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900 words on Temari’s iminent marriage
She knew he was going to ask–some time soon.
It’s not hard to figure out that he’s going to ask her to marry him. They’ve been together for two years, and the subject’s been brought up before. Always in very theoretical and analytical senses, maybe, but it has been brought up before. And the conclusion was always the same: they would in fact get married.
That’s probably part of the reason why she’s in absolutely no hurry to be asked. The part that’s easier to think about, anyway.
Eventually, she’ll get asked. He might get on one knee and he might not. He might ask over a game of shougi, he might ask after a mission, he might ask during a mission if he’s particularly stupid that day, and he might ask by reaching behind him to the nightstand pulling out the ring. It might be in a box, it might not. It might have a diamond or a sapphire no stone at all. And she won’t care.
She’s not in this for the ring, she’s not in this for the prestige of the Nara Clan, and she sure as hell isn’t in this to hurry him along.
He’ll ask her when he’s good and ready. And she’ll hope that, at the time, she’s good and ready to say yes.
When Shikamaru asked her out all those months ago, it wasn’t anywhere close to the first time she imagined it happening. She’s had feelings for him longer than she cares to remember and it, unfortunately, wasn’t the first time she experienced him asking her out. Maybe it’s because of these repeated instances in her dreams and fantasies (and Kankuro teasing) that she was able to respond so confidently, with just a mendokusee and a grin.
And she knew, from the very moment he asked–and long before that, really–that if she said yes it wouldn’t just be to a date. It would be to the whole shebang. Dating, a relationship, boyfriend-and-girlfriend, kissing, sex, all sorts of touching they felt like doing; she was saying yes to meeting his mother, to learning how well she falls asleep next to another human being, to giving him more details than she’d ever given anyone else about how she grew up, about her mother and her father and her former-monster of a baby brother. Because he’d deserve them.
What she didn’t know was how hard she’d fall. What she didn’t know was that it was possible to fall further once kissing and holding hands and long talks were a reality.
She never expected the joint mission between Konoha and Suna where she lost her temper and killed someone with her wind. Shikamaru was the captain, and his life was in danger, so technically it was necessary. The enemy was going to kill him, but she acted first. It wasn’t the first time she’d earned the title of murder.
But it was the first time someone held her hand and stopped her from doing it again.
The blood, the rush of power is addictive. At twenty-three it’s still nicotine through her veins, promising security in the form of fear and absolute safety in the form of death.
He held her hand for a while, fingers tucked through hers, squeezing, and when she dropped her fan he hugged her completely. And let her calm down in his arms until the blood no longer sung to her with its false promises of glory and reputation.
Instead of power, she got addicted to the way he holds her and the impossible smile she gets whenever she sees him. She got addicted to his kisses, she got cravings for his touch, and she got far too many memories of electric impulsivity to ever imagine she’d be okay with not experiencing it every day for the rest of her life.
She gets him to smile with more ease than anyone else. She gets him to laugh, a talent known to her and Chouji and sometimes Ino.
She gets him distracted from his shougi matches just by walking into the room. She gets him to actually be proud of being a Jounin with one teasing comment about being impressed he’s finally her rank. She gets him to deflate, to not blame himself for everything that went wrong on missions he was in charge of, by placing her hands on his face and looking at him.
So she’s not surprised at all when he pulls a ring out of his pocket.
Nor is she when the words get stuck in his throat.
She doesn’t finish for him, though. She waits, and she smiles, and she watches his hand shake when he slips the ring on her finger.
And then she kisses him. And his arms gather her to him in this way that exudes precision and desire and Temari melts, like she always does. And when his fingers fill the spaces between hers right before he fills up the space between her legs and they make love on the kitchen floor and when Temari’s new ring cracks against his skull when she grips his hair and they both moan, she gets addicted to all of that, too.
And she promises herself that at the wedding in front of too many political officials to count as intimate, her hand won’t shake when she slips the ring on his finger.