the world around you. The warmth of his mouth, the taste of him, was intoxicating, making you lose yourself in the softness of his touch. His kiss was unhurried, savouring every second as if time had stopped, leaving only the two of you in this perfect, sun-drenched moment.

Without a word, you crawled over to him, straddling his hips. His hands immediately found your waist, fingers gripping tightly as he pulled you closer, his touch hot against your skin. You could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against you, even through the layers of clothing, and it sent a surge of desire straight to your core.

“Richard…” you breathed, your voice thick with need. You leaned down, capturing his lips in a fierce, demanding kiss. He responded instantly, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that matched your own. His hands roamed your body, sliding under your shirt, his touch sending sparks of electricity across your skin.

“God, I want you,” he growled against your lips, his voice rough and raw. He pulled back just enough to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it aside carelessly before diving back in, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

You gasped, arching into him as his teeth grazed your sensitive skin. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, desperate for more. His hands slid down to your shorts, deftly undoing the button and pushing them down your hips. You lifted yourself just enough to help him, and in a matter of seconds, you were left bare before him.

Richard’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, his gaze smouldering with desire. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. He reached out, running his hands over your body, tracing every curve, every dip as if committing it all to memory.

The intensity of his touch, the heat of his gaze, sent a rush of arousal pooling between your thighs. You needed him—now. You leaned down, capturing his lips in another searing kiss, grinding your hips against him, feeling the hard length of his cock pressing against you. He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, only stoking the fire that burned within.

“Patience,” he murmured, though his voice was strained as if he was barely holding onto control. His hands gripped your hips, stilling your movements as he rolled you onto your back, his body pressing down on top of yours. The weight of him, the feel of his skin against yours, was intoxicating.

But patience was the last thing on your mind. You reached down between you, unbuttoning his pants with trembling fingers, eager to feel him, to take him inside you. Richard hissed in pleasure as you freed his cock, the thick, rigid length pulsing with need. He kicked off his pants, leaving you both bare to each other, the heat of the day matched only by the fire in your veins.

For a moment, he paused, his eyes locked on yours, filled with an emotion that went deeper than just desire. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice rough with passion.

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice breathless, full of want.

And then, there was no more holding back. Richard claimed your mouth in a bruising kiss as he lined himself up with your entrance, pushing in slowly, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt inside you. The stretch, the fullness, was overwhelming, but it was everything you needed.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him on. “Please, Richard,” you gasped, your nails digging into his back. “Don’t hold back.”

With a low growl, he began to move, each thrust deep and powerful, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. The pace was slow at first, teasing, but it quickly grew more intense, more urgent. His hips snapped against yours, driving into you with a ferocity that stole your breath, his mouth leaving a trail of heated kisses along your collarbone, your neck, your lips.

Every movement, every touch, was filled with passion, with need. The world around you dissolved, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in each other, lost in the pleasure that built and built until it was almost too much to bear. You could feel the tension coiling in your belly, tight and hot, ready to snap.

“Come for me,” Richard growled, his voice rough, desperate. “Let go.”

His words were your undoing. With a cry, you shattered around him, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. Your body clenched around him, pulling him deeper, and with a few more powerful thrusts, he followed you over the edge, spilling into you with a low, guttural moan.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the summer evening. Slowly, Richard collapsed beside you, pulling you close, his arms wrapping around you as you both came down from the high.

He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. “You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice soft, full of awe.

You smiled, your heart still racing, but now with a deep, contented warmth. “So are you,” you murmured, snuggling closer into his embrace.

As the sun finally dipped below the horizon, the heat of the day gave way to the coolness of the night, but the warmth between you and Richard remained, burning brightly, as intense and passionate as ever.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the sultry air. “I love you,” he whispered, the words hanging between you like a promise.

You smiled, your heart swelling with an overwhelming sense of happiness and peace. “I love you too, Richard.”

With the sun sinking lower in the sky, the two of you lay together, content in each other’s arms, letting the warmth of the day fade into the coolness of the evening. There was no rush, no need to do anything but be together. As the stars began to peek through the twilight, you knew that this moment, this perfect, quiet love, was something you would carry with you always.

[frauschneidersfrau]

Are you also writing for Richard? Bzw i love your os!!!

yes!! and thank you!!

