forever goes a long way

oliver "ollie" strand | 36 | paramedic father.healer.lostboy

[truebluerps-old]

Small Miracle || McStrand

Based on an AU April threw in my face…

Rancher!Casey/Horse Enthusiast!Casey and Equin Veterinarian!Oliver

“If Oliver was wiping away a tear from her cheek, circling his calloused thumb across the center of her palm, Casey knew exactly what it felt like. He knew it worked like a charm too.”

Keep reading

[onemorestray]

Shortcomings || Oliver & Edith

“What do you want from me, huh? Expensive dinners in Manhattan or even more free lasagna?”

“I just... want both.”

With a single fan in the corner whirling, the stench of paint intoxicating their senses, and a fresh mattress on the bedroom floor, Oliver and Edith Strand bruised one another. His vice grip nearly meld to the young woman’s hip while her blunt nails squeezed, and threatened to pierce, his reddened chest. Beside the annoyingly rhythmic squeak from the fan and the brunt pounding through the floor all one could hear were gasps and unadulterated shouts of pleasure. Oliver’s body was pinned back against the bedding and he watched as his wife all but dominated from above, like waves against a rock. A wild force of nature.

She quivered, heavy eyelids nearly shut, with her available hand loyally tucked before her opening. Coaxing that small bud to reach climax. The growing intensity of her trembling reached right through to Oliver, the heat they shared, he could hardly stand it. Between the sparks and gasps, Oliver drank in the sight of his darling girl; she’d worn that dated black lace bra he loved so much and kept her nearly untamable dark hair swept over her left shoulder. Then there was her belly which had begun to fill out, ten weeks after learning they were due.

Without the need for a condom the pair were losing themselves without fear or even care, until their unfortunate neighbor downstairs began to lash out with what must have been a broomstick. As if on queue, both Edith and Oliver let out a laugh--and the distraction paid off. Edith’s breasts were practically bursting from the old lingerie, shaped into perfect bouncing orbs, given that she’d certainly outgrown the piece before--but now that she was pregnant... After reaching backward to unlatch the material Oliver was blessed to witness Edith in all of her supple glory.

His hand left the hip and held across the right side of her rib, balancing the pair as they approached a faster pace. Once Oliver handled her breast the sound that left Edith made it quite clear that the aching she felt outside of fucking was definitely paying off right now. They reached for one another and shared a rushed kiss.

“I fucking love you.” Edith breathed out, practically digging into his scalp, and her eyes blazed despite their dark appearance.

Biting his lip, Oliver helped tuck his wife’s body tight against him by molding both strong hands to her rear. “I love you... babe...”

Despite their neighbors passionate protest Edith dug both hands into the mattress, on either side of her husbands head, his flat navel and lusty rod driving her to a series of definitive gasps and cries. Only after a wonderful burst filled her from the inside.

- - -

Edith laid still, back to the wrinkled mattress covers, and curled on her side. The fan continued to buzz, and though it did a poor job at drying the misty beads of sweat across her bare form the girl couldn’t care less. She was accustomed to such meager settings, being worn, breathless, satisfied the best way she knew, left alone to recover. Except she wasn’t alone. With a matching ring on his left hand, Oliver reached toward her and swiped his harmless knuckles over a crimson cheek, smooth chin, and delicate lips. He admired the sweep of her hair, splayed over the pale sheets, that framed her perfect face.

All they needed was the quiet and (though it was still new to Edith) each others gaze.

- - -

Oliver found Edith in the second bedroom, one they designated as the (under renovation) babies room. Like the rest of the small, basic, apartment traces of the couples slow work could be found on the walls and corners. Closed paint buckets and soiled brushes were stacked atop folded tarps, but what made this space unique was its lone piece of furniture bunched at the center; an infants crib waiting to be assembled. His wife was sat on the carpet, back in her “painting jeans” with nothing beneath her light summer tank top.

He joined her, wearing his own loose jersey shorts and dark blue work tee with a thin yellow E.M.T. insignia printed above his left peck.

“How was your morning? You were going to meet up with Kelsey today right?”

Edith didn’t look toward Oliver, eyes fixated on the white bars of their crib. Shoulders tight, it was apparent that the day had been disappointing. “She’s too busy with her fuckboy to bother with me.”

The girl Oliver had mentioned was practically a sister to his wife; they’d been raised under the same roof with other children in the neighborhood, unwanted, adopted and returned, until they were freed from the horrible cycle. Kelsey was partly responsible for Edith meeting Oliver, through their more or less respectable social crowds, and it would be a lie to say the lot of them didn’t have an affinity for playing the field. Of course, marriage changed all of that for both Oliver and Edith, and there was the concern that being hitched on top of pregnant was causing their old connections to grow... distant.

