valentine day
ft: sasuke, itachi, gaara, indra, shikamaru, neji, obito, kakashi, hashirama, tobirama
wc: 2.1k
Konoha was quieter than usual.
Not because the village was peaceful—Konoha was never truly quiet—but because tonight, people had chosen to celebrate instead of train. Lanterns glowed softly along the streets, and small stalls sold handmade sweets and flower charms. It wasn’t an official holiday, but over the years, the villagers had adopted a small tradition: giving gifts to those they cared for most at the end of winter.
You didn’t expect Sasuke to care.
So when a crow landed on your windowsill with a scroll tied to its leg, you nearly dropped your brush.
Meet me at the training field.
No signature. He didn’t need one.
The field was empty except for him, standing under the faint glow of lanterns hung by the villagers. His cloak fluttered slightly in the night breeze, dark eyes fixed on the sky like he wasn’t sure how to start this.
“You came,” he says, as if he expected you not to.
“You summoned me,” you reply lightly.
He scoffs but steps closer. In his hand is a small wooden box, carved with the Uchiha fan. He hands it to you like it’s a mission report.
You open it slowly. Inside are chocolates—uneven, slightly cracked, clearly handmade. A few are shaped like tiny kunai.
“I didn’t know what you liked,” he mutters. “So I made something simple.”
Your chest tightens. “You made these?”
“Sakura gave instructions. Naruto was… banned from helping.”
You laugh softly. Sasuke looks away, embarrassed.
“I don’t care about these traditions,” he says. “But you do. And… I didn’t want you to think I ignored it.”
You step closer, closing the distance. “You didn’t have to.”
He meets your eyes. “I did.”
The lantern light catches his expression—serious, raw, honest.
“You matter to me,” he says quietly. “That’s all.”
You gently take his hand. He stiffens, then lets his fingers intertwine with yours.
The night is cold, but standing beside him, it feels warm.
For Sasuke, this is love.
The cherry blossoms were late this year.
Still, the tree outside Konoha’s eastern gate bloomed just enough to scatter petals across the ground like pale snow. Itachi stood beneath it, hands folded in his cloak, watching the petals fall.
You didn’t question how he arranged this meeting. With Itachi, explanations were rarely needed.
“You remembered,” you say, approaching him.
“Of course,” he replies softly.
He hands you a bouquet—white camellias and soft pink blossoms. You know their meaning. Devotion. Loyalty. Silent love.
“They’re beautiful,” you whisper.
“They reminded me of you,” he says.
You sit together beneath the tree, sharing tea he brewed himself. The village festival lanterns glow faintly in the distance, but here, it’s quiet.
“Many people use today to express feelings they struggle to say,” he says, gaze distant. “Shinobi rarely speak honestly.”
“You’re speaking now,” you say.
He smiles faintly and hands you a folded letter.
You open it. His handwriting is neat, deliberate—pages filled with words he rarely voices. Gratitude. Admiration. Quiet affection. Acknowledgment of the future he cannot guarantee.
“I cannot promise peace,” he says. “But I can promise sincerity.”
Your eyes blur as you lean against his shoulder. He gently rests his head against yours, fingers intertwining with yours.
For once, there are no secrets.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmurs.
It feels like a vow whispered to the wind.
Sunagakure’s winter nights are cold, but the desert stars are bright.
Gaara stands in the courtyard, hands folded in his sleeves, holding a carefully wrapped parcel. Kankuro and Temari are watching from the balcony, clearly amused.
“You’re Kazekage,” Temari whispers. “Just give her the gift.”
“This is different,” Gaara replies.
When you arrive, he straightens immediately.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you say, smiling.
He nods and hands you the parcel. Inside are handmade sweets and a small cactus in a clay pot.
“I wasn’t sure what would be appropriate,” he admits. “But cacti endure harsh environments. I thought… you might appreciate something resilient.”
You smile, heart swelling. “I love it.”
You sit beside him, sharing the sweets. They’re simple but carefully made.
