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idrawweirdstuffnominors · 3 months ago

Note

How about the boys reacting to nudes?

As adults ofc

"Fuck....i wish you were my hand-ngh~ right now..."

Here is how I think each of them would react

Tw- NSFW (minors go away do your homework)

Bill dickey-

Bill was halfway through a hate-watch of a “Top 10 Best Star Wars Ships” YouTube video when his phone buzzed.

“Let me guess, another troglodyte putting Kylo Ren’s ship above the Outrider—god, people are so fucking stupid—”

He glanced at the screen.

And froze.

You’d sent a picture.

A nude. Bold. Shameless. Gorgeous. You were laid out like a fantasy, smiling like you knew exactly what you were doing. Like you knew it’d wreck him.

For a second, he forgot how to breathe. The phone slipped in his hand, and he fumbled to catch it like it was the Ark of the Covenant.

“What the fuck,” he rasped, voice cracking, eyes locked on the screen. “What—what the hell is wrong with you?! You can’t just drop that on me! That’s like… like unleashing a goddamn nuke in a chat window!”

He was already hard. Pathetically so. His sweatpants tented embarrassingly fast, and he yanked them down with the urgency of a man possessed. “Oh my god, look at you,” he muttered, hand wrapping around himself. “You’re an actual menace. A war crime in human form.”

He worked himself fast, jaw clenched, eyes wide like he was staring into the face of God—and God had great tits.

“Fuckin’ knew you were evil,” he growled, hand pumping faster. “Sending me this shit when I’m alone? What, you think you’re funny? Think I’m gonna be able to think about anything else for the rest of the goddamn month?”

He groaned, eyes fluttering shut for a second—just enough to picture you crawling onto his lap, whispering some filthy little thing in his ear, riding him slow just to torture him. “Yeah, laugh it up. Laugh all you want, babe. You love turning me into this pathetic fuckin’ mess, don’t you?”

His thighs tensed, stomach clenched.

It hit him hard—white-hot and furious. He let out a strangled, guttural sound, hips jerking, entire body twitching like someone just tasered him in the soul.

He slumped back, sweaty and dazed, cock twitching in his hand, chest heaving like he’d just stormed Normandy.

He stared at your photo again and laughed—dry, sharp, totally wrecked.

“You’re gonna pay for that, you little freak.”

Then he texts you:

“What the fuck is wrong with you. Also I’m coming over. Put your phone down. And your legs up.”

Josh levy-

Josh had just finished rewatching The Wrath of Khan for the ninth time this month, still mouthing along to every Shatner line like it was Shakespeare. His room was cluttered with unopened figure boxes, the flickering glow of the TV screen reflecting off his vintage glass display case like some weird altar.

Then—buzz.

He rolls his eyes, figuring it’s his cousin Nathan with some dumb meme or maybe one of the guys sending a half-baked conspiracy theory about the Star Wars sequels. He picks up the phone lazily.

And freezes.

It’s from you.

His glasses nearly slide off his nose as he squints at the screen. “What the hell is—” Then his brain shorts out.

It’s a photo.

A nude.

Of you.

Full-on. Confident. Smirking. Like you just knew he’d be a mess the moment he saw it.

Josh’s mouth opens, then closes. He makes a strange squeaking noise in the back of his throat, like a deflating balloon.

“What—what the hell, are you trying to kill me!?” he hisses at no one, clutching the phone like it might explode. He shifts uncomfortably on the bed, already feeling himself stir in his jeans.

His heart's racing like he's facing down a Klingon warbird. “Jesus—holy shit,” he mutters, palming himself through his pants, already hard. “You... you planned this, didn’t you? You knew I’d get worked up over this. Manipulative little minx…”

His free hand unzips fast, almost panicked. He strokes himself with sharp, urgent motions, biting his lip so hard it almost bleeds.

“You’re insane, sending this when I’m alone—I can’t handle this kinda thing, not when you look like that, not when I’ve got this entire mental archive of your noises and the way you shake when I get you just right—fuck—”

He’s panting now, imagining you straddling him, whispering the filthiest things with that smile—the smile from the photo. “You want me desperate, huh? Is that it?” His voice breaks slightly, cock twitching in his hand. “You wanna drive me nuts? Wanna make me beg like I’m some... some sex-starved nerd with no self-control? Well, congratu-fucking-lations, you succeeded—”

The orgasm crashes over him in a full-body spasm, and he lets out a strangled moan, curling forward, gasping like he just sprinted a marathon. His hand’s a mess, his brain’s static, and his glasses are fogged to hell.

There’s a long pause. Then, very softly, he whispers:

“I’m in love with a war criminal.”

He wipes his hand on his Battlestar Galactica t-shirt, still staring at the screen.

Then he texts back:

“You just violated five articles of the Geneva Convention. I'm filing a formal complaint. Also, I’m coming over.”

Pete dinunzio-

Phone buzzes. He almost ignores it—probably Bill sending some neckbeard manifesto or maybe his cousin trying to get him to go out. But it’s not that.

It’s you.

And holy shit.

