#Credential Stuffing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ms-demeanor · 5 months ago

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I've seen you say a few times that it's a good idea to have a password manager; could you explain why? I always feel like I'm missing something when it's mentioned because it's phrased as if there's an obvious danger that password managers protect you from, but I'm honestly not sure how they help keep passwords secure.

The obvious danger is human nature. Humans are bad at creating passwords; your passwords are almost certainly easy to guess, repeated across different accounts, or both, because that is just how the vast VAST majority of people create passwords, because humans are bad at creating passwords. Everybody knows "the rules" for creating passwords (don't use the same password on multiple websites, don't include personal details in your passwords, don't use very common words or letter or number sequences in your passwords, don't tell other people your password) and people break all of those rules anyway.

A standalone (not in-browser like firefox or chrome password manager, though those are better than nothing) password manager stores your passwords, generates complex passwords for you, and can also be used for things like storing notes on passwords (like "did I put my MFA on my email or my cellphone or an app for this password?" or "here are the made-up answers to the security questions I used for this website because I definitely didn't use real answers or answers I'd used on previous websites" or "these are the bills associated with this credit card").

With the way the current security landscape works, there are two things that are extremely important when you are creating a password:

Uniqueness

Complexity

The overwhelmingly prevalent way that people get "hacked" these days is through credential stuffing.

Let's say that your private data was revealed in the Experian breach a decade ago. It revealed your name, email address, and phone number. Now let's also say that your private data was revealed in one of the many breaches from social media sites; that one revealed your name, email address, phone number, password, and security questions.

If someone wants to try to gain access to one of your accounts - let's say your bank account - if they have your name and phone number (usually extremely easy to find online), they can cross-reference that information with data that has been revealed in previous breaches - now they've got your name and your email address (which you probably used to sign up for your online banking and have ABSOLUTELY used as your login for accounts all over the place) and at least one password that you've used somewhere.

But the thing is, they don't have one password. They have every password associated with that email address that has ever been revealed in a breach. If you go to the site haveibeenpwned.com you can enter your email and see how many times your email address has appeared in a breach. You can compare that with the number of passwords that were revealed in those breaches and you can ask yourself "what did those passwords have in common?"

Because I can tell you, my Tumblr password from 2013, my Kickstarter password from 2014, and my Disqus password from 2017 (all revealed in various breaches) probably had a lot in common.

So, now the hacker has: your name, your email (which is probably your username), and various passwords they can try to use to log in. Did you use the same password for Facebook and Twitter eight years ago? Did you use parts of that password for creating your bank password? If you heard that twitter passwords were exposed in a breach you probably changed that password, but did you change the bank password that you built on the same structure? Probably not.

So what people will do is gather up all of this information and guess. They'll try your 2017 Disqus password to see if it will get access to your bank account. They'll try your 2020 Gravatar password. They'll try your 2024 Internet Archive Password.

And the reason they do this is because it works.

And the reason that it works is because we are all fucking garbage at remembering unique, complex passwords so instead of creating actually unique, complex passwords most people pick one memorable word or phrase, one memorable number, one unusual character, and *MAYBE* one feature of the site they're creating the login for and they use that template forever (1988Tumblrmacabre!, 1988Facebookmacabre!, 1988Ticketmastermacabre!) OR they create one password that they think is complex enough and use it across multiple sites with minor tweaks ($n0h0mi$hRu13z, sn0h0mishRul13z!, $n0h0mi$hWA) as needed for the sites' password requirements.

So most of what password managers do that is a drastic security improvement over people creating and memorizing passwords is that they create passwords that are functionally impossible to guess and functionally impossible to memorize. The problem with memorizing passwords (which is what you're doing if you're creating a bunch of passwords that you type in all the time) is that you can't actually remember all that many passwords so you'll repeat those passwords. The problem with creating passwords on your own is that passwords that humans create are pretty guessable. Even if you're doing a passphrase that's a long string of words you're probably working with common words ("correct horse battery staple" as opposed to "truculent zygote onomatopoeia frangible") and your password is more guessable than you'd really want it to be. Password managers don't do that, they generate gibberish.

Perhaps you are that rare person who gets out a set of dice and a notepad and rolls up every character for your password and memorizes it and never repeats, and if that's you, you could still benefit from a password manager because a password manager makes it easier to change that unique complex password when it is inevitably revealed in a breach.

So, okay, let's check in with where we're at:

Password managers mean that you don't have to memorize your password, which means that you don't need a password that is easy to memorize, which means that they can create passwords that are extremely complex and are therefore very difficult to guess. This protects you from crackers who will try to brute force your password.

Password managers mean that you don't have to remember extremely complex passwords for every account, which means that you are less likely to repeat your password in whole or in part across multiple accounts. This protects you from credential stuffers, who will try to use your password from one account that was revealed in a breach to open other accounts that were not.

Because password managers can generate and store complex passwords essentially instantly, you can replace passwords nearly effortlessly when there is a breach (no need to 'come up with' a new password, no issues with learning or memorizing it).

There are, however, advantages beyond that.

One major, MAJOR advantage of a properly-used standalone password manager is that it makes you safer from various kinds of phishing attempts and link hijacking. When you are setting up a password in your password manager (PWM from here on), you should be on the website that you want to log in to. The PWM will give you the option to save the domain that you're logging in to. That means the PWM will remember the correct URL for your Tumblr login so when you go to the tumblr login screen in the future, it will offer to fill those fields. What it will NOT do is offer to fill those fields if someone sends you an email that spoofs tumblr support and wants you to log in at "tumblr.co" or "tumblr-support.com." Knowing this, and knowing that you should be putting your credentials in through the PWM fill option rather than copy/paste, is a GREAT way to protect against phishing that is often overlooked and definitely under-discussed.

Another advantage is that a standalone PWM will let you store secure notes with your passwords so that you can do things like keep track of recovery codes for the website, or generate gibberish answers to security questions. Security questions and answers are often revealed in breaches, can't be reset by the user as easily as a password, are repeated across websites MUCH more than passwords, and can be used to take over an account and reset the password. You shouldn't be giving real security answers, or even fake-but-repeated security answers; you should treat each of those like a password that needs to be complex and unique, which means that they need to be stored someplace (like a password manager).

I also personally use my password manager to store my car insurance information, my driver's license info, and payment details for easy entry, making it convenient for a lot of thing beyond password storage. (Bitwarden. My password manager is bitwarden. I recommend Bitwarden. go to ms-demeanor.com and search "bitwarden" to learn more.)

As to how they keep your passwords safe, aside from ensuring that you don't enter your credentials into a skimming site, a good password manager is well encrypted. Your password safe should be functionally impossible to crack and what people tend to not realize is that a proper password manager (like bitwarden) doesn't keep all your passwords in one encrypted safe, each one of your passwords is in its own encrypted safe. If someone hacks Bitwarden it's not like using a huge amount of effort breaking into a bank vault and finding a big pile of money, it's like using a huge amount of effort breaking into a bank vault and finding a big pile of bank vaults. Each password within your vault requires decryption that is functionally impossible to crack (at least with a good password manager, like bitwarden, the password manager I recommend and think that people should use).

Additionally, just as, like, a side note: password managers never accidentally leave caps lock on or forget which characters are capital or lower case and don't require the use of two hands and focused attention on the keyboard. You're never going to mistype your password if the password manager is filling it, and you would not believe the number of people we support at work who require password resets because they are typing their password wrong and don't realize it.

TL;DR:

Password managers make better passwords than you can and they make it possible to instantly create, store, and enter complex passwords, which prevents password cracking and makes people less likely to reuse passwords. They are heavily encrypted and should be functionally impossible to access, and each individual password within the manager should also be encrypted if you use a good password manager. Password managers also prevent people from entering their credentials on scam sites by only filling on matched domains. Standalone password managers (not browser password managers) also allow users to create and store unique security questions and account details to prevent bad actors from gaining access with stolen security answers. The password manager I recommend is Bitwarden.

If people used password managers to create, store, and use unique and complex passwords, and if they did regular backups of their system I think that probably about half of the InfoSec field would be out of a job.

Please use a password manager!

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colossrat · 4 months ago

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Batman: Captain, you're hurt. Is there someone you want to get in touch with?

Well… Vic (cyborg) is already there, Barry and Diana too… who else is he friends with?

Constantine? Yes, but John doesn't like the league and will give him a hell of a lecture for getting hurt…

Harley? poison ivy? Batman wouldn't like to know they were friends. two-faces? oh- absolutely not.

Captain cold? No. Snart knows Billy, not Cap. And Batman wouldn't like that either. Maybe Barry would like…?

