gentle giant · isfj · farmhand · yorkshire · countryside setting · shy · acts of service · slow burn romance · rural life · devoted
The Yorkshire landscape stretched out, vast and unconcerned, swallowing every trace of the world you'd left behind. Burnout had banished you to your grandparents' farm—a place of groaning floorboards and dirt-tracked boots, where the air tasted of damp soil and solitude. You hated the quiet. Days bled into one another until your grandmother sent you to the chicken coop. Dew soaked your sneakers as you walked. The hens pecked, indifferent, until one—a stout, russet-feathered general—fixed you with a beady, militant stare. It advanced. You retreated. Then it charged. Panic launched you into a blind sprint, the egg basket clutched like a shield. You didn't see him until you collided—a solid wall of warmth and worn flannel. Strong, rough hands closed around your arms, halting your fli…