He opens the message and chokes a little on the half-chewed pizza roll in his mouth. You’re naked. Not tastefully draped in shadows, not suggestive—just flat-out, tits-out, bedroom-eyed, and smirking like you know exactly what the hell you're doing to him.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he mutters, phone nearly slipping out of his hand.

His cock’s half-hard before he even blinks. That post-shower glow on your skin, the way your thighs are angled just so, and that look—the one that says “yeah, I’m yours, and I want you to see.” It hits him like a freight train.

“Fuckin’ hell, babe…” he breathes, dragging a hand down his face, then right into his lap without thinking.

He’s grinning now—lecherous, giddy, crooked. "You’re a goddamn menace, you know that?" he mutters to himself, thumbs the edge of the screen like he’s debating whether to stare or frame it.

Then he types back:

"You tryna kill me? I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you when I see you next. You better not be asleep."

He stares at the image one more time, then leans back, groaning low in his throat.

“Best fuckin’ day I’ve had in months…”

He stares at the screen like it’s the goddamn Mona Lisa, only way better because Da Vinci never painted you biting your lip with your hand between your thighs.

His mouth goes dry. That old, familiar heat coils low in his gut—the kind he hadn’t felt in a while, not since the last time you whispered filth in his ear and made him forget what decade he was in.

He shifts on the couch, unzipping his jeans with one hand, the other still gripping the phone like it’s sacred. “Fuckin’ filthy girl…” he mutters, voice thick and ragged. “You wanted this, huh? Knew I’d lose it the second I saw you like that.”

He wraps his hand around himself, already hard, already aching. Your picture is still on the screen—taunting, perfect. He imagines your voice, that breathy little whimper you make when you’re getting needy, the one that always makes him throb.

“You think I forgot how tight you are?” he growls under his breath, hand working slow at first. “You think I wouldn’t stroke my cock to this? Like you’re not all I fuckin’ think about when I’m stuck at work, surrounded by assholes and spoiled brats?”

He squeezes a little tighter, hips jerking forward instinctively. His eyes flutter shut, and he sees it—you on his lap, those thighs trembling, nails in his shoulders, riding him like you own him. “I’m gonna make you scream when I get my hands on you. You hear me, baby?” he pants, not even trying to control the rhythm now. “Next time you send me shit like this, you better be ready for me to drive over and make good on it.”

His breathing’s getting faster, his body curling with tension. he gasps, voice hoarse, body on fire. “You love gettin’ me like this. Naughty fuckin’ tease…”

The orgasm hits hard, unexpected—ripping through him like a shot of lightning. He gasps, low and raw, gripping the edge of the couch as he spills into his own hand, jaw slack, eyes shut tight with your name in his throat.

When he finally slumps back, chest rising and falling, he glances at the phone again and huffs a breathless, crooked laugh.

“You’re such a goddamn problem,” he says, fond and filthy all at once. “But fuck if you ain’t the best one I’ve ever had.”

Jerry stokes-

Jerry was on the couch, curled up in an old hoodie, a forgotten episode of Farscape playing in the background. His apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that creeps in when you’ve been alone too long.

Then his phone buzzed.

He didn’t move right away. Probably another pointless notification. But something told him to check. When he unlocked it and saw your name—followed by a photo—he blinked in confusion.

Then his breath caught.

It was you.

Nude. Beautiful. Confident. Soft in a way only you could be. You were looking right at the camera like you knew exactly what this would do to him.

“Oh... wow,” Jerry whispered, stunned.

He just sat there for a moment, staring, phone cradled in both hands like it was something fragile. His heart was pounding. His ears were hot. “Jesus, sweetheart,” he murmured, lips parting. “You’re… you’re really something.”

He swallowed thickly, shifting in his seat as the heat built in his chest, and lower. “You really sent this to me,” he said softly, almost like he couldn’t believe it. “You really trust me with this.”

His hands moved slowly, one setting the phone beside him—screen still glowing—while the other slipped under the waistband of his sweats. Already hard. Already aching.

He started to stroke himself, slowly, gently, still looking at you. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he said, breath catching. “God, if you were here right now… I’d take my time. I’d treat you so good.”

He closed his eyes and leaned back, jaw trembling. “I think about you all the time. About holding you. Kissing you slow. Making you feel like you’re everything—because you are.”

His voice was getting shakier, words tumbling out between panting breaths.

“I wish I was better at saying this. I wish I was there. I’d show you how much I care. How much this… you... mean to me.”

When he came, it was with a quiet gasp and a broken whisper of your name, his free hand clutching his chest like it might crack open from how full it felt. He stayed still for a long moment afterward, just breathing, warm and raw and grateful.

He looked back at your picture and smiled—soft, a little crooked, but real.

Then he texted you:

> “You didn’t have to send that. But I’m really glad you did. You make me feel lucky. I’ll be there soon—if you want me.”

#eltingville epilogue #eltingville fanart #no minors #the eltingville club #random writing #eltingville writing #minors dni #and i oop #giggling and kicking my legs #epilogue josh levy #epilogue bill #epilogue jerry #epilogue pete

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