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Mar 9, 2025

Framed - Part Four

Description: "A picture is made. You put a frame around it and move on. And one day you die. That is all there is to it." ... or is it? Does framing your life simply mean it's contained, with nothing else left beyond it? Or is there more to you than what a picture can hold?

18+ MINORS DNI

Paring: Jake x f!reader

Word count: ~3,400

Warnings: 18+, fluff, kissing, sickening sweet love

Sorry if I missed anything!

A/N: I thought I posted this back when I first posted the other three parts to this story. This was just a little happy ending to finish up the story. Nothing too exciting. Either way… enjoy!

A Moment Framed in Memory

Today is the day.

After months of bickering, meetings with lawyers, signed papers, a trip to Michigan, and one very memorable conversation asking for permission to take your hand in marriage — you were finally here. Standing in front of the mirror, you studied your reflection, fingers smoothing over the soft fabric of your dress.

It wasn’t white, but a soft, elegant off-white. The silhouette was inspired by Marilyn Monroe’s iconic cocktail dress, but with your own personal twist. The neckline curved high at the sides and back, offering modesty while the front dipped just enough to make you feel bold. Floral appliqués trailed delicately down your chest, around the bottom of your sheer sleeves, and along the edges of the neckline. Six satin buttons lined each wrist, the sheer fabric letting just a hint of your skin peek through. Sheer shoulders and an upper back added a soft, ethereal quality, leading down to a zipper that hugged the fabric close to your figure. The small train pooled behind you like a quiet promise.

It was everything you’d wanted. Or at least, you thought it was.

Now, standing here, doubt crept in. Was it too much? you wondered, hearing your mother’s voice in your head. Was the neckline too low? Should I have gone more traditional?

You sighed, turning slightly to catch a different angle in the mirror, still unsure.

“Gorgeous.”

The familiar voice pulled you from your thoughts. It was a voice that could ground you no matter how lost you felt. Warm, steady, and so sure of itself.

“Absolutely, without a doubt, completely gorgeous,” Jacob said from the doorway.

Your breath caught in your chest. “Jacob!” you gasped, spinning to face him. “You’re not supposed to see me before the ceremony!”

He leaned against the doorframe like it had been made for him, his tie hanging loose around his neck, the top buttons of his dress shirt undone. His hands were in his pockets, his weight shifted casually to one side, as if he hadn’t just broken one of the most sacred wedding traditions.

“Couldn’t help it,” he admitted, pushing off the frame with his shoulder. His gaze was locked on you, intense and unwavering, like he was seeing something he didn’t quite believe was real. Your heart kicked up a notch as he moved closer, his steps slow and deliberate. “I get to marry this amazing, drop-dead gorgeous woman today. You really expect me to wait to see you?”

He stopped a step away from you and held out his hand. “C’mere,” he said softly, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

You rolled your eyes but took his hand anyway, letting him spin you like you were already on the dance floor. The train of your dress followed in a graceful sweep. He pulled you in close after the spin, wrapping his arms around your waist with that same easy confidence he always had.

“And I get to marry you,” you said, tilting your head up to look at him. Your fingers brushed over his lapel, plucking a stray hair off his jacket. “An amazing, handsome, smart, and ridiculously talented man.”

Jacob groaned like you’d just embarrassed him, pulling you even closer as if to quiet you.

“Don’t start,” he muttered, resting his chin on top of your head.

“I’m not starting anything,” you said with a grin. “Just stating facts.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, but his hand slid up and down your back in slow, steady strokes.

You tilted your head back, searching his face, your fingers tapping lightly against his chest. “Jacob,” you said softly, your voice more serious now. His gaze dropped to meet yours, his brows pulling together with quiet concern. “I’m excited to be married to you. I’m excited to have a life with you. Every part of it — the easy parts, the hard parts, the quiet parts. All of it.”

His face shifted from concern to something else entirely — warmth, affection, something too big to be captured in a single look. His lips parted like he was about to say something, but instead, he pressed them gently against your forehead, lingering there a moment longer than he needed to.

“Me too,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. He kissed you once more for good measure, his lips barely brushing your temple. “Me too, sugarpie.”

And somehow, every doubt you’d had about your dress, about this day, about anything at all — vanished.

—

The ceremony had been quick — simple, sweet, and perfect in every way. But the reception? The reception was a wild, joyous celebration. Jacob’s family had proven to be the life of the party, filling the room with laughter, wild dance moves, and heartfelt embraces. You were finally able to marry the man you loved, and now, you could officially call Jacob your husband. Your husband. The thought of it made your head spin in the best way possible as Jacob spun you around the dance floor, his hands steady and sure on your waist.

