Author's Note: Kind of a funny story: this started out as two different one-shots that somehow became merged together. The resulting fic (this one) barely resembles the origins, and I found that I quite liked it that way. This is a bit of an experiment for me, because it isn't heavy on conversations – not exactly a stream of consciousness kind of story, but hopefully, hopefully, something resembling that. Anyway, I had so much fun writing this, and I hope you have fun reading it too! Don't forget to let me know what you think of it!

It was all very troublesome.

And Shikamaru wasn't complaining exactly – he was very much aware of how gorgeous his teammate is, thank you very much – but he couldn't figure out why she was acting the way she was, and he hated not knowing things.

For all he knew, Ino, in all her strange and twisted feminine philosophies, was just trying to get a rise out of him. It was not exactly odd for her to find satisfaction in taunting him and Chouji, but now it was just him and he didn't know what to make of that.

Chouji, certainly, was not bothered by the changes, even reveling in the fact that he was Ino-free (for the time being) and that he could eat whatever he wanted without her lecturing him about the basic food groups. He was not very sympathetic to Shikamaru's dilemma and offered no advice whatsoever on how to deal with their teammate's new obsession.

Even more distressing, Ino had started doubling her efforts – quite hell-bent on breaking him it seemed – and it was getting more and more difficult to ignore her advances, especially when she was practically throwing herself at him.

Three days ago, for example, she'd strutted into his office – which, it must be impressed, he shared with nine other people – to deliver his packed lunch. Simple enough, and something he would not have remembered so clearly if Ino hadn't attempted to sit on his lap because "the chairs are so lumpy and uncomfortable, Shikamaru." Then she promptly plopped down on his thighs before he could even open his mouth to answer.

He'd turned red on the spot (what kind of guy wouldn't?), but the troublesome girl only hummed and pretended not to notice his discomfort, even waved at an acquaintance who passed by the door (which she'd left wide open, of course). Then she circled an arm around his shoulders "for support," smiling innocently all the while.

He absolutely couldn't get any work done, not when Ino was being distracting and squirming every once in a while and especially not when his trousers were suddenly tighter than he remembered. He shut his eyes to drone out her presence, but she only drew her face close to his and, with the sweetest and warmest breath he'd ever had the privilege of feeling, whispered, "What's wrong, Shikamaru?"

And he hated that his only response was a half-hearted grunt, because the real answer was so glaringly simple and sitting right on his lap.

Ino left a few minutes later – her sadistic nature apparently sated – and blew him a kiss before she sashayed out the door, but her departure didn't help much because his pants were still tight and her heady scent was still lingering in his air.

Then Izumo and Kotetsu just had to add to his misery by coming around his desk to congratulate him on his "conquest," and the two idiots proceeded to make googly eyes and kissy faces at him for the rest of the remaining hours.

That was a crap day, but it was nothing to that one time Ino invited him for after-work drinks. This was around the time she was just starting out on the torment, and he had as yet no clue what was in store for him. Shikamaru had accepted the invitation, because (a) it wasn't unusual for friends to invite each other to the local izakaya, and (b) he assumed there would be other people.

As it turned out, he was wrong on both points, because (a) she brought him to her house, and (b) her parents (and their friends) weren't around. But the panic didn't really set in until she had downed – maybe – three bottles of semi-alcoholic fruit juice and started to unbutton her top because "it's stifling hot, isn't it?" even though it was the middle of autumn. Shikamaru respectfully averted his eyes from her half-nakedness, scooted away from her, and started thinking of ways to excuse himself without hurting her feelings.

But the blonde succubus had other plans, starting with slipping his vest off him (which, he had to admit, was a stupid move on his part) and massaging his back because "oh, you're so stiff, Shikamaru." The innuendo wasn't lost on him which, of course, caused him to tense up even more.

He stared at the opposite wall glumly, willing someone else to interrupt the awkward situation, because he absolutely could not deal with an angry, slightly tipsy, half-naked Ino, not after spending a day running errands for the Godaime, dealing with a mountain of paperwork, and listening to his mother scream for one whole hour…

But he finally found his resolve when perfectly manicured fingers ghosted over the waistband of his trousers.

He clutched at her wrists in a panic and pointedly ignored her wicked glare and bared teeth. He couldn't remember what he said, but he'd said it in a flurry of words, and then he was gathering his things – his vest, scraps of his dignity and sanity, etcetera – and bolting out of the Yamanakas' house like the very devil was at his heels.

For all he knew, she was, but he didn't dare look back lest she really was there.