Oliver attempted to lighten the mood with a tease, “Like you used to be “busy”?”

Casting a brief glance toward Oliver, Edith couldn’t help but smile while shaking her head, “I may have been... distracted, but I’m not a flake.”

It wasn’t in his best interest to give Edith a hard time when clearly she was feeling especially down. He pushed aside her hair and dragged the strap of the tank away to expose her shoulder. This is where he settled his caring lips and muttered, “We can do something. I’ll take you to Rodrigo’s tomorrow.”

“Rodrigo’s?” There was surprise in her voice, but not the good kind. He felt a shrug from Edith’s shoulder while she grumbled, as if she practically expected this from him. “Cheap date Oliver strikes again.”

“What? You love Mama Carmen’s lasagna.”

“Only about three times out of our usual week.” She seemed ready to argue, but contained herself as usual; only allowing the sharpest words to reveal themselves. “You don’t even pay for it--I’m insulted.”

It was no exaggeration. One of Oliver’s first jobs was at Rodrigo’s Bistro in Brooklyn and was as terrific and delicious as it might sound. Mama Carmen never forgot about Oliver, the charming bus boy, and was more than willing to support him and his young bride however she could. The sentiment wouldn’t help his case this time.

“Okay, okay...” Oliver took hold of her hands, laced their fingers, and swayed them around in a dancing motion. “I’ll work something out. You may have to wait another day or two, but we’ll go somewhere nice. Maybe Union Square.”

The idea changed Edith’s attitude, her former crestfallen expression lit up, but soon after the initial joy began to slightly fade upon her realization, “I don’t have a dress...” It was depressing enough to be showing, now she’d have to go shopping in that part of the mall with all the other dejected and round mothers-to-be.

Her husbands eyes hadn’t left her thoughtful face, not for an instant, and he made a tender offer, “... Then buy one.” It was no longer a suspicion, but a fact that Edith had grown self-conscious of her body since expecting. Of course, Edith was quite often self-conscious. Others might have looked down on her for it, but Oliver respected her sensitivities and took them as opportunities to love her all the more.

She continued to have doubts, as if spending Oliver’s money wouldn’t be worth while; when he was they were so bent on saving. “I’d only wear it once or twice.”

“I don’t care.” Ollie reassured with a subtle sharpness in his lowered voice. Leaning forward, he stole another kiss from her vulnerable throat, and whispered, “You’re beautiful, baby.”

With a smile, Edith turned to face Oliver, and wrapped one arm then the other securely around his broad shoulders. Feeling cornered she promptly changed the subject. “So, speaking of Manhattan--did you think more about that listing?”

Oliver’s hands slid across her waist and held steady while he asked, “Listing?”

“The loft.” Edith said, apparently shocked that he hadn’t been tipped off immediately.

“Oh. No. We’d already talked about it.” Oliver stated, perplexed.

“Ol’.” The loft she spoke of was located across the bridge, in Manhattan, an area they both would prefer to raise their child. In other words; it was pricey, and with Oliver just starting his professional career they’d had disagreements on how soon they should leave the area they knew best. Brooklyn. “I just showed it to you on Monday, I thought... you’d take a few days.”

Oliver realized then that she had expected, or hoped, he would reconsider his position on the matter.

“I said before; we’ll move as soon as we can, this is just our start--it’s temporary.”

She tilted her gaze over Oliver and toward the living room walls that still held a fresh coat of paint on them. “It doesn’t look temporary.”

“Hey--the paint job’s saving us a couple hundred.” As if to emphasize his point Oliver ran a hand up the small of her back. Above everything, he wanted, wished for, Edith to put her trust in him. He would say just about anything to earn that. “They keep giving me the extra shifts when I ask for them; things will move much quicker that way.“

“Can’t we just pull out a loan?”

That word had been mentioned before. Oliver wasn’t comfortable with the idea of willingly placing their new family in debt so soon. With the shadow of his own fathers past financial failures forever looming over, Oliver naturally couldn’t budge; he thought he was being reasonable. What had happened between his mother, father, Robbie... it tore them all apart. Destroyed that bond of trust. More literally in Robert’s case. Oliver found it miraculous that his parents didn’t divorce during that time.

