Cosimo Galluzzi
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2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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@deimosphilic
āļ½”Ā°ā© šššš ā she/her ā twenty two ā bisexual
Ā°āā.ą³ąæ*:ļ½„ ā¤· masterlist ā about me ā rules
āļ½”Ā°ā© šššššššš: open ā šššššš: voyeur? | robert "bob" reynolds & john walker
Ā© deimosphilic 2025
donāt repost, copy, or translate my work without permission.
hello?? is anyone still here???
okay guys i lied iām so sorry iām currently abroad so i havenāt had any time to post anything!! this weekend something should come out
sorry gang accidentally took a weeks break i should be posting something tn!!
hey party people sos for the slower updates lotta shit been going on but hopefully we up Xx
licking my lips at that sentryagent x reader where they're handcuffed together or sum.. wow
when i was writing it i was like
i had some EVIL EVIL thoughts and I need to shareā¦(evil=torturing Bob)
Okay so imagine John handcuffing Bob to you in a way where his dick is like stuck in you? You canāt get out and neither can heā¦Like all he can do is fuck basicallyā¦ Johnās just watching you two struggle like animals
john was practically doubled over in laughter, clearly amused at the scene in front of him.
i had some EVIL EVIL thoughts and I need to shareā¦(evil=torturing Bob)
Okay so imagine John handcuffing Bob to you in a way where his dick is like stuck in you? You canāt get out and neither can heā¦Like all he can do is fuck basicallyā¦ Johnās just watching you two struggle like animals
john was practically doubled over in laughter, clearly amused at the scene in front of him.
you lay pinned beneath bob, the two of you tangled in a mess of rope and cuffs that made it genuinely impossible to break free. your muscles ached from the struggle, your senses frayed from the overstimulation, having come twice already.
bob looked worse for wear ā face flushed, eyes glassy, his breathing ragged. whatever composure heād had was gone, replaced with a desperate, wordless sort of pleading. he wasnāt speaking in full sentences anymore, just small, disjointed sounds that barely made it past his lips as he glanced toward john for some kind of mercy.
I love your sentryagent x reader threesome, when I get the notification you posted one I jump in glee I just overall love your writing
ahh thank you so much!! i really appreciate it <3
girl hi i just find you like 20 min ago and i love your fics and your random posts
i dont have any idea are you taking anon or not but ill use ~šš emojis when i text you in here
and i feel sorry about your nails girl šš» maybe you can try get them in shape with a nail file š
ahh thank you so much nonnie, i always appreciate it! and emoji anons are always welcome over here!!
as for my nails i've had to suck it up and book an appointment for a full set of acrylics which i'm annoyed about but it's also not that deep. now all i gotta do is think of a design
Hello! Can I request something with John Walker (established relationship)? Maybe where reader meets his kid and Olivia for the first time? That or maybe John and reader takes care of readerās baby niece together? Whichever is easier for you!!
to say you were nervous would be the understatement of the year.
Hello! Can I request something with John Walker (established relationship)? Maybe where reader meets his kid and Olivia for the first time? That or maybe John and reader takes care of readerās baby niece together? Whichever is easier for you!!
to say you were nervous would be the understatement of the year.
PAS DE DEUX | JAMES "BUCKY" BARNES
SUMMARY ā you and bucky had been torn apart by time, war, and everything in between. who wouldāve thought itād be the ballet, the one thing that never changed, that would bring your worlds colliding again?
PAIRING ā bucky barnes x fem!reader
WARNINGS ā suicidal ideation, auditory hallucinations, mention of sterilisation, lowercase intended, no use of y/n, povs are switching
A/N ā bare with gang i don't write for bucky at all. this is a request so i hope i did it justice!!