(She wasn't, of course, but who knew what she was truly capable of? He certainly didn't know the extent of her seductive prowess until the troublesome woman turned on him.)

The next morning, Ino was the picture of a perfect, innocent angel, approaching him with a shy smile and an apology cake – whatever the hell that was. What is more, she'd brought Chouji along so Shikamaru couldn't possibly weasel his way out of her grasp so easily.

She seemed sincere in her apology – embarrassed about her actions even – but he couldn't afford to take any chances, because that was when he realized what he should have known all along: there was a cunning, formidable opponent housed inside her ditzy blonde frame, and that legitimately scared him.

Since then, he'd gone out of his way to avoid Ino, even if it meant having to wake up earlier in the morning to take the long route to work, pass on dinner invitations with mutual friends, cloud-watch from the hills in the Nara forest (which sucked because the foliage was so thick), or turn down missions that included her in the team roster.

That last one actually cost him half a day's hearing after the Godaime yelled at him for "neglecting your shinobi duties," but he found it completely and utterly necessary to not give the blonde she-devil a chance, so he endured (as any shinobi should, heh) the reprimand and accepted the pay cut (which he thought was completely uncalled for – where did that even come from?) in exchange for Ino-free missions for the next six months, or however long it takes to get her off his back.

Still, for whatever reason (maybe Jashin-sama was finally raining curses down on him?), the girl always found him and poked her head (and face and arms and legs) where it didn't belong.

There was even a time when she convinced Shikaku to lead her to where he was (peacefully) watching clouds and that almost ruined (or vastly improved, depending on where you stand) his favorite hobby for him when she draped a muscled arm and a shapely leg over his prone body and started to croon songs in a sweet voice that he – admittedly – wasn't paying attention to because, wow, he was on the ground with Ino and they were alone in the middle of the woods and she was all over his front and her hair was resplendent in the dying rays of the sun and her lips were so, so close and she smelled so good—

Goddammit.

Three weeks passed and Shikamaru was nowhere near solving the puzzle that was Ino's sudden interest in him. He'd tried to ask – subtly, of course – about the behavioral change but no one seemed to know what he was talking about (except Chouji, who has already proven to be unhelpful in this particular situation). This prompted him to think that maybe it was all in his head and that he was going insane, but one look at the blonde's simpering smile told him it was all real and very, very distressing.

Strangely enough, in Sakura's case, as soon as he asked her about Ino, the medic's green eyes turned glassy, as if she was in a stupor, and no one could talk to her until she snapped out of it after a couple of minutes. Sakura herself didn't seem to be aware of this, and it chilled Shikamaru (to his very soul) that there was a possibility that Ino – troublesome, troublesome woman that she was – had put some kind of mind-altering jutsu on her rival-slash-best friend to prevent Sakura from spilling secrets to him.

And that was when Shikamaru cursed the day Ino was born into the Yamanaka clan, because, damn it all, if she was capable of doing that, what was stopping her from turning his mind into mush?

Shikamaru groaned into his hands as he contemplated what to do next. The best thing, of course – and this was very true to his lazy nature – was to let her be and hope that her flirtations would cease. Hope being the operative word here, because he'd known Ino long enough to know that she would finish any and all tasks she set her mind to.

And her mind seemed very set to see this through.

Why, just this morning, he'd woken up with a heap of blonde girl – hair tousled, skimpy silk pajamas wrinkled, cheeks very pink – cradled in his arms. He did not remember taking her to bed with him (he would have vividly remembered otherwise), so, somehow, Ino had managed to sneak into his room in the night without alerting him or his parents. It simultaneously impressed and terrified him that she could be so stealthy – a mark of an excellent kunoichi, to be sure, but not exactly something that boded well for him.

Still, Ino's (not completely unwelcome) presence in his bed was a jolt to his senses – like he'd just drunk ten espresso shots one after the other – and he immediately leapt to the floor. Then she had the temerity to look up at him with half-lidded eyes and mumble, with a little yawn, "Good morning, Shikamaru," before shrugging slightly and allowing the straps of her tank top to slide down her shoulders.

He watched, mesmerized, as the thin cloth slipped across her skin smoothly, and a few seconds passed before he realized that what he was doing was seriously detrimental to his health because his heart was threatening to burst from his rib cage and his brain was short-circuiting in his skull.

Hastily, Shikamaru approached her, plucked the straps, and pulled them upwards, being very careful not to touch her skin. She pouted then and accused him of not having a sense of humor, but if her sense of humor lay in tormenting the male species, he would gladly not have it at all.

