#fabian aichner oneshot

[southwalessubculture]

When you agreed to this...whatever it is...with Fabian Aichner, you didn't think it would end up like this.

He'd seemed almost shy when he asked you, never quite meeting your gaze when he invited you over to learn how to make pasta after an offhand joke about how the nonna down the street would be embarrassed by you eating canned spaghetti before one of your matches. He'd been a little antsy earlier in the night as he showed you how to knead the dough between your fists, sneaking near constant looks at you that made your face a little more red than it should have been in the warm apartment.

Now, though? There was no edge of hesitation or nervousness to his movements as his left hand rested against the counter next to you, his other hand pushing through your hair as he kissed you with a feverish touch that had your skin feeling electric under his fingertips. It felt like there was something palpable in the air that made you want to throw all your inhibitions away, made you want to pull that too-well fitting black shirt off of him, made you want to jump on the marble countertop so you could pull him ever closer into you, legs around his waist and fingers dancing across (hopefully) bare skin as you would continue to toe the line between an "innocent" encounter and something much stronger.

The beep of an obnoxious timer had him groaning as he pulled away from you, throwing a glare at the plastic device on his fridge reminding the two of you that the pasta was certainly due to be taken out of the water at any moment.

"You know, if you'd like to stay after dinner, I wouldn't mind the company. Night have been a little colder recently, right?"

You couldn't help but let a smirk come across your face at how open his intentions were, how he seemed just as comfortable pushing the boundaries of your night as you showed just a few moments prior.

"I'd certainly hate for you to be lonely..." you let your fingers dance across his bicep, "and I can't say I'd really like to be anywhere else."

[southwalessubculture]

Recovery - Special Ending

It’s been a month since the first part of Recovery was released, so here’s a special little thing for you in celebration of my first series on this account!

 This is the original ending of Recovery, which was meant to be a poly!Timperium fic, but I ended up writing a choose-your-own ending style that was heavily inspired by @wresimagines and their CYOE mini-series, The Right Choice. 

This is also, in a sense, a thank you: for reading my content, for following and liking and reblogging and requesting and giving me a reason to keep writing. This blog has been very self-indulgent, but I can easily say that I wouldn’t still be here if it wasn’t for you guys; for @wresimagines and @darbysallins for letting me throw my ideas blindly into their DMs, @the-desert-dancer and @lghockey for constantly being in my notes (which is always appreciated), @markostuntthesehoes for literally being the inspiration to the start of this blog, and to anyone that’s ever interacted with or even just read my stuff. You’re why my blog has grown, why it’s continued and evolved. Thank you all for sticking with me through everything, the hiatuses and the broken as hell post schedule and the constant whiplash of WWE to AEW and back, your support is why this is all here.

Enjoy!

Six months. It had been six months since you’d moved into Fabian, Marcel, and Tim’s room in the dead of night, six months since Damian Priest had cheated on you, six months since everything changed for the better. You were happy, you felt appreciated and loved, something you never could say while you were with Damian. Everything had changed that night, but it didn’t bother you in the slightest; if anything, it had made everything better, perfect, even.

“Gli amori, what are we having for dinner?”

You sighed, trying to untangle yourself from the sleeping Marcel and Tim’s arms to help Fabian in the kitchen. After a moment’s struggle (Tim is very fond of pulling you back down when he’s trying to rest), you managed to entwine the two of them together enough to slip off. Fabian smiled as you walked in, yawning as you tried to push your messy hair out of your eyes.

“Lovely as always, darling. Are the others sleeping?”

You nodded, sitting on a stool and slumping over onto the counter. Fabian laughed as he pushed a spare bottle of wine back against the wall, out of the range where you could knock it to the floor.

“It’ll probably be your choice for dinner, they’re knocked out and I can’t think straight enough to make a decision.”

“Are you sure about that, doll?”

You let out a little scream and jumped, nearly falling off of the stool, and both Fabian and Tim reached out towards you in case you did topple over. You turned to look at Tim, letting out a groan that told him quite clearly that you weren’t too pleased about being startled like that.

“Are they okay?”

Marcel’s voice was coated in concern, and the three of you in the kitchen all set about trying to console him.

“They got startled-”

“Apparently I’m pretty quiet-”

“Tim’s a fucking ass, that’s what happened.”

Marcel jokingly swatted Tim’s head as he walked in, moving to stand behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Timothy, how dare you scare them!”