TAGS ā @merrydoemas
WORD COUNT ā 5.7k
james barnes, 2027
bucky remembered you.
not much else endured ā names, places, even pieces of himself had faded ā but you remained. a flicker in the fog. he knew your face, though mostly from the worn photo steve had pressed into his hand, a desperate offering to memory. but some things didnāt need prompting. he remembered the way you moved, graceful and deadly. how you brought down ten armed men as if dancing through smoke and fire, the day steve tore him from hydraās grip.
and beyond the battlefields and blood, he remembered softness. the warmth of your voice. the way your laughter wove easily with his sister rebeccaās, like music he hadnāt heard in lifetimes.
he remembered you, but it wasnāt enough.
after washington d.c., after the wreckage left in the wake of captain america, he searched for you. he scoured shadows, followed whispers, and hunted the ghost of one of historyās most infamous widows. but no matter how deep he dug, you were gone. vanished.
he saw you once. maybe twice. in siberia, buried in ice, encased in glass and silence. a body in a cryochamber. expressionless. still. back then, you were just another frozen weapon on the shelf. he didnāt know who you were. didnāt remember.
but now, with the fog lifted and the pieces returned, he knew. he should have known then. even as the winter soldier, even drowning in the dark, something in him shouldāve stirred. should have recognised your shape. but he didnāt. he was too far gone.
even after the final battle with thanos, the search didnāt stop. victory meant nothing, not to him. not without you. he combed through every shadowed corner of the world, called in old favours, and stirred up ghosts from his past. but you were always just out of reach. a phantom slipping through cracks. a reflection in broken glass. a ghost, like he was.
it's friday night, i've had an everything shower, and now i'm lying in bed with a glass of wine and tumblr
My friend keeps sending me your voidwalker x reader works and I think it's a sign to hit follow. It fills such a specific niche that I didn't even know I needed until they started sending me your fics and now I'm sat and ready for more :3
ahhh thank you so much!!
mdni! perv!bob reynolds and super-hearing
ever since the serum had been injected into bobās veins, everything had shifted.
it didnāt happen all at once, not like the movies promised. no, it was gradual, unnerving in its subtlety. the first thing he noticed was his sight. the world seemed sharper, edges more defined, and colours deeper and richer. he could read signs from blocks away, pick out the individual feathers on a bird mid-flight, or catch the twitch of an eyelash in someone across the room. at first, he thought he was imagining it, some placebo effect. but it only intensified.
then came the hearing.
he remembered the exact moment it hit him. he was sitting at the far end of the common room, alone, pretending to read, when he heard two of valentina's employees whispering at the other end. their voices were low and hushed, the kind of whisper meant to be private. but to bob, it was as clear as if they were right next to him. every word, every inflection. he could even hear the nervous swallow between sentences. it wasnāt just what they said; it was what they meant. the anxiety in their tone, the subtle shift in their breathing, the heartbeat that fluttered just a little faster when one of them lied.
he could no longer tune the world out, not really. every sound, every movement, every flicker of light or scent in the air felt amplified, pressing against his awareness all at once.
and though it made him powerful, it also made him restless. he was hyperaware. always alert, always listening.
especially when it came to you.
his senses were a symphony, and you were the constant note threading through every movement, every breath. whether you were near or far, awake or dreaming, he felt you in ways he couldnāt explain.
even when you werenāt in the room, he was attuned to your presence. the soft rhythm of your footsteps down the hallway, the particular cadence of your breath when you were lost in thought, the slight creak of the door when you entered another room ā he noticed it all. he listened for you like instinct, like ritual.
your scent reached him before your voice ever did. that perfume you wore seemed to linger in every corridor, haunt every doorway. it wrapped around him like a memory, one that clung to the back of his throat and refused to leave.
your room was right next to his, a simple coincidence that became bobās quiet obsession. the walls werenāt particularly thin, but they didnāt need to be. not for him. ever since the serum rewired his body, it took almost no effort to hear you, to tune in like your life was a frequency only he could pick up.
you didnāt have to be doing anything special. the ordinary was more than enough. you could be vacuuming, humming some tune off-key beneath your breath, and heād still be listening like it was something sacred. the gentle thud of drawers opening and closing. the soft drag of hangers being pulled off the rack. the rhythmic pat of your feet on the rug as you moved around folding laundry or brushing your hair ā he catalogued all of it.
but at night, that was when he listened the hardest.
