haii!!! can I ask more pathetic g!p Megan? :3
except, Megan with the 1998 Sony camera. she takes pictures of girls around college (ESPECIALLY READER). they thought Megan likes taking vintage pictures. Megan laughs it off on the outside. but on the inside, when she's all alone, she's jorking it
basically focusing on her jorking it
1998 Sony Nightvision!
- fem! reader.
✧ ˚ · — g!p!megan skiendiel — · ˚ ✧
-> ❝ megan is obsessed with her old 1998 sony camera, secretly photographs girls around campus, especially you. everyone thinks she’s just into vintage aesthetics but alone in her room, she scrolls through the pics and jerks off to them. ❞
warnings : – pathetic megan – loser megan – creepy asf megan – jerking off – masturbating – tribute – invasive photography
- notes : mdni !!
megan’s got this old 1998 sony camera she bought off a guy on facebook marketplace for forty bucks.
it’s bulky, silver, scratched to hell, screen cracked in one corner, but the lens still works and it takes these grainy, slightly oversaturated photos that look like they’re from a time capsule.
she carries it everywhere on campus, slung around her neck like a tourist, or dangling from her wrist when she’s biking between buildings.
people think it’s cute. aesthetic.
‘vintage vibes,’ they say. ‘you’re so artsy, megan.’
she lets them think that.
she takes pictures of girls. a lot of girls.
candid shots mostly. girls laughing in the quad, girls walking to class with iced coffee, girls stretching before dance practice, girls sitting on the grass with textbooks open they’re not reading.
she zooms in on small things.
the way a skirt rides up a thigh when someone sits down, the curve of a neck when hair gets tucked behind an ear, the flash of skin when a crop top lifts during a hug. she frames them perfectly, deletes the blurry ones, keeps the rest in a locked album titled ‘misc.’
but it’s not about the photos.
it’s about you.
you’re in almost every roll.
you walking across the courtyard with your headphones in, head bobbing slightly to whatever song is playing.
you sitting on the steps outside the library, skirt bunched up just enough to show the top of your thigh. you laughing at something your friend said, head thrown back, throat exposed. you bending over to pick up a pen you dropped, ass curved perfectly in those jeans you always wear.
you stretching after class, arms above your head, tank top riding up to show a strip of stomach. you chewing on a straw while you read, lips pursed around it like you’re sucking something else.
she gets home after a long day, locks her dorm door, drops her bag, kicks off her shoes, and collapses onto her bed. phone out. album open. she scrolls slow.
your face fills the screen.
she zooms in on the last one she took today; you leaning against a wall outside the lecture hall, one foot propped up, skirt riding up just enough to show the edge of your thigh highs.
she stares at that skin for too long.
her breathing changes. hand slips under her waistband.
she’s already half hard just from looking.
she pulls her sweats down to mid thigh, cock springing free, thick and flushed. she wraps her hand around the base, strokes once, slow, eyes glued to your photo.
she imagines what it would feel like to push that skirt up, to press you against the same wall, to slide into you while you’re still holding your notebook like nothing’s happening.
she whimpers.
low, pathetic, barely audible. her thumb swipes over the head, spreading pre-cum. she scrolls to the next photo; you laughing, mouth open, tongue visible for a split second.
she groans and strokes faster.
“fuck… you’re so pretty,” she mutters to the empty room. “so fucking pretty.”
she keeps scrolling. another one; you bending over in the library, ass curved, skirt tight.
she squeezes harder, hips bucking into her fist. her free hand grabs your pillow, presses it to her face, inhales the faint scent of your shampoo that’s still on it from the last time you slept over. ( she never washed it )
she moans into the fabric, muffled.
“need you… please… i love you…—ugh fuck…”
she’s jerking faster now, slick sounds filling the room, hips lifting off the bed.
she scrolls back to the thigh highs photo, stares at that exposed skin, imagines pushing between your legs, spreading you open, sliding in slow while you gasp her name.
she comes hard—sudden, messy, cum spilling over her knuckles, dripping onto her stomach, a few weak spurts landing on the screen of her phone.
she gasps, body jerking, high pitched whimpers slipping out as she rides it out. her hand slows, milking the last drops, until she’s oversensitive and shaking.
she lies there panting, cum cooling on her skin, phone still open on your photo. the screen times out, goes black.
she stares at the ceiling for a long time.
then locks the album again, and pulls the covers over herself.
the old camera became her ‘way-to-go’ toy. since she’s been taking pictures of you for months now.
megan’s room is dark except for the glow from her phone screen. the rest of the dorm is dead quiet. she’s lying on her stomach, legs kicking slowly behind her, chin on the pillow, phone propped up on her folded arms.
she’s scrolling reddit again. the same subreddit she’s been obsessed with for two weeks now.
r/camerashacks
someone posted a thread titled:
“PSA: the sony 1998 nightshot mode + dark filter method ( for educational purposes. )”
megan clicked on it immediately.
the post has photos. proof. people testing it in real life. turning the old night shot mode on during the day, slapping a black filter over the lens, and suddenly you can see right through thin clothes.
its not perfect, not hd porn, but enough. shadows of nipples, outline of underwear, the faint suggestion of skin under fabric.
the comments are full of people losing their minds.
