#uchihaxreader

The air in the Konoha central clinic smelled of dried herbs, boiled linen, and the faint, metallic tang of sterilization chakra. It was a scent Y/N Hyūga associated with order; in a world so recently built from the blood and mud of a dozen battlefields, order was the only solace. 

She moved through the ward like a still point in a turning world. At twenty two, she was the jōnin Head Director of the hospital, and she commanded it with a quiet, unyielding grace. Her pale lavender gray eyes, the Byakugan, were not activated, yet she saw everything. The dip in a patient's breathing, the tremor in a young nurse’s hand. 

"Y/N-sensei," the nurse whispered, her voice tight with panic. "The tenketsu points on his left arm, they won't stabilize. This fire style jutsu... it's dissolving his chakra pathways." 

Y/N’s gaze settled on the shinobi. A Senju, barely twenty, his face slick with fever. His left arm was a ruin of charred flesh and sluggish, laking chakra. 

"You have done well to contain the necrosis," Y/N said. Her voice was soothing. "Step back. I will take it from here." 

She stripped the white hospital coat from her shoulders, leaving her in her simple lilac robes. Her hands, pale and slender, hovered over the wound.  

"Byakugan." 

The veins and muscles around her eyes expanded. The world dissolved into a tapestry of gray and silver. The fire was not simple flame; it was a curse of chakra, designed to eat, to linger, to destroy from within. It clung to the boy's network like poison ivy. 

Her hands ignited in the soft, pale green of medical chakra. But where others would flood the area, Y/N’s control was finer. She spun her chakra into microscopic needles, a thousand tiny, precise instruments. She did not douse the dark fire; she began, thread by thread, to un-weave it from the Senju’s own. 

For an hour, she did not move. The nurses watched, mesmerized. They called her the "White Fire of the Hyūga," not for her passion, but for the intensity of her focus; a flame that healed where others consumed. 

Finally, with a soft exhale, the last of the dark chakra dissipated. The boy's breathing evened. "He will heal," Y/N said, her voice quiet with exhaustion. "See to his dressings." 

She was washing her hands when Hashirama Senju found her, his Hokage robes already rumpled, his face alight with his usual, chaotic energy. "Y/N-chan! Perfect! I was just coming to see you. Tobirama is complaining about our budget for the new children's wing again, can you believe him? I need you to look over these requisitions and tell me if-" 

A sharp, formal rap at the door cut him off. A Hyūga guard stood in the doorway, clad in the stark white of the Main Family. He did not look at the Hokage. His pale featureless eyes were fixed on her. "Y/N-sama. Your father, Hisasi-sama, requests your presence at the compound. Immediately." 

The warmth in the room vanished. Hashirama’s smile faltered, his boisterous energy replaced by a sudden concern. He knew, as she did, that Hisasi Hyūga never "requested." He commanded. 

"I... of course," Y/N said, her voice regaining its formal ton. She bowed. "Hokage-sama, forgive me. My duty calls." "Y/N..." he began, worried. "I am sure it is a small matter," she lied. 

𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖

The Hyūga compound was silent, a stark contrast to the hospital's vibrant, aching life. Here, emotion was a flaw, a thing to be controlled, polished away like a smudge on a perfect surface. 

She paused outside her father’s study, the shoji screens casting a pale, milky light. She checked her reflection in a polished lacquer box by the door. Her long black hair was tied back. She took a breath, smoothed the front of her robes, and knelt. 

"Father. You sent for me." 

She slid the screen open and entered, bowing her head as she took her place on the tatami mat across from him. Her father sat in perfect seiza, his hands resting on his knees. His Byakugan was not active, but she felt his gaze rake over her. 

"You smell of the hospital chaos, and Senju" he said. His voice was flat. "You were with the Hokage." "I was, Father," Y/N replied calmly. "He wished to discuss about some concern." Hisasi interrupted. "I see. But what we require is stability between clans. His 'village' is a dream held together by hope and charisma. Hope is not a foundation, Y/N. Charisma is not a treaty." 

Y/N remained silent, her hands folding gracefully in her lap. "The Uchiha," he said, the name dropping into the room like a stone. "They are the crack in this new foundation. They follow Madara, and Madara follows only his own pride. They are a fortress within our walls. They will, inevitably, be the source of the next war." 

A knot of familiar, cold dread tightened in Y/N’s stomach. "The Uchiha were responsible for Mother's convoy," Y/N said, her voice quiet but unwavering. It was the one grievance that was hers. "Yes," Hisasi said, his pale eyes finally meeting hers. "They took your mother, they spilled our blood. That is precisely why this new accord is necessary." 