“I made them,” he says quietly. “With assistance.”
He hesitates before placing his arm around your shoulders. His touch is careful, almost unsure.
“I once believed love was impossible for me,” he says softly. “But you proved that wrong.”
You lean into him. “Gaara…”
He looks at you seriously. “I want to keep learning what this feeling means. With you.”
You hug him tightly. After a moment, he hugs back, holding you as if you are something precious.
Under the desert stars, love feels real.
The village elders said emotions were weakness.
Indra never believed that.
He believed emotions were power—when controlled.
So when the villagers prepared a small winter festival, exchanging flowers and handmade charms as signs of devotion, he watched silently from the edge. He did not participate. He did not see the point.
You stood among the lanterns, laughing softly with the children, hands stained with ink and clay from making charms. You were calm, patient—so unlike the chaos he often felt inside.
That night, he summoned you to the training grounds.
“You wanted to see me?” you ask, approaching him beneath the moonlight.
He doesn’t waste words. In his hand is a carved wooden charm—intricate, shaped like a crescent moon with chakra seals etched into it.
“I made this,” he says. “It is meant to protect what is important.”
You stare at it, breath caught. “Indra… you made this for me?”
He meets your eyes, unwavering. “You are important.”
He rarely says things without meaning.
The wind brushes past, lantern light flickering in the distance. You step closer. “You could’ve given me flowers.”
“Flowers wither,” he replies immediately. “This will not.”
You laugh softly. “You’re very dramatic.”
He reaches out, fingers brushing yours. His touch is warm, firm, deliberate.
“Humans celebrate this day to declare loyalty,” he says. “So I am declaring mine.”
Your heart races. “That’s… a confession.”
No hesitation. No theatrics. Just certainty.
Indra doesn’t kiss you. He doesn’t need to. His hand over yours, his chakra resonating with yours, feels like a vow carved into the earth itself.
Shikamaru says it every year.
And yet, here he is—lying on a blanket outside the village, staring up at the stars, waiting for you.
You drop down beside him with a sigh. “You said you weren’t doing anything.”
“Yeah. This is nothing,” he replies lazily.
He hands you a small box of chocolates. They’re shaped like clouds and deer.
“My mom made me help,” he mutters. “But I picked the shapes.”
“Troublesome,” he corrects, but there’s a faint smile on his lips.
You lie beside him, shoulders touching, watching the stars drift slowly across the sky.
“…People make a big deal out of this day,” he murmurs.
“I know.” He pauses. “…But you like this stuff.”
“So I figured I should at least show up.”
You nudge his shoulder. “Romantic.”
He sighs but turns his head toward you. “Listen. I’m not good with words. Or feelings. Or effort.”
“But you’re worth the trouble,” he says quietly.
He stares at the sky, pretending he didn’t just drop a confession. His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining naturally.
“Happy Valentine’s,” he mutters.
You smile, squeezing his hand. With Shikamaru, love is simple. Quiet. Easy.
And that’s exactly how you like it.
Neji treats Valentine’s like a mission.
He researches traditions, flower meanings, village customs. He plans.
So when he approaches you during the winter festival, you’re not surprised to see a perfectly arranged bouquet in his hands.
“You prepared this,” you say.
“Yes,” he replies simply.
White lilies. Blue irises. Soft pink blossoms. Each placed with intention.
“They symbolize destiny, devotion, and trust,” he explains.
You smile. “You still believe in destiny?”
“…I believe in choices,” he corrects. “And I choose you.”
He hands you a folded letter. Inside is a neatly written message—his handwriting precise, but the words heartfelt. He writes about how you changed his understanding of fate, how meeting you made him believe in futures he once thought impossible.
“You are my choice,” he says quietly.
You step closer, holding the bouquet to your chest. “Neji…”
He gently cups your cheek, thumb brushing your skin. His Byakugan isn’t active—this moment is not about seeing through you. It’s about seeing you.