[frauschneidersfrau]

𝗖𝗵𝗿𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗽𝗵 𝗦𝗰𝗵𝗻𝗲𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗿 - 𝗜 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗱𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗿𝗮𝘇𝘆

warning! this story is smut

-

Y/N danced around the small living room of their cozy apartment, humming a tune from the song stuck in her head. Christoph watched her with an amused smile, leaning against the kitchen doorway, a cup of coffee warming his hands. The age difference between them was evident in their tastes and behaviors, but it had never been a barrier to their love. If anything, it added a layer of complexity that made their relationship all the more intriguing.

“Hey, Christoph!” Y/N called out, her voice light and playful. “Do you remember that time we got lost in the city trying to find that hidden speakeasy?”

Christoph chuckled, the deep timbre of his laugh resonating in the small space. “How could I forget? You insisted on using that old map app instead of GPS. We ended up on the wrong side of town.”

“But we found it eventually, didn’t we?” she teased, walking over to him and resting her head against his chest. “And it was an adventure.”

He wrapped an arm around her, kissing the top of her head. “Every day with you is an adventure, my love. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only sane one in this relationship.”

She looked up at him, mischief dancing in her eyes. “That’s because you are. But you love me for it.”

“Yes, I do,” he admitted, a soft smile on his lips. “Even when you drive me crazy.”

Y/N pulled away, a playful pout on her lips. “I do not drive you crazy.”

Christoph raised an eyebrow, setting his coffee down. “Oh, really? What about the time you decided to paint the living room a different color while I was at work? Without telling me?”

“It needed a change,” she defended, crossing her arms. “And I knew you’d love the new color.”

“It was a bold choice,” he conceded. “But you got more paint on yourself than the walls.”

She giggled, the sound infectious. “Okay, maybe that was a bit impulsive. But it was fun!”

“Fun for you,” he said, shaking his head. “I had to clean up the mess.”

“But you didn’t mind,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You said it yourself: you love me, even when I’m being bratty.”

Christoph sighed, a resigned but loving expression on his face. “That I do. But sometimes, Y/N, you need to remember that not everything can be spontaneous.”

She rolled her eyes, leaning in to kiss him. “I know, I know. You’re the sensible one, keeping us grounded.”

“And you,” he said, his voice softening, “you keep me young.”

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside their little bubble irrelevant. The balance they struck—her whimsy and his stability—was what made their relationship work. It was a dance, an intricate and beautiful dance that only they knew the steps to.

Later, as Christoph was sitting on the couch reading the newspaper, Y/N bounced over with her phone. “Hey, babe?”

Christoph hummed in response.

“Look at this meme,” Y/N laughed, finding the post hilarious.

Christoph squinted at the screen, then sighed. “Hand it over.”

Y/N smirked, watching as he reached for his glasses on the coffee table. “Need those to see, old man?”

He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. “Very funny. Just wait until you need them too.”

“I doubt it,” she said playfully. “I’ll always be younger than you.”

“Keep teasing,” he said, slipping on his glasses and looking at the phone. “You forget who you’re talking to.”

She stuck her tongue out at him before skipping away, leaving him shaking his head in amusement.

Later that evening, Y/N decided to test Christoph’s patience once more. She had planned a surprise for him, something spontaneous and completely out of the blue. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she handed him a blindfold.

“What’s this for?” he asked, suspicious but intrigued.

“Trust me,” she said, leading him to the bedroom. “It’s a surprise.”

He allowed her to place the blindfold over his eyes, a mix of curiosity and apprehension in his expression. She guided him to sit on the bed and then quickly left the room. When she returned, her hands were full of silk scarves.

“Can I take this off now?” he asked, his hands reaching for the blindfold.

“Not yet,” she said, her voice a teasing whisper. “Lie back and relax.”

Christoph complied, a slight smirk on his lips. “You know I don’t like surprises.”

“Oh, you’ll like this one,” she assured him, tying his wrists to the bedposts with the scarves. The cool silk against his skin contrasted with the heat building between them.

Once he was securely tied, she leaned down, her breath warm against his ear. “Ready?”

“For what?” he asked, his voice steady, unphased despite the situation.

She laughed softly, a sultry sound. “To be at my mercy.”