“Look, I didn’t mean to...”

He trailed off as you looked at him, giving a little grin that told you he wasn’t really sorry, even if he did end up apologizing. Fabian started to ask again about dinner, but a knock at the door interrupted him again. After a moment of confusion, you agreed to answer it. Although, as soon as you saw who it was, you wished you hadn’t agreed at all.

“Hello there.”

Your blood ran cold, and you couldn’t help but freeze for a moment. Right in front of you was Damian Priest, speaking to you for the first time in six long months.

You wished you were wearing something better, an evening gown or even just a nice shirt and some jeans instead of your stained pajamas. You wished you had some witty reply or even the capability to tell him to fuck off. But instead, you were glued to the spot, too shocked to answer or even walk away.

“Liebe, who is it?”

Damian’s eyes flashed with recognition, and it looked like anger was coming across his features when he realized that Marcel was in the room with you.

“So, you’ve already managed to move on, huh? Really didn’t need me after all?”

“It...it’s been half a year. Damian, it’s been six months.”

Your response felt weak under his gaze, under the fire in his face, and you wanted nothing more than to turn away and cry. How miserable you must look, you thought, all broken and bitter and upset like this.

“That’s not too long, especially for you. Remember that I asked you out every Wednesday for a year? But you were too hung up on that last guy to even consider it, apparently. And now here you are, fucking around with that German dude. Hell, it wouldn’t be a surprise if you were in bed with him the same night that we broke up.”

You could feel your chest starting to hurt, breaths growing rattly as he admonished you. You didn’t have the strength to stop him, to tell him that he was wrong, and the smirk on his face told you that he knew that.

“Doll, what’s - Damian, what the hell are you doing here?”

You felt Tim’s hand on your shoulder, gently pushing you back as he put himself between you and Damian. The touch was enough to snap you out of your fugue, and you turned sharply and rushed to the small bathroom, needing a moment of escape, of privacy. You let your tears come out, shaking and sobbing on the floor as you realized what that moment must have looked like. You told the three of them that you were over Damian, you are, but it must have seemed like a lie compared to the way you froze under his gaze, the way you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. And now, they must have doubts, fears about where you are mentally, what you want from them. They let you in to their world, their relationship, and you can’t help but think that you’re making it out to be a joke.

“Tesoro? Are you okay?”

You looked up at the door, then buried your face into your knees as you noticed that it was open, Marcel and Fabian looking in at you. You hiccupped, then let out a small sob as you realized exactly how pitiful you were.

“Liebe, he’s gone now. He won’t be coming back. You’re safe here, I promise.”

Marcel’s voice became louder as he moved closer, stopping in front of you and bending down to your eye level.

“Did he hurt you?”

You shook your head, mind finally starting to clear as you had something to focus on that wasn’t your own thoughts.

“No, I just...I was shocked. It’s been six months.”

“I know, I know, liebling.”

“I don’t love him.”

You looked up at them, Marcel in front of you and Fabian against the wall and now Tim, who was standing in the doorway. They all seemed confused by your statement, so you continued.

“I know what that looked like, and I want to be clear. I don’t love anyone that isn’t the three of you. Especially not him.”

“Doll, nobody thought that was the case. You were obviously startled; like you said, it had been half a year since you last heard from him. Of course you would react like that, given your history.”

“I...I just...”

You hid your face as you started to cry again, now from embarrassment. You felt stupid for thinking they would ever think of you like that; you knew you were catastrophizing, thinking of the absolute worst, but now it just seemed stupid.

“It’s okay. You were upset, scared, you didn’t know how to react.”

Marcel finally reached out, resting a hand on your shoulder, and you nearly dove into his arms. He held you, letting you rest your weight against him as you got all of the raw emotions out of your system.

“You know we love you, right, diletto?”

You nodded at Fabian’s words, then let out a cracked “I do” when you realized that he wouldn’t see that.

“Good. Because it’s true; we love you, the good and the bad and everything in between.”

“Even like this?”

"Yes, darling. Even like this.”

You pulled away from Marcel a bit, still staying within the confines of his arms, and took a moment to look between the three of them. The best boyfriends you could ask for.

“Did we ever figure out what we’re doing for dinner?”

Fabian started to answer, but Tim quickly cut him off.

“Whatever you want. Pasta, takeout, wine, ice cream, whatever you choose.”

“Come on, love.”

