All Her Fault

A/N: I forgot to mention it, but most or all of these are requests. So if you want to see something, go ahead and feel free to comment with your pairing/character of choice and a theme. Just please refrain from requesting yaoi or yuri, because I really can't write it.

Pairing: Pein/Sakura

Rating: M

Words: 475

It was all her fault.

It really was.

He swore it was, because he'd never be in this predicament in the first place if she hadn't intrigued him so. He wouldn't be grasping a kunai between bloody teeth with a bloody hand gripping onto a foreign, cold, bloody neck. He wouldn't be sticking his hand through someone's esophagus right now if she hadn't just...

If he hadn't just...

Pein ripped out a tongue with chakra-strengthened fingers.

Oh, but he couldn't lie, because he loved it. The carnage, the screaming, the mass hysteria, the pain-it was all just so intoxicating. Better than any earthly pleasures he could obtain from the girl, for sure.

...And he still couldn't lie.

Nothing would be better than her thighs sliding under his, his hands wrapping around her shoulders and her neck, firm but never hurting her. He'd never hurt someone he cared about.

He hadn't hurt Konan.

He'd been in love with Konan.

He'd been in love with Sakura.

He hadn't hurt Sakura.

It was all part of the formula.

He'd never hurt the women. But Konan was dead and now so was this poor shinobi currently lacking several vital organs beneath him.

His nose twitched in agitation, and he scratched the bridge of it, unconsciously smearing blood across his visage.

Up to his elbows in blood, killing them slowly but absolutely, leaving no one behind, this was how Pein worked and this was what Pein loved. There was just no way to concretely describe it.

"You'll never love Sakura like I do," he muttered mostly to himself, slitting some other poor, male shinobi's neck. "You'll never even get the chance. None of you will."

The door creaked open just as he dropped the limp body and stood, features painted a crimson form of warpaint and frustration, barbels running through his nose and spikes resting calmly through his lips twitching in agitation.

A small, quivering boy stood in the doorway, barely of age to attend the local academy, let alone become a ninja. He held a handful of scrolls in his arms.

Pein didn't move.

The boy's eyes flicked to the corpse of the man missing a tongue and then back, and his eyes grew wide and teary, his lips trembling and his knees drawing in. "G-grandpa?"

"You'll grow up to be a man," Pein said calmly, almost smiling. "You'll become handsome, perhaps, and charming, if you're a lucky one."

The scrolls slipped out of the boy's hands.

In a whisper, he continued: "But I won't let you become my opposition." A swipe of his arm later and the young boy's body was slumping in a defeated heap to the floor, blood pooling and gurgling from the wound just under his chin.

Pein stepped gracefully over his body on his way out, kicking away a stray Leaf headband.