Prompt: Someone gets a hold of Cupid's arrows and misuses them.

There was another sort of bonus to the prompt, but it would ruin the story so I'll keep that a surprise.

Never let it be said that Pitch did not fully prepare for his villainous plots. He'd been planning this one for decades, thank you very much, and it was going off without a hitch. He'd already stolen all of Tooth's fairies and memory boxes, and thoroughly dispatched that blasted Sandman. Easter was more or less ruined for good. Everything had gone perfectly from the start!

…Well, all right, there may have been one constant snag. But the Nightmare King couldn't be blamed for his lack of preparedness in this case; Jack Frost had been a neutral party for so long, he honestly had not even considered his involvement as a possibility. And the boy had never really showcased any great power before, either, so Pitch underestimated him fairly quickly once he did get involved. All that changed once he shot Sandy out of the sky. Jack Frost's ability to freeze his nightmares, until then, had been a matter of mild interest at best, no real threat, but that reaction when he shot Sandy – well.

Why on earth had the boy been hiding this power for so long? If only Pitch had known earlier, if only he had approached him before the Guardians had… Then again, perhaps it wasn't too late. His words in his lair had certainly had a visible affect on the lonely boy, and Pitch had followed him after he fled, lurking in the shadows and observing with utter delight the way the Guardians cast the innocent winter spirit out for his 'betrayal.' Honestly, they had too little faith – as if Pitch wouldn't be able to seriously damage Easter even if Jack had been around. He was only one boy, after all, and Pitch had a loyal army of Nightmares.

But no matter. They cast Jack out, and Pitch followed as the boy fled – all the way to Antarctica. There, he stepped out to speak to his fellow invisible spirit, hoping to make an ally. He was confident in his success. Jack Frost was so very lonely, so damaged, and he'd just been cast out of the first group that had ever seemed to really accept him in three hundred long years. The fears were just rolling off of him, and Pitch took note of them as he spoke. He got rather into it, actually, perhaps a little overeager, a little bit too invested, because, well… Many of the boy's fears matched Pitch's own. And it would be – pleasant, to have a companion. Family, of a sort.

But when the crucial moment came – Jack didn't even hesitate.

Didn't even pause, as though the mere idea of 'cold and dark' together was ridiculous. As though he didn't even understand just what he was being offered – what he was turning down, though Pitch had never tried to make an alliance before, ever, he'd just spoken of family for the moon's sake, and how dare this puny boy simply walk away from that?!

Pitch very nearly lost his temper.

But… never, ever let it be said that Pitch did not fully prepare for his alliance attempts. He had another ace up his sleeve, or rather – in his robe. This particular back-up plan had been stolen from Cupid years ago, snitched through a shadow as the distracted spirit had been giggling down at some foolish mortal romance. Pitch only had the one arrow, so he'd been saving it for when it might be truly necessary; surely, that time was now.

"Very well," he murmured, reaching into the shadowy depths of his robe and removing a bright pink bow and an arrow with a sharp, golden tip. In some distant part of his mind not overtaken with cold rage, he was grateful that Jack had turned his back. Not only would the boy not be prepared to dodge, he also would not get the chance to laugh at the Nightmare King for using such a ridiculous-looking weapon.

"You want to be left alone?" Pitch said, notching the arrow and drawing it back. He smirked. "Let's change that."

Jack heard the arrow whistling through the air, and spun around; but it was too late – Pitch had fired at point-blank range, after all. The boy only had time to gasp, before the magical golden tip of the arrow stung him right in the heart. Jack stumbled back, stabbing his staff into the ground to support himself.

The arrow faded, its purpose complete, and Pitch stowed the embarrassing bow back into his shadows. He had wanted Jack to be on his side of his own free will, not to mention without the complications inevitably brought on by such unfettered devotion as Cupid's arrows inspired. But this would do in a pinch. In fact, such devotion might prove very useful, as it would make Jack quite eager to please (and thus, more easily manipulated).

Pitch watched, then, in mixed disappointment and pleased expectation, as Jack's eyes closed slowly, then opened. He blinked once, twice, a vacant, shocked expression on his face – and then slowly began to blush. Facing Pitch, staff still piercing the ice before him, Jack suddenly smiled with an expression of utter, lovestruck joy.

(And, my, perhaps the Tooth Fairy had a point about that grin. Perhaps having Jack in love with him was not such a disappointing option after all.)