When the music slowed, the familiar clinking of glasses echoed through the room, signaling it was time for the toast. You glanced over to see Josh and Sam stepping up to the small stage at the front of the reception hall. Sam had his camera in hand, snapping candid shots of the crowd as Josh picked up the mic. The two of them were a magnetic pair, each move they made commanding attention, but it was Josh’s voice that brought the room to a hush.

“As you all know,” Josh began, raising his wine glass with dramatic flair, “I am the big brother.”

A loud, exasperated groan escaped Jacob, making everyone laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” Josh grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he bit his tongue between his teeth — that familiar, mischievous smile you loved so much. “Okay, okay, that’s not what I was supposed to say.” He cleared his throat, trying to look serious but failing miserably. “What I meant to say was, as you all know, I am the best man.” He glanced pointedly at Jacob. “The best man.” His grin stretched wider, dragging a round of chuckles from the crowd.

“Here we go,” Jacob muttered, shaking his head, but you could see the fondness in his eyes.

“As the best man,” Josh emphasized with a playful wink, “it is my sacred duty to give a heartfelt, life-changing toast to this beautiful couple. But… well, we all know I could stand up here and ramble on for hours about these two amazing people.”

“Don’t do it, Josh,” Jacob warned, pointing a finger at him.

“Oh, I won’t,” Josh said with mock seriousness, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m not gonna stand here and go on and on and on and on and on…”

“Josh,” Jacob groaned, dragging out his name like a fed-up older sibling. The crowd burst into laughter.

“Alright, alright!” Josh raised his hands in mock defeat, his smile never faltering. “Since I know you all want to get back to dancing and drinking, I thought I’d do something a little different. Instead of me rambling, I figured I’d sing a song for these two lovebirds. Sammy, you ready?”

He glanced back at Sam, who had already taken a seat at the small piano tucked in the corner. Sam gave a nod, fingers poised lightly on the keys.

You tilted your head toward Jacob, your brows lifting in surprise. “Did you know about this?”

“No clue,” he whispered back, his eyes already fixed on his brothers.

The first soft notes floated through the air, and everything else seemed to fade. Sam played with such care, his touch light but deliberate, each note falling perfectly into place. Josh’s voice came in soft but sure, his tone so achingly sweet it sent chills down your arms. He sang with the kind of depth that could quiet an entire room, every person hanging on each word.

Your chest felt tight with emotion as you leaned into Jacob, his arm tightening around your waist as he pulled you closer. You rested your cheek against his shoulder, your eyes never leaving Josh as he sang. His voice rose with a kind of raw power, effortlessly shifting from soft and tender to strong and commanding, filling every inch of the room.

You glanced around, catching sight of Jacob’s family swaying to the music, a few wiping their eyes discreetly. Your own family looked just as entranced, their gazes locked on the stage. But for you, it was something deeper. Your eyes lifted to Jacob’s face, watching him watch his brothers. The soft smile playing on his lips, the way his eyes shimmered in the low, golden glow of the string lights. His gaze shifted down to you, catching you staring.

He smiled wider, dipping his head so his lips brushed the top of your head. “You okay?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“More than okay,” you said, eyes still on Josh. “I want to remember this song forever. You’ll play it for me later, won’t you?”

Jacob’s grin grew, his fingers flexing lightly at your waist. “I’ll play it for you every day if you want.”

Your heart swelled as you rested against him, letting the music carry you both. The melody was familiar now, and when Josh hit the chorus, it lodged itself in your heart like it had always been there.

“Whoa-oh, light my love…”

The words hit you in a way you weren’t prepared for. You knew you’d never forget this moment. The music, the lights, the way Jacob held you as if you were the only two people in the room. It was the kind of love that made everything else seem small.

Josh repeated the line again, this time with more force, his voice soaring, sharp and clear.

“Whoa-oh, light my love…”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you didn’t bother blinking them away. Jacob noticed, of course he did, and he turned his head to press a soft kiss against your temple.

“Love you,” he murmured against your skin.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, still swaying to the music, still so close you could feel his breath on your cheek. “Love you more,” you said softly.

“Impossible,” he whispered back, and then he kissed you as the music playing on.

—

A Picture Paints a Thousand Words

“Tired… so tired,” you groaned, letting yourself fall back onto the bed with a dramatic sigh.

