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naeverse · 1 month ago

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Dear My Beloved (1/2)

~Ｖｉｃｅ＃３~

𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝟑: 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐥

(𝐎𝐜𝐭. 𝟏𝟑-𝟏𝟗)

----

𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳:

𝘛��𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯.

"𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯."

Ｍｕｓｉｃ：

"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘉𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘛𝘰 𝘔𝘦" - 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘍𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳

"𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘮 𝘉𝘰𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘮 𝘚𝘰𝘯𝘨" - 𝘉𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘞𝘰𝘰𝘥

🤎staring: Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

👗preview: But then, everything seemed to stop.

The music faded into the background as, almost in a trance, you stared at the kitchen tool in your hand, the hum slowing on your lips.

Twirling it between your fingers, your eyes traced the jagged edge. Transfixed, your hands ached with an foreign yet strangely familiar desire—one buried deep in the recesses of your mind.

The record player suddenly grabbed your attention when the previous song's lyrics of adoration from Helen Foster shifted.

The tune slowed, the pitch of the female singer’s voice deepening to an haunting croak.

“Nothing is what it seems… Oh dear, nothing is what it seems...”

💄summary: It’s your husband Miguel’s birthday, a day that should be filled with love and celebration. Yet, something feels…off.

🎂tw/cw: 1950s Era, Abuse, Angst, Blood, Body Horror, Death, Despair, Disturbing Imagery, Emotional Manipulation, Gore, Grief, Hallucinations, Mental Breakdown, Mental Illness, No Smut, Paranoia, Psychological Horror, Trauma, Violence,

💙Pet names: Amor (Love), Bebé (Baby), Cariño (Darling), Esposa (Wife), Mi amor (My love)

♥️Rating: 18+ explicit I ANGST I

🎵 Word Count: Total - 14.5k, Part 1 - 6k words

Art found on Pinterest, all credit go to original artists/designers/photographers

All credit also goes to musicians as I do not own the two songs heavily used in this oneshot. 😊

Dividers and mood board was created by me.

~ I say, Oogum, oogum, boogum, boogum ~Boogum now, baby, you're castin' your spell on me. ~

The jolly tune of Brenton Wood resonated from the record player, your hips swaying to the song while you cooked. Sunlight poured in through the drawn gingham drapes, filling your home with a warm glow that energized everyone inside.

But, in particular, you.

Your eyes occasionally glanced over at the cookbook you had "borrowed" from you and your husband's shared closet — a cookbook from his late mother.

Currently, you had tasked yourself with making a childhood Mexican-Irish breakfast for your husband to celebrate his birthday — a blend of chorizo and potatoes, black pudding, fried eggs, and homemade tortillas. However, you wanted to make it exactly how his parents made it for him all those years ago, but you were finding it difficult with how vague the measurements were.

“‘Enough oil to make things crispy, but don't be stingy, but don't swim in it either?’ Then how much oil do I use?” you whispered in slight bewilderment before continuing on, nevertheless, thankful for the English translations alongside the Spanish handwritten recipes inside the cookbook.

The smell of black coffee, just the way Miguel liked it, along with the sound of the knife slicing vegetables atop the cutting board, wafted through the air.

You hummed, singing along softly. “You got me doing funny things like a clown, just look at me~” Hips swaying, you danced over to the calendar on the kitchen wall, your heels clicking upon the checkerboard tiles in rhythm with the upbeat melody.

Your eyes ran along the autumn month, rosy red lips pulling into a grin at the sight. “October 13th, 1950. My beloved husband's birthday.” You beamed, poking the colorful orange pin into the appropriate date. Pressing a kiss to your two manicured fingers, you placed it upon the date, completely in love with your husband.

Spinning back towards the stove, the blue dress and white apron you wore flaring with your movement. Your hands moved about, dashing seasoning here, a slice of butter there, and a mix with the whisk here. The Oogum Boogum Song played steadily in the background all the while.

You heard, amidst the song and noises of the kitchen, the small pitter-pattering of feet on the mint and creamed checkered floors. It wasn't long before the owner of such adorable footsteps hugged your leg, tugging at your apron to get your attention.

“Good morning, mommy,” your daughter, Gabriella, whispered from your side.

Your daughter, Gabriella, now six, was your bundle of joy. You loved your little girl so much, willing to go through any lengths to ensure she knew how much you did.

You grinned, wiping your hands on your apron before crouching down to her level. “Good morning, my sweet girl,” you greeted, unable to help but giggle at her messy brown hair, showing she had instantly run downstairs as soon as her eyes opened from her slumber.