He turned his head slightly in her direction, even though he couldn’t see her. “You think tying me up will change who’s in control here?”

Y/N ran her fingers lightly down his chest, feeling the muscles tense under her touch. “Maybe not,” she admitted. “But it’s fun trying.”

With that, she began her exploration, her hands roaming over his body, teasing and taunting. She took her time, enjoying the way he reacted to her touch, the way his breath hitched when she found a particularly sensitive spot.

“You’re enjoying this,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his neck.

“I enjoy everything with you,” he replied, his voice deep and filled with desire. “But don’t think for a second that you’re in charge.”

She smiled, a thrill running through her at his words. She loved this about him—how he remained dominant, even in a vulnerable position. It made the game all the more exciting.

Deciding to push him further, she began to undo the buttons of his shirt, her movements slow and deliberate. She could feel his eyes on her through the blindfold, his anticipation palpable.

“Y/N,” he warned, his voice a low growl. “Don’t test my patience.”

She looked up at him, her own excitement growing. “Or what?”

He didn’t answer, but the tension in the room thickened. She continued, her hands sliding under his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin.

“Tell me, Christoph,” she said, her voice a soft purr. “How does it feel to be tied up by someone so much younger than you?”

He huffed, a sound that was half amusement, half frustration. “It feels like you’re trying too hard to get a reaction out of me.”

She laughed, enjoying the banter. “Maybe I am. But you have to admit, it’s working.”

Before he could respond, she leaned down, pressing a kiss to his chest, then another, working her way down his torso. His body responded, muscles tensing under her lips.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice tight with need. “Untie me.”

“Not yet,” she replied, her voice playful. “I’m having too much fun.”

She continued her exploration, her hands and lips finding all the places that made him react. His control was admirable, but she knew she was getting to him. She could feel it in the way his body tensed, hear it in the way his breath quickened.

She made her way down to his belt, unbuckling it as she felt the whole of Christoph’s body tense beneath her. She smirked and pulled down his black jeans. She teased by digging her fingertips underneath the waistline of his boxers, watched as desperation filled his face.

“Do not,” he warned. He hated the loss of power.

Y/N sauntered around the bed, her eyes never leaving Christoph.

Kneeling between his legs, Y/N placed a light kiss on Christoph’s inner thigh, then another, working her way slowly up. His cock was already hard, the anticipation evident. She wrapped her hand around the base, giving it a few slow, teasing strokes.

“You’re always so composed, Christoph,” she murmured, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin. “Let’s see how long that lasts,” Y/N chuckled and watched Christoph curse under his breath.

Without further warning, Y/N took the head of his cock into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it. Christoph hissed, his hips jerking involuntarily. She smiled around him, taking more of him in, inch by inch, until her lips met her hand.

She moved slowly at first, her tongue tracing every vein, every ridge, her hand working in tandem with her mouth. The sounds he made, the way he strained against the ropes, only spurred her on. She picked up the pace, hollowing her cheeks, creating a tight, wet heat that had him gasping for breath.

Y/N alternated between taking him deep and pulling back to flick her tongue over the tip, her free hand gently massaging his balls. Christoph’s control was slipping, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, his eyes locked onto hers with a mix of lust and desperation.

“Y/N,” he groaned, the sound rough and needy. She hummed in response, the vibration pushing him closer to the edge. Just when he seemed ready to explode, she pulled away, leaving him throbbing and aching for more.

Climbing on top of Christoph, Y/N had already thrown her panties across the room, and positioned herself above him, her wetness sliding over his length as she hovered just out of reach.

She decided that she wanted him to watch, and she wanted to see the desperation in his eyes. She reached up and removed the blindfolds. His eyes were dark and lusty.

“You want me, Christoph?” she taunted, her voice a sultry whisper. “Beg for it.”

Christoph wanted her bad, yes. But he was never going to beg for anything. Y/N knew that.

“Fucking forget it,” he huffed.

With a smirk, Y/N lowered herself onto him, taking him in inch by agonizing inch. She moved slowly at first, savoring the feel of him filling her, stretching her. Her hands rested on his chest for balance as she began to ride him, her movements deliberate, designed to drive him mad.

She rode him harder, faster, her hips slamming down onto him, their bodies colliding in a symphony of pleasure and intensity. Christoph’s hands clenched into fists, the cords of his neck standing out as he fought against the urge to thrust up into her, to regain some semblance of control.