when the tower was finally quiet. when the hum of voices and the click of boots had gone still. when only the moon dared cast its pale light through your curtains, then heād lie still, eyes open in the dark, and listen.
and tonight, was no different.
he sat in his bed, spine pressed against the cool metal of the headboard, the room dim save for the soft glow of the moon spilling through the half-closed blinds. one hand rested on his cock, fingers moving in quick, desperate strokes. his other hand clenched weakly in the sheets, as though grounding himself.
he could hear you in the room next to him. could hear your quiet whimpers into your palm, could hear your fingers dipping in and out of your pussy, the lewd sounds it was making. hell, he could smell how wet you were.
god, that scent was burnt into his memory.
he had caught it once, faint and lingering, on a pair of your panties while you were away on a mission. he hadnāt meant to. at least, thatās what he told himself. but the moment it hit him, something inside him shifted.
it was warm, sweet, unmistakably you. from that moment on, he couldnāt forget it. couldnāt stop chasing it, craving it, thinking about it. it wasnāt just desire; it was obsession.
through it all, he listened, eyes shut tight, jaw tense, trying to pretend it was your hand instead of his. that it was your fingers teasing him, your touch coaxing out the ache heād been carrying since the first time you smiled at him.
he imagined your thumb brushing over the sensitive tip and imagined the way you'd whisper his name in that soft, breathy tone that already lived in his head. he brought his own fingers to his mouth, sucking them in a daze, pretending they were yours, letting fantasy blur the lines of reality.
but it was the sounds that undid him most. the delicate whimpers, barely there, but so clear to him. each breathy moan sent a jolt through his spine, every soft whine feeding his need. and when your breath hitched ā when your fingers mustāve circled your clit just right ā he nearly came undone at the thought of what you were doing only a wall away.
but he held himself back.
he could tell you were close. it was the way your breath hitched, the subtle change in rhythm, and the quiet urgency in your touch. he knew every sound you made by heart now, and the slight shift in your whimpers was enough to tell him you were teetering.
still, he waited.
every muscle in his body was tight with restraint. the ache was unbearable, but he refused to let himself finish before you. his fingers were still in his mouth, teeth pressed into the pads just to ground himself, to keep the soft sounds of your name from slipping out. if he let it happen too soon, if he gave in before you, it would ruin everything.
then it happened, that sound. that desperate little moan, unmistakably yours, the one heād memorised from dreams and half-lucid fantasies. it hit him like lightning.
only then did he let go.
his back arched slightly, breath catching in his throat as release hit him hard and fast. it came in warm, urgent waves across his stomach, leaving him gasping, shaking with the force of it ā all from the sound of you, just on the other side of the wall.
one day, bob thought, he wouldnāt have to eavesdrop through the wall anymore. one day, he'd kneel in front of you and beg for you to use him in whatever way you pleased.
mdni! perv!bob reynolds and super-hearing
ever since the serum had been injected into bobās veins, everything had shifted.
it didnāt happen all at once, not like the movies promised. no, it was gradual, unnerving in its subtlety. the first thing he noticed was his sight. the world seemed sharper, edges more defined, and colours deeper and richer. he could read signs from blocks away, pick out the individual feathers on a bird mid-flight, or catch the twitch of an eyelash in someone across the room. at first, he thought he was imagining it, some placebo effect. but it only intensified.
then came the hearing.
he remembered the exact moment it hit him. he was sitting at the far end of the common room, alone, pretending to read, when he heard two of valentina's employees whispering at the other end. their voices were low and hushed, the kind of whisper meant to be private. but to bob, it was as clear as if they were right next to him. every word, every inflection. he could even hear the nervous swallow between sentences. it wasnāt just what they said; it was what they meant. the anxiety in their tone, the subtle shift in their breathing, the heartbeat that fluttered just a little faster when one of them lied.
he could no longer tune the world out, not really. every sound, every movement, every flicker of light or scent in the air felt amplified, pressing against his awareness all at once.
and though it made him powerful, it also made him restless. he was hyperaware. always alert, always listening.
especially when it came to you.