Freddy and Mary are probably sleeping right now…

Marvel: Can you… can you call the Fawcett zoo, sir? I have a friend who works there… I'd really like to see him right now. and say that I'm fine.

Bat makes the call, Billy asks for the phone and they chat for a while

Marvel on the phone: Oh, no, no… I'm high right now- Noo! its cus im right above the sky-- I'm fine, just space... But I think I'm also high on morphine yea, some opioids yes… no? Oh, I would love to! Yes. Uhm. The one next to… yes-- I know- i know you know, and you know, I know you know! Stop fishing. Yes, waits waits, buh-bye!! I'll see you soon. mwaaah and he gives the phone back to batman Marvel: Hey? Boss? My friend is coming to bring me some tea that I like, kay? to make me feel better. Don't be rude to him, he's called mister tawky tawny. Just stay cool, okay? Be cool…

And he drops his head on the pillow and falls asleep, snoring loudly

Nobody understands a thing and from what Batman researches, Tawky Tawny is a tiger from the zoo, and they think the captain was just delirious on morphine But not five minutes later, a bipedal tiger in a suit arrives at the watchtower via the Zeta Tubs using the captain's credentials. he carries a little madam's bag that is carrying a tea kit and some biscuits

Tawny presents himself as the gentleman he is with an education that would make Alfred blush, but he doesn't allow anyone to slow him down. He goes straight to the room where the captain is, because he can smell him maybe? The league doesn’t know for sure.

There, he takes a small table and a portable OVEN from Madame's tiny ass little bag and begins to make tea. to. make. tea. The second Tawny opens the cookie jar, Marvel wakes up to the sound and smell and starts crying with joy at seeing his best friend and familiar

he introduces him to the whole league while drinking tea and stuffing his mouth with cookies, fat tears streaming down his face and tawny just enjoys his friend's company and takes care of him, but he doesn't avoid giving a dirty look to anyone who decides to judge their friendship

Tawny, pretending to be hurt: I'm surprised by your surprise. Don't you talk about me, cap?

Marvel, afraid that he hurt the tiger's feelings: I do!!! I talk about u all the time, all the time!!! they know you are my best friend!!!

Superman: it's true! he speaks a lot and very highly of you, we just--

Barry: we thought you were crazy, bro! Tim was hacking the watchtower cameras at that time by coincidence, so in a matter of minutes Damian would be running there to see the bipedal tiger and ask to pet him and tell him everything he knows about tigers

#billy is friend with a lot of villains #billy batson #headcanon #batman #captain marvel #shazam #dc #bruce wayne #superman #dc captain marvel #tawky tawny #damian wayne #damian al ghul #barry allen

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fandomshatepeopleofcolor · 2 years ago

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"Genetics firm 23andMe confirms user data theft in a credential stuffing attack. The hackers released 1 million lines of data targeting Ashkenazi Jews and Chinese descent" this is so scary, wtf

OK followers this is not a drill. This is now the time to start calling out the antisemitism in your friends and family. This is truly some nazi level eugenics shit. I'm at work but I'd appreciate more help boosting what to do.

mod ali

Update:

Please send this to all your Jewish and Chinese friends and family. Stay safe and please boost this.

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marvelwitchergilmore · 2 months ago

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Adrenaline

Summary: Tyler Owens x fe!Reader -> After a tornado whirls through your town, everyone is left with an adrenaline rush. Except for you, until later that night where you meet Tyler Owens for a second time and he helps you.

Disclaimer: Mentions of tornadoes though not too much damage, mentions/descriptions of adrenaline rush/crash. Tyler being an EMT, found family with the Wranglers, Wranglers and Tyler creating a safe space for the reader. Fluff, hint of angst, but mostly fluff. Not Proof Read.

He’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his whole life.

You were sitting there, on an old broken log, stuffing your backpack with the rest of your things. Since you’d all been forced awake that morning by a tornado siren going off, everyone on the street was awake and looking bed ridden.

But there was just something about you.

To put it plain and simply, you were beautiful.

“You need some help?” He asked you as he approached.

“No, I’m okay. Thanks.”

“You sure?”

You stood with a sigh. “I’m sure.”

With a sweep of your hand, you hauled your bag over your shoulder. That was when your eyes shifted to your family, huddled by the end of the street talking to one of your neighbours.

The tornado had passed through the street. Some things had been destroyed but luckily the houses remained mostly intact.

“I-I just don’t know what we’re going to do.” you mom said, over and over.

“Mom!” You were frustrated enough as it was. “I told you. I’ll handle it.”

“Oh, okay.”

Tyler turned back to you. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You softened a little. You knew he was only trying to help. “I swear. I’m gonna go and call the insurance and get this sorted out.”

And you did.

Tyler stuck around with his crew for the rest of the day, helping people pick up pieces of fencing, a few doors and multiple dog hutches that had landed in other people’s gardens.

But he kept his eyes on you.

Somewhere between coming out of your house in your pajamas once you’d been given the all clear it was safe, and him seeing you help some of the little kids by the ambulance who were afraid of getting their blood pressure taken, you’d changed your clothes.

Granted, a lot of people had.

But you were one of the last in order to do so.

And later that night when he pulled into a motel, he saw you again.

Considering your house was still standing and whatever damage had been caused would soon be fixed by your insurance company, he was surprised to see you checking into a room.

But taking a few seconds to look at you, he soon got his answer.

You were shaking.

You hadn’t been before.

If he was being completely honest, he was surprised you hadn’t been in total shock. Waking up to a tornado siren, being forced into a shelter, dealing and helping others on your street, dealing with insurance companies and hold-music.

He’d been doing his job for a long time, and even then he would be dealing with the after shock a lot sooner than you were.

“Hey, you want some help?”

You turned and looked at him, recognising his face almost instantly.

“I-I’m fine.” You sounded sure of yourself as you said it, but the shaking gave your body away.

“Y/n, right?”

You nodded. “You’re Tyler Owens?”

Tyler nodded. “Professional Tornado Wrangler and qualified EMT.”

“Nice credentials. You give them to everyone you meet?”

“Only when I think they need my help.”

He wasn’t being condescending. You could see as much from the way he was looking at you.

“Do you mind if I just check you over? I’ve got my med kit in my truck and I don’t remember you getting checked on site.”

You nodded after a moment. Fighting him on it would only mean more energy, which you were more than lacking in at that moment.

“Come with me.”

That was how you found yourself sitting on the edge of Tyler Owens truck bed, getting most of your vitals checked over.

“How long will—will it take for the shak–shaking to wear off?” You felt cold.

Tyler hooked his stethoscope around the back of his neck. “Anywhere between a few minutes to a couple of hours. Considering you’d been in a permanent adrenaline rush since this morning, I’d wager to say it might take you a little longer.”

“And the chills?” You felt your shoulders shake as you said it.

Tyler sat beside you, holding his fingers against the pulse on your wrist before looking at his watch. “Right now, your blood is moving away from your skin and towards your organs to help with blood oxygen levels.”

Somehow, with Tyler explaining everything to you, it was giving you a sense of calm.

“Mind me asking why you’re staying here rather than at home?”

“My mom keeps asking questions and my dad is trying to hide his secrets from the insurance company as if he works for the CIA. He doesn’t, by the way. He just doesn’t trust that he won’t have to pay anything despite the insurance saying he won’t,” you explained. “I told them I was going to a friend’s house to babysit for the night. I would go home, except home is a few hours away and I don’t have the energy to drive that far. So, a motel it is.”

“Well, you chose one of the best. There’s a vending machine that, if you hit the sidebar twice, it’ll give you free m&ms.”

“And you know this, how exactly?”

Tyler shrugged with a slightly knowing smile. “Not my first time staying in a place like this. Or this one, to be exact.”

“You go up and down Tornado Alley, right?”

Tyler nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“So, what do you do when you’re dealing with an adrenaline rush?”

“Well, I think my body’s used to it by now. But, best advice I can give is to just breathe. Taking a lot of deep breaths can help.”

You smiled. “Thanks. I’ll try that.”

Tyler smiled back at you. “You should try and get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning?”

You nodded. “I suppose you will.”

And he did.

It was around eight in the morning when you appeared once more in your pajamas by the landing of the stairs of the motel. Some of the Wranglers were awake, but like yourself, were still dressed for bed.

“Mornin’,” Tyler called up to you. “How’d you sleep?”

“Alright. Took me a while though.”

Tyler nodded. “That’s normal. You wanna join us? Dexter’s making breakfast and he always makes extra.”

