THE SHIELD ⇾ one shots & preferences

| Seth Rollins | One Shot | Jealous

You had never been someone who showed much emotion, let alone initiate a conversation with someone over your deepest, most personal thoughts - especially since you found yourself surrounded by men and women who wouldn't hesitate to use those emotions against you if that got them a leg up. Sure, you loved all the girls in your division, but they were too...emotional. They always had some quarrel with each other, or one of the guys broke their heart; whatever it was, you were never a good shoulder to cry on, so you preferred to avoid the awkward hours of someone crying on your shoulder, leaving you lost on what to even say or do. That's why you set off to find the most emotionless, cold, and distant men in the business to buddy up with, and that's how you ended up with the Shield.

Right now, the four of you were sitting at an off-white, plastic table in catering, just waiting for your matches. You had a one on one bout with Summer Rae in the middle of the show, and the guys had the main event against the Wyatt family. You were practically exhausted; the flight from Atlanta to Chicago had been delayed and tiring, leaving you a bit on edge and touchy today from a lack of sleep. The guys knew not to mess with you when you were in a mood like this, so everyone poked at their food with disinterest.

"Y/N, are you sure you don't want to take a nap? We could wake you up about fifteen minutes before your match," Roman offered with a concerned raise of the brow, breaking the silence that had settled over the group.

You looked up from the salad you were pecking at with an annoyed flick of your eyes, your fork clattering loudly against the ceramic plate in front of you when you set it down roughly. "Why would I take a nap before my match? I would be tired and groggy, and then I would lose. No wonder you're not known as the brains of the group," you snapped harshly, pausing a moment before picking your fork back up, spearing a utensil full of lettuce and shoving it in your mouth to prevent yourself from saying more.

"Wooooow," Dean chuckled as Seth let out a low whistle, leaving Roman looking sheepish and somewhat frustrated.

You let out a soft sigh and shot Roman an apologetic look, setting the fork down more gently this time. You weren't the type of person who apologized aloud, so you hoped that Roman caught the look, because that was all he was getting. You stood abruptly and pushed the chair behind you, grabbing your salad plate in your hand.

"Where're you goin', Miss Attitude?" Seth asked, a playful smile toying at the corners of his lips. Seth always enjoyed hearing his brothers get a verbal ass-kicking; they never got a physical one too often in the ring.

"You think I owe you an explanation, Rollins?" You shot back quickly, holding his eye contact for a moment before pushing your chair in with your hip. You saw Seth's smile slowly turn into a frown, his brown eyes falling to his plate of celery and grapes. "You boys worry about yourselves, and I'll worry about me," you smirked mockingly, then rolling your eyes before walking towards the trash to dump your salad and make your way back towards your dressing room to grab an Advil for your headache. You heard Dean laughing as you left catering - he was next in line to get bitched at, but Dean never took you seriously.

Out of all of the boys, you felt the closest to Seth. He was cocky, arrogant, self-important, and completely vain, but you were too. You liked Seth; not to go as far and say that you wanted to lay under the night sky and stare at the stars while you recited Shakespearean poetry to each other, but he was your man, and you had his back. Roman and Dean, they were your brothers too, but Seth was different. You couldn't explain it, and you didn't try to.

You opened the door to your dressing room, flicking the lights on as soon as your hand found the switch. The sudden lights sent a wave of pain through your eyes and head, forcing you to close your eyes for nearly a minute so the pain could subside. You trudged over to your duffel bag on the glass counter, unzipping it and rummaging through the seemingly endless supplies of clothes, wraps, and various other things. Finally, your fingertips hit the plastic bottle you sought out, and you fished out two pills to quell your pounding headache. You popped them into your mouth and took a swig of water from the nearby bottle you had left sitting on the end table, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand afterwards.