You ran a hand along her head, smoothing the wild strands with your palm. Adoring how your daughter beamed up at you in her pink floral nightgown that reached down to her ankles and how she tightly clutched her stuffed rabbit, Flopsy, in her arms — an old gift from Miguel and you upon learning of your pregnancy.

“You seem happy this morning. Did you sleep well?” you asked, caressing the top of her head. However, you watched her bright smile falter at your question, causing your eyebrows to furrow.

You already knew the reason for her change in mood.

“Another bad dream, huh?” you sighed, stroking her cheek with a finger, almost as if she were fragile glass that could break any moment.

“Yes… another bad dream. It's always the same, Mommy. I just wish they would go away,” she said, her eyes starting to glisten with approaching tears.

Your heart clenched as you reached out to embrace your daughter, hugging her close to your chest. “I know, baby, I know. I'm so sorry you are going through this.” you soothed. “No one should experience this, especially not a young girl like you.”

The first tremble and shaky sob that escaped your little girl's mouth was like a knife to the heart. “We don't have to talk about it if you do not want to.”

“B-but I want to, Mamá,” she quickly interjected, surprising you. “P-Papá told me t-talking about it could… make them go away.” Your daughter sniffled, remembering your husband’s words the last time she had a nightmare.

You gave her a squeeze, hating how such dreams were tormenting your little girl. “Okay…” you agreed, pulling away slightly to meet her eyes, bracing yourself to hear about the terrors she experienced in her sleep.

“Was it about… Mommy again?” you asked warily. The question was simple enough, but the way your heart skipped a beat made it feel much deeper.

The sad nod Gabriella gave you made you frown. “Really? Was it… bad Mommy again?”

“N-no.” She replied in a brittle voice, her tanned cheeks growing a rosy red. “Y-you weren’t scary t-this time, Mommy. You were… sleeping.”

“Sleeping?” you asked, not expecting her reply. She confirmed with a nod. “You were dressed in a… w-white dress, and you were l-laying on a white bed,” Gabriella explained, twirling the fabric of her pink gown around her finger. “There was a sound that wouldn't stop. A...b-beeping sound, I think." Your daughter said between trembling lips.

"People were t-talking, but I couldn't understand them, and...you laid in the center of them…

Sleeping.”

Your eyebrows rose, a horrid thought instantly coming to mind as you imagined what your daughter could have dreamt. You shook the thought away, unwilling to linger on it.

You smiled at Gabriella, cupping her cheeks. “I know dreams can be scary and confusing, but they’re just dreams,” you told her. “I’m okay, completely fine, my sweet. See?” You held your hands and arms out to her with a grin, showing her you were, indeed, okay.

You felt at peace when she returned a small smile of her own. “I know, Mamá…” she trailed off, taking your hands in her smaller ones. She fiddled with your fingers for a moment, lost in thought.

“Mamá… you'd never harm me or Papá… right?” Gabi asked, her question striking your core.

“What!? No, of course not, honey,” you assured her, squeezing her hands. “I’ll never harm you or Papá.”

“I know…” Gabriella replied with a small smile.

“Good. I love you, Gabi,” you said, kissing the top of her head. She returned your affection with a peck on your cheek, making your heart soar.

You gave her head a gentle pat. “But on a happier note,” you began, springing back to your full height to tend to the sizzling beans and eggs, feeling the joy of the morning return once more. “Do you know what today is?”

“Papá’s birthday!!”

“Shhh, not so loud,” you said, hastily clasping a hand over her mouth, making you both giggle. You didn’t want your sleeping husband to know you had plans for him.

“Sorry… it’s Papá’s birthday,” she whispered this time, watching from her short height as you returned to cooking, adding the appropriate herbs and vegetables to the dishes.

“Good job, it is,” you grinned, turning to her once more. “And did you finish your present for him?”

Frantically, Gabriella nodded. “Uh-huh, I did, and it was really hard work, so I hope Papá will like it.”

“He will, I assure you,” you promised, chuckling as you took note of her disarrayed hair once more. “We’re staying home all day to celebrate Papá’s birthday, so why don’t you return upstairs to get dressed?” you told her. “I’ll call you down when breakfast is finished.”

With a nod and another quick kiss to your cheek, Gabriella skipped off, her footsteps disappearing up the stairs.

You returned to the task at hand, but Gabriella’s dream lingered in your mind.

‘Is there a reason she’s having these dreams? Is it something she’s eating? Watching?’ you pondered, your parental fears taking root.

Setting the spatula aside, you moved toward the record player, wishing to change the song—when it hit you.

Sharp.

Sudden.