He let out a careful sigh through his nose and rubbed Edith’s soft slender arm thoughtfully. It scared him. Oliver didn’t want to give the impression that he was flat out stubborn. This fear was nearly enough to cause him to sway, but the greater fear, stemmed from his history, reminded Oliver that it would be much more difficult to stop such lazy habits once they’d started. “It’s not a good idea. We don’t need to borrow money.

I still have a few student loans to pay off, but those were necessary.”

After making such a poor statement, Edith didn’t have to say a word, Oliver could literally read the expression on her face, ‘Isn’t this necessary?’

Careful fingers grazed across her chin, coaxing the girls dark eyes to return his eager yet patient stare, “I know you don’t want to stay here... Give me a year. Having real cash will be worth the time.”

“This is where we met, Ol’... but you weren’t born in this dump. They have to be like you; get a better start, brighter pastures, all of that.”

“You’re right... and I’m going to make that happen for all of us. I promise, baby.”

With the tension pushed aside Edith ran her paint stained digits down the detailed tattoo of her husbands right arm. “I don’t like how you’re treated at work... you deserve better.”

Ollie shook his head, though he was touched to know his partner worried for him. If he really disapproved of such comments he shouldn’t routinely complain, but even he was human and had his weak spots. “Same deal--gotta give it time... Nothing’s simply handed to you. Besides, my double shifts are starting to turn a few heads.”

“Yeah... cuz they think you’re insane, Ollie, and that you should be spending more time with your wifey.” A slight giggle emitted from her throat.

That did it. Using his strong arms, Oliver pulled Edith to the side and securely set her back on the carpet leaving him to loom from above. A childish grin, an innocent, bright, smile that belonged to the boy she knew so well appeared on his lips. She in turn grinned quite the same way.

“What do you want from me, huh?” Oliver asked. “Expensive dinners in Manhattan or even more free lasagna?”

Her feet kicked at the side, arms tucked between their chests, and she squeaked out a natural laugh before letting out a sigh, “I just... want both.”

It was magical to see Edith smile. When they first met at his usual bar among friends she seemed so tattered, and worn; spent. Too many disappointments, broken deals, dreams that she denied herself from the time she was small. Oliver had the power to fix that, all of it, and he couldn’t--he wouldn’t let her down. With a softened gaze he repeated his promise, “... Soon.”

A light hand curled around the base of his head and drew Oliver in for a sweet kiss that wiped away every doubt between the pair.

Filled with a new sense of energy and optimism, Oliver went the extra mile. “I’m gonna put the crib together before bed. One piece at a time, right?”

[hailee-steinfld]

“you h a t e me now and I feel the same way, you l o v e me now and I feel the same way”

[men-men-everywhere]

[bfostr]

[scarlet-musings]

[caseyidk]

when I love you, I’m going to love every single thing about you. I’m going to love the middle of the night breakdowns. I’m gonna love the midday happy FaceTime calls. I’m gonna love the sound of you sleeping. I’m going to love the sound of your voice, no matter what emotion you’re feeling. I’m going to love the way you look at me. I’m going to love the way you kiss me. I’m going to love the way you say “I love you.” I’m going to love your smile. I’m going to love your past. I’m going to love your passions and dreams. I’m going to love every little thing about you and I’m going to give you endless support because when I say I love you, I mean it.

(via dutchster)

[a-joyfuljourney]

Tayler Golden

[thatonegrahamkid-deactivated202]

[onemorestray]

Reflections

Days spent in the French Riviera were warm but not nearly as hot as the nights. It was already Wednesday, hump day for the second half of Oliver’s trip with his husband, and since their arrival he’d grown more and more relaxed. Almost too relaxed. This caused a stir in him so once the sun started to rise he slid out of bed and parted from Casey, but he didn’t go too far. There was a sliding door dividing the room from a wide balcony and that’s where Strand stood, elbows pressed down on the rail, and reflected on the past two weeks. Their future.

He was delicately chewing on his lower lip, eyes fixed on tropical leaves and the colorful dawn, when he got the sense that he was no longer alone out here.

“Hey, you shouldn’t be up... go back to bed, sweet cheeks.” Ollie stated in a sensitive manner, concerned even, as if Casey were the one caught out of the bedroom and not himself. Yet, the moment he saw McCall within his perimeter Oliver wanted nothing more than to have him here, yearned to hold him. “Yoga’s not for another hour... at least, right?” He tried to joke, but his tone exposed how preoccupied his thoughts were.