“If destiny exists,” he murmurs, “then I will defy it to stay with you.”
You lean forward and press your forehead to his. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, his hand slides into yours, fingers tightening.
Under the lantern light, Neji Hyūga chooses love over fate.
Konoha’s winter festival is loud—lanterns swaying, children running with paper charms, laughter echoing through the streets.
Obito stands out like he always does—too loud, too energetic, and way too nervous.
You find him near the dango stand, holding a paper bag like it’s a bomb.
“There you are!” he says, relief flooding his voice. “I thought you got lost!”
“You’re the one who told me to meet you here,” you laugh.
“Yeah, but what if you thought I was joking?” he scratches his head, cheeks faintly pink. “I mean—Valentine’s is kind of embarrassing, right?”
You smile. “You called me here for a reason.”
He takes a deep breath and hands you the bag. Inside are chocolates—too many, different shapes, some wrapped messily.
“I didn’t know what you liked,” he says quickly. “So I bought everything.”
You laugh softly. “That’s very you.”
He grins sheepishly, then pulls out something else—a small heart-shaped charm carved from wood, tied with red string.
“I made this,” he says quietly. “It’s supposed to bring good luck.”
You hold it carefully. “You made it?”
“Yeah. I messed up a bunch of times,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you something that wasn’t just from a stall.”
He looks away, suddenly serious.
“…You’re important to me. More than missions. More than being a shinobi.”
Your chest tightens. You step closer and hug him. He freezes, then hugs back tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmurs into your hair.
For Obito, love is loud, clumsy, and completely sincere.
Kakashi doesn’t make a big deal out of festivals.
But he notices everything.
You find him sitting on the Hokage monument, book in hand, mask hiding his expression.
“You came,” he says, eye smiling.
“You invited me,” you reply, sitting beside him.
He hands you a small wrapped parcel. Inside is a pressed flower inside a scroll case—preserved perfectly.
“I saw you looking at these during the festival,” he says casually. “They don’t last long in winter, so I preserved it.”
You stare at it. “You noticed that?”
“I notice a lot of things,” he replies lightly.
You sit together, legs dangling over the village, watching lanterns glow below.
“People like loud gestures,” Kakashi says quietly. “I prefer things that last.”
He hands you a second scroll—inside is a handwritten note, simple and neat.
Kakashi rests his hand over yours, gentle and warm. “Happy Valentine’s,” he murmurs.
It’s not dramatic.
But it feels permanent.
Hashirama thinks Valentine’s is wonderful.
So when you find him in the forest clearing, he’s surrounded by flowers he grew himself.
“You came!” he beams, holding out a massive bouquet. “I grew these just for you!”
You laugh. “You didn’t have to grow an entire garden.”
“But I wanted to!” he says, excited. “Flowers bloom when they’re cared for. Just like people.”
He hands you a small wooden carving—two hands intertwined.
“I made this too,” he adds proudly.
You stare at it, touched beyond words.
“You’re someone I want to protect,” he says sincerely. “And laugh with. And grow old with.”
He hugs you tightly, spinning you around like nothing in the world matters more.
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” he laughs.
With Hashirama, love feels alive, blooming, and endless.
Tobirama does not care for festivals.
But he does care for you.
So when he calls you to the riverbank, you’re surprised to find a neatly wrapped box in his hands.
“Traditions have social value,” he says simply. “This one encourages connection.”
Inside the box are rare preserved winter flowers sealed in glass.
“These flowers endure low temperatures,” he explains. “Symbolic of stability.”
You smile. “You’re being romantic in a scientific way.”
He sighs but allows a faint smile. “If this is considered romantic, then so be it.”
He hands you a scroll—inside is a written promise, formal but heartfelt. He promises loyalty, protection, and partnership.
“I do not make vows lightly,” he says. “You are someone I intend to keep beside me.”
You take his hand. He squeezes back, firm and warm.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says quietly.
For Tobirama, love is deliberate, calculated, and unbreakable.
