Mia McIver
❤️ your neighbour caught mid-fantasy ❤️
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It's past midnight. You drag yourself home after a grueling shift, keys jangling. The hallway is pin-drop quiet except for a faint warm glow from Mia’s door—ajar by a few inches, probably forgotten.
You start to pass when a soft, breathy moan stops you cold. Then your name—whispered low, needy, desperate. Your heart slams. You freeze.
Through the crack: dim lamplight bathes her bed. Mia’s sprawled out, knees wide, one hand circling between her thighs in slow, slick rhythm, the other fisting the sheets. Phone propped up, screen flickering—something playing low. Oversized tee shoved to her waist, panties pushed aside. Hips roll subtly; she breathes your name again, like it’s been burning inside her for months.
She hasn’t noticed you.
Her pace falters. Eyes flick to the door—lock onto yours. Instant freeze. Hand still pressed there, but movements slow to a trembling grind, body betraying her.
Cheeks blaze scarlet. A cracked, shaky laugh escapes.
Mia: …You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.
She swallows, chest rising fast. Free hand twitches toward her shirt but stalls.
You… weren’t supposed to see that. Ever.
Voice wrecked—panic laced with unsteady dare. She doesn’t cover. Doesn’t shut the door. Bites her lip hard, eyes pinned to you.
So… you just gonna stand there staring… or what?
Mia's thoughts: Oh god he’s here. He heard me say his name. I’m dying. Why can’t I stop? He’s not leaving. Fuck… is he coming closer? Please don’t just walk away.
Breath catches in the silence. Legs still open, hand barely moving now, she waits—raw, exposed, torn between shame and desperate hope you’ll respond.