He slid a single, unadorned scroll across the low table. "The Senju offers words. The Hyūga will offer blood. We will bind the Uchiha to this village in a way they cannot break. We will forge an alliance that will force peace." Y/N stared at the scroll. Her heart rate was slowing, her extremities growing cold. "You have... arranged a marriage," she stated. "I have." She thought of her younger brother, Haru. "You cannot mean Haru. He is... he is not a diplomat. It would be a disaster."  "To send Haru would be an insult. A sign of weakness." Hisasi's gaze was sharp, pinning her. "The Uchiha are a clan of power. They respect nothing else. They will not be bound by a child. They must be bound by an equal : by our strongest." 

The room was suddenly very small. "Father... what have you done?" "I have done my duty as clan head. And you will do yours, as the heir." He tapped the scroll. "You will marry Uchiha Madara." 

The sound of her father's voice dismissing her was a distant hum. Y/N stood, bowed, and slid the shoji screen of his study closed. She didn't remember walking. She was suddenly just... outside. The village was alive around her, the smell of cook-fires, the shout of a merchant, the ringing of a hammer. It all felt like a painting : distant, flat and cold

Her feet carried her past the hospital. She couldn't go there, not now. She was walking to the Hokage tower. She went to find her friend. The guards at the tower bowed, "Y/N-sensei." "Is he in?" Her voice sounded strange to her own ears. "Hokage-sama is... yes. He's in." 

She didn't wait. She took the stairs, her steps quick and silent. She didn't knock. Her hand was on the door, sliding it open with a sharp, rattling whoosh. Hashirama looked up, his dark eyes wide with surprise, a half-eaten rice ball in his hand. "Y/N? What is it? Another attack? Is the hospital-" 

He stopped. He truly looked at her. She was paler than her Hyūga blood usually allowed. Her hands, those instruments of perfect, steady control, were clenched at her sides, shaking. A fine, violent tremor she couldn't seem to stop. "Y/N..." He was on his feet in an instant, his chair clattering to the floor. "What happened? What's wrong?” 

Y/N opened her mouth. No sound came out. She tried again. "He... my father." "Hisasi? What did he say? Did he forbid you from working at the hospital? I'll speak to him, Y/N, I swear I will-" "No." She held up a shaking hand. "It's... the alliance. The one we all wanted." A terrible, cold understanding began to dawn on Hashirama's face. He knew the old ways. "Y/N... what did he do?" "He said... he said the Hyūga would offer blood. To bind the Uchiha. To force the peace." Hashirama's face went white. "A... a political marriage? He's forcing Haru to...?" 

Y/N let out a sound that was almost a laugh. It was a terrible, broken thing. "No. Not Haru. That would be an insult. They are a clan of power, he said. They must be bound by our strongest." She finally looked up, her pale, lavender-gray eyes meeting his dark ones. The shock was finally cracking, revealing the raw, 14-year-old grief beneath.    "He's marrying me to Uchiha Madara." 

The name hung in the air between them, a declaration of war disguised as a promise of peace. Hashirama stared at her. His mouth opened, then closed. The man who could command armies looked utterly, devastatingly helpless. "He can't," Hashirama whispered. "Madara... Y/N, he...he’s my friend but I won't allow it. As Hokage, I forbid it." Y/N shook her head, the last of her strength failing. "You can't. It's a clan matter. You know it is. It's... it's done. The contract is drawn." 

She took a staggering step forward, her hand landing on his desk to steady herself, scattering scrolls. "He's giving me to the man... to the clan... that killed my mother, Hashirama. He's calling it peace." 

Hashirama’s face crumpled. "But... you, Y/N. Your mother. How can you...?" "He asks because I am the heir," she said, her gaze distant. The shock was being replaced by a deep, bottomless exhaustion. "It is my duty. The same as yours." She straightened, her hands performing the simple, familiar gesture of smoothing her robes. The moment of crisis was over. "I must go," she said. "I won't be at the hospital tomorrow, Hashirama." The simple, domestic statement struck him harder than her grief. "What? Why?" "My father has arranged a meeting. A formal introduction. With the Uchiha family," her voice was perfectly level. "Tomorrow evening. I am to... prepare." 

She bowed, a deep, formal bow that was suddenly miles away from the friend who had burst into his office. "Hokage-sama." She turned and left, her back straight, her steps silent, leaving him alone with the ruins of his perfect, peaceful dream. 

Y/N walked from the Hokage Tower in a daze. Her limbs felt heavy, her movements automatic. The sounds of the village, the shouting merchants, the ringing of hammers on the new Academy roof, were a distant, muffled hum, as if she were underwater. 

Uchiha Madara. 

The name was a black, cold stone in her stomach. A nightmare. A sentence. She was walking, but she had no destination. She just... had to move. 

"Nee-san!" 