The room was filled with the sounds of their coupling, Y/N’s moans and Christoph’s guttural grunts blending together. She could feel the tension coiling in her belly, the impending release building with each frantic movement.

As she rode him to the brink of her own orgasm, she leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. “Remember this moment,” she whispered, her voice breathy and strained. “Because it’s the last time you’ll be in control tonight.”

Her words were the final push Christoph needed. With a roar, he pulled against the restraints, the bed creaking under the force of his struggles. Y/N’s body shuddered with her climax, her inner walls clenching around him, milking him for all he was worth.

When Y/N regained her consciousness, she decided to untie Christoph, but the scarves, which she’d thought she’d tied extremely well, were now on the floor.

“How did y-“

Before Y/N could respond, Christoph, smirking, swiftly managed to tackle Y/N to the bed, pinning her hands above her head.

“You think you can tease me?” he growled, his voice a dangerous rumble. “I’ll show you what happens when you play with fire.”

Christoph didn’t waste time. He aligned his cock with Y/N’s entrance, and without a warning, he forced himself into her, leaving her squirming and screaming beneath him.

His pace was brutal, each thrust driving her deeper into the bed, her cries his hand clamped over her mouth as his teeth grazed her shoulder while he pounded into her.

The intensity was overwhelming, the pleasure mixed with a sharp edge of pain. Christoph didn’t let up until he felt her shatter around him again, her body convulsing with the force of her release. Only then did he allow himself to follow, his own climax tearing through him, leaving them both spent and breathless.

As they lay there, catching their breath, Christoph rolled over next to Y/N. “Lesson learned?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper.

Y/N nodded, her body still trembling. “For now,” she replied, knowing that this was only the beginning of their intense, passionate games.

[frauschneidersfrau]

𝗖𝗵𝗿𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗽𝗵 𝗦𝗰𝗵𝗻𝗲𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗿 • 𝗕𝗶𝗴 𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀

Warning! This story contains smut!

-

Y/N stirred awake, the soft hum of the tour bus engine thrumming through her body. It was 3 am, and the small bunk she shared with her boyfriend, Christoph, was tiny, uncomfortable and incredibly warm.

He was on tour, and he had refused to leave for 6 months without his girlfriend. Therefore, she had joined him. She loved it. The tour bus, was, admittedly the trickiest part of being on tour with Christoph, was tackling the sleeping situation. They didn’t mind sleeping close, sharing the tiny bunk, but the two preferred sleeping alone. The five other guys on the bus, would’ve not been there, if it was up to the two of them.

Christoph’s strong arm was draped over Y/N’s waist, his steady breath warm against her neck. She shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, but a deep, insistent ache made it impossible to rest. Her soaked panties had made her realise that sleep would elude her until the image in her head, of Christoph fucking the daylights out of her had become reality.

She turned to face Christoph, his face peaceful in slumber. Her hand wandered over his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. She nuzzled closer, pressing her body against his, lifting her leg to rest on his, hoping the contact would rouse him.

“Christoph,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the engine’s purr. He remained still, undisturbed by her gentle plea.

Frustration built as she tried again, this time allowing her hand to drift lower, teasing the waistband of his boxers.

“Christoph, wake up,” she urged, a little louder this time. He mumbled something incoherent, shifting slightly but not waking. Determined, she kissed his neck, nipping gently at his skin, her hand slipping inside his underwear. His body responded instinctively, a soft groan escaping his lips, but he still didn’t wake.

Y/N’s patience wore thin. The ache inside her had become unbearable, and she needed him so badly. Her movements grew bolder, her hand wrapping around his cock, stroking his length slowly. Christoph’s breathing hitched, and finally, his eyes fluttered open. “Y/N?” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

“I need you,” she whispered, her voice laced with desperation. “I can’t sleep like this.”

He sighed, half-asleep. “Not now, baby,” he muttered, his hand sneaking down to grab hers, removing it from his boxers and pressing it gently down against his chest to keep it in place.

Y/N whined quietly and tugged at Christoph’s boxers again.

