Hey everyone! I felt like it was time for a new story, this time on the deliciously sexy Seth Rollins, who, by the way, is also the most underappreciated member of the Shield and, in my opinion, the most deserving of a push. I've seen so many fanfics about Dean Ambrose and Roman Reigns, and it makes me sad that there are so few mainly about Seth Rollins. Therefore, I shall add one more to the tiny list of Rollins fics.
Update: This was originally going to be a one-shot, but honestly I'm liking the idea so much that I'm going to turn into a short story; it'll probably at most ten to fifteen chapters.
Sierra! Hotel! India! Echo! Lima! Delta!
Shield.
That was his cue. Along with his partners-in-crime, Dean Ambrose and Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins emerges from the crowd, a single spotlight shining down onto him. Every time he made his way down those steps, he fought to keep his focus on the ring straight ahead of him. He was told, in order to maintain character, to not look around at members of the audience. He was to keep his head straight, regardless of whether there was an opponent in the ring or not. With Ambrose and Reigns behind, Rollins would lead the way, hopping over the barricade as he always did since his main roster debut.
When he slid into the ring along with his fellow comrades, he took this opportunity to take a look around at the thousands of pairs of eyes on The Shield, searching for a single one. His heart would sink in disappointment when those eyes were nowhere to be spotted, and he would get back into character as the architect of the Shield. This was an almost nightly ritual for Seth Rollins.
His hope dwindled further as he realized that she wasn't there.
With the rising popularity of The Shield, Seth knew that thousands of people had showed up just to see him and his colleagues kick ass, whether it be The Wyatt Family or The New Age Outlaws. There were probably several people who'd showed up just to see him in action. With this thought he scoffed. They weren't here to see Colby Lopez; they were here to see Seth Rollins.
After the show, Cesaro had invited them out for drinks at a nearby bar, but Seth wasn't particularly in the mood for a beer. Politely declining his friend's offer, he stalked off into the showers without another word, not realizing that Ambrose and Reigns were eyeing him in a peculiar fashion.
Seth reminisced on the 'she' that he'd been thinking about earlier. As the shower sprinkled droplets onto his skin, Seth was instantly reminded of a certain time in his past involving her. It was when they were both meek, young teenagers, dancing around in the rain as though they were children, tackling each other while they ignored the neighbors staring at them from inside the comfort of their homes. She was soaking wet and covered in mud head to toe, but he thought it was the most beautiful sight he'd seen. He received a good scolding from his worried mother, but it was well worth the adventure.
Running the shampoo through his two-toned hair, he lathered it and massaged his scalp, taking his time slowly. He shut his eyes and another memory flashed in his mind. They were six years old, bouncing happily on the trampoline set up outside in his backyard. They were just screwing around, lazily attempting to emulate professional wrestling maneuvers. His friends at the time made fun of him for inviting her over to their 'practices', but of course she silenced them by putting them in a nasty headlock and knocking the wind out of them with a spear. To this day he still remembers the time when she kneed the resident bully in the balls because he called wrestling 'fake' and him a sissy for watching it.
Chuckling softly, Seth stepped out of the shower and toweled himself dry, wrapping the towel around his waist before stepping back into the locker room. He emerged from the showers only to come face to face with his partner Roman Reigns.
"What's going on with you, man?" Roman questioned him, "you've been awfully quiet."
"Yeah, you never turn down a drink with Cesaro; I bet something's on your mind," Dean Ambrose cut in.
"Guys, I don't want to talk about it," protested Seth, pushing past them and walking towards his locker.
"Does it have to do with a certain someone?" asked Dean, "if you broke up with your girlfriend I totally understand, but—"
"We're fine, thanks for asking," interrupted Seth.
"Seriously, though, what's going on? I know when something's wrong, you're usually quiet, but today it seems bad." Roman was concerned for his friend. Seth finally caved in; he couldn't keep this from his partners any longer.
"It has to do with this girl from my past," began Seth. He packed up his things and joined his friends, continuing his story as they walked towards the parking lot, "She and I had been best friends since we were practically in diapers. When we were kids she was like the twin sister I never had, then she grew up and became, you know, a 'lady', and we started growing apart. Then I began wrestling and she went off to college, and we haven't seen each other or spoken since."
