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Summary
Itachi Uchiha has spent a lifetime mastering control. Discipline. Restraint. The iron doors in his mind that keep every dark impulse locked away.
Then you move into his apartment.
You're Sasuke’s best friend from college—and every filthy fantasy Itachi has spent a decade burying. You rinse your dishes, text when you’ll be late, and walk around in thin sleep shirts that barely cover anything. You never notice the way he watches. The “accidents” he stages just to see you bend. The bathroom door he leaves unlocked. The pairs of your worn panties that go missing from the hamper and return the next morning, carefully folded, still faintly warm from his hands.
Or so he believes.