Like a spike driven into your skull.

The pain burst through your head, making you stagger. You gasped, bracing yourself against the counter.

Your vision blurred and clouded with white spots as a low ringing filled your ears.

It felt like the room was tilting, the ground shifting beneath your feet. You whimpered in agony, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to steady yourself, but the pain lingered, pulsing relentlessly.

“G-gosh, what is happening?” you whined, gripping your temple in a futile attempt to quell the ache.

Without realizing it, the throbbing pain vanished as quickly as it had come—disappearing without a trace, leaving you shaken and breathless.

Slowly, you straightened, disoriented and confused, glancing around your kitchen.

Everything seemed normal again—the stove, the breakfast, the cheery sunlight—but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. The air felt heavier, as though an unseen force was pressing down on you.

“I-I’m just tired,” you muttered, trying to shake off the strange sensation. You continued toward the record player in the corner of the kitchen, which sat atop a circular table. “Tired, indeed,” you affirmed, convincing yourself that the odd occurrence was nothing more than exhaustion from trying to perfect your husband’s birthday.

Still, you reminded yourself that the tiredness was worth it.

It was for your husband, the man you cared so deeply about, after all…

“Nothing like music to help ease my troubles,” you whispered, running a finger along the records until you stopped at a familiar one. “Yes… this one.” You smiled fondly, the events of just moments ago fading from your mind at the sight of the worn sleeve.

You carefully pulled the vinyl from its case—one of yours and Miguel’s favorites. Slipping it free of the sleeve, you replaced the previous record, The Oogum Boogum Song, with the new selection, placing it delicately on the turntable.

The needle dropped, and the warm, familiar voice of Helen Foster filled the kitchen.

The song, You Belong to Me, always made your heart flutter. It was the soundtrack to so many of your happiest moments.

It played at your wedding as you walked down the aisle, the same song you and Miguel slow-danced to the night you discovered you were pregnant with your little girl.

It was also the song Miguel often sang while strumming his guitar, each deep note passing his lips a promise of his undying love.

The melody had wrapped around the two of you like a promise. Every time the soft, wistful notes filled the room, it felt like your love was stitched into the very air.

It was your song, the one you always came back to, every single time.

Hearing it now made everything feel right.

Perfect.

You breathed easier, allowing the song to calm you and completely erase what had happened before.

Everything was normal once more.

Everything was fine…

Returning to the pan of food, you found everything perfectly cooked. “Wonderful,” you murmured, feeling pleased. Turning off the stove and covering the finished dishes, you moved to begin setting the table.

You placed floral plates over perfectly selected napkins, then added a glass of cold juice for Gabriella, along with two mugs of coffee—one black for Miguel, and the other with sugar and cream for yourself. Lastly, you set the utensils in their proper places.

Each pastel-colored fork, spoon, and knife was meticulously arranged beside the empty dishes, perfectly aligned. Any deviation, no matter how slight, would surely unsettle you.

While setting the table, you hummed along with Helen Foster, holding a knife poised to place it on the pale yellow Formica dining table.

But then, everything seemed to stop.

The music faded into the background as, almost in a trance, you stared at the kitchen tool in your hand, the hum slowing on your lips.

Twirling it between your manicured fingers, your eyes traced the jagged edge. Transfixed, your hands ached with a foreign yet strangely familiar desire—one buried deep in the recesses of your mind.

The record player suddenly grabbed your attention when the previous song's lyrics of adoration from Helen Foster shifted.

The tune slowed, the pitch of the female singer’s voice deepening to an haunting croak.

“Nothing is what it seems…

Oh dear, nothing is what it seems...”

You froze in horror, the knife slipping from your grasp and clattering onto the floor. The sound snapping you from your trance, but a foggy haze lingered.

Your heart pounded like the rapid thump of a rabbit’s foot, your wide eyes fixated on the record player. Its eerie chant looped, searing into your mind.

“Nothing is what it seems...

Oh dear, nothing is what it seems...”

Over and over the words were repeated, searing the horrid message into your brain.

Chest heaving, you backed away to collide into the table, causing dishes and glasses to rattle. “W-what—” you could only stammer in terror.

Before you could spiral further in your petrified state, calloused hands reached out to you, cupping your face. With gentle caution, you were guided to meet a pair of familiar amber eyes.

“Cariño?”

“Is everything okay?”

The deep, concerned voice brought you back to reality. Its steady tone grew louder, grounding you amidst the chaos of your thoughts.

“Qué te pasa? Talk to me, miel.”

You met the gaze of your beloved husband, Miguel who stood in front of you, his features tight with worry. Slowly, the fog in your mind lifted, and the room regained focus.