Christoph’s eyes opened fully, and he was clearly a little annoyed. “You’re relentless,” he murmured. She bit her lip, her eyes pleading. He put a hand in her hair and massaged her scalp, hoping that it would make her tired and fall asleep eventually. But of course, it didn’t.

“I can’t wait,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. “Please.”

Christoph sighed again, this time more firmly. “Y/N, not now. We need to sleep,” he said, his tone a bit more assertive. But Y/N was determined. She reached down, trying to guide his hand into her underwear, but he pulled away again, his patience waning.

“Stop, Y/N,” he hissed tiredly.

“Come on, Christoph,” she whispered, her voice growing more desperate. “I really need you.”

When no response but a single groan came, Y/N shifted her position, lifting Christoph’s leg to her wet pussy, only covered by a thin layer of lace, placing his knee at an angle and grinding against it, hoping the sensation would wake him fully. She moaned and whispered his name, but Christoph groaned softly. Instead of engaging, he pulled away, rolling over to his other side, trying to escape her advances.

“Please, Christoph,” she whispered, her voice breaking with need. “I can’t take it anymore.”

He sighed deeply, finally turning back to face her, his eyes open and serious. “Y/N, I love you, but you need to be quiet. The others are sleeping,” he said firmly. “If you keep this up, you’ll wake them.”

“But I can’t sleep like this,” she whispered, her voice trembling. She grabbed his hand and put his fingers against her wet pussy. She was dripping, and she wanted him to know how desperate she was.

“Please,” she whimpered as Christoph retreated his fingers. He looked at her with a skeptic look, his resolve finally broke as he felt her desperation.

With a resigned groan, Christoph’s hands found her hips, guiding her movements. “Alright, but you have to be quiet,” he warned, his voice low and husky. “The others are asleep, and I’m not going to be the laughing stock for the rest of this tour.”

She nodded, her breath hitching as Christoph slid her underwear aside, his fingers teasing her entrance. A soft moan left Y/N’s mouth and within a second, Christoph had clamped his hand over her mouth. She buried her head in his neck. Christoph’s touch was both gentle and demanding, and she felt her body respond eagerly, arching into him.

He slid his fingers inside her, his touch slow and deliberate, building her arousal with each stroke. Y/N bit her lip to keep from crying out, her hips moving in rhythm with his hand. “You have to be quiet,” he reminded her, his voice a rough whisper.

She nodded, her eyes closing as waves of pleasure coursed through her body. Christoph’s fingers moved expertly, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. She could feel the tension building, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps against his hand.

When he felt her nearing her peak, he withdrew his fingers. He rolled on top of Y/N, tiredly pulling down his boxers in the process, stroking his cock a few times and positioned himself at her entrance. His eyes locked with hers, and she could see the heat and desire in his gaze. “Ready?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

Y/N nodded, biting her lip to keep from crying out as Christoph shoved into her, filling her completely. The sensation was overwhelming, and she had to fight to keep her moans quiet. Christoph’s movements were slow and lazy, but they were enough to send waves of pleasure through Y/N’s entire body.

The confined space of the bunk made every sensation more intense, and Y/N struggled to keep her sounds muffled. Christoph’s hand remained over her mouth, his breath hot against her ear. “You have to be quiet,” he reminded her again, his voice a strained whisper.

She nodded, her body trembling with need. The tension between them built, their movements growing more urgent. Christoph’s mouth found her ear, his breath ragged. “Bite my shoulder if you have to,” he whispered, his voice tight with restraint.

Y/N’s nails dug into his shoulders as she neared her peak, her body arching into his. She could feel the climax building, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps against his hand. Christoph’s thrusts grew more intense, his grip on her tightening.

Finally, with a shuddering gasp, Y/N found her release, her body trembling in Christoph’s arms. She bit down on his shoulder, muffling her cries as the pleasure washed over her. Christoph followed soon after, his body tensing as he emptied himself inside her. They remained entwined, their breaths mingling as they came down from their high.

Christoph brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch tender. “Better?” he asked, a teasing smile on his lips.

Y/N nodded, her body relaxing against his. “Much better,” she whispered, her eyes heavy with satisfaction.

He chuckled softly, kissing her forehead. “Now, let’s try to get some sleep before the others wake up.”

She snuggled closer, their bodies still intertwined. The tour bus continued its journey through the night, and this time, sleep came easily to both of them.