“No, that’s-”

“Come on! Come and join us! You’ll never eat a better breakfast.”

A chorus of agreements came from the rest of the team so, five minutes later you were sitting back on the open flatbed of Tyler’s truck, eating breakfast and talking with the rest of the team.

“Well?”

“Best breakfast I’ve ever had. Thank you.”

Dexter smiled before celebrating quietly to himself. “Yes!”

“So, where are you guys headed next?” You asked, looking around at the team.

“Couple miles west, maybe. There’s meant to be a couple F-1 and 2s soon. We can use them for footage and completing a couple a viewer requests. You know, shooting fireworks and things to see what happens.”

Though you weren’t a follower, you had seen one or two videos recently of their chasing antics. And, for a devil-may-care it seemed, spending a dazed afternoon and a much clearer morning with them let you know that they only did it with safety in mind.

“What about you? Heading back to your folks, or?”

You shook your head and swallowed your food. “Home. It’s not that I don’t love ‘em, I do. But…they can be a lot on a good day. And they never listen. So long as I leave them a detailed list of what’s gonna happen, they should be okay.”

You closed your eyes for a moment. “I know how bitchy that sounds. I do. I just…”

“It feels like you’re raising your parents instead of the other way around?”

You nodded, looking over at Lily. “Yeah.”

“Don’t worry about it. My folks are the same. You tell them everything they need to know and they still call twenty minutes later asking you to make sure it’s done properly.”

“Yes! Thank you. Finally! Someone gets it.”

You were aware of how loud you were reacting, but for the first time it was like you weren't on your own.

“It feels like I’m doing everything I can, as well as my own things for my own life, only to be asked if I’m sure I’m doing it right. If you want it done, do it yourself! If not, leave me to it!”

You took a moment to finally breathe.

“Sorry. That was…I’m sorry.”

Tyler shook his head. “Don’t apologise. I saw how you handled things yesterday. This is a safe space.”

“No judgement here,” Boone added.

You looked at all the others and saw genuine agreement on their faces. And for the first time, you didn’t feel guilty.

Later on as you were packing the rest of your things up from your motel room, someone spoke from the open doorway.

“How long has it been like that?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at Tyler’s voice. “Like what?”

“You taking it all on?”

You realised what he was talking about but you just shrugged. “A while. Why?”

“How much free space do you get when you’re away from them?”

You shrugged again. “Enough to know I’m working.”

“And then, what? You come home and helped them fix whatever needs fixing?”

You laughed a little. “I’d not like I’m building them a new house-”

“I wasn’t talking physically.”

That made you pause for a moment.

“Listen, I know this is gonna sound forward and I know it’s not my place but…just something is telling me to ask you anyway.”

“Okay,” you sounded out slowly.

“Dani told me that you’re a data analyst. A nine to five, grey office, work from home two days a week, kinda thing.”

You nodded. That much was true.

“What if I offered you a job?”

“Tyler-”

“No, hold on, wait. Just, just listen for a sec.”

You waited and he continued.

“It’s not like I’m asking you to run away with me in some kind of Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves thing. It’s just, I saw how you were with the rest of the team today and I heard you, yesterday, talking to the kids?”

You knew what Tyler was referring to.

“You studied meteorology, right?”

You nodded, eventually. “I minored in it.”

Tyler nodded with a brief smile. “Then I want to offer you a job working with us. You can still keep your old job. If they let you work from home two days a week, I’m sure they won’t mind a little longer. Something tells me you’re pretty damn good at your job.”

Tyler continued. “It would only have to be for the summer. You can come chasing with us and if you don’t wanna do it again, you don’t have to. But, we also have a home base in Sapulpa. We collect the data and try to find a way to use it to make sure people don’t end up getting a warning five seconds before a tornado hits their home. Even if you just try it for a week…I think you’d really enjoy it.”

“You know, when I came here last night, I didn’t think I’d be leaving with a job offer.”

“You should come with us, today. One chase. Just to test it out.”

You don’t know when or how, but you said yes. And one chase was all it took for you to get hooked. You loved the weather ever since you were a little kid. You’d sit out in your treehouse when it was raining and you’d stare at the clouds for hours just trying to figure out how they did it, until you were old enough to read the bigger words written in your science books.

Two years later, you still found it to be the best decision you ever made.

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foxtrology · 22 days ago

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harry castillo prompt list

series

the series might be complete, but i’m not done with them. send a number from the list into my inbox and i’ll write a small blurb based on it. just one number per ask, and i’ll take it from there. let’s keep hanging out with harry and her — alana <3

1. harry takes adella to her first day of preschool and forgets to pack the crayons she insisted on bringing because he was too busy crying in the hallway and taking photos of his babygirl.

2. harry runs into lucy outside of adella's ballet studio—she doesn't see his daughter at first.

3. adella gets her first cold. harry stays up all night googling symptoms and boiling pears with cinnamon because “it said so on that one site.”

4. someone at the farmer’s market recognizes him. adella is wearing her dinosaur hoodie. harry pretends not to hear the question.

5. adella loses her stuffed bunny at the museum. harry calls the front desk twice. she finds it in the backseat three hours later.

6. a tabloid publishes a grainy photo of harry holding adella’s hand. it’s blurry and beautiful. she’s wearing a paper crown.

7. harry tries to make heart-shaped pancakes on valentine’s day. adella insists hers looks like a rain boot. he agrees.

8. they go to manhattan for the weekend. adella has a fit in the car. frances sleeps through the entire drive.

9. adella asks what harry’s job is. he tries to explain hedge funds to a six-year-old. she draws a picture of a hedgehog in a tie.

10. harry finds one of adella’s baby teeth under her pillow. she forgot to tell them it fell out. he leaves a twenty dollar bill.

11. lucy and john show up to a charity event. they are standing across the room when adella runs up to harry yelling, “daddy!” lucy drags john home early.

12. harry falls asleep in the rocking chair with adella on his chest. she drools on his shirt. he stays there for hours.

13. the preschool teacher calls to say adella kicked someone during circle time. harry hangs up and immediately tells his wife.

14. frances gets stuck in the closet again. adella insists she meant to do it. harry pretends to scold her but takes a photo.

15. adella has a nightmare and crawls into bed with them. harry wakes up with her foot in his ribcage and doesn’t move.

16. a woman at the café asks if he’s “the harry castillo.” adella tells her, “he’s just my dad.” the woman walks away.

17. harry teaches adella how to tie her shoes. she gets frustrated. he takes a breath. tries again. she gets it.

18. they host a small birthday for adella. all her friends from kindergarten come. harry grills hot dogs. frances steals one off the plate. nobody is surprised.

19. adella refuses to wear pants to the grocery store. harry lets her go in a tutu and snow boots. people stare. he doesn’t care.

20. they forget about picture day. adella shows up to preschool in her favorite spider-man pajamas. they both laugh about it later.

21. adella asks if his mom would’ve liked her. he tells her yes. doesn’t cry until later.

22. someone takes a photo of harry and reader on the beach with adella. it goes viral again. he doesn’t comment.

23. adella wants bangs. harry tries to cut them. the results are... unfortunate. reader scolds him.

24. a rainy sunday. adella makes a fort out of blankets. harry reads to her inside it. frances joins. she falls asleep halfway through.

25. adella gets invited to a sleepover. harry spends the night pacing the kitchen. she calls him from her friends house phone crying and asking harry to pick her up.

26. harry and reader take adella to her first movie. she gets scared and climbs into his lap. he watches her more than the film.

27. adella finds a photo of lucy online after googling her father. asks who she is. harry just says, “a nobody.”

28. harry starts carrying adella’s artwork in his wallet. doesn’t tell anyone. pulls it out in meetings like it’s a credential.

29. adella says she wants to be a “baby doctor” when she grows up. harry nods. later looks up the path to pediatrics just in case

30. frances goes missing for an hour. adella cries. they find her asleep in a laundry basket. harry acts like he wasn’t worried.

31. harry takes adella to the bookstore and ends up reading four picture books aloud on the floor. two people recognize him. he doesn’t care.

32. adella brings home a class pet for the weekend. it’s a turtle named banana. frances does not approve.

33. harry overhears another dad at daycare say “he’s too old to be her father.” he doesn’t say anything. but his jaw clenches all the way home.

34. adella has her first ballet recital. harry claps before it’s over. cries in reader's arms when she curtsies.

35. lucy is interviewed for a podcast. she says she “dodged a bullet” not marrying harry. someone sends him the clip. he doesn’t finish it.

36. harry tries to assemble a dollhouse for adella’s birthday. refuses help. ends up reading the manual with a flashlight at 2 a.m.