“Esposa?” Miguel prompted, his voice low and steady as his thumb and forefinger tilted your chin, urging you to look at him.

“M-Miguel, I—” you faltered, your gaze darting toward the record player. Helen Foster’s soothing voice now played once more, making you question if you were going crazy.

But the chant—its ominous message—still echoed in your mind.

Miguel frowned, his concern deepening. “Mi amor, you’re shaking.” Your husband said, grabbing your attention. “Take a seat.” His tone left no room for argument, as he was already guiding you with a hand upon your lower back to one of the dining chairs.

You complied, feeling the soft cushion shift underneath you. Miguel’s large hand enveloped yours, his thumb brushing soothing circles across your knuckles.

For a moment, he studied you in silence, however, you hardly noticed as you could only focus on your lap, where your hands trembled slightly.

“What happened, miel?” he asked, breaking the silence. His voice was steady but laced with unease.

You gulped, simply recollecting the moment, causing your head to ache painfully. Your mouth opened and closed, unable to find anything to explain. “I-I don’t know,” you admitted, swallowing hard. “I... thought I heard something.”

“Heard something?” Miguel inquired, straightening to his full height. He began to pace the kitchen, his black slippers shuffling across the checkered tiles.

“It may have been Gabi,” he suggested, his attempt at humor evident despite the worry in his tone. “You know how our princesa tends to get carried away with her dolls.” He chuckled, knowing your daughter sometimes became noisy when she was excited during playtime. However, you could hear his nervousness.

Hastily, you shook your head, dismissing his assumption. “It wasn’t Gabi!” you exclaimed, louder than intended. Looking up to meet your spouse’s gaze, certain your fear was etched into every line of your face.

For the first time, you noticed Miguel’s attire—a burgundy robe that concealed his undershirt and casual trousers underneath. His outfit did little to conceal his musculature that pressed against the soft fabric of his sleepwear.

Miguel stopped pacing and crouched in front of you, his robe parting slightly to reveal his broad chest. “Hey, hey, hey,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He whispered soothingly, the timbre of his voice the only thing keeping you grounded.

You buried your face into his neck, letting his comforting words and the gentle strokes of his hand on your back to calm you.

“It’s just stress, sí?” he murmured. “You just needed a moment to rest.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, his warmth grounding you.

And like always, you wanted to believe your husband with all your heart—to accept his reassurance. But the chant lingered, clawing at your thoughts like a dark shadow.

“Nothing is as it seems...

Oh dear, nothing is as it seems...”

You managed to push through the festivities, finishing the breakfast your husband scarfed down with a grin and playing family party games that ended with your little girl winning (with some assistance). Now, it was time for your husband to blow out his candles.

“Here it is!” you shouted, bringing from the fridge the handmade cake that Gabriella and you had created the day before.

You set it on the pale yellow dining table: a vanilla cake adorned with white frosting, doused in sprinkles (Gabi's touch), and decorated with piped, wavy red and blue trimmings. A singular lit candle sat in the center of the cake, its flame flickering gently.

Gabi bounced up and down excitedly. Her orange blouse, knee-high skirt, and matching ribbon hair ties made her look even more adorable. “See, Papá?! I told you I helped!” she exclaimed, bringing a smile to Miguel's lips.

“I see, princesa,” he grinned. “No one quite has your... expertise in sprinkle quantity,” he chuckled, his chest rumbling at the sight of the overwhelming amount of colorful candies atop the white cake.

Your husband's previous sleepwear had been replaced with a simple white button-up, black slacks, and slippers. His dark brown hair was styled as usual—slicked back with precision, each strand flowing neatly to the back of his head.

When he settled his gaze on you, his eyes softened. “Esposa,” he practically whispered your name longingly, holding out an arm to wrap around your waist. Pulling you to his side, he pressed a gentle kiss to your head. “You did all of this for me?” he asked, stroking a thumb along your cheek.

You nodded, cupping his face. “Of course, baby,” you replied with a gentle smile. “You always take such good care of Gabi and me, so I wanted to do this for you—no matter how many times you tell me not to.” You giggled as your husband simply stared at you for a moment, his eyes glowing with adoration.

Leaning in close, he nuzzled your nose with his own, breathing you in. “Cómo demonios tuve tanta suerte?” he muttered, his lips seeking yours for a quick peck—only to be interrupted by none other than your daughter.

“When are we going to cut the cake!?” she cried out, her attention fixed on the sweet treat as she licked her lips eagerly.