And then, much to his horror, his father walked in to call him down for breakfast. Shikaku took one look at the disheveled girl on his son's bed, flushed (which Shikamaru had never seen him do), and retreated, muttering something that sounded a lot like "it's better if they do it at home than somewhere else" in a nervous tone.

Shikamaru almost ran out to assure his father that it was not like that and please, I'm begging you, don't tell Inoichi-san, he'll kill me, but Ino held him back, tilted her head to the side, and smiled brightly, and it was all he could do not to take her right then and there – with the sun in her hair and the sky in her eyes – because if his father was already under that impression, it wouldn't make much of a difference if they actually went through with it… right?

But then his bigger brain (about time it started working, too) told him that yes, it most definitely would, so Shikamaru shook off her grip and told her, in as firm a voice as he could muster, that she ought to go home now or her father will be worried. She seemed disappointed (and surprised that she was disappointed) that he was rejecting her yet again but acquiesced without a word.

And although he was a certifiable idiot when it came to social niceties, he didn't forget his manners and draped one of his jackets over her shoulders and sent her away – not without a little bit of regret, mind you, but he sent her away all the same.

So, now, as he watched the shadows lengthen over the inner courtyard, Shikamaru struggled to come up with a plan. He was not so much consumed with the desire to find out why Ino was doing it, although he supposed it would be nice to find out. Rather, it became more imperative to stop her actions before he was coerced into doing something he would regret for the rest of his natural life.

But that kind of thinking implied that he could actually stop her, which he very well knew he couldn't. No one probably could; even Uchiha Sasuke wasn't able to fully fend off her advances, and he was the best brooder and loner Shikamaru had ever known.

And, so.

Shikamaru, realizing he was in a real rut this time, settled for lying on the engawa to think about just how great his life turned out to be and if it wasn't too late to quit being a shinobi and just play shogi all day.

Hell, he'd gladly herd deer forever if it meant he didn't have to be an unwilling participant in Ino's little game…

And it was as he was pondering how to get the smell of deer droppings off his clothes when the idea – so simple and yet so, so brilliant – struck him.

Shikamaru sat up, his eyes wide. He had been dumb – very dumb – not to see the solution to his problem. Of course it had been Ino's game from the very beginning... because he was not participating.

And for the first time in a very long time, Shikamaru felt at ease and allowed himself the privilege of a smug grin.

The next time Ino strutted into sight, Shikamaru grabbed her by the hips and nuzzled her neck before murmuring in her ear that he was thinking of her all of last night, writhing beneath him and moaning his name, as he thrust into her again and again and again and—

She was gone before he could finish the thought, but the stinging imprint of her palm on his cheek told him that sweet, sweet victory was at hand.

The plan was officially in motion.

Four measly days later and Ino was avoiding him like the plague.

Shikamaru smirked and stretched his arms above him. He was back at his usual cloud-watching spot, and it felt good. Heh, if he was a sentimental idiot, he would have gotten on his knees and kissed the ground because he was finally, finally reclaiming his old territories.

Ino didn't slip into his office today to squirm in his lap, nor did she interrupt his morning stroll to let him know that he could take her out to dinner that night if he wanted to, because she was very much available, and if he could come by her house at seven that would be super nice.

And so the streets (and, rather reluctantly, his sheets) were free of a certain blue-eyed, blonde whispering sweet nothings in his ear, blowing him kisses, wrapping her arms around his neck, buying him sweets, yelling his name, slipping off his vest, massaging his back, toying with the hem of his shirt, straddling him, nibbling playfully at his ear, telling inappropriate jokes, getting him drunk, giving him apology cakes, sending him poems, getting the freaking Godaime to chew him out for half an hour, taking his picture when he wasn't looking, keeping him on his toes, scaring him with her abilities, making his father blush with embarrassment, stripping in his presence, singing him love songs while the sun dipped in the horizon, holding his hand, dragging him outside to dance in the autumn rain, spending time with him—

Shikamaru scoffed. He was not going to miss her now, not when he'd worked his butt off to get her off his back. Most of the things he did were downright embarrassing – one might even be illegal – and he was certainly not proud of it, but Ino was not bothering him anymore and that was the favorable end, was it not? He'd won. Check mate. End of freaking game.

Goodbye, troublesome-woman-who-tormented-but-secretly-pleased-him-with-her-attentions-for-the-past-month-or-so…

Gah!

He groaned. The emptiness in his gut wasn't going away, which was, just four measly days ago, heavily populated by troublesome butterflies. There was nothing there now – at least, nothing but his stupid, stupid male pride and his own insecurities gnawing at him from the inside.