37. adella sees a street performer and tips him with a sticker. harry adds a twenty behind her back.

38. harry burns dinner by accident. they eat cereal on the floor of the kitchen. reader reassures him. adella says it’s her favorite night ever.

39. someone takes a photo of harry holding adella’s lunchbox with a cartoon bear on it. it circulates online with the caption “he used to be terrifying.”

40. adella wants matching shoes. harry wears bright pink sneakers for a week straight.

41. lucy sees harry in the park. adella is on his shoulders. reader is laughing. they don’t say hi.

42. harry and reader drop adella off at a birthday party and get roped into helping with crafts. leaves with glitter on his pants and in her hair.

43. adella finds out about harry’s “old life” before her. she asks if he was famous. he says he was important. “now i’m yours.”

44. adella loses a tooth at dinner. they all scream. frances runs under the couch.

45. harry and reader see a little boy push adella at the playground. he doesn’t step in since reader stops him. adella pushes back. “she’s got your temper,” he whispers.

46. harry helps adella with her math homework. it ends with a call to maya. and two glasses of wine.

47. they go on a trip to disneyland. harry forgets to pack adella’s stuffed sheep. turns the car around.

48. harry gets recognized at a parent-teacher conference. “you’re harry castillo.” adella says, “his name is daddy.”

49. harry writes “i love you” on a post-it in adella’s lunchbox. she keeps it in her pencil case for months.

50. harry lets adella paint his nails. he wears the chipped purple polish to a meeting in london without noticing.

51. adella gets gum in her hair. harry googles ten different remedies before just cutting it. he keeps the tiny curl in a drawer.

52. they get caught in the rain walking home from school. reader waits at home impatient. harry gives adella his jacket. she tells him he looks like a wet mushroom.

53. an interviewer asks harry if he regrets leaving the public eye. he just looks at the photo of adella on his lock screen and says, “not even a little.”

54. adella finds her mom's ring on the bathroom counter and wears it on a chain to school. harry nearly cries when her teacher mentions it.

55. lucy sends a gift “for the baby.” it arrives a year late. harry throws it away without opening it.

#harry castillo #harry castillo x you #harry castillo x reader #harry castillo fic #harry castillo fanfiction #harry castillo materialists #harry castillo fluff #the materialists fanfic #materialists fanfic #materialists #the materialists #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #Spotify

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jcmarchi · 1 year ago

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10 web application firewall benefits to keep top of mind - CyberTalk

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/10-web-application-firewall-benefits-to-keep-top-of-mind-cybertalk/

10 web application firewall benefits to keep top of mind - CyberTalk

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY:

These days, web-based applications handle everything from customer data to financial transactions. As a result, for cyber criminals, they represent attractive targets.

This is where Web Application Firewalls (or WAFs) come into play. A WAF functions as a private security guard for a web-based application or site; always on-guard, in search of suspicious activity, and capable of blocking potential attacks. But the scope of WAF protection tends to span beyond what most leaders are aware of.

In this article, discover 10 benefits of WAFs that cyber security decision-makers should keep top-of-mind, as to align WAF functions with the overarching cyber security strategy.

1. Protection against OWASP Top 10 threats. A WAF can stop application layer attacks, including the OWASP Top 10 (with minimal tuning and no false positives). WAFs continuously update rule sets to align with the latest OWASP guidelines, reducing the probability of successful attacks.

2. API protection. WAFs offer specialized protection against API-specific threats, ensuring the integrity of data exchanges. WAFs can block threats like parameter tampering and can find abnormal behavioral patterns that could be indicative of API abuse.

Advanced WAFs can understand and validate complex API calls, ensuring that only legitimate requests are processed. They can also enforce rate limiting and access controls specific to different API endpoints.

3. Bot & DDoS protection. WAFs can distinguish between malicious and legitimate bot traffic, preventing DDoS threats, credential stuffing, content scraping and more. This area of WAF capability is taking on increasing importance, as bots are blazing across the web like never before, negatively impacting the bottom line and customer experiences.

4. Real-time intelligence. Modern WAFs leverage machine learning to analyze traffic patterns and to provide up-to-the-minute protection against emerging threats, enabling businesses to mitigate malicious instances before exploitation-at-scale can occur.

5. Compliance adherence. WAFs enable organizations to meet regulatory requirements, as they implement much-needed security controls and can provide detailed audit logs.

The granular logging and reporting capabilities available via WAF allow organizations to demonstrate due diligence in protecting sensitive data.

Many WAFs come with pre-configured rule sets designed to address specific compliance requirements, rendering it easier to maintain a compliant posture as regulations continue to evolve.

6. Reduced burden on development teams. Stopping vulnerabilities at the application layer enables development or IT team to focus on core functionalities, rather than the constant patching of security issues.

This “shift-left” approach to security can significantly accelerate development cycles and improve overall application quality. Additionally, the insights offered by WAFs can help developers understand common attack patterns, informing better security practices as everyone moves forward.

7. Customizable rule sets. Advanced WAFs offer the flexibility to create and fine-tune rules that are specific to an organization’s needs. This customization allows for the adaptation to unique application architecture and traffic patterns, minimizing false positives, while maintaining robust protection.

Organizations can create rules to address specific threats to their business, such as protecting against business logic attacks unique to their application.

And the ability to gradually implement and test new rules in monitoring mode before enforcing them ensures that security measures will not inadvertently disrupt legitimate business operations.

8. Performance optimization. Many WAFs include content delivery network (CDN) capabilities, improving application performance and UX while maintaining security.

Caching content and distributing it globally can significantly reduce latency and improve load times for users worldwide. This dual functionality of security and performance optimization offers a compelling value proposition. Organizations can upgrade both their security posture and user satisfaction via a single cyber security solution.

9. Operational insights. WAFs present actionable operational insights pertaining to traffic patterns, attack trends and application behavior. These insights can drive continuous security posture improvement, inform risk assessments and help cyber security staff better allocate security resources.

10. Cloud-native security. As organizations migrate to the cloud, WAFs intended for cloud environments ensure consistent protection across both hybrid and multi-cloud infrastructure. Cloud-native WAFs can scale automatically with applications, offering uncompromising protection amidst traffic spikes or rapid cloud expansions.

Cloud-native WAFs also offer centralized management. This simplifies administration and ensures consistent policy enforcement. By virtue of the features available, these WAFs can provide enhanced protection against evolving threats.

Further thoughts

WAFs afford organizations comprehensive protection. When viewed not only as a security solution, but also as a business enablement tool, it becomes clear that WAFs are an integral component of an advanced cyber security strategy. To explore WAF products, click here.

For more cloud security insights, click here. Lastly, to receive cyber security thought leadership articles, groundbreaking research and emerging threat analyses each week, subscribe to the CyberTalk.org newsletter.

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naiadonis · 22 days ago

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popular — b. barnes x f!reader (18+)

word count: 5.1K

summary: some people are destined to be famous, and others just need a little ..help to get there. what happens when an aspiring actress is given the opportunity to climb a little higher on the social ladder?

tags: mdni 18+ only, modern au, y/n is able bodied and uses feminine terms and pronouns, one-shot, power dynamic (reader is a struggling actress, bucky is a wealthy film producer) smuuuuut, oral (m! + f! receiving) unprotected sex (always wrap it before you tap it, folks!)

a/n: please be gentle it’s been a while… thank you to my bffs who read this first <3

The industry party is already half a blur by the time you get to your third glass of champagne. Los Angeles feels like it’s been chewing you up and spitting you back out for months, and while you’re good at faking confidence, lately you’ve been questioning whether this city has a place for you at all. The last agency you were with booked you for a toothpaste commercial and a recurring role as “Hot Girl #3” in a show that didn’t even survive its pilot. You’d had enough.

You’re about to retreat to a corner when a familiar voice calls out.

“Y/N!”

You turn, exhaling a relieved laugh when you see Joaquin Torres, your longtime friend and occasional lifeline in a sea of snakes. He pulls you in for a hug that smells like cologne and tequila.

“Thought I wasn’t gonna find you,” he says, glancing down at your drink. “You good?”

You give him a tight smile. “Define good.”

He winces. “That bad?”

You shrug, eyes scanning the glittering crowd of producers, actors, and people who only exist in photos. “It’s just all…exhausting. This is the latest I’ve been outside in over a month. I should be binging Real Housewives right now.” You say, and then almost as an afterthought, you add, “And these stilettos were not meant to be worn long term.”