Marcel helped you off of the floor as Tim and Fabian left the room, stopping you for a moment in the doorway.

“There’s nothing to worry about, okay? We’re here. We’ll always be here.”

You kind of wanted to cry again at his words, but instead you settled for reaching up and kissing him, short and swift.

“Hey, what about us?”

You laughed, turning to Fabian and Tim, who were staring at you.

“Fine, come here, you two!”

And it hurt, the breath still a little sore and the emotions still raw, but it was better. In time, you would feel okay again. These three, these perfect men, would see to that.

[southwalessubculture]

Recovery - Part One

A part two to an ongoing series. Links to endings at the bottom.

"-so don't worry, they won't be back for hours. We've got all the time we need."

That was the first thing you heard as you opened the door to your hotel room, and you desperately hoped that your ears had deceived you. It was late, about midnight, and while you'd been trying to sneak in so your boyfriend wouldn't wake up, you have a feeling that it didn't matter anymore.

"Hmm...if you say so, baby." A very distinctively female voice came after, followed by the sounds of wet kissed and rustling clothes. You were aware that you were standing in the hallway, flabbergasted and on the verge of tears with the door still wide open, but you couldn't be assed to care.

You pushed the door open, ignoring the screams from the mystery woman and the protests of your partner as you walked in and grabbed your suitcase, stopping only to put your phone charger and other small belongings into the front pocket before turning to leave. You were stopped by a hand, hot and heavy, against your shoulder.

"Baby, please, it's not what it looks like-"

"Fuck you, Damian. Fuck you."

You didn't dare to look back at him, knowing that your resolve would crumple as soon as you looked at him. You'd been out all night with WWE's medical team, trying to fix the heap of human that was Johnny Gargano from his match with, oddly enough, your now former boyfriend. And now? You just wanted to curl up and cry.

You didn't know where you were going, the carpeted floor and elevator walls blending together into streaks of dull color, until you found yourself knocking on someone's door. It was late, three in the morning, but you just needed a place to sleep for a few hours. Just a few hours of something that was pretending to be peace.

You heard cursing, English and German thrown together, and then the door was opened to reveal Timothy Thatcher, with an upset-looking Fabian Aichner behind him. Their anger quickly faded into concern when they saw your red eyes, the way that your lip quivered as you looked at the ground, unable to meet their gazes.

"I'm sorry, I just-"

"Come on, in you go."

Fabian pushed past you to grab your bag as Tim wrapped an arm around you, leading you into their room. It was much more spacious than yours, probably because it accommodated three as opposed the one that your room was meant for. You blankly registered Marcel standing up from where he'd been on the couch, coming over to stand in front of you.

"What happened?"

That was all you needed to start crying, trying to cover your face as Tim pulled you into his side, trying to hold you steady while you were clearly falling apart. Marcel let his hand drag along the curve of your arm, and you felt Fabian's fingertips grazing your shoulder for just a second in a comforting gesture.

"You were right." You looked up at Tim, who'd tried to warn you before about the womanizing nature of Damian Priest, how he wouldn't settle down for anyone, even you. "The bastard cheated."

His gaze softened as he pulled you in again, holding you completely against his chest this time, although the muttered threats on Damian's life weren't lost on you. You heard Fabian in the background, seemingly digging through the minifridge in the corner.

"I just - I'm sorry to bother you, but I can't sleep in-"

"It's okay, you can stay here as long as you need. You're more than welcome here with us."

You smiled a bit, still stinging with the fresh wound to your heart, as Fabian stood up, triumphantly holding a container of Ben and Jerry's that he had managed to dig from the back of the freezer.

"First chance I get, I'm breaking his fucking arm in half. And then both his legs."

"Tim, that's enough for now."

Marcel's voice was cold; he was trying to be steady for you, trying to hold his own anger in check to protect your own emotional state. If he had his way, the three of them would take you to Tegan Nox and Shotzi Blackheart and let them comfort you while they went to teach Damian a lesson in respect, in loyalty and not fucking people over, but that wasn't anything that would benefit you at the moment.

"Yeah, we can talk homicide plans later. For now, I just want to forget tonight ever happened."

You took the ice cream from Fabian, thanking him gently as you let yourself collapse back onto the couch. It didn't feel right, but you felt safe here. You knew that no matter what anyone else did, they'd have your back, be your soft place to land. Even if Tim was already strategizing which of his endless submission moves would deal the most pain to the cheating bastard downstairs.

