okay but... high school sweethearts with grunauer but he promises if he survives the war he's coming back to marry you (and he does 😭)
oh my GOD baby boy peter grunauer 😭 i got carried away, per usual
The train whistled, signaling its eminent departure, and Peter turned back to look at you with wetness in his big brown eyes. He had been crying almost nonstop ever since he had gotten the draft letter; your Pete always did wear his heart on his sleeve. "I don't wanna go," he told you, grappling to grab your hand. "What-What if I flunk the eye test and they have to send me home?"
"Pete, please," you sighed. "You know you have to go."
"I know," Peter said softly. "I know..."
"I'll be right here, waiting for you to come back," you told him, and you reached up and righted the little cap he wore over his shorn curls. Your tears caught in your throat, and you uttered "Waiting for you to come home to me."
"What if I..." Peter began, dropping his eyes to look at your intertwined fingers. "What if I don't make it home?"
"You will," you told him firmly. The image of him got all wishy-washy as your eyes brimmed with tears, and you dragged him into a tight embrace. He smelled just like he always did, nice cologne and the sweet tang of his own body, but you took a deep breath of him. Who knew when the next time you'd see him was? Who knew if you'd ever see him again?
"Doll, you know," Peter started. His hands touched your back as he held you, his chin settling on your head, and he pressed a kiss into your victory-rolled hair. You had only gotten all dolled up to take one last photograph with Peter before he was shipped off, and the film was stuck in a tiny plastic container in your purse. "You know I ain't coming home."
"Don't say that," you sniffled. "Pete, don't you dare—"
"It's easier, y'know," Peter said. "If you pretend like I'm a lost cause. It won't hurt when it happens, and, if I do come home, it'll be a big surprise."
"You're not a lost cause," you told him. "Stop it. Just let me think for five minutes that I'll see you again. That I'll get to hold you and kiss you—"
The train whistled again, and Peter was quick to cup your cheek with his shaking hand and kiss you. His lips were soft against yours as he held you tight and kissed you, and he only broke the kiss with a heavy sigh. "I'm gonna marry you, doll," he said urgently; your time had come to an end. "When I get home, I'm marryin' you. How about that? Now I've gotta come home."
"You'd better," you sniffled, and you kissed him quickly again before he stepped away, back onto the train. "You'd better come back to me, Peter Grunauer, you hear me?"
"I hear you," Peter said. "Loud and clear, Mrs. Grunauer. I love—" The train blowing its final whistle drowned him out, and the chugging and clanking of the train only served to break your heart further. But you watched his lips form the word, you watched his big eyes as the door to the train car was closed, and you watched him as he pressed himself against a window to wave goodbye as the train departed. You couldn't watch anymore, though.
-
Two years. You got weekly letters from Peter for two years. Most of them had been heavily censored, his lead pencil marked out with black ink. No names, no destinations, not even what time of day he was writing the letter. Thankfully, the important parts, the parts about him loving you and coming home, persisted through the edits.
And then, one day in May, two years since he left, no letter came. Peter never missed a letter, not once. You kept every single one in a box under your bed, and you rifled through them as you tried to find any reason why he would miss a letter, other than the obvious. Maybe that letter had been too full of redacted material and the US Army hadn't even bothered to send the scrap along. That was your theory.
And then the next week came along, with no letter. And the week after that. And the week after that.
No word from Peter for four weeks, and you tried to keep your spirits up. He promised you he was coming home. He promised you that he would marry you. Peter made good on every promise he had ever made, all the way back to high school.
You had first met when you were 15 years old, when Peter asked to borrow a pencil in math class. He was handsome, in the boyish sort of way that he always had been— big brown eyes and freckled cheeks and plush pink lips— and you had fallen for him immediately. He was good to you, kind and funny and loving, and you had been together ever since then. And he had promised time and time again that he was going to marry you. "Just gotta get enough money for a ring," he always said with his charming smile. "And then I'm marrying you."
Then, the damn war. The damn draft.
You got a letter from the Army five weeks after Peter's last letter. It stated that Peter's paratrooper squad was shot down and that they had been unable to locate him, and to assume that he was either deceased or missing in action. You held the letter to your chest and collapsed in the doorway, heaving sobs from the very pit of your stomach. The letter was so clinical, no room for emotion, and it hurt. You wanted to destroy it, to tear it up or throw it into the fireplace, but you needed it. It was your last link to Peter.