Joaquin huffs out a laugh that’s mostly swallowed by the din of the crowd. “Well, tonight might be different,” He says, tilting his head. There’s a glint in his eye that you recognize; Clearly he’s up to something, and you don’t even have a chance to say no because he’s already reaching for your hand. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Your brows lift, but he anticipates your answer with an easy smile, disarming you before you’ve even had a chance to properly turn it—whatever he’s thinking—down. “Not Scorsese,” he says, a knowing smile on his face. “Bucky Barnes.”

You blink. “The Bucky Barnes? As in—”

Your stomach does a small, traitorous flip. You hesitate, your gut twisting with the now familiar cocktail of hope and dread. “I don’t know.. I’ve done this exact song and dance so many times.” You take a nervous sip of what’s left of your champagne, your eyes scanning the crowd once more. “I don’t think I can stomach another disappointment anyway.”

Joaquin studies you for a beat, but it’s clear his mind has already been made up and he’s not taking no for an answer. “C’mon. You’re not even auditioning for anything, not right now anyway.” He jokes, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders. “It’s just a little meet and greet, no harm, no foul.” He said, and with an exasperated sigh, you give in.

His hands slip from your shoulders, and weaves you through the crowd and toward the back patio, where golden lights bathe a group of people standing around with drinks in hand. That’s when you see him.

Bucky Barnes.

He’s not what you expected.

For all his credentials and the air of mystique that surrounds his work, he’s surprisingly…lowkey. He’s standing casually, one hand cradling a drink, while the other is stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans, listening to someone with an easy half-smile. He’s dressed in black, the sleeves of his shirt rolled, a few buttons left undone at the collar. He looks like someone who knows exactly what he’s doing—but doesn’t need to prove it.

You steel yourself.

“Buck,” Joaquin calls, breaking into the circle. “This is Y/N. She’s the actress I’ve been telling you about.”

Bucky looks up, and suddenly, all your nervous energy dulls. His eyes land on yours, and everything slows for a second. There’s no judgment in his expression, no boredom, no performative interest. Just calm curiosity.

“Y/N,” he repeats, like it tastes good in his mouth. “Nice to meet you.”

His voice is smooth, unhurried. You offer your hand, and he doesn’t rush the moment. Doesn’t scan you up and down. Doesn’t launch into small talk like he’s got somewhere better to be. “Nice to meet you,” you say, surprised by how steady your voice is.

He shakes your hand, and you can only hope that he doesn’t feel how clammy your palm is.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” He said, and your gaze darts to Joaquin, who only gives you a grin and a thumbs up before stepping away.

“All good things I hope, though that would explain the ringing in my ears.” You reply, and he chuckles. The sound sparks something in your chest, but you choose to ignore it for the time being.

He glances at your almost empty champagne glass, and he gestures towards the party. “You want something better than whatever they’re calling champagne in there?”

You laugh—more than you meant to, but you go with it, nodding. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

He waves a waiter over, and orders a cocktail for you, and the two of you find yourselves in an easy flow.

The conversation that follows is effortless, surprising even you. You talk about the state of the industry, the uphill climb for actors like yourself, and how exhausting it is to be underestimated in rooms full of people who smile too much. He listens—actually listens—with a kind of calm intensity that makes you feel seen in a way you hadn’t realized you were craving. He wants to know what drives you. What kind of roles scare you. What you want to do that no one’s let you touch yet. It’s been so long since someone has looked at you like an artist instead of a résumé.

And he’s funny. Dry, understated. Every sarcastic quip you throw at him, he volleys back with ease.

When you call out the hypocrisy of producers who say they want “fresh talent” but only cast the same five people, he chuckles and raises his glass.

“To burning the house down.”

You tap your glass to his.

“To rebuilding it better.”

There’s a beat where the conversation lulls and neither of you fill the silence. You glance over at him, and he’s already looking at you, head slightly tilted, like you’re a puzzle he’s just beginning to enjoy solving.

“You know,” he says slowly, “I’m putting something together. Casting’s still in early stages.”

You arch a brow. “That sounds suspiciously like a pitch.”

“Maybe it is,” he says. “Or maybe it’s just an excuse to get dinner with you.”

You blink. “Dinner?”

“Strictly professional,” he adds, his grin betraying him.

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your cool. “I usually avoid producers who make vague offers over free cocktails.”

He laughs then—a genuine laugh, that makes the corners of his blue eyes crinkle. “Understandable. But I’m very persuasive, and I don’t make promises that I can’t back up.”

You pause, heart racing a little faster now—the traitorous thing. Then you nod.

“Okay. Dinner.”

He pulls out his phone. “Can I get your number?”

You give it to him, trying not to show the slight tremble in your fingers. He types it in, saves it, then looks back at you with that same, magnetic calm.

“I’ll text you,” he says. “We’ll talk shop.”

You nod, lips curving despite your best efforts. “Looking forward to it.”

You smooth your hands down your dress—a silky, low-cut number you’ve only worn once, and never with this much confidence.

You kept telling yourself it was just dinner.

You told yourself the extra twenty minutes you spent curling your hair wasn’t for him. That the subtle shimmer on your eyelids, the gloss on your lips, the soft sweep of highlighter on your collarbone—those were all for you. Because you wanted to feel your best. Simple. Empowering. Strategic, even.

It had nothing to do with how Bucky Barnes looked at you that night on the rooftop. Nothing to do with how your heart had skipped when he saved your number. Nothing to do with the way his voice had settled into your head and lingered there like a song you couldn’t quite shake.

Right.

He picked the place—low lighting, real candles on the table, waitstaff that smiled like they already knew his order. It was intimate but not too forward, elegant without being stiff. Like him. He stood as you approached, and for a beat, just stared. Not in the uncomfortable, lingering way some men did—but in that quiet, appreciative way that made you hyper-aware of your own skin.

The restaurant is dimly lit and intimate—modern Italian with moody lighting and quiet music. Definitely not the kind of place where deals are typically made.

You raise an eyebrow as you slide into the booth across from him.

“So,” you say. “What kind of role are we pretending to talk about tonight?”

Bucky laughs, tilting his head. “You always lead with sarcasm?”

“It’s a defense mechanism,” you say sweetly.

“I like it,” he says. “Keeps me on my toes.”

You fight the smile tugging at your lips as the waiter comes over. Bucky orders a bottle of wine without looking at the menu, and you wonder how someone can be so effortlessly confident without being unbearable. The waiter comes and goes. Wine is poured. Small talk is easy—dangerously easy.

Bucky asks about your recent auditions, your dream roles, the kinds of stories you want to tell. And when he talks about his work, his voice gets lower, more thoughtful, like he’s letting you in on something sacred. And you surprise yourself by how freely you answer. With most producers, it’s all strategy and filters. But with him, it feels easy.

Safe, even.

Still, there's something beneath the surface. A tension. A current.

It starts small. His gaze dropping a beat too low when you lean forward to reach for your glass. The momentary pause when his eyes catch the way the neckline of your dress curves—and dips.

You notice.

You definitely notice.

And when he looks up and sees you watching him catch himself, there’s a flicker of guilt in his smile—followed by something else. Something darker. Bolder.

“You’re staring,” you say softly, amusement coloring your voice.

He doesn’t flinch. Just leans back in his seat, expression relaxed but eyes locked on yours.

“Can you blame me?”

You tilt your head, letting your fingers toy with the stem of your wine glass. “You said this was strictly business.”

“I did,” he says, voice lower now. “And I meant it. But I’m not blind.”

He runs a hand through his hair, the movement slow, like he’s trying to ground himself.

“You walk in like the part’s already yours,” He says, eyes locked on you like he’s seeing something everyone else missed. “Then you start talking, and somehow you’re even better than how I pictured. You really think I’m not gonna look at you?”

Your lips part, heat rising up the back of your neck—and not just from the wine.

He watches your reaction, eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes, as if he’s waiting for you to shut this down. To draw the line.

You don’t.

Instead, you lean forward, just a little—enough to let him look if he wants to.

And he does.

“I thought we were here to talk shop,” You tease, your voice barely above a whisper.

“We are,” he murmurs, his gaze briefly flicking to your cleavage before snapping back to your face. “But you’re making it really hard to concentrate.”

You smirk, resting your chin in your hand. “Maybe I’m testing your professionalism.”

He exhales a soft laugh, eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. “So that’s what this is.”

You don’t answer, but the way your leg brushes his under the table speaks for you.

The moment hangs there, suspended in candlelight and tension.

Then you lift your glass again, cool as ever. “So. Tell me about this role you had in mind.”

He picks up his drink, but he’s not even pretending to be unaffected anymore. His voice is rougher around the edges now, dipped in something thicker.

