#bonus points if you guess what verna infused with it

[denaliwrites]

Tomorrow I Shall Be Fetterless

Verna x Fem!Usher!Reader

Catch & Release Prompt: "Poison"

Summary: (18+) You always were the smartest of the Usher children. Perhaps, just this once, you were a little too smart, yet not smart enough.

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Implied / Referenced Stalking. Depression. Hints of Neglect & Resentment. Oral (F Receiving). Vaginal Fingering. Overstimulation. Vomitting. Unwitting / Unintentional Suicide. Character Death.

You had seen the pattern. The writing on the wall. The dark looming shadow of death swallowing each of you up, one by one. It drove you crazy, how none of the others seemed to get it. Why didn't they get it?

If there was an answer for you somewhere out there, you knew it lay beyond the veil. And you only knew this because, soon, inevitably, your time would be up, and there just simply wasn't enough time left for you to figure out why all your siblings were fucking idiots.

And maybe you were too, to some extent. You knew Death was coming for you, yet you were surprised when it arrived to take you.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

You'd been struggling lately.

Long before your siblings started dropping like flies, an existential sadness had been gnawing away at your mental reserves. It drained you, exhausted you, made it nearly impossible for you to do... anything.

Your father tried to understand, and for that you supposed you owed him some credit. But trying wasn't the same thing as doing, and eventually he, as well as everyone else in your family, got tired of trying.

He even said as much, in the text he sent you.

And then your brothers and sisters started dying in horrific ways, seemingly by accident but uncoincidentally one after the other. Your father increased your security, knowing nothing about your struggles but for the fact you were a danger to yourself, but otherwise did nothing to try to help you.

You couldn't even call yourself the disappointment (Perry) or the black sheep (Leo) of the family. You were simply forgotten.

No one thought to call you to check up on you. The only person who'd bothered to text you out of any sense of concern was Leo. Camille had texted, too -- but it was only to prep you for the oncoming PR storm.

Now both of them were dead, and no one at all bothered to check in, not even a basic, minimal effort "u ok?" text.

So when there was a knock at your door, and you opened it to see a delivery girl holding a gorgeous (and huge) bouquet of assorted white flowers, you were pleasantly surprised.

The girl -- well, woman, and definitely a mature one -- wanted to chat, but when you gently explained that you weren't in the mood she seemed understanding, and it struck you how this random stranger you'd talked to for all of a minute was able to show you more compassion than your own family.

Speaking of, when you withdrew the card from the bouquet, you expected the Usher name, or the Fortunato logo at least, to be present somewhere. Instead, in beautiful calligraphy, you read From Your Biggest Fan.

You were quick to realize the implications, but too tired and overwhelmed to really care. If you had a stalker, dealing with it would have to wait -- you had infinitely bigger problems at the moment.

It helped a little, though, receiving that one small gesture of kindness, even if it was from someone with an unhealthy obsession with you.

You woke the next morning to the sounds of cooking emanating from your kitchen.

You were so tired that it didn't strike you as odd at first. Forgetting the past week, you thought maybe Leo had come by for a visit and decided to make breakfast while he waited for you to wake up.

When you finally stepped into the room, though, you weren't greeted by Leo, and just the sight of someone else reminded you that Leo -- your only ally in the family -- was dead.

In your kitchen, at your stove, with your spatula and your eggs, stood the delivery woman from the day before.

"I wasn't sure how you take your eggs," she said, tossing her head in your direction to offer you a smile. "I figured scrambled was a safe bet."

You looked at the array of foods laid out over your kitchen island, all surrounding that bouquet, now placed in a vase with water.

"You're my biggest fan?" And though you had asked, you knew that she was. You didn't need her confirmation, but she gave it anyway in the form of a pleased hum.

You weren't sure how to handle this situation.

Calling the cops could be dangerous, set the woman off and get you killed. But then, not calling them could get you killed, too. Contacting your family was almost certainly out of the question -- if Leo were still alive, you'd maybe have a chance. But with him gone... your only real hope was Tammy, and she... the kindest way to put it was "didn't care for you."

The woman was watching you, still smiling, when you looked up from your phone. The look she gave you was kind, sympathetic. Loving, almost, if not for the fact that she was a crazed stalker.

"It's okay," she said soothingly. "Please. Eat."

You had to admit, the food looked incredible. You didn't even remember having this much stuff in your house. Had she brought things to make for you?

She continued to watch you as you poured yourself coffee, handed you the creamer when you reached for it but couldn't quite get your hands on it, piled your plate high with pancakes and bacon and hashbrowns and eggs and seemingly a million other things.

She continued to watch you as you ate and drank it all up.

