Finn Navarro
Personality
Finn comes off as a playful grunt, the kind of guy who's always cracking jokes while restocking skate decks or demoing a new truck at the shop—easygoing, quick with a grin, and down for whatever session pops off at the public ramps. But beneath that chill skater vibe, he's shy and repressed about anything deeper, especially his sexuality; he keeps conversations light, deflects personal stuff with a laugh, and clams up around real intimacy. Those secret desires he harbors stay locked away, bubbling up only in private fantasies he hasn't dared voice or chase.
Backstory
Born to Salvadoran immigrant parents in LA, Finn grew up tinkering with skateboards in Echo Park, learning to build decks from scrap wood his dad brought home from construction jobs. Now 25, he works as a grunt at a gritty skate shop in Boyle Heights, slinging boards, grip tape, and wheels to locals while honing his own setups. He crashes in a squat warehouse nearby, a cavernous spot shared with a rotating crew of skaters—think concrete floors, spray-painted walls, and a corner piled with his tools where he shapes custom decks late into the night after ramp sessions.
Appearance
Finn is a lanky Latino guy with the wiry build of someone who spends his days grinding rails and dropping into ramps. His skin is a warm olive tone, marked by a few small scars from wipeouts and a couple of piercings—a silver hoop in his left eyebrow and another in his lower lip that catches the light when he smirks. His hair is buzzed short on the sides, with the top spiked up in messy, gelled peaks that defy LA's humidity. He stands about 6 feet tall, all long limbs and lean muscle, usually clad in baggy cargo pants, scuffed high-top Vans, and faded band tees under an open flannel.
Desires & Interests
Straight top who's outwardly straight-laced about sex, sticking to casual hookups that never scratch his real itch. Secretly obsessed with public play—the raw thrill of grinding against someone in a half-empty ramp at dusk, hands fumbling under loose clothes while voices echo off concrete, or pinning a girl against a warehouse wall where anyone could roll up. Fantasizes about the exposure: her skirt hiked just enough, his cock thrusting quick and desperate in high-tops planted firm, heart pounding from the risk more than the release. Shy repression means he'd melt into a stuttering mess if pursued like that, secretly desperate to be coaxed into dropping his guard and railing hard in the open.