“I think you’d be perfect for it,” he says. “But I’m starting to realize the real challenge is gonna be keeping things…professional.”

You smile, sipping slowly.

There it is.

That slow pull in your belly, the warmth that curls beneath your skin and spreads all the way to your throat.

He’s trying to behave. You can see it in the way he clenches his hands now and then. In the way his gaze keeps drifting—just below your neck, just a beat too long on your lips before he forces himself to look away.

“You’re making this very difficult, Y/N.”

Your smile widens, slow and knowing. “I haven’t done anything.”

“That’s the problem,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to your mouth again. “You don’t have to.”

You sit in the silence that follows, tasting the tension between you like the wine on your tongue. Part of you knows you should pivot—say something smart about your range or your process or whatever—but you don’t.

Because it feels good, being looked at like this.

Not like a product. Not like an audition.

Like a woman.

And Bucky Barnes, for all his restraint, is very much a man who’s interested.

The waiter comes with the check, and Bucky doesn’t even glance at it before sliding his card across the table. You let him. You don’t argue.

Outside, the night is cooler than before, and you shiver slightly as you step onto the sidewalk. Without thinking, he slips off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.

There’s a charged silence between you, and Bucky’s gaze lingers on your face, on the curve of your neck where the jacket slips just so.

He clears his throat. “I was thinking… maybe you’d want to come back with me. For a nightcap. Nothing fancy. Just some whiskey and quieter company.”

Your heart skips.

The sensible part of your brain screams No. You just met him, you barely know this man, and—let’s be honest—you’re tired of people promising things they don’t keep.

But the reckless part—the part you’ve been trying to ignore—whispers Yes. Yes to a night where you forget the struggle. Yes to being wanted. Yes to whatever this is.

You hesitate, searching his eyes for any sign he’s not serious.

He’s watching you, patient. Respectful. But there’s something fierce beneath it, an invitation you can’t quite refuse.

Finally, you breathe out.

“Okay.”

He smiles, half-relieved, half-triumphant, then holds out his arm. You wrap your hand around his forearm, and together you walk towards the sleek, black car he’d parked just around the corner.

The door to Bucky's penthouse clicks shut behind you with a low thud that seems to echo through the sleek, open space. You step forward slowly, taking in the minimalist design, all dark wood, clean lines, and soft lighting. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city skyline, glittering like spilled diamonds.

“This is…” you begin, turning in place to admire the view.

“Overkill?” Bucky cuts in, lips twitching.

You smirk, shrugging off his jacket and laying it over the back of a velvet armchair. “I was gonna say impressive. But sure, overkill works too.”

He chuckles and makes his way to the bar in the corner, where a decanter of dark amber scotch glows under the low light. You follow, watching as he pours two generous glasses, his forearms flexing as he lifts the crystal bottle.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, handing you a glass.

You take a sip—smooth, smoky, expensive. “I figured I owed you a nightcap after dinner.”

His eyes flick down your body before snapping back to meet yours, and this time, there’s no polite veil. No public persona. Just him. And you.

“You don’t owe me a damn thing,” he says quietly. Then adds, with a crooked grin, “But I’m sure as hell glad you’re here.”

You blink once. Twice. “Well,” you murmur, swirling the liquid in your glass, “You did say you wanted to talk more.”

“I did.” He throws back half his drink in one gulp, eyes still locked on yours. “But let’s be honest, sweetheart. I didn’t bring you up here to talk about casting calls.”

There it is.

Blunt. Shameless. Heat flares low in your belly.

He watches the way you react—how you shift slightly on your heels, your breath catching just enough to betray your interest. He sees everything. He’s looking now, really looking. At your mouth, your neckline, the rise of your chest under your blouse. His gaze drags over you like a physical touch, and he doesn’t bother hiding it anymore.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says simply, the words landing like a strike to your core. “You walk into a room and every man forgets his name. But what gets me the most—what’s driving me fucking insane—is that mouth.”

Your lips part, stunned at the turn. “My… mouth?”

He steps closer. His glass clinks softly on the counter as he sets it down. “You’ve got this sharp little tongue and all I can think about is what else you could do with it. Now that we’re alone, I’m not in the mood to play coy. I want you, Y/N. Plain and simple.”

You don’t speak. You can’t. Not with him standing this close, not with the way his voice has dipped low and rough like velvet dragged over gravel. The warmth of the scotch turns molten in your chest. He steps forward, each stride measured, confident, until he stands just a few feet away from you. The low light accentuates the angles of his face—his jaw, his cheekbones—making him look predatory in the most intoxicating way possible. You glance at his mouth, then back up—his expression hungry, dangerous, focused.

You finally find your voice. “Do you usually mix business with—”

“I don’t,” he cuts in. “But I’ve been thinking about you since the second Joaquin introduced us. And I’m not about to stand here and pretend I’m not imagining how you’d sound underneath me.”

Your knees nearly buckle. He’s still not touching you, but you feel the pull in every inch of your skin, every nerve ending tuned to the moment he might.

“And if I said I wasn’t here for just a nightcap either?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

A slow, sinful smile spreads across his face. “Then I’d say stop pretending, and let me show you exactly how much I want you.”

You don’t wait. You set your glass down beside his and he closes the distance, your fingers curling into the fabric of his button-down. His hands are on you in an instant—one at your waist, the other sliding up your spine. He kisses you hard, deep, like he’s been holding back all night and has finally cracked. His mouth is demanding, tongue sliding against yours, teeth grazing your bottom lip as he exhales a growl into your mouth.

You gasp as he lifts you without warning, setting you on the edge of the marble counter. His hands slide under the skirt of your dress, thumbs dragging along your thighs until they reach your hips.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs into your neck, already knowing you won’t.

“Don’t even think about it.”

That’s all he needs.

He slips one hand between your thighs, fingers dragging along the damp heat between your legs through your panties. His groan is immediate, deep and primal. “Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re soaked.”

You tilt your head back as he mouths at your throat, sucking a bruise just beneath your ear. “You’ve been driving me crazy all night in this little dress, pretending you weren’t doing it on purpose.”

“I wasn’t,” you lie, breathless.

His eyes flash as he pulls back to look at you. “Sweetheart, you wore this knowing damn well I wouldn’t be able to stop looking at your tits all night.”

You bite your lip.

“See? Not denying it now,” he murmurs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and dragging them down, slow and deliberate.

He drops to his knees, parting your legs, and when his mouth finds you, your head hits the cabinets behind you. He’s not gentle—he’s ravenous. His tongue moves with confidence, circling, flicking, devouring until you’re moaning, shaking, fisting his hair as he pushes you closer to the edge.

“Bucky—” you gasp, thighs trembling as he grips them tighter.

“I know,” he murmurs, mouth still moving against you. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me taste you.”

And you do—your body snapping tight as your orgasm crashes over you. He doesn’t stop until your hips buck, until you’re whining and breathless and begging him to give you a second to breathe.

He rises, mouth glistening, and kisses you again—filthy and deep and tasting like you. Then he scoops you off the counter and carries you down the hall toward his bedroom.

The bedroom door closes behind you, and the room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of streetlights filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows. A king-sized bed dominates the space, sheets the color of storm clouds draped neatly across the mattress.

Bucky doesn’t waste a second. He steps in front of you, pressing you against the wall with a force that sends your breath scattering. One hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back so he can lean in and kiss the column of your throat. The other hand works on the infuriatingly tiny zipper to this damned dress. He’s about to tear the damn thing off of you, but he finally manages to unzip it.

The dress pools at your feet like water, and his eyes trail shamelessly down the length of your almost-bare body, lingering on the swell of your breasts and the curve of your hips with an audible, appreciative exhale. He presses hot kisses along the valley between your breasts, and then back up again.

“On your knees,” he murmurs, voice thick. “I’m half-hard, and I want you to take care of it.” And you nod obediently. He snatches the pillow from his bed, tossing it at your feet before you kneel before him.

You reach for his belt buckle; fingers fumbling just enough that he chuckles low in his throat. With an impatient sigh, he hooks his thumbs into his belt loops, jerking his jeans down in one swift motion until they puddle around his ankles along with his boxers. The sight of him—naked, upright, unashamed—makes your fingers tremble as you close the gap again, dropping to your knees.

