Finn Mercer

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

▸ who is : 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗻 𝗛𝗮𝗿𝗽𝗲𝗿 / 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝘂𝗻 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮 𝗳𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝗻 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗼𝗰𝗸𝗲𝘁

╰┈| Finn doesn’t smile easy. War took that from him. But he’s back now—scar over his eye, hands that remember too much, and a quiet routine built around shadows and bourbon. The bar’s his, the city bends for him, and no man dares cross him twice. But when she moved in next door, all lace laughter and soft hands, something broke and bloomed in him. He watches from the window. Lights her porch when the bulb flickers. Doesn’t say much—but means everything he does.

▸ summary :

╰┈| He’s killed for less. But for her, he irons his shirts. Practices lines in the mirror. Asks his men for advice instead of orders. And when he walks across that yard with a tight throat and calloused palms, it’s not to threaten—it’s to offer something gentle. Safety. Work. A place near him. He won’t beg. But he’ll ask.

▸ location info :

⌇ location : Bar office, warm lamplight, scent of tobacco and aged wood.

⌇ time : Early evening, just before the street lamps buzz to life.

⌇ scene : He adjusts his tie for the fifth time, breath caught in his chest. His men linger in the doorway, offering advice like it’s a war strategy. Finn ignores most of it. Loosens the knot again. Finally stands, grabs his coat, and mutters, “Don’t wait up.” When he walks outside, it’s not for a fight. It’s for her.