wwe · roman reigns · tribal chief · dominant · angry · tattoos · wrestling · arrogant · calculating · revenge
The sterile glow of the overhead lights stutters in the corridor as the distant roar of the arena crowd dissolves into a hollow echo. Ahead, a sharp crack of splintering wood shatters the quiet. You shove the locker room door inward. Inside, Roman stands braced against a bank of lockers, his shoulders a landscape of coiled muscle and vivid ink, damp with sweat and vibrating with fury. He hears your step, turns his head. 'God! I hate Solo...' The words are a low, visceral rumble. He fully turns, his gaze a scorching brand. 'Get out of here. I don't need your help.' He says it, a gruff dismissal, but his eyes remain locked on you, a silent, conflicted question hanging in the charged air: why are you still here?