"But from the moment that we met, we made a pact with each other: we promised that if either one of us were to go onto pursue a pro wrestling career, the other person must go to at least one show of theirs. Every day we reminded each other of that promise, and till this day, with every match that I wrestle, I always keep an eye out to see if she's there. I've been wrestling at shows since I was seventeen and she hasn't showed up to one show," finished Seth.
"How would you know that she's not at the WWE shows? You know there's a ton of people in the audience and you can only look at so many faces for such a short length of time," Dean still wondered what was so special about this girl. He'd known his partner for years; Seth was such a free spirit. It was so unlike him to get hung up over anyone or anything.
"Trust me, Dean. I know her well enough to know that she does whatever she can to stand out from everyone else," argued Seth, "I'm going to find Lara Lemay and I'll make sure that she realizes what she's missed all these years."
"Laramie? Where the hell are you, woman?" hollered the voice of Hans Epperley, "I swear to God, because of you we're going to be late again! You better make sure you have a good reason for us to get there five minutes before the dinner starts!"
Lara Lemay sighed, fixing her pearl earring before giving her auburn curls a quick brush. She smoothed the front of her red, bodycon dress and stepped away from the vanity dresser. Grabbing her pale pink designer purse, she strapped on her five inch gold heels, nearly tripping on her feet as she gave one last look at herself in the mirror.
She was sick to the stomach; she looked like the very embodiment of a slut, on display for all the men's eyes to savor and for their dicks to harden over. But Lara had no control over this whatsoever. She was the pretty little wife of Hans Epperley, millionaire entrepreneur who'd made most of his fortune from his incredible luck and skill in poker. She was no more than his prize, no more superior to the numerous poker trophies that were displayed brilliantly on a prominent shelf in his—not theirs—walk-in closet that was significantly bigger than any other room in the Beverly Hills mansion that they lived in.
"Laramie!"
"I'm coming, Hans!" screeched Lara, trotting down the spiral staircase, where her infuriated husband stood red-faced. His expression changed, however, when he caught a peek up her skirt and noticed the tiniest pair of panties that barely covered her.
"It's a damn good thing you look good, Laramie," Hans's voice sunk low. He grabbed her, his hand placed firmly on her round derriere, and began nipping at her neck, "this is why every man on this fucking planet wishes they were me: my hot little wife knows exactly what I want."
"Hans, please…" Lara tried shoving his ugly hands off of her, but his grip on her ass tightened to the point where she winced in pain.
"Please what, Laramie?"
"We need to get to the dinner," she reminded. She immediately regretted mentioning the reason why he was shouting at her, and his expression instantly changed.
"Good girl," snapped Hans, dragging her roughly by the wrist out the door. He shoved her into the limousine waiting outside for them and followed her, trapping her in the confined space of the backseat, "now you do what I tell you to do, like I always do. You talk only when I tell you to talk, and keep your eyes away from any man but me. When I tell these people about our happy marriage, you play along. If any man tries to sweet talk you, tell them that you're unavailable and leave. You can talk to the other women there but goddamnit, I swear, Laramie, if I catch you even giving cutesy eyes to any of the other men there I will make you pay dearly. Do you understand?"
Lara nodded, too afraid to speak. "Good, babe. You just do everything I tell you to do and I'll leave you in peace. Maybe you'll even get a reward from me when we get back later," Hans added suggestively, his fingers crawling up her already short dress.
As soon as Hans shifted away from her to answer a couple of phone calls, Lara curled up against the other side, refusing to look anywhere but at Hans. Staring out the window, she felt a tear slipping down her rosy cheeks. Though relieved that he'd finally left her alone, Lara was still trembling slightly. This was all she was going to be: someone else's property. She missed her freedom; she missed being herself. She missed not being someone else's prisoner.
Just a couple of notes to answer some questions that you guys may have:
Lara Lemay is Seth's childhood best friend who's married to Hans Epperley, a multimillionaire poker player and entrepreneur who's also a masochistic, chauvinist pig. I've read several stories about the female OC being abused by an unloving spouse, but instead of being the typical girly girl, Lara actually has more depth to her personality. In addition, I based Hans Epperley on a real life poker player/millionaire named Dan Bilzerian whose Instagram basically explains everything. I'm hoping you guys like this idea and I hope it's a story worth following and reading!