Pitch said, "Well–"

He stopped. Cleared his throat a little, because Jack's mouth had dropped open and he seemed utterly awestruck, and for some reason that just warranted throat-clearing.

"Well, then," Pitch said again, smirking. "How do you feel about my offer now?"

Jack continued to stare.

Pitch gave it a minute, then cleared his throat again. A bit louder this time. He hoped being stored in his shadows for several decades hadn't affected the arrow adversely. Handsome though the boy may be when in love, he wouldn't do Pitch any good if all he could do was grin.

(Well. That might be effective enough against Toothiana, but – there was the matter of dignity to consider. Besides, she didn't pose much of a threat anymore.)

"Jack," Pitch said sharply. "I repeat: how do you feel about my offer n–"

"I love you."

Quite against his will, Pitch's words strangled in his throat. "W-what?"

"I love you. I– I love you, oh, I love you SO MUCH."

Jack's eyes were shining with emotion, and his hands were slowly squeezing tighter and tighter about his staff, which was still held before him. Pitch found himself uncharacteristically… ruffled, by the sight. His cheeks felt a little warm.

Goodness, this was potent.

"Then, in that case–"

"I want to be with you forever and ever," Jack interrupted once again. His grin was growing wider now, impossible though it might seem.

"D-do you?" Pitch stuttered – pleasantly shocked. "That's… excellent, actually."

Jack laughed, a carefree, joyous, besotted laugh, and leaned forward against his staff, as though he could no longer even support himself on his own two feet. Pitch was feeling – well, quite flattered. Was the love spell always this intense, or was he accidentally being too charming? If so, he really wasn't sure how to turn it off.

(To be perfectly honest, Pitch wasn't sure he wanted to tone down the charm, not when Jack was reacting in this way. It was unexpectedly very… stimulating.)

(He felt a need to clear his throat again, but refrained, as he'd done so too many times already.)

Then Jack said something absolutely perplexing.

"Oh, what am I saying?" he laughed. "Of course we'll be together forever. We always have been."

Pitch blinked. "We… have?"

Jack glanced down along his staff, as if bashful, though the lovestruck grin still lit up his face. "Ever since the very beginning… even before I met the Wind, you've always been with me."

"I – don't really think so–" Pitch wondered if the arrow was making Jack delirious. On love. Was that possible?

"Without you, I'd never be who I am today," Jack declared, and he wasn't just leaning on the staff anymore, Pitch noticed. He was positively clinging to the hooked length of wood, and – was he – yes, he was – rubbing his face against it.

A distinct uneasiness began to swell, heavy in Pitch's stomach.

"Jack," he said slowly. "Wha –ah, I mean, who are you talking to?"

"You complete me," Jack proclaimed. And his eyes fluttered closed, and his lips puckered up, and – "I love you so much, Staff!"

–he kissed his staff.

"Why," Pitch hissed viciously. Jack didn't respond – he hadn't from the start, Pitch realized, he'd just been soliloquizing to his staff, oblivious to all else.

He had thought this would be the perfect time to use the arrow. There was no one else around for literally hundreds of miles in every direction; Pitch had thought there would be absolutely no danger of Jack falling in love with the wrong person. And – well, he hadn't, had he? He'd fallen in love with a – with an inanimate bit of lumber, instead! What was wrong with Cupid! Why was that even a possibility?!

This was… utterly unfair. Impulsively, Pitch stomped his foot into the snow. It was mildly satisfying, so he did it several more times, spinning in a petulant little circle and creating a small ring of packed whiteness.

When he turned back around, it was to the sight of Jack, tip of his tongue frozen to the staff, giggling and flirtatiously lisping, "Youwa tho nauddi, Thtath."

With a growl, Pitch used a small, sharp blade of shadow to separate the winter spirit's tongue from the frozen wood. "Stop that!"

Jack suddenly seemed to notice his presence, turning to Pitch with a dark glare. "Hey, leave Staff alone!"

"And what if I don't?" Pitch sneered, angrily.

Jack instantly swung his beloved staff forward into a battle-ready position in front of his face. His deep voice sunk even deeper, into a growl that (didn't!) send Pitch's pulse surging. "I think you know what'll happen."

"Oh, do tell."

"Staff and I–" Jack stopped abruptly, and swallowed hard, momentarily losing his glare. His gaze had drifted to the staff in his hands, and gone all soft and gooey and (not!) adorable.