“Easy there,” Jacob chuckled, shifting closer to you. He placed a gentle hand on your belly, his touch warm and steady. “Don’t shake him up too much.”

“Funny how you’re so sure it’s a boy,” you said, rubbing a hand over your face. Your body felt heavier these days, and exhaustion clung to you like a second skin.

Jacob tilted his head, his grin playful as he leaned down to press both hands on either side of your belly. He watched, waiting for a little kick or nudge. “What makes you so sure he’s a girl?” he challenged, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“Women’s intuition,” you replied smugly, arching a brow at him. “Something men just don’t have.”

Jacob barked out a laugh, the sound loud and sudden. The vibration of it seemed to startle the baby because, right then, you both felt it… a firm little kick against his palm.

“Oh, see that?” Jacob said, eyes wide with excitement as he leaned in closer. “He’s a boy. Already causing a ruckus.” He pressed his cheek lightly against your belly like he could listen in on the baby’s thoughts. “So rambunctious,” he added, his grin curling into something so smug it made you roll your eyes.

“Fine, believe what you want,” you muttered, too tired to argue. “But when she gets here, don’t act surprised.”

Jacob just hummed, still rubbing slow circles on your belly, and for a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the quiet sound of his breathing.

It hadn’t been easy to get here. You’d tried for a long time — longer than you’d expected. There were nights of quiet disappointment, months of “maybe next time,” and days where hope felt more like a weight than a promise. The medication you’d been on for your cycle had made things harder than you’d imagined, and each passing month without signs of pregnancy chipped away at your patience.

For a while, you’d both silently decided to stop trying so hard. Your dad’s advice echoed in your mind even now. “Get a dog, stop stressing. Whatever’s meant to happen will happen.” At the time, it felt like the kind of thing people just said when they didn’t have anything useful to offer.

But you’d found yourself one Saturday afternoon standing in front of the pet shop near the grocery store, staring at the tiny kittens and puppies in the window. Something about it hit you hard. Maybe it was the way they all looked so small and helpless. Maybe it was the way their little eyes blinked up at you with that unspoken take me home look. Before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face right there on the sidewalk.

That’s when you knew.

You called your doctor that Monday to schedule a physical exam. A few days later, you were getting confirmation from your doctor, tears streaming down your face again… but this time, for an entirely different reason.

Since then, life had been a whirlwind of baby showers, maternity leave plans, and family excitement. Your parents had surprised you with how overjoyed they were, already offering to babysit before the baby had even arrived. And Jacob’s parents? Beside themselves. They’d called so many times with nursery suggestions that you’d had to set boundaries.

“Don’t think too hard, mama,” Jacob whispered, noticing how quiet you’d gotten. He leaned up and kissed your forehead, his stubble grazing your skin. “Baby’s safe. You’re safe. We’re good.”

You sighed, closing your eyes as his warmth settled over you. “Yeah,” you whispered, letting yourself sink into him. “We’re good.”

—

A Portrait of Days Gone By

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you felt the familiar weight of a blanket being draped over your shoulders. The faint scent of cedar lingered on it. The same smell that clung to Jacob’s old flannels. You glanced over just as you heard him grumble under his breath, moving slower than he used to as he lowered himself onto the wooden porch swing he built for you all those years ago. His joints cracked with each movement, and he let out a small grunt as he finally sat beside you.

“You’re going to freeze,” he muttered, his tone gruff as ever, but you knew better than to take it seriously. He tugged the blanket tighter around you, his fingers lingering on your shoulder just a moment longer than necessary.

“Michigan weather is no joke,” he added, glancing out at the quiet expanse of your yard, his eyes narrowing like he was daring the wind to blow any harder.

You let out a soft laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You say that every year, Jacob,” you teased, nudging him gently.

“Every year, I’m right,” he shot back, the corner of his mouth lifting into a small grin.

After Jacob retired, the two of you decided to move back to his home state of Michigan, and true to his word, he’d made good on every promise he’d ever made you. Life here was simple but full — long, lazy summer evenings spent on this very swing, sipping fresh lemonade as you watched your grandchildren run wild. Their little feet pounded across the yard, rushing between the house, the lake, and the old oak tree where Jacob had hung a tire swing. Laughter echoed off the water, and sometimes, when the sun set just right, you swore it looked like a painting.

