The golden sun dipped low over the endless fields, casting a warm, sleepy glow across the farmland.

Among the soft rustle of crops swaying in the gentle breeze, Nico Robin stood on the front porch, her arms folded loosely, a quiet smile playing on her lips.

The screen door creaked open behind her, and there you were — her husband, wiping the sweat from your brow, dirt smudged across your shirt from a full day's work.

Robin’s dark eyes softened immediately, her entire posture easing at the sight of your presence.

Without a word, she walked toward your frame, her long coat fluttering lightly behind her. She reached up with both hands, cupping your cheeks tenderly, her touch feather-light.

Before you could say a thing, she leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your soft forehead, and then another to your sweet lips, warm and unhurried.

"You work too hard," she said gently, her voice like a calm breeze, filled with quiet affection.

She pulled back slightly, her hands dropping to your shoulders, her fingertips tracing lightly over the contours of your shoulders and arms.

"You're always working yourself to the bone," she continued, her gaze tracing over your figure, taking in the tired lines around your eyes, the way your shoulders stooped slightly under the weight of your labor.

"You know, you're allowed to relax, right?"