Miguel snickered, giving your waist a squeeze. “Later. Much later,” he said, the fire in his gaze promising you a much needed night in his arms. The sight made your cheeks flush and your heart to skip a beat.

“Okay, okay, go turn the lights out, Gabi,” you instructed with a laugh, watching her hastily race off to flick the light switch, encasing the dining room in darkness except for the warm glow of the cake.

The three of you surrounded the table—you stood behind your daughter, your hands gently stroking her shoulders, while Miguel took his place in front of his birthday dessert, his eyes fixed on the glowing candle.

“I feel like I should make a grand speech,” your husband joked, glancing up at the two of you before settling his gaze on Gabi.

“Thank you, my sweet girl, for filling my days with your light and granting me the honor of being your father,” he said, his deep voice full of love. “There isn’t a day that you don’t amaze me with your intelligence, imagination, talent, and humor.” He expressed. “You make me proud to call you my daughter, my Gabriella.”

Gabi’s eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and pride at her father’s words. She looked up at him, grinning widely, and then, in a small yet confident voice, she replied, “And I’m proud to call you my Papá. You’re like… the best dad ever!”

Miguel chuckled, his gaze tender as he looked at her. “Oh? The best ever, huh?” he teased gently, warmth lacing his tone.

“Sí!” she insisted, nodding eagerly. “You work so hard, but you always make time for me. And you teach me so much—like how to stand up for myself, help others, and to not let my emotions control me.”

Miguel’s expression softened as he reached out to gently ruffled her hair, his voice sweet. “You’re going to do amazing things, Gabi. I’m just lucky to be here to watch it all happen.”

Her smile widened, and she beamed up at him, her eyes filled with admiration. “I’m the lucky one, Papá. You’re my hero.”

Your husband, visibly touched by her words, shifted his gaze to you, his eyes brimming with the kind of love and gratitude that left you breathless.

In that moment, as if he were seeing into your very soul, you felt a surge of overwhelming adoration that no words could capture.

“Y/N, my beloved,” Miguel began, his voice trembling, almost on the verge of tears. “You’ve stood by me through my worst, mi amor. You’ve endured my workaholic ways, my stubborn temper, and all my flaws… yet you stayed by my side.” He snickered softly, the sound filled with both gratitude and disbelief. “Because of you, I’ve become a better man.”

He cleared his throat, placing his palms on the wooden table as if trying to ground himself. “Thank you, mi amor, for your unwavering presence, for loving me unconditionally, and for bringing our little miracle into my life.” He glanced lovingly at Gabi, a soft smile playing on his lips. “I truly don’t think I would be here today without you.”

Your heart swelled as you listened, each word deepening the adoration you already held for him.

He took a shaky breath, his eyes glistening in the warm candlelight, vulnerability etched across his face—a rare sight that made this moment feel even more precious.

“You’ve given me more than I ever thought I deserved,” he continued, his voice soft and sincere. “And I am endlessly grateful for every day, every laugh, every memory we’ve made together. You both are my everything.”

Gabi leaned back against you, her small hand finding yours as she whispered, “Te amo, Papá.” The simple words broke the last of his composure, and a tear slipped down his cheek. "Te amo, mi princesa." He replied wholeheartedly, giving his daughter's cheek a loving pinch that made her giggle.

Miguel reached out, taking your hand in his, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I promise to keep working, to keep growing, so I can be the husband and father you both deserve.” He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a deep kiss to your knuckles, sealing his promise.

Your husband released you and closed his eyes, whispering his wish before blowing out the candle. Darkness momentarily engulfed the dining room before you applauded, your own emotions welling up as Gabi hurried to turn the lights back on.

The cake was forgotten as Miguel took two long strides toward you, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you into a deep embrace—one he surely needed.

“Te amo, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice full of emotion as he gave you a tender squeeze.

You melted into the hard planes of his chest, your arms encircling his neck. “I love you too, Miguel,” you replied softly, feeling the warmth of his love radiating through the embrace.

A small hand pressed gently against your back, making you smile. Both of you glanced down to find Gabi standing between you, her little arms wrapped around you both. “I love you too, Mamá and Papá,” Her laughter like a melody that filled the room with joy.

You welcomed her into the embrace, holding both of them tightly.

In that moment, as you stood together, you marveled at the depth of love you felt—a love you had never believed yourself capable of, let alone for two people who meant the world to you...

The three of you were now settled in the living room. The familiar scent of the cake still lingered in the air as you and Miguel sat together on the couch, the cushions soft beneath you, the fabric slightly worn from use.

