A/N: After reading a couple of Kat's Daphne/Mustardseed fics, I started shipping so hard I just had to write one of my own, so this kind of... happened. This would probably be set somewhere in the timeline of her story Crowbars and Broken Windows. Thanks for the inspiration, Kat!
Snowball!fic for Kat (roseusvortex) in the Caesar's Palace "Winter Wonder War" Drabble Event. Also written for the Caesar's Palace Monthly Oneshot Contest, Prompt: Mistletoe. Fulfills Caesar's Palace Prompts: Emotions Challenge, Prompt 08: Passionate.
Word Count: 500
Disclaimer: Sisters Grimm is the property of Michael Buckley. No copyright infringement is intended.
Mustardseed woke to the immediate realization that something was wrong. It took him a moment to register the source: there was no one sitting on the edge of his bed staring down at him like Edward watching Bella in Twilight. He couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up to find himself truly alone.
"Daphne?" he called out, his voice rough from sleep.
There was no answer.
This couldn't be right. His window was closed and unbroken, with not a sign of forced entry. Not a single indication that she had even been here at all last night.
What if something had happened to her?
The thought was enough to make him leap out of bed. He scrambled for his clothes, his mind racing over the path she would have had to take to get to his house, searching for any potential danger that might have befallen her. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware that this was not a normal response to discovering that a stalker hadn't broken into his house, but he ignored that thought. If something had happened to Daphne on the way over here, he'd never forgive himself.
As he hurtled down the stairs, a pair of iridescent pink wings sprang from between his shoulder blades. He normally preferred to go on foot, but this was too urgent to mess around with.
Suddenly he was tackled to the ground with astonishing force. His left wing folded painfully under him, and the air was forced out of his lungs. Daphne, he thought, struggling to get enough breath to give her a piece of his mind.
And then he stopped struggling. There was no room in his mind to think about breathing, no room to think at all. Because her lips were touching his, awkward at first, then brave and eager and hungry, and his lips were moving in tandem with hers, and there was no pain, no worry, no annoyance, nothing except his need for her and his assurance of hers for him. Time stood still, and by the time they broke apart, he couldn't be certain whether it had lasted seconds or hours.
He sat up, dazed. "What was that?" he whispered, scarcely able to speak.
Blushing, Daphne pointed to the ceiling, where a tiny, wilting sprig of something green had been attached with an inordinate amount of duct tape. "Mistletoe," she whispered back. "I thought it was about time we had our first kiss."
He stared up at the ugly plant, speechless.
"Did—did you like it?" she asked after a moment, a hint of anxiety in her voice.
He turned to look at her, at her flushed cheeks and mussed dark hair and big, anxious brown eyes. She looked like an angel. His voice stuck in his throat. Like it? It was the most wonderful thing he had experienced in his entire life.
There was only one way he could answer her. He reached out and pulled her into his arms.