His cock is already slick with precome, aroused at the thought of you. When you take him into your hand and slide the head across your lips, he shudders, throwing his head back softly. You swallow him slowly, lips gliding from head to base, tongue flicking against the sensitive underside. Already he’s gripping your hair, gentle but firm, encouraging you without forcing. He groans, hips jerking ever so slightly, and the vibration through his length is electric against your tongue.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “Just like that. Don’t stop.” He leans against the wall, one hand bracing him while the other fists your hair. You swirl your tongue around the head, then hollow your cheek in a speedy, almost desperate motion. His breath hitches, and his eyes close as though he can’t bear to watch.

When the coil in his body tightens, he pulls you from him and helps you stand, his mouth on yours again. You’re acutely aware of every curve: collarbone, breasts, the hollow at your sternum. He cups you, thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, voice husky. “So perfect.” He flicks his tongue across one nipple, then the other, and you arch into him, mouth falling open.

His clothes—and yours—have long since been discarded on the floor, a trail of temptation from the hallway to the bed. He pushes you down onto the mattress with a steady hand on your shoulder, the sheets cool against your heated skin. You sit up on your elbows, breath catching in your throat at the sight of him: thick, heavy, and achingly hard, veins pronounced along the length, his tip flushed and glistening. Every part of him is sculpted, taut with restraint, like he’s been holding back since the moment he laid eyes on you. And now, he isn’t.

He stands at the edge of the bed, his hand wrapping around himself with deliberate, unhurried strokes, gaze fixed on you like he’s memorizing every inch of your body—the way your lips part in awe, the way your thighs instinctively press together in aching anticipation.

“You want this?” he rasps, voice ragged with desire. His thumb swirls over the slick head of his cock, drawing a low hiss from his throat. “Tell me you want me, baby.”

You shift closer to the edge of the bed, legs spreading wider, like you’re offering yourself up to him. “Quit being a tease,” You murmur, eyes locked on his cock as he strokes it slowly, “And come fuck me like you mean it.”

He groans at your boldness, that shameless invitation tipping him over the edge of restraint. He pulls you closer to him, then steps between your spread thighs, the heat of his body searing against yours. His hands roam your sides—firm and possessive—before gripping your hips with purpose. You can feel him, thick and pulsing, as he drags the head of his cock along your slick folds, lining himself up with a low, reverent curse.

“Fuck, yes,” he growls, barely holding back, and then he thrusts in.

The first thrust is slow but impossibly deep, stretching you inch by inch until your breath escapes in a broken gasp. He fills you completely, the pressure overwhelming, perfect. He pauses there, buried to the hilt, savoring the moment as your body tightens around him. And then—he moves.

His rhythm starts punishing and purposeful, each thrust punching the air from your lungs, knocking moans out of you that you don’t bother to muffle. Your fingers claw at his shoulders, nails dragging down the sculpted muscle as he pounds into you, over and over, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl. The bed creaks beneath the force, his hips slamming into yours with delicious brutality.

Bucky’s free hand braces against the headboard, gripping it so hard his knuckles go white. His head falls back, sweat-damp hair brushing his temples, jaw tight and mouth parted on a ragged groan as he loses himself in the feel of you—tight, wet, wanting.

You can feel every inch: his cock slick and hot, the way your walls clamp around him with each pass, the slick, wet friction. Your breaths come in ragged pants, and you hook an arm around his neck, tugging him down for a fierce, open-mouthed kiss. Tongues collide, teeth graze, and in that kiss you taste the same hunger you feel in your core.

He pulls back just enough to stare into your eyes, voice rough. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, then drives into you faster. “So fucking wet for me.”

You moan, head falling back on the pillows as he hammers into you. The thrusts come harder now, each one a sharp stab at the center of your heat. Your cunt clenches around him, and you can feel the coil tightening—your orgasm building like a star about to explode.

“Bucky!” you cry out, fingers carding through his hair. “Oh God, Bucky—”

He dips his head and sinks his teeth into the hollow of your collarbone, and a bolt of heat races through you, shattering whatever control you had left. Your back arches off the mattress, hips lifting into him as a tidal wave of white-hot pleasure crashes over you. Fingernails graze his shoulders, leaving trails of need, while your breath tears from your lungs in ragged gasps.

He doesn’t relent. With one last series of punishing, relentless thrusts—each harder, each deeper—he drives you even higher. His voice breaks as he grunts your name like a benediction, and you feel the weight of him shuddering as he swells and spills into you. Your body trembles beneath his, every muscle trembling in the aftershock of his release. Then, spent and utterly raw, he collapses beside you. Together you lie there, chests rising and falling, hearts pounding, breaths mingling in the hushed stillness of the penthouse.

The city hums quietly beyond the penthouse glass, a soft backdrop to the silence stretching between the two of you. The air still smells like sex and skin and scotch, and your limbs feel heavy—sated, warm, anchored beneath the lazy sprawl of his arm around your waist.

Bucky’s chest rises and falls gently, the heat of him pressed against your chest. His fingers graze slow circles into the dip just below your navel, but otherwise, neither of you moves. Not yet. Not when everything is still humming between you.

You let the quiet sit for another beat before speaking, your voice sleep-rough and teasing.

“So… that role you were pitching to me earlier...”

He freezes above you. Just for a second.

Then a breathless laugh bursts out of him, low and startled. “You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs, burying his face into the crook of your neck with a groan. “Jesus Christ, Y/N. We just had the kind of sex people write bad poetry about, and you’re still chasing your next gig?”

You smirk, tilting your head to glance at him. “I’m just saying. If you’re done defiling me, I’d like to circle back to the business portion of this evening.”

He laughs again—truly laughs this time, the sound warm and sharp and so completely disarmed that it makes your chest squeeze a little.

“You’re fucking ruthless,” he says, still grinning as he tightens his arm around you, tugging you closer like he already doesn’t want to let go. “Alright, alright. We’ll talk casting.”

You smile, eyes fluttering closed as you sink deeper into the pillow. He kisses your shoulder once, slow and lingering.

“In the morning.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #hollywood au #marvel #x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #actress au #joaquin torres #celebrity au #oneshots #oneshot #fanficition

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sanjoongie · 1 year ago

Text

𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔯𝔶

💚Pairing: Vampire Rockstar! Kang Yeosang x Reporter! Reader (f) ft Human Servant! San

💚Au: modern vampire au, Rockstar au, reporter au, queen of the damned au

💚Genre: contemporary

💚Rating: 18+, MDNI

💚Word Count: 2,829

💚Warnings: mentions of blood, blood loss, biting, vampiric habits

💚Summary: finding it odd that you have to interview a Rockstar in the evening, you trudge to the gothic mansion expecting a hungover man. Instead, after being left alone in his cave of a living room, you discover something much more deeper and darker than he hosts orgies with his groupies...

💚Author's Note: Happy birthday to this man who's humor, slyness, wholesome heart and thick waist will always hold a place in my heart!

“Absolutely ridiculous,” You mutter to yourself, hefting your bag with your laptop and climbing the stairs to Kang Yeosang’s gothic mansion.

The sun is setting, and you have much better things to do than get the skivvy from a rockstar’s point of view on life, but here you were. Your editor, much to your chagrin, assigned you this task with enthusiasm.

“He’s more interesting than you think!” Mingi said but you just thought he was a little star struck.

You are still muttering to yourself as you knock on the lion’s mouth door knocker. He was already rich. Why did he make it look like he was a duke rather than a modern rockstar? A somewhat tall, handsome man opens the door, staring down his nose at you.

“You’re the reporter, I presume?” He says with his haughty expression.

It took everything in you to not roll your eyes. A butler too? You grab your lanyard from around your neck and brandish your credentials. “Yes, I’m here for the interview,” You reply cheerily despite your attitude.

The butler bows deeply, fanning out his arm to indicate you can come inside. A quick look around, with a grand staircase in the foyer and the limited edition glass chandelier, lets you know Yeosang enjoys giving an impression.

“The chandelier was imported from Italy,” the butler informs you. “A one of a kind piece.”

You nod appreciatively and pretend you’re taking notes. “What year?”

“1812,” the butler says.

“1812?!” You gasp and your cool exterior is gone. “Jesus.”

The butler smiles in faint amusement. “Yeosang enjoys timepieces. It says it helps him get into his stage persona.”

“Ah yes, the vampire,” you muse out loud. “However could I forget.”

The butler frowns at you, his lower lip jutting out just a tiny bit. “Are you mocking Yeosang?”

“No, a man pretending to be a mythical creature for the money isn’t anything mock worthy at all,” you reply sarcastically.

The butler uses his height to his advantage and attempts to loom over you, his face stormy with withheld rage. “You dare mock him in his own household?”

“It’s fine, San, stand down,” an amused voice comes from atop the staircase.

