#tillpaul

[babypaulchen]

Till + Paul ☆

[millianzps]

umm..

Just gonna leave a link for my Rammstein fanfiction here. hope someone can read it, cos I cant without tears...  https://archiveofourown.org/works/23261338

[fayn3ko]

C1 - Till/Paul please ? c:

it started to become too detailed again so I was lazy at the bodies lmao uwu 💜

meme / 1 / 2 / please support me if you like my art ♥

[babypaulchen]

Till + Paul ☆

[babypaulchen]

Till + Paul ☆

[babypaulchen]

paul/till, benzin mv universe: “i heard you shout. nightmares again?” :3c

nnn this was really really nice to write......thanks for the prompt bb

AO3 link | Words: 1367 | Pairing: Paul/Till | Era: Rosenrot (Benzin AU)

---------

He heard or read somewhere that a body weighs less when the soul vacates. But is it true? He doesn’t feel much of a difference, personally. She weighs the same to him, around sixty kilos—but somehow even more, as he carries her through the smoky remains of the crumbling building. His entire body is flexing, straining, aching to support her, arms locked around her back and legs. He charges blindly through the ashes of the place he once knew. It builds in his eyes, his throat, his sinuses. He can’t breathe. But he can’t afford to care. She is lifeless in his arms. So heavy. So… Heavy.

 He looks down. She’s dressed in white, spotlessly so. The ash isn’t clinging to her. It seems like she hadn’t been affected by the roaring fire at all. But—her skin is melted away. Charred flesh horrifically replaces her once beautiful skin. And when he looks at her face, he sees only a skull. Chunks of her flesh drip away from her. And then she’s gone—her entire body dissolves into flakes of ash. He’s left empty-handed, standing there, lost.

  A yell rips from his throat, bursting forth without restraint—he throws himself up onto his elbows, lurching from the chasm of his nightmare. Sweat is covering his body, his shirt clinging to him wetly. Panting hard, Paul looks around wildly, attempting to regain grasp on his reality. Finding no corpse, no ashes, no collapsed walls—he’s immediately relieved. He sags back into the pillows of his tiny bed, sighing heavily. He shakily runs his hands down over his face.

Continued on AO3

[babypaulchen]

As someone who is not new to your amazing fanfics, but definitely new to tumblr - I literally made one because I saw your url at the bottom of your AO3 works - , I am delighted to see you do prompts! And would love to request many but I gotta pick one so I'd loooooove to read a Till/Paul "Oh my God, do that again" from your list. (Yes I am shamelessly asking for smut because this ship needs more love). Much love ♥

AW that makes me happy to hear. Thank you ♡ throws all my love at you ♡

AO3 link | Words: 3407 | Pairing: Paul/Till | Era: Pre-Rammstein 

———

“Wakey, wakey, Till!”

Paul’s higher voice pierces the tranquility of Till’s bedroom. A voice that somehow sounds as if he was ran over by his puberty yesterday, despite that development passing over a decade ago. Till grunts in displeasure when a disruptive body lands on the foot of the bed with a leap, nearly sending him to the moon. But considering Till is easily twice Paul’s weight, he does no such thing. Instead, he hits his head against the wall which frames the bed and grumpily, sleepily snarls.

“What the fuck—why the fuck—” Till begins, which has Paul laughing aloud. Till sluggishly rises onto an elbow, and swivels his torso around on a pivot to see Paul kneeling over his muscular legs, a smug smile on his youthful face. His blonde hair is pulled back into his signature low ponytail. He’s wearing that ambiguously green shirt with the typical paired black vest, and those sweatpants that add more shape to his skinny little legs. Paul. Of course it’s Paul. Who else would break into his house at this hour to pester him? God, how did he even get there?

Till mumbles, more grunt than German, “What do you want, brat? If you couldn’t tell, I was sleeping.”

“You were,” Paul agrees, crossing his lean arms with a cocked brow, “But now you’re awake, and you’re paying attention to me, which was my objective. Why else do you think I would go out of my way to ambush you at this time of night, this far out of Berlin?”

Continued on AO3

[babypaulchen]

“Don’t cry,” angst Till/Paul ✨ whoever is upset is up to you 👀

I took some liberty with this one hahaha I’ve wanted to write Sonne AU for a long time!! (thank you for requesting my 2nd OTP, I’ve missed writing TillPaul tbh)

AO3 link | Words: 3598 | Pairing: Till/Paul | Era: Mutter (Sonne AU) 

———

It feels like the caves are closing in on them. The dust and dirt is thick in the air, building in their throats and sinuses until it’s as if they’re just breathing through particles. The darkness, the lack of the sun—it can be too much. Himself and Schneider have always been the toughest of the group. Shouldering the weight of it all; both literally and metaphorically. Till’s shoulders are bruised, his arms fatigued. Schneider has that perpetually stern expression on his face, shadowed by the caked on dirt and dust.

Paul and Richard can only swing a pick-axe for so long before Richard collapses, whining about his wrists, while Paul will keep going and going until he can’t do it anymore. To the point of it becoming a concern; Schneider often has to snatch the pick-axe out of his hand and tell him to sit down and have some water. Paul will, as always, argue that he has to keep going for her. Schneider never puts up with it. Every time they have this argument, Schneider would yell at him that she’s not here, is she? How could she possibly know that he’s resting for ten minutes? And Paul would start shaking. He would grab his mining helmet, chuck it elsewhere angrily, and begin running his filthy hands through his short hair, mumbling to himself that she always knows.

Standing to the side, idly brushing away built up, obliterated rock from the wall he’s mining into, Till watches this, for the hundredth time. And now, Flake stands there with a weak grip on his shovel, watching Paul forlornly, while Ollie has gone back to swinging the pick-axe. Richard shuffles over to Paul to sit next to him, bringing an arm around him—but Paul violently shoves it off and returns his head to his hands. Richard doesn’t leave. He just sits next to Paul, trying to ease a jug of water into his hands, but his efforts are always in vain. Paul doesn’t even look at him.

Continued on AO3