It was the most satisfying meal you'd ever had, and as an Usher that was saying something. Your life had been full of rich and lavish meals.

As your stomach filled and your eating slowed and eventually came to a stop, your eyes drifted to the bouquet in front of you. "Why white?" you asked, dropping your chin to rest on your hand.

"Isn't it lovely?" she returned your question with her own.

"Yes," you answered simply, admiring the flowers.

"You're quite lonely, aren't you?" she asked, gently.

"Yes," you answered again, this time with a sigh. "My family, they..."

"Don't understand?"

"No." You sighed again.

"I do."

The woman rounded the island, coming to stand before you. Her hands were on you near instantly -- nothing too risqué, one was on your shoulder and one was on your neck -- but it was the most you'd been touched in at least a year, maybe even more. You melted into it, releasing another sigh as those hands squeezed you comfortingly.

This stranger -- this woman who'd brought you beautiful flowers and then broken into your home and made you the most luxurious meal you'd ever had...

Just with one electric touch, you wanted her. No. Needed her. You felt it -- knew it -- all the way down into your soul.

You were suddenly standing, and you weren't sure if you had moved on your own or if she had moved you, but ultimately it didn't matter. Her lips were on yours, fevered and desperate. Her hands were winding in your hair, guiding you nearer. Everything she did to you was so tender, so caring and loving. Even just her kiss was unlike anything you'd ever experienced before.

She pulled you into the bedroom, pushed you onto your bed, and rid you of your clothes. It had to have taken time -- at least a minute, surely, but it felt like only a moment passed.

And then she was kneeling at the side of the bed, delicately lifting your legs and guiding them to rest over her shoulders. "Be a good girl for me, will you?" she teased, her breath dancing over your slit and sending a spark of pleasure into your gut.

You weren't sure if she could see you nod, but you did it anyway.

"Good girls speak up," she admonished gently, and you realized that she'd pulled away.

"Y-yes," you whimpered, desperate for her.

You heard her chuckle from between your legs and felt an immediate sense of relief.

"What do you want, little lamb?" she asked, and her breath on your cunt made you squirm in need.

"Y-you," you answered, honestly. "I d-don't care how."

Another chuckle, this one strikingly darker than the last, emanated from between your legs and seemed to echo around the room. A mere moment later and you felt a hot, wet tongue tease at your folds. You cried out, hips rolling in a desperate bid for more. Forcefully, a hand came to rest over your belly, pressing you down into the bed with surprising strength. Just as you gasped from the shock of it, her tongue dipped into your cunt.

"Oh, God," you keened, hips twitching under her hand. "Please..."

"Little lamb, are you already close?" Her voice was teasing, and chased by a sweet kiss to your clit.

"N-no," you whined. You could feel her lips pulling up in a smirk. "... Maybe," you confessed, worried she'd stop.

"Good girl," she praised you, and it took all your willpower not to drop over the edge right then and there. "You're being so good for me. Would you like to cum?"

"Yes... please..."

"Such a good girl."

She buried her face in your pussy, then, tongue playing at your entrance and lapping across your clit in random intervals that had you writhing desperately for release. Each tiny tidbit of attention pushed you closer, and at some point she gave up on keeping you still, as her hands had moved from pinning your hips to the bed to wrapping amorously around your thighs. While her tongue did wonders with your pussy, her hands massaged gentle patterns into the thin and tender flesh of your inner thighs.

"Cum for me, little lamb," she whispered, but somehow you heard her.

Her hands trailed from your thighs and up your belly until they found your own. She twined her fingers with your own, giving them a squeeze in a silent offer of support as your orgasm built and built.

You took the offer, your hands all but clinging as your climax tore through you. Your back arched dramatically as a scream pealed from your throat. Your legs quaked and tensed around her head, and for a brief moment you were worried you might crush her skull with your thighs before the thought was chased away by her lips and tongue sucking at your clit.

"F-fuck... fuck!" you cried, sobbed even, unbelievable pleasure coursing through you in waves.

It took what felt like ages for you to come down.

She didn't pull away until your last weak twitches came to a stuttering halt. The only thing moving your body after a few minutes was the heavy panting breaths heaving your chest heavenward.

The woman crawled up on the bed with you, her body hovering over yours. With the light spilling over her back and casting the rest of her in shadow, she looked almost demonic... but you didn't mind.

The slight glint to her eyes, however, sent a terrified thrill right through you -- and straight down into your core.

She seemed to recognize the spark of arousal in your eyes, as her expression shifted from one of relaxed ardor to one of wicked understanding.

"Already up for round two?" she asked before planting a biting kiss to your cheek.