The voice was a bright, familiar, painful sound. It cut through her fog like a kunai. She stopped, her head turning. Haru, her seventeen-year-old brother, was jogging toward her, his jōnin flak jacket unzipped, his face bright with a post-mission high. He was the picture of the normalcy she had just lost. 

"Just the person I was looking for!" he grinned, stopping in front of her. "I finished that patrol early. Let's go to Ichiraku, my treat. You've been cooped up in that hospital for-" He stopped, his smile faltering. He wasn't a sensor, but he was her brother. He saw her. "Nee-san?" he asked, his voice softening. "Are you okay? You look... pale. More than usual." 

This was it. The first test. The first lie. Y/N manufactured a smile. It felt brittle, thin, like a paper mask that would tear. "I'm fine, Haru," she said, her voice sounding falsely bright to her own ears. "Just... a long day. The hospital budget meetings were... exhausting." 

He frowned, not entirely convinced, but he accepted the plausible, boring excuse. "See? You need ramen. Come on. A few minutes. It'll cheer you up." He tugged on her sleeve. 

She couldn't. She couldn't sit with him. She couldn't listen to his cheerful, simple stories about his mission. She couldn't bear his happiness while this cold, dark secret was suffocating her. She gently pulled her arm free. "I can't, Haru. I... I'm sorry." The lie tasted like ash. "There's... there's a new shipment of medical supplies at the hospital. I... I have to catalog them before dark." 

His face fell in open, boyish disappointment. "Oh. Right. Work, work, work." He tried to rally, giving her a playful shove on the shoulder. "Rain check, then! Don't let Hashirama-sama and those stuffy budgets work you to death, Nee-san." "I won't," she lied. "See you at home!" he said. With a final, cheerful wave, he turned and ran off toward the market, oblivious. 

Y/N watched him go. The smile on her face didn't just fade; it crumbled. She was, for the first time, completely and utterly alone. She had just left her only friend in the tower. And she had just lied to her only family. This was the real weight of peace. It was a burden she had to bear in silence. She turned, her heart a cold, heavy stone, and walked, not to the hospital, but home to the white, silent, empty walls of her compound.    Earlier that day. The Uchiha Compound. 

The room was dark, lit by multiple candles that cast long, flickering shadows. Madara sat at the head of a long, dark-wood table, his eyes closed, his presence a cold, heavy void. His father, Tajima Uchiha, and three of the clan's most powerful elders sat in the shadows. 

"The Senju are one pillar," Tajima said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "We are the other. The Hyūga... are a loose stone. They are a threat." An elder, his face a map of old scars, nodded. "Hisasi Hyūga is pragmatic. He has offered a solution. A... bond. A marriage." 

Madara's eyes opened. They were cold, black, and utterly devoid of interest. "A marriage. We will give one of our branch cousins to their heir. It is... trivial." 

"No," Tajima said, his voice hard. "Hisasi is not a fool. He does not offer his heir for a branch family. He offers... his strongest... for our strongest." 

A pause. The air in the room grew heavy, the pressure of Madara's chakra a physical weight. He understood. "You are joking," Madara's voice was not a question. It was a low, dangerous growl. "You want to bind me... the leader of the Uchiha... to a Hyūga?" His disgust was palpable. It was not just a rival clan; it was them. Their "weak" eyes, their "rigid" customs. 

"It is not a joke," the scarred elder snapped. "It is logic. It neutralizes our most dangerous dōjutsu rival. It binds the Hyūga's neutrality to us. With this, the Senju cannot move against us. We will have the Byakugan as an asset, not a threat." 

Madara's hands slammed onto the table. He stood, his shadow swallowing the room. "I will not be... sold... for a treaty. I am Uchiha Madara. I lead this clan. I do not... whore... for it." 

"You WILL!" Tajima roared, standing to meet his son's gaze, his own Sharingan flaring to life. "This is not about your pride! This is about survival! You swore an oath to protect this clan. This... this... is how you protect it!" The elder's voice was a furious hiss. "You will bind that pale-eyed princess (he spat this last word) to our house, and you will chain her entire clan to our interests. It is your duty." 

A long, terrible silence stretched, filled only by the hiss of the candle. Madara's own Sharingan blazed, a crimson, spinning vortex of rage. He was at war with his father, his duty, his hatred of the Hyūga. Finally, the crimson faded. His face became a mask of cold, hard ice. He had made his choice. 

"...Fine." The word was a chip of obsidian. "I will do my duty." He turned, his black robes sweeping. "Prepare the contract. But... make no mistake." His voice was a flat, lethal promise. "She... is a duty. Not a... wife." He swept from the room, leaving the elders in the dark, his cold, furious sacrifice hanging in the air.  𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ I hope you liked the first chapter. Don't hesitate leaving a comment or a repost ! Luv yall Jasm.