“tested on my gf’s tank top n you can see EVERYTHING”
“bro this is insane i can see my roommate’s bra through her shirt rn”
“this is so wrong but i’m not deleting the pics”
megan read every single comment. twice.
then she looked at her desk.
the 1998 sony camera is sitting there charging. silver body scratched to shit, lens cap dangling from the wrist strap.
she picks it up.
her thumb hovers over the power button.
she powers it on.
the little lcd screen flickers to life. she goes into the menu, finds nightshot mode, turns it on. then she digs in her drawer for the dark filter she bought.
she tapes it over the lens with black electrical.
she stands up.
walks to the door.
opens it quietly.
your room is two doors down. she walks barefoot, heart slamming so loud she’s sure someone will hear it.
your door is unlocked—you never lock it.
she pushes it open maybe two inches. just enough to aim the camera through the gap.
you’re asleep on your stomach. thin tank top. no bra. tiny sleep shorts. the hallway light is off but your desk lamp is on low, warm orange glow spilling across your back, lighting up the side of your body perfectly.
megan raises the camera.
she presses the shutter.
click.
the screen shows the photo instantly.
and there they are.
your nipples. dark, hard little peaks clearly visible through the thin white cotton. the shape of your breasts pressed against the mattress.
the curve of your ass in those shorts. the faint line of your spine. everything.
she stares at the photo for so long her eyes start to burn.
she takes another one. slightly different angle.
click.
and another.
click.
her breathing is shallow. she can feel herself getting hard just looking at the screen.
she backs out slowly. closes your door without a sound.
she walks back to her room on shaky legs.
megan locks her door again, double checks the deadbolt even though no one ever comes in unannounced.
her heart is still racing from the hallway, from standing outside your door with the camera raised like some creep.
she sits on the edge of her bed, legs shaky, phone clutched in one hand, the sony cybershot resting on her thigh like it’s burning her.
she opens the gallery.
the first photo loads; you asleep on your stomach, tank top thin, breasts pressed against the mattress.
the nightshot and dark filter did its job.
your nipples are clearly visible—dark little peaks showing through the fabric, the faint outline of your areolas, even the slight puffiness from how full they are.
she stares.
her thumb hovers over the zoom. she taps. the image enlarges. she can see the tiny texture of the cotton clinging to your skin, the way one nipple is slightly more prominent than the other. she imagines putting her mouth there.
warm, wet, sucking until milk beads at the tip, until you wake up moaning her name, arching into her face.
her cock is already throbbing again.
she shoves her sweats down to her knees, wraps her hand around the base, strokes once slow. a bead of pre-cum wells up immediately. she swipes it with her thumb, spreads it down the shaft, then starts jerking—eyes locked on your nipple in the photo.
“fuck…” she whispers to the empty room. “wanna suck them so bad… wanna taste you…”
she strokes faster, twisting her wrist on the upstroke, thumb rubbing the sensitive underside of the head. her breathing turns ragged, little whimpers slipping out every few pumps.
she scrolls to the next photo. she zooms in again, stares at the perfect little circle, imagines flicking it with her tongue, sucking until it’s swollen and sensitive, until you grab her hair and push her face deeper.
“please… wanna put my mouth on you…” she mumbles, voice cracking. her hips lift off the bed, fucking into her fist. “wanna make you feel good… —i wanna drink it all…”
she’s jerking hard now, slick sounds loud in the quiet room. pre-cum drips over her knuckles, runs down her shaft.
she switches to the photo of your ass in the shorts—curved perfectly, fabric clinging to the shape.
she imagines flipping you over, spreading your legs, pushing inside while your tits bounce.
“fuck—fuck—y/n—” she chokes out, hips bucking. “gonna cum… gonna cum thinking about you and—and your tits…”
she scrolls back to the nipple close-up one last time. stares. strokes faster. her balls tighten, thighs shake.
she comes with a muffled whimper. white ropes shoot across her stomach, some hitting her shirt, some landing on the phone screen again.
her hips jerk with every pulse, cock twitching in her hand as she milks the last drops.
she collapses back, panting, cum cooling on her skin, phone still open on your photo.
she stares at the ceiling for a long time.
then she wipes her hand on her shirt, locks the album again, and pulls the covers over herself.
she tells herself maybe she’ll delete them soon.
spoiler alert! she won't.
