Hallo and welcome back!

This… this took me a while. I told you guys before that I only want to write stuff I have experienced, but this… this is a bit of a stretch… admittedly a huge stretch. I've tried it, ages ago, and ever since then I've had considerably more experiences doing the cutting, be it labmice or chickenthighs… or the occasional fingers, still I've decided to do this from Robin's perspective, simply because I imagine that writing this from Zoro's would have been even harder. So yeah.. I've had nobody to advise me on this - not for lack of asking - so… yeah, suck it up. Damn, I can't wait for the following chapters not containing any form of kinkyness, I need a break. Enough rambling, on to the chapter, safety issues are addressed in the end!

In case the last chapter left you confused: The stone I'm talking about is a whetstone, one of those you use for japanese knives, that needs to be watered to use. How was Robin tied? Her hands are tied flush against one of Zoro's weight plates, her thighs are tied to her shins so she's in a kneeling position and her feet are tied flush against another weight plate. She can't move because she can't move the plates.

As always, a humongous thank you to Rexica for putting up with me and improving this story so so much!

Last time Zoro realised that his planning skills are lacking and started doing something that he's good at, this time Robin will learn just how good he is with those blades. For the uncut version read on ao3 if you prefer this cut read on ffnet...Yes I'm aware of the irony.

Hard, unforgiving metal under her palms, slowly adjusting to her own body heat. Small raises and welts under her fingertips indicating the no doubt ridiculously large amount of weight it packed. Weight that, with all her might, she hadn't moved even a fraction of an inch but that he had easily picked up with one hand to loop the ends of rope through. If that rope were to give just a little, she was sure she would somewhere find their shipwright's jolly Roger engraved, because no normal weight could be this heavy.

Gentle roughness of the rope biting into her wrists and ankles, thighs and shins. The heat of the air around her. The sharp smell of sweat and salt that should disgust her but did exactly the opposite. She could remember a time when she had wrinkled her nose at the guys' general lack of hygiene, but this… this was him. Sweat and blood and seasalt, utter blackness before her eyes, a taste of what probably lurked behind that light grey eye of his. This was him, and now she was a part of that.

Even if the goosebumps on her skin might tell another story, she loved it. Becoming a part of his world. Hairs rising in thrilling anticipation of what was to come. Her breath hitched with every drag of metal against the wet stone. She had heard the sound many times. Had watched him whenever he sharpened their chef's knives, and in the past, she had even watched him polish his swords. It has been a long time; she couldn't recall seeing him doing it ever since they all got back together again. Her analytic mind might theorise that it probably was because with haki his blades took much less damage than they had before, but that part of her was unusually quiet whenever she was up here. Whenever she walked into his world. Whenever she allowed herself to just feel, to shed the everyday fear of life, the troubles of piracy, the awareness of all the possible dangers awaiting her, lurking in every shadow. They had become less, considerably less.

The drags were short. Did he still sharpen the knives? He wouldn't use Sanji's knives on her, would he? That would be... cruel. Impersonal.

Splashing of water. He was done with that one. Would he use it on her now? Test its sharpness? Her head shook before she even realised. "No"

Dark chuckle. "What was that?"

"Please don't use his knives, Zoro-sama," she begged, and just like that, she was sobbing again. He couldn't do that to her could he?

He laughed, a sound of velvet sin. "What makes you think that I would allow any of his anywhere near you, Robin? You're lucky I let you eat his food." Words of biting threat.

The familiar click she always heard, when he loosened the blade from its sheath, the first inch of resistance before he'd draw it with his left hand. She knew she should fear the sound like every other person. Instead, her lower belly tightened and her heart sped in anticipation. He drew it, made it sing the song she had heard a thousand times before, but this time it was just for her, an overture for the play to follow. Water splashing. Was is not sharp enough?

Would she even feel the cut if the blade was this sharp? The cuts? He had not told her what he had in mind, and she hadn't pressed, trusted him with this decision, knew that he wouldn't mark her with anything demeaning. It would be personal and distinct, it would be everything she wanted. No matter what he decided for her, she would wear it with pride. Carry it as a medal because she had won. Conquered her past; vanquished her fears. It didn't matter that it would make her a slave in the eyes of other. Both of them knew what it really meant. Freedom. It would mean freedom from everything that had held her down in the past.

She only realised that her breathing had synchronised with the sound of the blade gliding over the whetstone when it stopped and her breath hitched in her throat. Was he done? Did he deem it sharp enough to carve into her skin like he intended? Water splashing. He cleaned the blade, and she had seen him often enough to imagine the look of undivided focus on his most precious treasure, scrutinising its form and edge.

He got up with a sigh, the tip of the trusted sword scratching over the hardwood floor, heavy boots thrumping, sending tiny vibrations into the wood under her bare knees. Dear lord, this should fill her with so much dread, not with barely contained happiness. Her body should grow cold with fear, not hot with desire. He came to a halt next to her, she could feel him, his stare on her naked, bound body. Feel his own lust washing over her like liquid heat.

She gasped in surprise when instead liquid ice rushed down her her back, the sharp scent of alcohol burning her eyes and nose, momentarily dispersing the thick musk of his bandana over her eyes.