You reread his letters every night. You looked forward to it, to mourning your husband-to-be. Eventually, you stopped calling him that and started calling him what he was: he was your husband, through and through. Reading his letters made it feel like he was there with you, and you needed the encouragement to get through the day. Your friends gave condolences and your parents hugged you when you cried, but nothing fixed your heartache like reading his letters.
The wound felt like it would never heal. Until a year later.
A knock came at your door just as you were setting down dinner for your parents, and you wiped your hands on your apron. "I'll get it," you told them. "Start eating, it's gonna get cold."
The knock came again, heavier, more intense, and you frowned. "Coming!" you called, and you wound your way through the house to the front door. Nobody ever used the front door of your house, always opting for the side door, and you couldn't imagine who was rapping on your door at this time of night. A third knock came, firmer than before, threatening to do the poor door right in, and you flung it open with a quick "Can I help you?"
Your heart stopped, your throat dried up, your eyes wetted with tears. You could hardly believe it. Your Peter stood there, looking worse for wear, deep wrinkles in his forehead with a slight limp as he stepped forward. But it was him. "I—" Peter started, and you sobbed out, grabbing him and pulling him into you. His arms grabbed you tightly, holding you even closer to him than ever, ever before, and he held your head close to his heart as he whispered, "I wanted to say somethin' funny, but, Jesus, you look so beautiful. My girl."
"How—" you sobbed. "I thought you were—"
"I know," Peter whispered. His chest was warm against the cold night, and you nestled close into him. "I thought I was too. How much do you know?"
"Your plane was shot down," you whimpered. "I-I was told to assume the worst."
"Yeah," Peter said softly. "Plane went down... We were in enemy territory, and I fucked myself up pretty good, broke my leg in two different places. But I survived, managed to get myself to a French family that took care of me. My leg didn't heal right and I walk like this now, but—"
"But you're home," you whispered. "You came home to me."
Peter angled your head up to look at him, deep in his dark brown eyes, and you finally pressed forward and kissed him. He tasted just the same as all those years ago, back before everything awful that could have happened did. But Peter was home.
"I promised you that I'd marry you," Peter said into your mouth, and he gripped you tightly. "And I'm gonna do it, doll."
Summary: Grunauer, hearing the news of Pearl Harbor.
Notes: This is my attempt of a Grunauer fanfic. I am giving him a chance in a story. I am giving him the first name of Wilhelm (William in German) This will include dated slang, ideals, ways of thinking, ways to enjoy their freetime, & female/male relationships. , This story will include and is not limited to fluff, angst & smut. I used images of Joseph from Howard’s End.
Thank you for reading! ❤️s & reblogs are always welcome. Feedback is also very…very appreciated !
You wiped your hands on your apron and glanced out the kitchen window. A frost kissed the window panes. Snow had left a fresh blanket of white the night before. The warm scent of strawberries and rhubarb began to fill the air as they began to bake in the oven.
One of your favorite songs began to crackle from your small radio. Going over to it, you turned it up without even thinking. With burst of the horns, your heart caught and you glanced over to where your sweetheart was hunched over one of his medical books. A small smile played on your lips. A big exam was coming up and so his nose had been buried between the pages as the day grew closer.
That is exactly why you were baking the pie. It will also give a sweet warmth to your small little home. But Wilhelm, deserved a treat for all the studying he had been doing.
His soft curls had fallen into his forehead focus narrowed his eyes, and occasionally in the most endearing way possible his tongue would pop out as he turned a page or scribbled down some notes.
Just then with an errant curl in his eyes, he turned and he smiled. He had caught you glancing his way. Even after dating and now being newly weds, he still could bring a dusting of pink to your cheeks with a simple smile.
“Oh! I am sorry I just couldn’t resist turning up the song.” You smiled and hurried to your radio.
“You didn’t.” You gasped, looking up at him. He had managed to be at your side in a breath; his hand brushing yours stopping you from touching the knobs.
Stepping back, he opened his arms wide. “Come here my love. It’s been too long.”
“But, but I have on an apron and theres flour.”
“Your beautiful.”