Make your choice!

Tim Thatcher

Fabian Aichner

Marcel Barthel

[southwalessubculture]

hey can I get #3 “I love you.” “You shouldn’t.” with Fabian please 🥺 -wresimagines

buddyyy, i’d love to do this for you

General #3: “I love you.” “You shouldn’t.”

It was hard. Being associated with British Strong Style and also in love with one Fabian Aichner? That shit was insanely difficult.

You were BSS’s beloved manager, having worked with the boys since they first came together in the indies. You’d seen them through good and bad, handling Tyler and Trent’s NXT Tag Team championship run, Tyler and Pete’s separate NXT UK Championship reigns, and all of the, like, fifteen thousand indie title runs the three had. You’d always been reasonable and loyal, stopping tension from boiling over when they had tough losses or even had to compete against each other; Trent even specifically credited you once with saving the group after Pete won the NXT UK Championship from Tyler. You were their pride and joy, their logic and reasoning..and you were also falling quite quickly for one the members of the group that stood as one of their greatest adversaries.

Imperium were everything that BSS wasn’t; they were overbearing, breathing down the collective roster’s neck and always demanding excellence and respect for both themselves and their sport. They were incredible locker room leaders, sure, but they were also insanely stuck up and brash in the eye of the world. It was enough to make your eyes roll into the back of your head when you watched Walter yelling at a poor newbie for some silent perceived offense, make your blood boil when you watched as they destroyed someone for the mere crime of existing in front of them.

That’s what made your fascination with Fabian so bizarre; you couldn’t stand his cohorts, but there was still something that drew you into him despite never having a conversation with him. Maybe it was the way that he smiled at you when all of your friends were distracted, the time that he ordered you dinner once when you’d went out with friends after a show and got ratted out by the bartender, or maybe it was just every little instance where he so clearly stopped one of his friends from coming to give you an earful for whatever you’d done to piss them off. You couldn’t help but be attracted to these moments of kindness, as much as you hated it, because you barely knew the man that was putting them into motion. He was a great wrestler, Italian, and quite handsome. That’s all you really knew about him.

It was one of those acts that led you here, staring at the ceiling lights; you had accompanied Pete to America, where he’d fallen into Pat McAfee’s goon squad, which had caught Imperium’s eye. Fabian had pulled you out of the way of a rogue dropkick from Marcel Barthel, but that led to Pat turning you around once he’d walked away and screaming in your face about what had happened, asking why Fabian had involved himself in your affairs. It was during this that Marcel tried to capitalize with an attack on Pat, but he’d made a split-second decision to pull you in the way, leading to you getting a solid uppercut right to the jaw that had you seeing stars.

You knew you would probably be fine, nothing seemed too terribly bad...until you tried to sit up, and the pain that spiked through your head had you whining as you watched Pat skirt away, trying not to draw Pete’s attention to you and what he had caused. You watched as Pete continued to fight Marcel as if nothing had ever happened, but found yourself surprised by a hand against your forehead. You flinched at the contact, half whimpering as you expected another attack.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’ll be fine, probably just a mild concussion.”

You gave a goofy smile when you realized that it was Fabian tending to you, having completely abandoned the match (and quite possibly a victory) in favor of protecting and caring for you.

“You’re incredible.”

He chuckled a bit as he tried to help you sit up, although it dropped when you let out another strangled noise at the motion.

“I’m not that great, you know.”

“You are to me. You’re...like...a guardian angel.”

He smiled for just a moment before letting his hand settle against your forehead again, letting out a satisfied exhale when he saw that you weren’t flinching away. He stood to walk away, possibly to get back into the match or to go find a doctor, and you found yourself desperate to make him stay.

“I love you.”

He looked back at you, motion completely stopping at your confession.

“You shouldn’t.”

“And why not?”

You challenged his short tone, the way his entire demeanor seemed to have changed at the revelation that hung in the air like a thick cloud.

“You don’t know me. Not really.”

“Let me, then. Let me learn, let me know, let me decide.”

He just grinned a bit, looking up at the ring before shaking his head.

“Your friend there would never let me get close. I...I’m sorry. I wish I could.”