The blade's tip traveled up her arm, not even scratching the surface of her skin, tickling. He let it rest flat on her shoulder, edge against her throat, and even if he were to press, or if she were to lean in, she knew the blade that had felled thousands, the sharpness that was feared around the world, would not cut her. As the hairthin edge rested against her pulse, it was dull as a butter knife, and still her breathing hitched. Her heart sped, and it took for her thighs to wetten to make her realise that all those reactions did not stem from fear. This was no play on fears. This was all about anticipation, because even if he wanted to, he would never scare her. She knew that if he wanted, he could have skinned her before she even registered the pain; if he wanted, he could have taken her arms and legs before she even had the chance to draw the breath for protest. That sword against her throat was a horrible weapon, she knew, but none of that mattered because she was thoroughly ablaze at the awe-inspiring mastery of his weapon.

"You have doubts, Robin?" He asked, his voice sure and unwavering, eager determination seeping from his very being.

"No." That he even had to ask—he monitored her, didn't he? He should know what the cold steel against her again heated skin did to her. She gasped when the sword bit into her throat, probably not enough to draw blood but enough to get his point across.

"No, Zoro-sama," she corrected and was immediately rewarded by the blade's soft caress. Loving almost, as it lazily drew back over her shoulder, down her shoulder blade to where she knew the cuts would be. She readied herself for the warm blood that would be oozing down her back but ducked against the weightplate when instead another wave of liquid cold crashed over her. The flat of the blade slapped her hard against the cheek as the scent of alcohol clouded her mind.

"Please forgive me, Zoro-sama," she begged while the blade lingered on her cheek.

"Up," he ordered with cool detachment. He always was like this, cold and aloof. And she knew that she probably couldn't be doing this with him if he showed her the same sadistic glee others had. His blade left, and she raised herself as best she could. Straining against the restraints.

"Beg for it."

"Please cut me, Zoro-sama."

He laughed. "Just cut you, Robin? I already did." The rough fabric of his pants scraped against her hips as he stood above her, one large hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head down to her shoulder. Tickling skin pulled away from skin, nerve endings coming alive at the burn of residual disinfectant as he forced open the shallow cut on her throat she hadn't realised was there. Hot breath against her ear, damp through the cloth of the bandana. "You mean to tell me you're satisfied with that? Should I leave you alone to relish in the tickle from this scratch?"

"No!" She called out in sudden panic. How did he do that to her? Make her want like that? She had wanted that mark as a promise to him and as proof for her. How was it that now her whole body came to life with the overwhelming fear that he might not grant her wish? Fear because she couldn't fathom anything that would be worse than being denied this honour of carrying his mark on her skin. Fear that he might not deem her worthy to be… his property, because she seemed satisfied with little more than a scratch. She hissed when he brushed a cold, wet finger against the tiny wound, hot burn.

"You need to work on your manners, Robin. You have already done much better than this."

She had been wrong. This was a play of fear, and she was indeed terrified. Terrified he'd leave her, terrified she couldn't please him. "Please forgive me, Zoro-sama, please don't leave," she wept, over and over again, cherishing the burn of the wound, grateful for his disinfectant covered digit still aggravating it because it meant she still had a chance, worth.

He hummed his approval, and her heart surged in happiness and relief.

"Good, now try again. And make it count, Robin, because I will leave you here if you fuck up again," he threatened, his voice sweeter than it should be, making her insides quiver in dread. He would definitely leave her here, naked and bound, to sulk and think about her failure as his sub if she didn't please him as she should. It terrified her, and more tears seeped into the fabric over her eyes.

She bowed her head as low as she could with the restraining rope and took a deep, steadying breath, not entirely sure if he would forgive any uncertainty in her voice. She did not ponder her words, thoroughly convinced that no arrangement of syllables would be enough to convey just how desperately she wanted his mark, his blade in her skin. She trusted her voice though, her voice and tears easily showed the utter despair warring within her, overwriting sanity in a matter of seconds as she begged and wept and plead with everything she had.

Another approving hum, and he pushed her head back up with the flat of the blade. It soothed her fears instantly. When he retreated, her heart didn't speed in fear but anticipation. Her ears strained for his suddenly quiet steps, two backwards, and her hips felt cold with the sudden lack of friction. Did he like the way she looked beneath him? A lamb ready for sacrifice? Were there many cultures where the one performing the sacrifice was also the recipient?

You're not missing much, just about two paragraphs, find them on AO3

What can I say about this? Don't do it! Not like this. If you can't control the sharpness of your weapon of choice at will, which you can't because you aren't a fictional character with superpowers, do not put your blade anywhere near major arteries. Do not cut where nerves are running close to the surface either. Read read read read. Learn first aid. Hygiene. Honestly there is so much that I can't possibly address all of it here.

Just keep in mind that this is fiction and that I do take liberties with the safety because of that. If you want to try this, read literature, ask a doctor, practice on something that isn't human, or alive for that matter.

Again, I can't promise the next chapter will be ready in time for next week... I've kinda encountered writer's block and honestly have to force myself to write.

Tell me what you thought of it anyway, I'd love honest feedback, because I really really don't know about this one