[onemorestray]

The Thought Counts || Solo

On the carpet, between the bathroom and the king size bed, was a sprawled out Tacocat. With care, Oliver tiptoed over the midnight black feline and admired a frisky whip like movement from its tail. It was evening, a time of rest for humans, but for Taco and a few others nightfall was the hour for hunting. Cats were everywhere, it was simply a part of Oliver’s life now, but for the years he’d known Casey there had been plenty of time to get used to the lifestyle. Mostly. Crawling over the mattress corner on his knees, Strand wore a cheerful grin on his face as he crept toward his husband. “I’ve got somethin’ for you.”

Sketchbook in hand, folded on the appropriate page, Oliver slumped on his side near Casey before handing the item over. It took a second, since Casey was focused on his Macbook Air screen and their upcoming vacation plans. Childishly, Ollie began to waggle the book in his hand, till at long last his rare bout of impatience paid off. McCall took hold of the sketchbook, that he knew by sight and touch, and after rubbing both eyes he readjusted his glasses and took a good look at what Oliver had for him.

Already curled against Casey, Oliver settled a cheek against his shoulder and joined him in the viewing. “I know it’s not as good as the real thing... I had some downtime so snuck in a few sketches.”

A series of faint lines and hatch marks formed the illusion of a content young cat curled up on an empty plane. As if floating. Casey recognized the gestures, from the cat certainly, but also the pen Oliver held while creating the simple piece. These marks were made by his Oliver. Methodical, growing by layers, and faithful to reality. That was the most important part, in Casey’s opinion, because he couldn’t stand radical abstraction.

Casey removed his glasses and dropped them on the bed covers with a sigh. He seemed frustrated at first, but then completely absorbed by the image and his dreams. “I want that cat, so badly... but your thought counts.” Oliver was pleased to see his husband smiling, and even more pleased to hear him say, “I love it...”

His heart made a noticeable throb and Oliver could only hope Casey didn’t feel it right up against his arm. Letting out his own content sigh, the paramedic couldn’t resist the inclination to critique himself. “It’s not so great. 'could look way more accurate.” Since learning to draw in his teens, Oliver grew more harsh about his work, it was a hobby but medical illustration depended on accuracy. When it came to drawing animals, cats, plant life, he cut himself a bit of slack. He studied human anatomy after all.

Refusing to be swayed by his husbands humble bullshit, Casey disregarded his statement, “Don’t be hard on yourself, Michelangelo, it looks like Ray to me.” The cat was dubbed Ray Bradbury soon after his discovery, considering he was always wandering around the Firehouse and had a favorite patch on the ground where the sunlight would cast its rays over him. “Isn’t that enough?”

It was clear he wouldn’t win this argument. Not that he wanted to. “Yeah... I guess so.” Oliver turned some more so he could slide his arm across Casey’s stomach. “And that you love it.”

“I do.”

“Good.” He leaned up, just a bit, and stole a chaste kiss from the corner of Casey’s jaw.

With care, Casey closed and set the sketchbook aside on his nightstand before asking, “Are you ever going to try and catch him again during this “downtime” you speak of?”

Considering the idea Oliver gave a half shrug. “Maybe so. One tuna can at a time.” Showing a smile then, he attempted to sound cool and mysterious, but ultimately failed with a deep chuckle.

A flippant puff of air escaped McCall. “Amateur. These street cats will eat anything, sure, but they’d only stick around for the finest cans of--” The blond cut him off as he drew him in for an easy kiss. Warm to the touch but cool from the mint that lingered afterward. “Honestly... what’s a guy like me gotta do to get a cat?”

“A cat?” Oliver replied, lips revealing a full smile now as he sat up and cupped his lovers precious face.

“Yeah, I said it.”

“I got you a cat...” He kissed Casey once again between a whisper and it was filled with longing unlike the first.

The sketchbook was abandoned and so was the laptop as Casey replaced it with Oliver’s hips. Now they could be close, tethered in each others arms, lost in these innocent and damp pecks.

“You gave me a drawing of a cat.”

Grazing over Casey’s cheekbone with a curled fist Oliver hummed yet another delighted laugh, “Didn’t you say it was the thought that counts, babe?”

[onemorestray]

Sink In || Drabble

“I told you to stay down, faggot.”

The loose rocks betrayed Oliver. His grandmother always told them to wear boots whenever they strayed this close to the shore, but this time he didn’t listen. While the rubber of his Converse gave out Oliver flailed his arms and lost hold of his sketchbook. Between protecting his property and keeping his balance, Oliver had bigger problems. He lost his breath once his back had collided with the damp round rocks and a shaky right hand moved, trembling, to his face. Once it pulled back he could see red across the palm.