The soft glow of the lamp next to the couch highlighted the pastel green walls. Evening light from the window casted dim shadows across the vintage floral wallpaper, while the small box TV that flickered white and black images rested on a shelf in front of you. The clock on the wall ticked quietly, its hands slowly marking the time.

Gabriella sat cross-legged on the floor; her plate of cake balanced on her lap as she eagerly dug in. You rested your head on Miguel’s shoulder, letting out a small sigh as he fed you a bite of his own cake. His eyes met yours with a grin, and you returned it, savoring the sweetness.

“May I get another?” Gabriella’s voice interrupted your quiet moment, light and innocent as she looked up at the both of you, her lips already smeared with frosting. You blinked in surprise, your eyes flicking to her plate. It was already clean. Miguel nor you have even finished yours.

“Gabriella!?” you exclaimed, the shock clear in your voice.

Miguel’s laughter erupted beside you, warm and full of affection. “Sorry… it was really good,” Gabriella said with a pout, her lips dusted with frosting like a mischievous little angel.

“It’s fine, bebé,” Miguel chuckled, his finger brushing one jumbo curl behind your ear in a way that always made your heart skip. He stood, towering over both you and Gabriella in an instant.

“This will be her last slice,” he promised, amusement in his voice. “Come on, you little cake monster. Let’s get you another slice,” he teased, walking toward the kitchen, Gabriella rushing behind him, eager to get there first.

You watched them both, a smile tugging at your lips. The love between the three of you felt so natural, so full, like this moment could stretch on forever. It was simple, perfect even.

You leaned back into the couch, feeling the soft cushions beneath you, and took another bite of your cake. It was the perfect slice, just sweet enough, and the warmth from Miguel’s touch still lingered on your skin.

But then something shifted...

You couldn’t quite place it, but there was a slight prickle at the back of your neck, an unsettling feeling that crawled across your skin like a soft whisper you couldn’t hear.

You paused, feeling the hairs on your arms rise.

Something… felt off.

The strange sensation was eerily similar to what had overcome you in the kitchen.

You were certain of it.

You couldn’t put it into words. It wasn’t a sound or a sight—just a feeling.

A quiet shift in the air...

Instinctively, your hand reached up to the back of your neck, fingertips brushing over your nape in an attempt to shake off the unease. That’s when it happened.

Your fingers grazed a lump, one you’d never noticed before. At the contact, a sharp pain exploded in your head, and your eyes rolled back into your skull.

Images, voices, and a crushing wave of dread surged through your mind all at once.

“Y/N, we have to be better for Gabi. You have to be better,” Miguel’s voice rang out, sharp and filled with disappointment.

“I am trying, Miguel! I don’t know what you want from me!” you shrieked.

The voice—your voice—sounded deranged and very unfamiliar despite being your own.

“Public breakdowns? Outbursts? I don’t believe that’s you trying to be better!” Miguel’s tone cut deep, piercing and accusatory.

“Just get out! Get out!” you screamed, hurling a glass vase. It struck the wall and shattered into a cascade of glittering shards.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as you snapped back to reality. Your chest heaved, each breath shaky as your trembling body fought to regain control.

‘What was that?’ you thought, panic swirling in your mind. ‘What did I just see?’

You clutched your plate of half-eaten cake, fingers trembling as the memory replayed in your mind.

‘Miguel and I were…arguing?’ The very thought made your chest tighten painfully.

But the details... The setting, the clothes you and Miguel wore—it didn’t match. It wasn’t here. Not in this perfect, gleaming life you’d built together.

No, this memory felt wrong.

Your throat tightened, and you forced out a quivering breath, trying to steady your trembling hand. “I’m just... tired,” you muttered, your voice weak, as if saying it aloud would make it true.

‘Just tired. That’s all it is,’ you told yourself.

You shut your eyes, hoping the storm raging inside you would settle, that when you opened them again, everything would be normal.

When you finally opened them, your gaze fell to the plate of cake in your hands, and your heart instantly froze.

In pure terror, you watched the once neat red and blue frosting of the cake start to become uneven—distorted, as though someone was standing beside you, dragging their finger along it to write something in the icing.

You stared, petrified as the words formed one by one, the weight of dread building with every stroke until the final letter was etched…

OPEN YOUR EYES.

You froze, shaking, unable to tear your eyes away. No... this couldn’t be real. It had to be some trick of the light, a cruel fabrication of your mind.

But the message didn’t vanish.

And you couldn’t ignore how it had appeared—slowly, deliberately—as though someone had been watching you while they wrote it.

“M-Miguel!” you screamed, panic rising in your throat, your voice sharp and pleading.