his senses were a symphony, and you were the constant note threading through every movement, every breath. whether you were near or far, awake or dreaming, he felt you in ways he couldnāt explain.
even when you werenāt in the room, he was attuned to your presence. the soft rhythm of your footsteps down the hallway, the particular cadence of your breath when you were lost in thought, the slight creak of the door when you entered another room ā he noticed it all. he listened for you like instinct, like ritual.
your scent reached him before your voice ever did. that perfume you wore seemed to linger in every corridor, haunt every doorway. it wrapped around him like a memory, one that clung to the back of his throat and refused to leave.
your room was right next to his, a simple coincidence that became bobās quiet obsession. the walls werenāt particularly thin, but they didnāt need to be. not for him. ever since the serum rewired his body, it took almost no effort to hear you, to tune in like your life was a frequency only he could pick up.
you didnāt have to be doing anything special. the ordinary was more than enough. you could be vacuuming, humming some tune off-key beneath your breath, and heād still be listening like it was something sacred. the gentle thud of drawers opening and closing. the soft drag of hangers being pulled off the rack. the rhythmic pat of your feet on the rug as you moved around folding laundry or brushing your hair ā he catalogued all of it.
but at night, that was when he listened the hardest.
when the tower was finally quiet. when the hum of voices and the click of boots had gone still. when only the moon dared cast its pale light through your curtains, then heād lie still, eyes open in the dark, and listen.
and tonight, was no different.
he sat in his bed, spine pressed against the cool metal of the headboard, the room dim save for the soft glow of the moon spilling through the half-closed blinds. one hand rested on his cock, fingers moving in quick, desperate strokes. his other hand clenched weakly in the sheets, as though grounding himself.
he could hear you in the room next to him. could hear your quiet whimpers into your palm, could hear your fingers dipping in and out of your pussy, the lewd sounds it was making. hell, he could smell how wet you were.
god, that scent was burnt into his memory.
he had caught it once, faint and lingering, on a pair of your panties while you were away on a mission. he hadnāt meant to. at least, thatās what he told himself. but the moment it hit him, something inside him shifted.
it was warm, sweet, unmistakably you. from that moment on, he couldnāt forget it. couldnāt stop chasing it, craving it, thinking about it. it wasnāt just desire; it was obsession.
through it all, he listened, eyes shut tight, jaw tense, trying to pretend it was your hand instead of his. that it was your fingers teasing him, your touch coaxing out the ache heād been carrying since the first time you smiled at him.
he imagined your thumb brushing over the sensitive tip and imagined the way you'd whisper his name in that soft, breathy tone that already lived in his head. he brought his own fingers to his mouth, sucking them in a daze, pretending they were yours, letting fantasy blur the lines of reality.
but it was the sounds that undid him most. the delicate whimpers, barely there, but so clear to him. each breathy moan sent a jolt through his spine, every soft whine feeding his need. and when your breath hitched ā when your fingers mustāve circled your clit just right ā he nearly came undone at the thought of what you were doing only a wall away.
but he held himself back.
he could tell you were close. it was the way your breath hitched, the subtle change in rhythm, and the quiet urgency in your touch. he knew every sound you made by heart now, and the slight shift in your whimpers was enough to tell him you were teetering.
still, he waited.
every muscle in his body was tight with restraint. the ache was unbearable, but he refused to let himself finish before you. his fingers were still in his mouth, teeth pressed into the pads just to ground himself, to keep the soft sounds of your name from slipping out. if he let it happen too soon, if he gave in before you, it would ruin everything.
then it happened, that sound. that desperate little moan, unmistakably yours, the one heād memorised from dreams and half-lucid fantasies. it hit him like lightning.
only then did he let go.
his back arched slightly, breath catching in his throat as release hit him hard and fast. it came in warm, urgent waves across his stomach, leaving him gasping, shaking with the force of it ā all from the sound of you, just on the other side of the wall.
one day, bob thought, he wouldnāt have to eavesdrop through the wall anymore. one day, he'd kneel in front of you and beg for you to use him in whatever way you pleased.