That was all you needed. Stepping close and he enveloped you in his arms. The music swirled around the two of you, the kitchen tiles creaked. But all you cared about was feeling the warm through your love’s white linen shirt and the subtle beat of his heart as the two you swayed the sounds of Glenn Miller and his band.
You still swayed to the music even as the song came to an end. Gently, he cupped your cheek his thumb brushed some flour from your cheek. A smile had curled his lips.
“Baby doll, is that a pie I smell baking?”
You nod.
“You’re too good for me.”
“Nah, I’m just right.”
You sighed as he drew close then and felt a brushing of his nose.
“Attention, we interrupt this broadcast to announce Japan has declared War on America. Early yesterday morning, we have witness the distant battle for Pearl Harbor…”
You both parted, eyes wide as you looked at each other. You brought a shaky hand to your lip, as dread began to fill you.
Hey everybody, just want to let you know I'm taking a little break for Christmas/New Year (only from posting fics though. If you want to chat, my inbox is always open!) I'll be back after the New Year with:
A little one-shot fix-it for Leonard Bast (and Helen)
A fairytale AU for Prince Paul (completed, 15 chapters, 67k)
A multi-chapter Gothic AU for Hellcheer (WIP)
A multi-chapter fic for Grunauer (Overlord - did you know that in the original screenplay, the character actually survives?) I'm still trying to write my way through all of Joe's characters if I can, and this idea is in the very early stage of outlining, but I will write it.
Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for any of these. Happy holidays and see you in 2024!
Sweet awkward reunion sex with Grunauer back from war 😗
ugh YES peter my baby cw smut, p in v, unprotected sex, breeding kink
Peter's kiss was heated against your lips as he slowly pushed his hard cock into your sopping, waiting cunt, and you moaned as your head fell back. "Peter," you whimpered, and your husband squeezed his eyes shut as his cock throbbed inside you.
"God," he groaned. "You're perfect. I missed you so much."
"I missed you too," you whispered, your voice catching in your throat, and you pressed your hands to his cheeks, smoothing your thumbs down his cheekbones. "I'm glad you're home."
"Did everything I could to get home," Peter told you with clipped words, slowly pulling his hips back before pushing back inside you. "I'm so... God, you feel like heaven."
"You do too," you told him, and you bit your bottom lip as his cock nestled that nerve inside you. Pleasure hit your legs and belly, and you carded your fingers through his curls as you dragged him into another searing kiss. "Did you, umm..." you started when the kiss broke, and you furrowed your eyebrows at your own ridiculous question. "Never mind."
"No, what?" Peter asked. "What is it, baby?"
"Did you ever think about this?" you asked. "I'm sure you did, but, umm, I'm just wondering."
Peter laughed breathlessly, and he fucked into you again as he lowered himself to kiss your neck. "Of course I thought about fucking you," he said. "Every day. Thinking about it comforted me, helped me sleep. I'd wake up with an erection every day from my dreams about you. I told myself that this would be the first thing I did when I got home."
"Well, you succeeded in that," you chuckled, and you held Peter close to you as he found a good rhythm, the bedsprings creaking underneath your weights.
"M'never gonna let you out of this bed," Peter mumbled into your neck, and you moaned as your legs wrapped tight around his naked hips. "Gonna keep you here with your legs open until I'm done with you."
"When will you be done?" you asked. "Not, umm, not that it bothers me, but when?"
"When you're all big and pregnant," Peter said. "You wanna give me a son, baby?"
"Yes," you whimpered. "Wanna give you all the babies you want."
"Good," Peter said. "That's good, 'cause I... Fuck, you're so warm inside. I never wanna leave this pussy."
"You don't have to," you told him. "You can stay here for the rest of your life."
"I plan on it," Peter told you. "Never gonna let you go, baby. I left you once, and I'm never gonna leave you ever again."
This is your monthly reminder to request Joseph Quinn as a guest for the Fan Expos events close to you (or not!)!
Keep in mind : the more they receive guest request for Joseph Quinn, the more they will try to have him or convince him (or his team) to come!
PLEASE SHARE/REBLOG THIS POST SO THAT IS CAN REACH AS MANY PEOPLE AS POSSIBLE!!! We can make this happen!!!!
If one person reading this actually takes the time to fill in a request (go to their website, click on contact us and fill in the submission), I will be thankful for you for the rest of my life -