gotta make her miss him more than that.

only a lil bit? he’ll have to try harder next time.

soon.

hoping @gatareigns.bsky.social might be coming over sometime.

as if there isn’t one directly in front of her. ouch.

a truer seductive sunday. go big or go home.

a truer seductive sunday. go big or go home.

seductive sunday: gym edition.

“depends how much i wanna get done,” he answers, shrugging the shoulder her head isn’t on. “i want to at least finish up to this week. i can finish the rest tomorrow.” and then he’s all hers.

which prompts a smile from the mechanic as he’s working at his desk, currently going over this month’s bookkeeping. some on his laptop, some in his book in front of him.

“i never said ( i ) was going to,” finn winks, already reaching for the creamer himself. he bought that starbucks stuff, so he doesn’t need sugar, either. brows lift at the next sentence, grinning as he passes over an empty mug.

“or you could just, like, not put sugar in it,” he teases in reply, waggling dirty blond eyebrows at her as he pours himself another cup. “y’know you want some.”

only one? lightweight. ( he teases, of course. he’s got a pot going, if she wants some. )

that’s so real. relatable.

an interesting choice, not meeting eyes. makes her seem suspicious, certainly shifty, but finn doesn’t press it. curiouser still is the lack of names. an interesting preoccupation, but to each their own. he’s familiar with the practice of distancing oneself, and no names is a good way to do —

‘sir’? last time he was called ‘sir’ was by some bright-eyed private on their first day — and it was a mistake, too. he was a sergeant, not a commissioned officer. “looking for my leg,” the former marine responds, a tad sheepishly. “and my name’s finn. you don’t need to call me sir.”

currently hopping around on one leg, sort of leaning against the wall. looking for something.

⠀ * 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 / 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥. ( like ) this tweet for a dm about becoming mains or plotting a connection with finn. slightly selective. mutuals only. ⠀

finn’s the same, though obviously not medically so. he’s no doctor, but he can fix shit. well. a snort and a playful rolling of eyes, nodding his head. “you’re not wrong, man,” the mechanic chuckles, arms folding over a broad chest. “so, whaddya need?”

he enjoys it. most of the time. something comes in broken, you help it back on its feet, fix it up, and send it on its way again, better than you found it. not unlike his own experiences. yeah, it’s. . . a system, for sure. hooray for capitalism.

they do. fixing them. sometimes racing them. ( mostly fixing them. ) oh, that sounds kinda shitty, too. working and not getting paid for it blows. . . .essentially. somehow sounds even shittier when you put it like that, but yeah. he does labour, and uses the money to buy food and shelter.

preaching to the choir on that one. suppose he’s a good doctor, then. it’s always a plus when they actually give a shit. ( most do, he knows, but he’s also had the misfortune of meeting a few who don’t. ) “i’m alive, does that count?” finn jokes from his seat on the garage’s front stoop.

gesture that’s returned. more than a little wearily, he supposes, but it’s returned all the same. been a ( long ) few days.

apparently, if rent’s never been something that’s even crossed her mind. god, he can’t even fuckin’ imagine how nice that would be. it is. his number one priority at all times is having enough money to make rent. working himself into the ground to scrounge up enough to stay housed and semi-fed.

be so for real right now. seriously? how can that be a foreign concept? yeah, ( rent ). it’s his monthly payment that allows him to have a roof over his head. apartment to live in. a place to sleep, etcetera. the VA certainly doesn’t help him fucking pay for it. hence having a job.

must be nice.

once upon a time, yeah. he was discharged about four years ago. long story. cue a little knock on his left leg, just below his knee, resulting in a metallic sound. a parting gift from his years of service ( although less than many ). yeah? he’s sorry to hear it. like his rent? and food?

extremely. after he was discharged, it was. . . rough. really rough. drinking helped, or at least he thought it did. felt like it at the time. never again. exactly as a job. he’s a mechanic. driver sometimes, too. helps pay the bills. . . .the only way he pays the bills, actually.

⠀ * 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 / 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥. ( like ) this tweet for a dm about becoming mains or plotting a connection with finn. slightly selective. mutuals only. ⠀

oh, he can do whisky, too. just not as much as he used to. he’s put in a lot of work to cut back on the drinking. hm, fair enough. she seems like a bike girl. ( not an insult, by the way. ) cars are how he makes his living nowadays. lives and breathes ‘em. sure safer than his last job.

well, lucky for him, finn’s a cat person. “yeah, i thought so, too. colour’s original, too. ‘torch red’. kinda badass,” finn laughs a little, tossing the rag over his shoulder, hands on his hips. “owning a mustang’s definitely on my bucket list.”

well hey, to each their own, he supposes. if it ain’t hurting anyone—. he’s more of an occasional beer and a scenic drive kinda guy, himself. or a fast drive sometimes, too.

drop off. noted. a few more swipes with the rag before finn turns to give the other male his undivided attention, glancing behind him at the grey automobile in the parking lot, dirty blond eyebrows skyrocketing at the state of it. “jesus, no kidding. an apocalypse or two, maybe?” a little —

well, pardon his ignorance, but might he be able to ask ( why )? isn’t that sorta. . . unsanitary?

and does she, uh, have a lot of ( experience ) chewing on sticks, then?

which finn catches easily; his reflexes are still very much in good working order, even if perhaps not all of the rest of him is. “thanks,” he grins, pouring a few globs of wax onto the rag, which he works into the paint, causing it to shine like a mirror. “she’s nearly done. a real beauty.”

⠀ * 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 & 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬. below, you can find basic facts, headcanons and information about finn. ⠀

“yeah, that one,” finn answers with a nod, catching it without missing a beat, as it already has a fair amount of wax on it from the shelby he was waxing earlier. “thanks. you here to drop off or pick up?”

⠀ * 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐬. ⠀

currently waxing the hood of an ‘04 svt cobra. bright red, naturally. hey, READER — would you mind passing him that rag, please?

⠀ who knows where our 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬 lie? ⠀