here's the prompt
[intertwine & hold] and [shudder] with whoever you like the most 💚 not necessarily long, it can be a shortie, like imagine.
You Tied a Tether Here to Keep Me Close
Shifty Powers x reader
A/N: Anon, these are so soft and I cannot stop thinking about them. And since it was dealer's choice for the pairing, I decided to go with Shifty because there's not a lot of content for him and I'm determined to fix that 😉 Hope you don't mind! (the prompt: intertwine and hold: for the sender’s muse to intertwine their finger’s the receiver’s muse and hold them during an emotional moment to reassure them. shudder: for the sender to shudder a little at some gentle touch from the receiver.)
Warnings: the usual HBOWar stuff (mentions of death, war, guns, etc.), the author's overuse of italics
Everything around you hums as the C-47 shudders through the sky. You can feel each heave of the mighty engine rattle in your bones as it drops lower and lower, accompanied by the shuttering sounds of other planes moving in the same formation, and accented by the harsh staccatos of Luftwaffe fire. Around you, dark shadows mutter prayers, rub their hands together, and occasionally take sharp, rattling breaths that pierce through the other noise to drag you back into reality.
You are here, it seems to remind you each time, and you're doing this.
This isn't at all like the practice jumps you've done before. There's no joking with your friends and smiling on your way to the back of the plane. There's just the sudden order to stand and hook up, followed by the rough pat down of your fellow soldiers before each calls out that the paratrooper in front of them is good to go.
"Six okay!" Even though you yell, the barrage of noises risks drowning you out. If your own heartbeat doesn't muffle your voice first, that is.
From behind you, through the darkness, you feel a hand bump into your elbow. It navigates itself down your arm until it finds your hand. Shifty's fingers intertwine themselves with yours and he squeezes your hand twice, quick and tight, bringing you back to the moment.
You squeeze back, amending your thought from earlier: We are here and we are doing this.
If you had it your way, you would never let go of his hand. Those hands that are kind and tender, but that are no stranger to hard work and that can command a perfectly aimed bullet with the squeeze of a trigger. But you're moving towards the doorway and the plane, the war, the universe, do not seem to care what you want.
Quickly, you squeeze his hand tightly a few more times, like you can convey everything you've ever wanted to tell him but didn't have time to in these last few seconds. And then you're in the doorway, and now you're hit with adrenaline and air, and now you're pushing off and --
A choppy storm of ocean water churns in your stomach as the cold air of the night sky greets you. Wind whistles in your ears for just a second, and then your body jerks as your static line unhooks and your parachute spills out, like an ink blot dotting the night sky. It catches the wind and slows your descent, and with it, your racing heart.
As your fellow soldiers drift down around you, you like to imagine that you can hear Shifty curse as his parachute opens; he never could figure out what to yell as he jumped out of the plane, and the harsh words are so unlike him. During any other jump, it would be funny, but tonight, it casts a solemn spell over you. Pushing the thought from your mind, you force a deep breath and focus on your next objective: landing -- alive -- in the Drop Zone.
"Oof!" Shock reverberates through your body as you land, the silk of your parachute fluttering down around you and pooling on the ground. You free yourself from it and swing your rifle around your shoulder, swiveling your focus from side to side as distant German machine gun fire crackles through the night. Above you, the sounds of the C-47s rumbling away begins to fade as the last of the flock disappears into the night.
You made it out of the plane and into the throes of the chaos that is the battlefield. And as you work your way through the darkness, trying to find shadows to slip into for cover, you become aware of two things: you survived the first part of the Allied Invasion, and you are utterly alone.
--
Blithe doesn't look too good, you note to yourself. He's staring up at the mangled bodies of paratroopers whose D-Day embrace was that of the trees that ensnared them and their parachutes. In fairness, you're also having a hard time looking away, trying to ignore the thought that, had you been less lucky, it might have been you up there. You can only quickly glance at the faces of your fellow paratroopers, just long enough to confirm that it's not one of your friends. That it's not --
No. You can't even let yourself consider that Shifty is anything other than okay.
"Blithe," you say, trying to bring him back to reality. "We need to move."
If he can hear you, he doesn't acknowledge it. He continues to stare up at the clouds and the trees, like he's waiting for something.
You don't want to leave one of your own, not when he's the only person from Easy that you've come across so far, but if you stay there beside the mangled remains of the crashed plane and the men who didn't survive the jump, then you're just sitting ducks.
You sigh, ready to try getting his attention one more time. "Blithe, we --"
"Blithe!" Someone's voice cuts in over yours, causing both of you to turn.
Oh, thank God. Behind one of the plane's wings are three of your Easy boys.
"Thought that was you," Talbert says as Blithe carefully starts to make his way towards them.
But now you're the one standing stock-still, staring at them, partly out of relief from seeing Tab and Popeye, but you can't bring yourself to tear your eyes away from the third man for even a second. Because he's here, he's really here, but there's a split second where your heart drops at the fearful thought of him disappearing before your eyes, no more than a wishful figment of your imagination.
Shifty.
"You guys alone?" Tab asks. His words break you out of your reverie. You rush forwards at the same time that Shifty does, both of you ignoring the rest of your friends as you gravitate towards each other, like planets caught in each other's orbit.
"Oh, thank God," Shifty breathes when you reach each other. Despite the helmets that shield both of your heads, you lean into each other, resting your foreheads together with the gentle clunk of metal. "I didn't see where you landed, and . . ."
He doesn't have to finish. You had the same thoughts.
"We made it," you whisper. "We're here now."
"We're here now," he repeats. One of his hands gently removes your helmet, and you take his in turn, so that you can better see his sunshine face. God, he's beautiful. And he's alive.
Behind you, you're vaguely aware of Talbert and Popeye talking to Blithe. Something about paratroopers being scattered, fighting with other units as they try to find the rest of Easy. But it fades into the background as Shifty's hand comes up to caress your cheek.
The calluses on his fingers rub against your smooth skin, sending a shudder through your body and causing your eyes to flutter shut.
Shifty's voice is soft when he asks, "Can I?"
You nod, and then you press your lips against his as he continues to caress your face, gently running his thumb across your cheek. God, if only you could exist in that moment, just the two of you, with no war, and no death and fighting around you -- it would be perfect.
But you're in a war zone, and this is as close to perfect as it can be. You'll take what you can get.
"Are you okay?" You ask when you break apart for air.
Something about holding you, something in your kiss, looks like it's rejuvenated the man in front of you. He huffs a little laugh as he smiles at you, taking your hand and squeezing it like he did back on the plane.
"I reckon I just might be."
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