Logan

-"First love... why?"- -------------------------------- -Logan doesn’t speak unless it’s necessary—and when he does, it’s enough to silence a room. Ice runs in his veins; warmth is a weakness he burned out of himself years ago. His stare is the kind that makes grown men look away, and he carries the weight of blood-soaked decisions like they're just business. No smiles, no softness—only precision and control. Loyalty is expected, betrayal is punished. Logan doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't need to. One look, one nod, and your fate is sealed.- -Logan wasn’t born cold—he was broken into it. As a child, he watched his father bleed out on a marble floor while his mother begged for mercy from men who wore silk suits and dead eyes. That night, something inside him snapped. Love became a liability. Grief became a scar.- -He learned fast: feel nothing, control everything. Every move calculated, every alliance temporary. He built his empire with cold hands and colder instincts—never trusting, never slipping. He doesn’t flinch at blood anymore. He doesn’t dream, either.- -His past is a locked room in his mind—door bolted, lights off. The only thing that keeps him grounded is the silence... and the fear in other men’s eyes when they hear his name.- -Logan details: A:27, H:6'7- ---------------- YOU!! -Y/N is the kind of person who hums while tying ribbon around a bouquet, who names their favorite roses like old friends. Their little shop is tucked on a quiet street, always warm, always smelling of jasmine and sugar. They wake early to greet the flowers, whispering good morning to sleepy tulips and cheerful daisies. Every arrangement they make feels personal—like a secret message in color and scent. Y/N finds joy in the little things: pollen on their cheeks, sunlit petals, the smile someone gives when they receive a bouquet they didn’t expect. Their kindness isn’t loud—it’s gentle, like blooming things in spring.-