I occasionally drabble in other pairings too. I mean I was reading a Draco/Hermione fic where he was all dark and Hermione fought against his jealousy and then I thought, Pitch and Elsa- he's a villian, she won't take his shit. Perfect. Plus they're kinda cute together- well not cute because Pitch and Elsa are hardly the fluffy type, especially not in this quick random thing I wrote- is there a fandom for this? Please let there be a fanbase for this. I want to read some Pitch and Elsa now. This is pretty much just an experiment though, strongly rated T, because I like to explore dynamics of couples. So I tried out this pair.

A hand tightens around her wrist. Nails dig into her skin. A hard shove causes her back to hit the wall and her head to slam into the doorframe harshly. Tears spring to her eyes but she won't cry, she can't cry. She shoves him back. Presses her hands into his chest and steps on his foot with a silver high-heeled shoe.

He hisses. He grabs her braided hair and yanks her face to meet his, amber eyes glaring and menacing. She glares back. Defiant. Strong. Determined to win this round.

"You think you're so sneaky, don't you, love? Well you're not. Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"

She grits her teeth. His hands curl around her wrists, tighter than before, but he's grinning. He's not making any real effort. She struggles against his hands and kicks at his shins and steps on his toes like a little kid might do, but it's no use. He's sticking strong and she's failing.

"I hate you!" she manages to spit out, pale hair falling into her eyes. A quick blow and they flutter back up. "I hate you, Pitch Black!" Glaring. Blue eyes meet his amber ones, full of anger and promises of revenge.

"Oh, love," Pitch chuckles, but he doesn't take her seriously. His face creeps closer to his until their lips almost touch. She breathes heavy, panting, breaths ghosting over his smirking mouth desperately. "I better not catch you fraternizing with other men again."

"Fuck you," she snaps passionately. She still struggles against his hold. "Fuck. You."

"If you're so insistent, love, we will," he smirks. He releases one of her hands, slowly. Instantly, the hand he's released reaches up to smack him on the cheek. She glowers at him once she's given him a satisfying slap. He doesn't hit her back. Instead, his free hand traces down her cheek softly, lifting her chin so that she faces him. "Don't forget who you belong to." His tone is cool and clipped. Superior. He's gloating now.

"I don't belong to anyone." She's firm. Persistent. Still glaring at him and she yanks her chin back from his firm grasp. The other hand moves to pull at Pitch's hand that encloses her wrist.

"Wrong answer, love."

He always calls her that. Love. He doesn't love her. She doesn't think so. He never trusts her. She never trusts him. They're together for one reason only and it's not love.

"You belong to me," he states. "Which is why you don't flirt with other men." He punctuates his sentence with a painful digging of his fingers into her wrist.

"I am not one of your whores that you toss around," she retorts sharply. "If I want to date a man, then I will. You have no say in it."

"Then why do you always come back to me?" Smug. Still smirking. "I think we both know you won't leave. You always come back to me."

"Damn you; this isn't a relationship," she says, loosing her temper, "Especially not a monogamous one. If I sleep with another man, it's none of your concern."

He growls, a primal sound, teeth baring in anger. "You're mine."

She raises her head defiantly. Challenging. Eyebrows raise, a universal sign of discontent. "Try me."

Another smirk. "If you insist."

A hard crashing of his lips on hers is enough to make her head reel. He's taking what he wants, with no concern for her pleasure, so it seems. He takes access of her mouth, his hands moving to cup her head, lips moving fiercely and tasting her, suctioning her bottom lip in his teeth, crushing her mouth with his.

She lets him kiss, suck, and lick his way down her neck. She digs her nails in his shoulders when he nips at her pulse point, whimpering softly and moaning when he leaves a mark. It hurts, it hurts to the point that she wants him to quit teasing her and to just get on with it already. She shifts her hips up to meet his, needy and wanting.

He chuckles, low and dark, and his teeth sink in the crook of her shoulder and neck to leave another red welt. "Does that other man make you feel this way?"

She moans impatiently, her hands moving to rid him of his shirt, but he pins her to the wall again with tight fingers digging into her shoulders.

"Say it," he demands. Her eyes open, ready to lash out at him, but he kisses her again. All coherent thoughts fly away and she licks the roof of his mouth, wanting to keep him close. He pulls away and levels her with a glare. "Say it."

"I'm yours," she says obediently, wanting him to kiss her again, but he doesn't. He retreats, a slow smile creeping onto his face.

"Then you'll stay away from other men, love."

She glares at his back when he turns away, because it's just like him, sadistic bastard, to leave her hanging.

"Dinner?" Pitch extends his hand, an offering of peace. "I know of a restaurant you might like."

She huffs. Like she'd really accept his- alright, so she would. She did. Taking his large hand in her smaller one.

"Don't look so sour, love-"

He opens the door and lets her go out first like a gentleman (though a gentleman he was not).

"We'll be back for round two after dessert, Elsa."