Robert was still throwing rocks and yelling. Most of the fit reached deaf ears at this point, because Oliver had one goal in mind; get back up. Sniffling, from the outpour of blood, and the stunned jitters that had his body quaking, the younger boy faced Robert Caltag as he had before the fall. He was in shock that his brother had seriously hurt him, intentionally, so the flood gates were breached. His pale blue eyes wide and glazed with tears of confusion, rage, and pain.

“You want another one, huh?” Robbie threatened, a fairly small rock clutched in his balled fist. He took a stride forward, then another, face infuriated at the very sight of his baby brother. “I told you to stay down, faggot.”

There was tunnel vision. Oliver didn’t notice the water ruining his book of drawings and thoughts or their grandfathers motorboat on the dock rocking and swaying. The day was overcast and he was red from blood and that stone was so dark between Robbie’s pale fingers. Both boys were trying to decide if he was simply frozen stiff or too stubborn to obey. Oliver believed in the latter, because Robbie had taught him to stand his ground, but he couldn’t bring himself to throw his own rock or arm at Robert. He couldn’t hurt his own brother.

Robert sprung forward with the rock and Oliver ducked like a coward, arms bracing around his face before he peaked between them and lost control of his body once more. He grabbed onto the hands clutched at his windbreaker.

Robbie was shaking his head at Oliver, as if he were something pitiful, “Go on, cry, mom and dad won’t care. They don’t care about us, Ollie, they’re--they’re about to ruin our lives and you don’t get a choice! Just like this. You don’t get a choice.”

“Robbie, stop.” Oliver demanded, the first tears falling from his lashes.

There was a flicker of hesitation then both boys were forced apart.

“Robert, what are you doing!” Martha shrieked and it was Robert’s turn to be pushed across the shoreline. “What are you doing to your brother!”

Oliver began to sob and cry, not because help had finally come, but the tunnel vision had been broken and at last his body found a chance to recover from the shock. His windbreaker wasn’t suitable for catching the blood and tears from his face so as he wiped it only made a greater mess across his lips and chin.

Martha was their grandmother, and though she was in her sixties and throwing slaps, Robert was still getting the beating of his life. Hands were rarely laid on either boys.

This didn’t change the fact that Robert was sixteen years old and tall enough to tower over Martha by now, “You don’t know anything! You care about as much as they do--or didn’t my dad ask for your money to pull us out?” Caltag spoke boldly.

“We’re working this out, Robert, and this--this gives you no right to hurt your brother! For gods sake he’s bleeding!” Martha gasped in befuddlement while pointing back toward Oliver. She took a stiff breath and shook her head, reaching to grab at Robert’s shoulder as he swayed. “I don’t know how you found out, you shouldn’t have--”

“And why not? I’m old enough!”

“You may look it but you aren’t acting mature, Robert. I... I never thought...” She stopped herself when Robert looked back at her, waiting to hear another adult in his life mention how disappointed they were with him. “There is nothing we wouldn’t do for you, but the decision is up to you father...”

He didn’t want that answer. “Fuck off!” When she dared grab for him again  Robert shrugged out of her hold and walked away from the cabin with no intention of stopping.

“Mom..” Oliver whimpered once Martha came toward him, appearing as distressed as he felt. “mommy.”

“Oh, Ollie, come here, come here.” The ten year old was drawn into her embrace and he cried and pressed his face carelessly against her white jacket. “Shh, shh, I’ll take care of you. We’ll get you cleaned up, alright? Hold on.”

Once he was lifted Oliver saw his destroyed composition book and Robert gone without a trace. After being washed in his grandparent’s bathroom Martha brought a change of fresh clothes and told him she would have her homemade peppermint hot chocolate ready once he was done. Oliver could hear her stray to the kitchen and a short while after his grandfather walk into the cabin. Sat on the toilet, he listened to their distorted chatter for awhile, Martha updating Carl on what had transpired only ten minutes ago.

The saddest part, Oliver thought, was how much he wanted Robert beside him. His brother who had always been a constant. No matter the ups and downs, he would have Robert. While he gently worked his fingers across the bridge of his bruised nose Oliver began to have doubts. Somehow, it was starting to sink in; that everything he knew was about to change.

[gayspree-deactivated20200410]

[lovejoelkinnaman-blog]

[onemorestray]

When I see a cat

Me: [ sharp inhale of breath ]

Me: It's a cat. Omg. Kitty. Hi sweet kitty. Come here. I love you.

[comicallyvintage]

[the-fashion-alba]