Shikamaru decided he didn't like that, so he did the only thing he thought was appropriate...

...and bought the girl an apology cake.

He stood just to the side of the door leading to the flower shop. The butterflies were back, and though he didn't feel well, it was preferable to the guilt and the longing and the feeling that he just might die from the distinct lack of Ino in his life.

Swallowing hard, Shikamaru pushed the door open and walked in.

The bell above the doorframe signalled his entrance, and the girl at the counter lifted her eyes from her magazine briefly to look at him. When she was able to make out who it was in the dimming light, alarm instantly flashed through her features and she regarded his approach warily.

The first thing she did, when he was halfway to the counter, was ask if he wanted to see her father, because she could definitely fetch him right now; in fact, he was lounging in the opposite room, and she could shout for him whenever she wanted and he would come immediately.

That is, if Shikamaru wanted to see him.

All of this Ino said in an unusually high voice with her chin raised, her bottom lip trembling slightly, and her blue eyes glinting with undisguised suspicion.

She further narrowed her gaze when he finally stood before her. Her eyes flitted from the box in his hands to the apologetic (he hoped) look on his face. Her expression was stony, hard to read, and she stared at him for a very long time.

The silence was heavy, the shadows lengthening in the dying day, and when Shikamaru couldn't take it anymore, he laid the box on the table and slid it towards her, muttering that it was cherry and he didn't know if she liked that – didn't she like cherry tomatoes? close enough, right? – but the bakery clerk assured him that it was one of their best-selling flavors and since he knew very little about cakes he had to depend on the opinion of a total stranger and – believe him – he hated not knowing things but—

Ino shushed him with a look and a frown, and Shikamaru obediently shut his mouth. He slipped his hands in his pockets, because otherwise, he would start fidgeting and he didn't want to channel Hinata just then. Or ever.

The butterflies in his stomach grew restless as he watched her use a pair of garden shears to snip off the tapes on the box. He cleared his throat when her slender fingers slipped underneath the flap to lift the top, and when she finally opened it, he exhaled, feeling strangely relieved.

Shikamaru watched her lips move as she read the words, written in fine calligraphy, on the cake:

Sorry for groping you, Ino.

She fell into silence, and Shikamaru, once a lover of all things peaceful and quiet, found the atmosphere rather oppressive, so he filled in the blanks with – what he hoped counted as – light chatter:

The same bakery clerk, Shikamaru told her, who suggested cherry, was the one who did the calligraphy, and didn't she do a great job? He thought so, but, interestingly, the woman looked at him funny when he told her what he wanted written on the cake, and – can you believe it, Ino? – he actually had to bribe the clerk to write that sentence down. It wasn't even that long a sentence, but the woman hesitated and asked him several times if he was sure and – what's that, Ino? Why are you holding the cake in your hand? What are you doing? Hey, are you—

His frantic words were cut off by a cherry cake thrown in his face, and Shikamaru realized, funnily enough, that the clerk was right: it tasted wonderful – as it should; he'd spent way too much money on the freaking dessert and the girl just flung it at him. Great. Just great.

Belatedly, he heard her huff, and before Shikamaru could fully wipe the icing off his face, Ino came at him with her fists and her legs and a very, very shrill, "Don't you know how to apologize, you dumb bastard?!"

And later – much, much, much later – when she'd finally calmed down and he'd cleaned the sticky mess off his face and hair (and the shop floor), they sat on the same couch where, 32 days ago, Ino tried to get him drunk off semi-alcoholic fruit juice, unbuttoned her blouse, slipped off his vest, whispered an inappropriate joke, massaged his back, and brazenly made a pass at him.

Shikamaru snorted at the memory, but when the girl in his arms threw him a fierce glare, he tried not to make any more sounds and instead busied himself with burying his face in her silky, platinum blonde hair.

Hours passed – or it could have been minutes; who keeps track of the time? – before he asked her what he had wanted to know ever since she kissed him on the cheek nearly two months ago: why?

And in response, Ino rolled onto her stomach and settled on top of him, fiddling with a loose thread on his shirt as she looked at him with – it seemed – the very stars in her eyes. After several moments of silent contemplation, she lowered her head to press a soft kiss to his lips.

Then she whispered, half-amused, half-exasperated: "Um, duh."

Oh, Shikamaru thought, so this was it.

His favorable end. Check mate. End of the freaking game.

Grinning smugly, he reached for her face and kissed her.