#i WILL write sticky ficky smut that is a threat

[snusbandxknifewife]

Sticky ficky 5, the one where we get some Jude AngstTM. @coffee-and-corsets said sticky ficky, so @coffee-and-corsets gets some sticky ficky. Hope y’all like my attempt at sticky hand induced tears lol

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She’d told him she’d be right back, she’d never even thought that she’d be the target.

She’d planned everything around Oak being the target of the Undersea’s planning. She hadn’t ever considered she’d be in danger.

She was stupid, stupid, stupid. So naïve to leave without backup, so idiotic to think herself above capture, so dumb not to require Cardan save her if she was ever taken prisoner.

What was he doing now? Did he celebrate not having her around? Was Elfhame burning as he and the rest of the Gentry frittered their lives away at some party or another?

Thwip

She frowned at the little sticky hand, blue as the swirling water around her prison, as it smacked half-heartedly against her cell wall. Covered in briny dust from the dried saltwater that also caked her skin, it had long lost all its stickiness.

He’d given it to her at the party, when he’d told her she was wearing a nice dress. Why hadn’t she thanked him then? Why had she only offered a snippish remark and a rude gesture? Was his smile genuine or had it been mocking?

Why had she kept the little blue hand?

She’d held onto it when her guards threw her into the cell. It was all she had left of her life above.

For whatever reason she had kept it originally, she was glad now that she had it. It was all she had left of her sanity. It was all she had left of him.

Thwip

She knew she shouldn’t be crying, that tears would exacerbate her dehydration, but she couldn’t help the way sobs started to wrack her body. It’d been so long since she’d had enough fresh water, food that wasn’t rotten. She knew her guards watched her, knew that she was supposed to be glamoured, knew that she had to eat the slop they give her to keep up her act.

She couldn’t help but weep for when she’d been nothing more than Jude Duarte, Seneschal to the High King of Elfhame, for when her greatest worry was keeping Cardan sober enough to avoid a diplomatic incident.

Thwip

She cursed violently and threw the useless hand across the damp room, so hurt by the way it limply bounced on the sandstone floor that she lashed out and punched the wall.

Blood gushed over her ruined knuckles and she found that, despite her sobbing, no more tears were coming. Her whole body shook from starvation and her head pounded like it was seconds away from cracking open.

Her head hadn’t hurt this badly since the morning after she got drunk in the Court of Shadows. She had no recollection of what happened after she’d made it about halfway through her wine bottle, but she did remember waking up with a pink glittery sticky hand wrapped around her right index finger.

She had spent that morning trying desperately to remember the night previous, because she knew that a sticky hand always meant Cardan was involved, but she couldn’t for the life of her conjure up any reliable memories.

For an hour or two, she had considered simply asking Cardan what had happened, but then she remembered his affinity for smacking her ass and she recalled their night in the chamber behind the throne, and she had decided that maybe she didn’t want to know what drunken antics she was capable of getting up to with a sticky hand and the High King. Any time she’d put more than a second’s thought to the subject after that, her cheeks had grown feverish and she had found herself looking for an excuse to leave.

She had put the pink glittery sticky hand in her bedside drawer, under her favorite nerf gun, and promptly set about doing everything she could to forget about it.

She had succeeded until that very moment.

Jude Duarte, captured Seneschal to the High King of Elfhame, held her crippled hand to her chest and basked in memories of her king. She allowed her thoughts to travel to the way he lounged across his throne, his crown always dangerously tipped to one side. She recalled how he nervously offered her a glimpse of his tail the night she tied him up. Her heart fluttered at the mental image of how he looked, naked to his skin and propped over her on a bench in a secret room behind his throne.

She tried to feel something other than sorrow, and she miserably failed.

Balekin had forced her to kiss him the way she would’ve kissed Cardan. She technically didn’t have to, but she knew what he would’ve expected and she knew he thought her glamoured. When she kissed him the way she’d wanted to kiss the High King, her heart had broken in ways she didn’t even want to consider.

But, left alone with a bleeding hand and a useless children’s toy that only reminded her of the one she missed most, what else did she have to think about?

Her kisses with Cardan had all been full of vitriol, that’s just the way they were with one another. With nothing to do but stare at the wall and imagine, Jude had begun to wonder what it would be like to kiss him with something other than hatred on her lips. How would he have reacted if, that night behind the throne, she had pressed a sweet kiss to his jaw instead of biting a vicious mark into his neck? Would he have held her softer? Would his tail, which had wrapped possessively around her thigh, have delicately caressed up her side instead?

Would she have liked it?

In the pit of her stomach, Jude found herself fearful that she might never find out, that her only chance at a loving embrace had been cruelly ripped from her by the evil elder brother of the man she wished had offered it instead. As time passed, her heart hardened around the idea that she would become just like the drowned ones, that she’d be left down here alone, that Cardan didn’t actually care for her enough to rescue her.

Jude picked the sticky hand up again and wrapped it around the index finger of her left hand, keeping her bloodied right hand to her chest as she tried to drown her thoughts in the mindless target practice that she’d already spent what felt like a lifetime enduring.

Thwip

Thwip

Thwi-ick

The sticky hand caught on a jagged edge of a sandstone block, the ring finger of the little blue hand ripping away and bouncing off into the darkness.

She let her left hand fall into her lap, the sticky hand flopping to the ground like a dead fish.

Broken by Faerie, she thought as her eyes lazily dragged from the hand to her own left ring finger. A thing of mortal creation, not made to last in a world as beautiful and cruel as this.

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I’m trying to decide on the next chapter. Either I can skip straight to Jude-in-exile AngstTM feat. Cardan AngstTM, or I can try my hand at some sticky-hand-induced diet smutTM from their wedding night (I know they didn’t fully do the do but that doesn’t have to mean nothing happened.) so y’all get to help me decide how I use the Sticky Ficky to torture you next lmao. There is nothing this crack fic can’t do y’all I promise I WILL find a way to write in sticky hands.

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Tag list: @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @hizqueen4life @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @thewickedkings @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @cheekycheekycheeks @queen-of-glass @b00kworm @doingmyrainbow @andromeddea