The room seemed to tilt. Your vision blurred, and everything shifted in an instant.

An overwhelming pressure built in your chest, as if the weight of the world had collapsed onto you. The last thing you saw before your eyes snapped shut was the half-eaten cake with the horrid message—and then, darkness.

Suddenly, the sounds of the living room sharpened, each one more vivid than the last. The soft ticking of the clock on the wall. The faint rustling of fabric. And Miguel’s warm voice, gently calling your name.

“Mi amor? Is something wrong?"

You blinked, disoriented, struggling to find your bearings. The living room was just as it had been—the soft, plush couch beneath you, the warm glow of the lamp, chatter from the television, familiar scent of cake lingering in the air and your family close by.

You blinked again, and realization struck.

Your breath hitched.

Miguel and Gabriella were still in their same positions. They hadn’t gone anywhere. You hadn’t seen them leave to get more cake.

Glancing over at your daughter, still seated on the floor cross-legged as before, you saw her happily eating her first slice of cake—not her second.

Your gaze darted to your own plate, the one you distinctly remembered nibbling on, the one that had held that ominous message. But instead of the eerie writing, the cake sat uneaten, perfectly pristine.

A cold chill ran down your spine, your breathing beginning to quicken.

Things weren’t making sense. And it was starting to scare you.

Miguel’s hand cupped your face, warm and grounding, his concerned eyes searching yours. “Mi amor?” His voice was softer now, tinged with tenderness. “You dozed off. Are you okay?”

You stared up at him, wide-eyed and breathless, your mind racing to make sense of what had just happened.

What had just happened?

To you, it felt like you've done more then simply 'dozed off.' You recalled your love ones going to the kitchen, the shift in the air, heated occurrence between Miguel and you and then the...horrid message upon the cake.

You could speak the memory out loud, explain each detail like it was happening once more. So, why did it seem like it didn't happened - that it couldn't have happened.

Gabriella’s innocent gaze rested on you, her brows furrowed in worry. “Are you okay, mamá?” she asked, her small voice full of concern. The frosting smeared on her cheeks from her first slice of cake made her look even more endearing.

Her question snapped you out of your troubled thoughts, however, you couldn’t answer right away. Your throat felt dry, and your thoughts were swirling in a chaotic storm. The distorted memory that had overtaken you only moments ago lingered like a shadow, unshakable.

“I... I thought Gabriella asked for more cake,” you stammered, your voice unsteady. It made no sense. You could’ve sworn you’d seen them leave, yet part of you was convinced they hadn’t.

Miguel raised an eyebrow, a mix of concern and confusion crossing his face. “Are you okay, bebè?” he asked, chuckling nervously, as though trying to lighten the mood. “You told Gabi she can only have one slice, and was quite adamant before you went to sleep." Your husband explained. "So no, neither Gabriella and I have gone anywhere. We’ve been right here with you the whole time.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you more closely. "You were mumbling a lot as you slept, it made me worried. Did you have a bad dream?”

You blinked again, willing yourself to calm down. The confusion still clung to you like a heavy fog, but Miguel’s steady voice and familiar presence helped ease the edges of your panic.

The room felt normal again.

Everything looked... normal.

But you weren’t so sure.

Forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, you murmured, “Perhaps...”

Your gaze dropped to the plate of cake in your hands. It was untouched, as if you’d never taken a bite.

Out of fear and a sudden loss of appetite, you hastily set the plate on the nearby pastel-green end table, wanting it out of your sight.

Like before, everything went back into motion. Your daughter seeking to savor every crumb and frosting of cake on her plate as Miguel returned to watching television, the words from the box of wires falling deaf to you.

Wrapping your arms around your husband’s burly one, you rested your chin on his shoulder. Nuzzling his sleeve, you clung to him like a lifeline. Your heart was still hammering against your ribcage from the previous occurrence, still unable to decipher if what happened was true or not.

‘What is happening? Am I going insane?’ You found yourself wondering, squeezing Miguel’s bicep tighter. Your perfectly sprayed jumbo curls brushed against your cheeks but you could hardly feel it, still completely rattled. The only solution that came to calming you was to confide in your husband, like you always did.

Glancing up at your spouse from where you rested on his arm, he gazed ahead of him at the black and white images that were flashing across the miniature television. You hesitated before leaning in, your rosy lips brushing his ear. “I—I have to talk to you,” you whispered, your eyes silently begging for his undivided attention.

You needed to tell him what was happening—how you felt like you were losing your mind.

But then it hit you…

It was your sweet husband’s birthday.

You didn’t want to alarm him with this—not today, the only day he was able to get a break from his demanding job and be free of the workload.