When your children all went off to college, it just felt right to move back here. Each of them had found their way into the music industry, of all things — a twist of fate you’d never expected but one that made perfect sense. By the time your first daughter was born, Jacob had become even more passionate about music than when you’d first met him. He’d spend hours teaching the kids everything he knew — how to sing with heart, how to play guitar until their fingers ached, and how to write a song that would make people feel something real.

Eric Clapton was a constant soundtrack in your house, his soft bluesy strumming filling the air like a lullaby. But nothing was more memorable than the day your son tried to convince Jacob that The Police were better than The Rolling Stones. The argument had been heated — voices raised, hands gesturing wildly — until Jacob finally caved. “Fine,” he’d said with a huff, turning up Synchronicity on the record player, only to begrudgingly admit, “Alright… they’re pretty damn good.”

He never stopped being a family man. From the moment he became a father, something in him shifted. You could see it in the way he looked at each of your kids, like they were the best parts of him. He didn’t just show up for them — he led them, taught them, loved them with a fierce, quiet devotion. Watching him be a father made you fall for him over and over again, day after day, year after year.

Sometimes, in those quiet moments, your mind wandered back to Rose. You’d think about her and wonder how she could have ever been so careless, so reckless, so stupid to let a man like Jacob slip through her fingers. A man like him? You’d fight for him. You’d burn the whole world down if it meant keeping him. Maybe it was because they were young back then. Maybe Rose was just broken in ways you’d never understand.

But you couldn’t dwell on it for long. Not when you had this.

Jacob shifted beside you, his arm slipping around your shoulders, his fingers absently tracing patterns on your arm. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, his scruffy beard tickling your temple.

“Thinking too hard again?” he asked softly, his voice carrying that familiar warmth that had never wavered.

“Just thinking about how lucky I am,” you murmured, your eyes closing as you leaned further into him.

He let out a small laugh, one of those deep, quiet ones that you felt more than heard. “I’m the lucky one,” he said, his voice low but certain. “Always have been.”

The two of you sat there in the cool Michigan air, the swing swaying gently beneath you. No words were needed after that. Just the creak of the swing chains, the whisper of the wind through the trees, and the steady, unwavering beat of Jacob’s heart against your ear.

—

You walked down the hallway, your fingers trailing lightly along the edges of framed photos that lined the walls. The faint, familiar strumming of Jacob’s guitar echoed softly from the spare room, each note pulling at your heartstrings like it had a hundred times before. A smile tugged at your lips as you recognized the song — that song. The one that had become a thread in the fabric of your life together. Without even thinking, you began to hum along, your voice barely a whisper beneath the steady rhythm of his playing.

Your hand hovered over one of the frames, the photo of your eldest daughter grinning wide in the arms of her “nanny.” You laughed quietly to yourself, remembering how much your brother hated that title. “I’m not a nanny,” he’d say, scowling like it wasn’t true. But he wore that role well, retiring early from the military and splitting his time between security shifts at the arsenal with Jacob and Josh, and days spent wrangling your kids. He’d been their hero, their playmate, and, on more than one occasion, their referee. You could still hear him calling, “Don’t make me come in there!” from the other room when they got too loud.

Further down the hall, you paused in front of another frame. This one was different. Black and white, timeless, weathered from being moved from house to house over the years. You didn’t even need to look closely to remember every detail. That photo. Your head resting on Jacob’s shoulder, his cheek pressed lightly to your hair, eyes closed like he was soaking in the moment. It had been taken just seconds before Josh began to sing the song Jacob was playing now. Sam had snapped it without either of you noticing. You could still hear the faint laughter that had surrounded you, the clinking of glasses, the soft hum of love that had filled the air that day.

You lingered there, your gaze locked on the photo, letting the weight of it settle over you. It was one of those pictures — the kind that carries its own gravity. It had followed you from home to home, always claiming a wall no matter where you went.

The music from the spare room shifted, Jacob’s fingers finding the chorus, smooth and certain like he’d played it a thousand times — because he had. You loved when the house was full of music, especially when all the voices came together. Jacob. Josh. Sam. Your kids. All of them playing, singing, and laughing like they’d never known a bad day. It wasn’t always like that, but those moments made everything else feel small.

You glanced at the wall again, at all the photos that framed your life. Birthdays, holidays, sleepy mornings, and unforgettable nights. Snapshots of love, growth, and everything in between. They weren’t just pictures; they were proof. Proof of the life you’d built. Proof of every promise kept. Proof that, even as the years passed, even as time did its quiet, inevitable work, you had lived fully — and you had loved deeply.

@edgingthedarkness @writingcold my bad y’all. But now I have another idea😅

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