"Staff and I–" Jack tried again, wrenching his eyes back up to meet Pitch's own. Still, his voice was weaker than before, somehow far… breathier, and after a moment Pitch glanced down at the staff.

Jack's fingers were flexing and rubbing against it in a distra–disturbingly sexual way.

"Oh, COME ON!" Pitch snapped.

"S-Staff and I will take you down!" Jack snapped back, fingers ceasing their movement and face flushing in clear mortification.

Pitch nearly laughed out loud at the thought, but stopped himself as he realized that Jack might very well be able to do so. That was why he'd been courting the boy (to his side of the fight not– just not!) in the first place. And now Jack was flush with the power of love, united with his… lover… and thoroughly angry at Pitch.

This might very well be the exact opposite of what Pitch had planned for the outcome of this little powwow.

…Damn it.

BUT. Never, ever, ever let it be said that Pitch did not fully prepare for his romantic defeats by inanimate objects. Oh, no. The Nightmare King had yet another back up plan.

"Fine. 'Take me down' – and then spend eternity cuddling that plank if you wish. But first…" Pitch ignored Jack's indignant spluttering when he called Staff a 'plank', and reached a hand into the shadowy depths of his robe. This time, instead of a bow, he drew out a certain little tooth fairy, held tightly (and squeaking pitifully) in his fist.

"Baby Tooth!" Jack yelled, and leaped forward, but Pitch only had to squeeze a little and he stopped dead.

He'd planned to do this in any case if his first two plans had failed, but Pitch took a certain malevolent pleasure now, in yelling, "Sta– er, the staff, Jack!"

Jack flinched visibly.

"You have a bad habit of interfering," Pitch told him. "Now hand it over – and I'll let her go."

For a long, tense moment, Jack didn't move. Baby Tooth squeaked plaintively in Pitch's grip, as though imploring Jack not to give up the conduit of his power – but the boy ignored her.

Eventually, his shoulders slumped. Jack looked down at his staff mournfully.

"I don't want to," he whispered. "Oh, I don't want to – but, I know you want me to do what's right."

Closing his eyes, he kissed the staff once more: slowly, tenderly. A kiss goodbye. Then he held it out toward Pitch, flipped so that the crook faced the ground.

Pitch snatched the hateful stick away.

"Alright," Jack said, hand outstretched. "Now let her go."

Pitch did consider doing so. For a moment.

All right, that was a lie.

"No," he said. "You said you wanted to be alone. So BE ALONE!"

Everything after that happened quickly. The little fairy suddenly stabbed Pitch's hand with her long, sharp nose. In surprise and pain and no little anger, he flung her away (Jack cried out), then – instinctively, without even a thought – Pitch broke the staff over his knee.

Jack screamed. It was a scream of pain, of shock, of horror, of loss – but most of all, it was a yell of utter heartbreak.

Pitch lashed out with his shadows and landed the boy in a deep pit before the cry had even stopped echoing in the air. He strolled over to the edge and looked down.

Jack Frost, bruised, battered, and thoroughly defeated, lay slumped at the bottom. Something clenched in Pitch's throat, and only his anger (still present, still strong and deep and more betrayal than anything else if he were to be truly honest with himself) allowed him to chuckle at the sight. He dropped the two halves of the staff to clatter down next to Jack – a mocking gesture – then turned away.

He had places to be. Guardians to render obsolete. And, if he hadn't gotten Jack Frost to join him – well, at least the boy wouldn't stand in Pitch's way now. He wouldn't be able to escape that pit, and though the damage to his powers shouldn't be permanent, the loss of his 'beloved' ought to be enough to put him thoroughly out of commission at least for the remainder of the fight.

After it was all over… Perhaps Pitch could return.

Perhaps, after nicking just one more golden-tipped arrow.

For really, what was the best cure for a lost love if not a new love?

After all, never let it be said that Pitch was not fully prepared to do whatever it took to get Jack Frost on his side. No matter the (great, really, never mind just how well deserved Toothiana's swooning might be when faced with that grin, not to mention that utterly lovelorn look in his eyes, and certainly ignoring the way his voice had gone so gravel-low and his fingers had flexed and – well. Ignoring all of that.) personal sacrifice.

Yeah, so the bonus in question was someone falling in love with an inanimate object.

I could not resist.