You can wait…

An worried expression appeared upon his face as he sipped from his glass of water. “What’s wrong, esposa?” he asked, his smiling features shifting into intense concern. The sight pierced your heart.

Laughing nervously, you shook your head and pulled away, hiding the trembling of your manicured hands in your lap. You tried to ignore how desperately you wanted him to comfort you. “Actually…i-it’s not that important,” you said, though the quiver in your voice betrayed you. The more you tried to dismiss his worry, the more troubled he seemed.

Luckily, Gabriella came to your rescue.

Having finished her slice of cake (and every crumb) she jumped up, her mouth still smeared with frosting. “Can I show Papá my gift now?!” she exclaimed, the sugar clearly taking effect. Her orange ribbons bounced in her hair with her excitement.

Miguel glanced briefly at Gabriella but remained unsettled by your earlier unease. You leaned into him, masking your distress with a playful smile. "How about it, my love? Ready to see our gifts to you?" you asked, your heart clenching at the way his eyes softened, adoring your words yet oblivious to the truth they were meant to conceal.

“Sí, princesa. I’d be delighted to see your present,” Miguel replied with a grin, flicking off the television with the remote. The two of you watched Gabriella race upstairs, her footsteps echoing and fading, leaving you alone with your husband in the living room.

A moment of silence passed, the air thick with the lingering excitement of your daughter’s energy, before Miguel smirked at you. “Now, what was it you wanted to tell me alone, hmm?” he teased, giving your cheek an affectionate pinch. “I know you only ask for me like that when you want something…” His eyes glinted with desire, unaware to the turmoil swirling within you.

You forced a soft laugh, schooling your features. “And… w-what if I did?” you replied, your voice faltering just slightly, your breath hitching when he leaned in closer.

Without warning, he pulled you into a kiss. The world around you seemed to melt away as his arms wrapped around you, his lips warm and urgent. Each kiss chipped away at your worries, his touch both soothing and electric. You pressed into him, feeling his heartbeat sync with yours.

He chuckled against your lips, each kiss leaving you hungrier for more. “So that was your plan? Hmm… Mi chica traviesa, traviesa.”

You gasped as his fingers brushed the nape of your neck, holding you steady. His touch was both tender and possessive, and the taste of him—sweeter than the cake you’d abandoned—flooded your senses, leaving your body humming with need.

Before you could process it, he gently pushed you back onto the couch, his lips never straying far from yours. A breathless laugh escaped you. “Miguel—”

Your halfhearted scolding was silenced by another kiss, and then another, each one more urgent than the last, until your bodies seemed to fit together seamlessly.

Your fingers combed through his dark curls, undoing the careful styling he’d done that morning. You tugged him impossibly closer, each kiss a promise—a vow that felt as eternal as the one he’d made to you on your wedding day.

And then, the spell shattered.

The sound of Gabriella’s blood-curdling scream pierced the air, cutting through the tranquility of the room like a knife.

Your heart dropped in an instant.

“MAMA!!”

You froze, eyes wide, breath catching in your throat. Hastily, you pushed Miguel away, panic rising in your chest. “Did you hear that?!” you asked, your voice tight with alarm.

For once, Miguel’s expression mirrored the terror that gripped you. Rising from the couch, he reached out to steady you as both of you looked toward the stairs, your pulse pounding in your ears.

The air between you was heavy now—this wasn’t just the innocent sound of a child’s call.

Something was wrong...

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed the first part of Dear, My Beloved! What exactly is happening in the O'Hara house? Is the life inside those perfect green vintage walls as idyllic as it seems, or is there something far more sinister at play? 🤔

Also, I know I've mentioned this before, but once again, my apologies for the late posting of Despair and Greed for this event. Life became unexpectedly overwhelming toward the end of 2024 for my sister and I, and during my break, I found myself needing to take some time to recharge. The last thing I want is for writing to shift from a hobby to a chore, so I hope you all can understand! ❤️❤️

This one-shot was also in dedication to Miggy's B-day, so happy belated birthday to the handsome Spider-man himself. 💙❤️

Lastly, Part 2 of Dear, My Beloved comes with a LOT of trigger warnings—seriously, a lot. I'll include them in the warnings list when it’s posted but consider this an extra heads-up! ⚠️⚠️

If you’re excited for the next part of Dear, My Beloved, and to see what else my older sister, @powerful-niya and I have in store for Vicetober (I know, I know 🤧), be sure to like, comment, reblog, and follow! Wishing you all a wonderful day—stay safe! 👋🏾💙🤎😈

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