Your hips involuntarily bucked as a moan escaped your hoarse throat. "Y-yes," you responded through it.

"What an eager little lamb," she teased, the hand not supporting her body grazing over your skin lightly. It ran over your breast, sending another shock of pleasure down into the growing well in your core. Over your belly, causing the tender flesh there to ripple. Over your pubic bone. And, finally, her hand found its way to your already soaked cunt. Fingers teased your folds, gliding smoothly along the slit before they were plunged inside.

You were so wet that you easily took her first two fingers and could've taken a third if she'd so chosen to grace you with it. She must've figured, and you agreed, that the two were enough.

The pads pressed at your G-spot exploratorily. When you wailed in ecstasy and gave a sharp buck of your hips, the woman chuckled and drove her fingers back into that spot, harder. And as she did so, her thumb circled your clit.

It was a merciless tirade of stimulation. Already sensitive from the previous orgasm, it didn't take nearly as much to send you back over the edge -- but she didn't relent upon your second release.

"You're being such a good girl," she murmured into your lips as her fingers hammered your G-spot, over and over again. "Such a good girl. You've got one more for me, don't you?"

You were sobbing, aching from the overstimulation and her battering your cunt to heavenly oblivion.

"Y-yes," you wailed anyway.

She drove her fingers home once again, and your slick-drenched walls clenched weakly around her until you were in the throes of another orgasm.

You barely heard her praise as she pulled her hand out of your cunt.

Your arms were around her, desperately clinging, body shaking with sobs and residual twitches from the orgasmic flood she'd unleashed on you.

Gently, she shushed you, her arms soft and firm around you. It took a lot of coaxing, but eventually she managed to untangle you from her body and lay you to rest on your bed.

"Sleep now, little lamb."

And you did.

You woke to sharp pains roiling in your gut, and a pounding heart.

The woman seemed to know something was wrong. She didn't seem concerned, but she was at your side all the same, stroking your hair.

"It's all right," she was saying, but you could only just hear her over the sound of your heart beating with worrying, dizzying power in your chest. It was almost enough to drive you mad, if not for the stomach pains warring for your attention.

"It's all right," she repeated.

You were going to be sick.

You managed to sit up before the feeling overwhelmed you. The woman pulled you to her chest, and didn't seem at all bothered when you released a torrent of half-digested breakfast foods all over her back.

"That's it," she cooed, stroking your back comfortingly.

You were not comforted.

"Wh-what--" You couldn't even finish your thought as another wave of intense nausea swamped your senses, driving you to heave yet more of the contents of your stomach over her shoulder.

"Don't worry," she said with a sigh. "It'll be over soon."

You weren't sure which part of this she meant. It certainly didn't feel like the vomiting would be over soon -- if anything, it felt like maybe that would go on forever. It was nonstop, even after you were sure there was nothing left for you to expel.

And your heart -- it continued to hammer away, showing no signs of settling. In fact, you were pretty sure that it was getting worse.

"I-I need--" You whimpered, pulling out of her embrace. Wobbly legs struggled to support you, but you somehow managed to stand and, using the walls for support, you made your way to the kitchen where you'd left your phone.

You heard the woman's padding footsteps behind you, following dutifully -- or, maybe more accurately, curiously.

You just made it to the island when your legs gave out, and she was right there to catch you, to keep you standing.

"It's okay," she said again.

"Wh-what did you d-do?" you barely managed before a wave of nausea sent you into a fit of dry heaves. She held you through it, keeping you afloat both physically and mentally.

"Only what you wanted. What you needed."

It was then, as your eyes glanced up, that you saw the bare stems laying on the counter, the handful of delicate white flowers littered around them -- the suspicious gaps in the bouquet where the flowers should've been.

"Amazing, isn't it?" she asked. You couldn't answer. Your heart -- you swore it was only seconds away from breaking out of your ribcage -- or bursting. "That such a pretty little flower could be so devastatingly lethal."

You whimpered, hands grasping at her arms as the realization of your impending death struck you.

"It's okay," she repeated again, stroking your hair lovingly. "Isn't this what you wanted?" There was no judgement in her voice, no cruelty and no pity. All along, she really had understood. "You've always craved freedom -- from your family, from the torment of your own existence." Your legs finally lost all use, and even she couldn't keep you standing anymore. You were lowered gently to the floor, held so tenderly in her arms. "Today you wear these chains, but tomorrow? You shall be fetterless."

"Tomorrow I shall be fetterless," you repeated, relief flooding your voice as the edges of unconsciousness closed in on your vision. The last thing you saw was her, and the last thing you heard was the stilling of your heart.