You frowned, getting ready to respond with another snarky comment when the extremely loud noise of Pete yelling made you yelp, hands flying to your ears as you watched Fabian get chased off. Obviously Pete thought that Fabian had been the one to hurt you, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to correct the situation, still shocked by the way that Fabian had flat-out refused to entertain the idea that he could even befriend you. It was heartbreaking and upsetting, but even more, it made you determined. You truly wanted to know him, all of his little nuances and quirks and ideas, and now you had even more motivation to figure him out, to unravel the mystery that he presented.

[southwalessubculture]

Recovery - Fabian Aichner

After...a bit of a delay, we’re back with Ending Two for Recovery! As a refresher, you can find part one here, and if you prefer to be with Timothy Thatcher, that’s right here for ya. If Marcel Barthel is more your style, he’s hanging out here.

“Oh, hey! Didn’t expect to see you here!”

Your body tensed as soon as you heard the deep voice behind you, and you could visibly see the way that Fabian was tensed across the table. He reached out, subtly running his fingertips against the back of your hand to comfort you; a gentle gesture of reassurance.

“Oh, hi Damian.”

You finally turned to look him in the eyes, and it would be a lie to say that you weren’t a little disappointed to see an incredibly beautiful woman on his arm, the same one that was in your hotel room so many months ago. She gave you a smile, one that was gentle and almost apologetic; it was obvious that she had no malicious intent now, that she was just as unaware about Damian’s intentions as you currently were.

“Interesting to see you two here together, having a business meeting?”

“Actually,” you were relieved when Fabian started talking, just out of your eyeline, “we’re on a date. Which I’m sure is also the case for you and your friend there, right?”

Damian looked surprised, and it was hard to miss the way that his eyes trailed to where Fabian had taken hold of your hand. The way that you gave him a smile, not of malice or pride, but of legitimate happiness. A sign that you truly were happy and cared for without him.

You still remember when Fabian first asked you out, three months prior; it was a late night, you’d been sitting out on the hotel room’s balcony with him while Tim and Marcel were out doing God knows what. You’d never really bothered to move out of their room, they had two couches which the boys rotated sleeping on, while they always made a point to make sure you slept on one of the beds; even when you did manage to fall asleep on the couch, you’d wake up the next morning under the covers, your phone charging right next to you. True gentlemen, they all were.

“It’s beautiful out here, you know.”

He looked over at you, watching your face as you took in the view of the city at night. This had become a bit of a tradition; you would sit on the balcony, maybe play guitar or draw with the light from inside the room as you focused on the lights underneath your gaze. It was rare for anyone to join you, though. He smiled at the way that your expression was open and free, no sign that you were trying to hide anything. Just you, him, and the wonderstruck feeling between you as you watched the blinking of car lights and lit up office buildings, and he watched you.

“It’s more beautiful with you here.”

You turned to him, surprised by how direct he was. He wasn’t necessarily closed off, especially not to his friends, but it was rare that he would be so openly flirtatious. You could feel your face heating, and you were aware of how stupidly, wonderfully cliche it all felt. 

“Do you mean that?”

He let his hand reach up, fingers brushing your hair from your face.

“Absolutely, tesoro. Absolutely.”

You were leaning in before you knew it, wanting nothing more in that moment than to just kiss him. He met you halfway, lips brushing against each other...and then the door to the room burst open, Tim half-carrying a very inebriated Marcel who was singing some mystery song in German that you didn’t understand. They both looked at you and Fabian, close enough to have no real deniability of the situation, and then Tim dropped Marcel on the couch, walking over and slowly closing the sliding glass door to the balcony and closing the curtain over it. You laughed against Fabian’s lips, looking back to him.

“Mind if we try again?”

“That’s...good, I suppose. I’ll leave you to your...date...now.”

You watched as he awkwardly turned and walked away, the mystery lady mouthing an apology before following Damian. You turned to look to Fabian, who had started to laugh into his hand. 

“That was so awkward, tesoro.”

Your heart swelled again at the nickname, and you turned your palm to squeeze his hand. He gave you a reassuring grin, obviously trying to calm your nerves from the unexpected intrusion.

“Don’t focus on him, focus on this. The food. Focus on us.”

You smiled at his words, the way that he comforted you. He was always like this, reassuring and kind, but it was even stronger now that you were together; you swore that he had some sort of sixth sense for when you needed reassurance. He took your hand, pressing it against his lips in a move that was just as gentle as it was sweet.

“I can’t believe that you chose me, really.”

He smiled at you, bright and genuine and lovely.

“Of course, I’ll always choose you. I love you.”