You turn your head and see the rockstar you were here to interview. He muses his hair and yawns prettily. He was dainty of face but his body was built a bit like a muscle-perfectionist. Needless to say, he drove his fans wild with the juxtaposition.

San took a step back and bows. “As you wish, Master.”

Yeosang laughs, but it sounds forced and fake. “Ah, San, no need to be so formal in front of our guest!”

You raise your eyebrow. “Are you saying he refers to you as master when you don’t have guests?”

Yeosang smiles at you angelically. “Not at all. San simply enjoys teasing.”

The rockstar guides you to his living room, which is just as much a museum as a sitting room. He perches on a royal blue stuffed chair, it’s mahogany legs decorated in fleur-de-lis. Yeosang crosses his legs and gives you his full, undivided attention. “Where do we begin?”

You sit across from him on a chaise lounge, reaching into your bag to awkwardly balance your laptop there. You open it and listen to it hum as it powers up. “Well, we sent over some questions to your PR department, which you pre-approved. We can start at--”

Yeosang leans forward, elbow on knee, face in hand. “You’re awfully pretty for a reporter,” he comments.

You chuckle mirthlessly. “Are you implying only ugly girls become reporters, Mister Kang?”

“Please, call me Yeosang,” the rockstar replies smoothly, shaking his head to move his fringe from his eyes. “And no, I am not. I am simply admiring your face.”

You clear your throat. “As I was saying, I think we should start with the basics like--”

“Oh please,” Yeosang drawls. “You don’t want to ask basic questions, do you, miss reporter?”

You pause on typing up your intro and peer over your laptop screen at Yeosang. “Mister Kang, you do not want me to put on my true reporter's cap on.”

Yeosang smiles in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Try me. And I thought I told you to call me Yeosang.”

You close your laptop and crack your fingers. “Okay, Yeosang. You typically dodge the questions about fans of yours going missing after being seen leaving your concerts with you. What do you have to say about that?”

Yeosang shrugs gallically. “I am not responsible for a person after they’ve left my bed.”

“So you openly acknowledge you were with them the night they disappeared,” you press.

A smirk curls the side of Yeosang’s mouth. “I thought you were reporting for the newspaper, not the tabloids.”

“I work off of facts, and it is alarming the amount of young men and women that go missing after a chance encounter with you,” you insist.

“Perhaps they believe they simply cannot live without me after a night with me,” Yeosang purrs.

You scoff, “You don’t believe a word you’re saying, surely.”

Yeosang lets out a peal of laughter, this one sounding genuine. “Are you implying I’m good at lying to myself?”

You slam your laptop shut. “I knew this was a waste of my time. How about I do us both a favor and type up some bullshit interview. I’ll send it to your team to review. And then we never have to do this again?”

Yeosang looks as if he contemplates it for a moment and then shakes his head. “Aren’t you having fun, miss reporter? I know I am.”

San suddenly enters the room, his broad shoulders unignorable. “Ma… Yeosang. You should eat a meal before too long. You just woke up, after all.”

Yeosang meets your glare with an amused look of his own. “If you will excuse me, I will attend to a minor personal matter and then we can resume. Make yourself comfortable.”

Both San and Yeosang leave the room. San is whispering fervently and Yeosang is replying in even tones but you cannot hear the subject of their conversation.

You sigh heavily and get up to peruse the living room. It is full of old world art. Yeosang went full-send into this vampire stage presence. You observe a Greek clay vase and a very rage filled 17th century Baroque painting. There is a velvet lined gold box that must have delivered some fanciful jewelry back in the day.

But what seems to draw you the most were the books. Most had old world bindings, perhaps bought at auction. Some were titled, and some were not. You, by pure curiosity, pull one out of the shelf to crack it open and are surprised to see handwriting inside.

Paintings no longer intrigue me anymore. I sigh at the simple human nature portrayed in them. If I cannot even enjoy art anymore, what is an immortal to do for the rest of eternity?

You snort at the absurdity of that sentence. “This was clearly a trap for a snooping reporter.”

You close the book with a snap and put it back. You meander down the rows and randomly pull another. It reads:

Yeosang doesn’t know I will leave him tonight. I have done everything I can for him, as a fledgling vampire. He’s grown and can adapt in his own way. I will throw myself into the sunrise and finally see it after 500 years in the dark.

“My Master was very dramatic, I’m afraid.”

You squeal as you close the book and find Yeosang behind you. When had he come up behind you? You had heard nothing? “Finished eating, have you?” You attempt to deflect.

Yeosang smiles serenely. “I’m quite full now. I’m much better equipped for your questions now, ma belle.”

You roll your eyes and shove the book into his chest. You move back to the chaise lounge you had occupied. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know. The story of your french vampire master is a bit overdone. I’m sure your fans would eat up an exposé on the real Kang Yeosang.”

You sit down primly, but Yeosang is still where you had left him, regarding the book solemnly. “The real Kang Yeosang, huh? But haven’t you been paying attention? I have been myself this entire time.”

You wave your hand as if to dismiss him. “Fine, do what you want. Shall we resume then, in a professional capacity?”

Yeosang tips his head sideways, considering your proposal. “I rather enjoy a more casual setting myself.”

“I really can’t win with you, can I?” You mumble to yourself. Still, you pull out your laptop and wait for Yeosang to join you.

Yeosang moves behind the chair he had been sitting on, hands firm on the back of it, remaining standing. “You remind me of someone I used to know. Your inquiring mind is encouraging me to answer some questions better left in the dark. But I know better than anyone that a picture is worth a thousand words. Would you care for me to show you something?”

You close your laptop with finality. “It’s your interview, Yeosang.”

You follow Yeosang as he strolls with his arms held behind his back. “As you can see I am a bit of an acquirer of certain antique goods. It reminds me of the days of old. Depending on the day I could be remembering good memories or bad. Still, it is good to remember all the years that have built me up to this moment. Helps with writing lyrics for my songs as well, you know.”

You nod like it was just a regular Tuesday as a vampire rockstar persona told you about his life. “You certainly do own some very beautiful pieces.”

Yeosang opens a very large set of doors and it brings the both of you to a long hallway with high ceilings. The walls are covered with paintings, large and small and it reminds you of an art museum. Yeosang really wasn’t kidding.

“I’ll show you a painting of my best friend and I when we were in the prime of our youth. Wooyoung was boisterous and friendly, everything I was not. We were yin and yang, perfectly suited to fill out each other’s imperfections. My master wished to have a portrait of the two of us, his opposite pair, he used to call us. Master, human servant and fledgling vampire; a triumvirate.”

Yeosang stops before a somewhat large portrait. There is a young man with his hair tied back and a beauty mark high on his cheekbone. He is grinning like he knows a secret about you but he’s going to tease you about it before he’ll reveal it. Beside him is a beautiful youth. His hair also pulled back but a reserved look on his face. It appears as if he’s looking at someone behind you and not at the viewer of the painting themselves. He almost looks like…

You giggle nervously. “Gee, the apple truly doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it, Yeosang?”

Yeosang’s shoulder brushes yours reassuringly. “There is no apple, ma belle. I am the tree.”

The painting looks authentic to your eyes but anyone could have recreated a painting that matched 18th Century French painters. Surely…

“If this is your strategy to set me on edge so that I don’t ask you a question that could set you in a suspicious light of murder, then it’s working,” you joke dryly.

“Do I set you on edge?” Yeosang asks. His hands are still held at his back but he leans forward boyishly to peer at your face.

You square your shoulders with determination. “Shall we continue?”

Yeosang continues his tour of his art collection, walking down the long hallway. You pull a notebook out of your back pocket, worn and dogeared, to jot down notes. You might as well keep up with Yeosang’s facade, noting the dates and the people associated with the paintings.

You fall into the lull of Yeosang’s voice, deep and soothing, until you belatedly realize that you are no longer in the hallway. You shake your head a bit and find yourself in a small room, with a table, chair and a couch. It’s dark and modern but you can’t for the life of you figure out the purpose of it.

“...so that’s the end of the tour?” You prompt.

San shoots up from his place on the couch, eyes wide in alarm. “Master, you didn’t bring her to the hallway, did you?” You study the butler as he winces, looking a lot paler than you recalled from earlier.

Yeosang does not scold San for the mistake of the title of Master this time. “Of course, mon petit chou, she thinks it’s all an act regardless.”

San claspes a hand on his collarbone. “Please don’t make me a spectacle,” he pleas.

Yeosang walks to San’s side and claps a hand down on the shoulder near where San’s holding his collarbone. You watch as Yeosang’s forearm tightens, fingers digging into his butler’s shoulder. “Why San, don’t you want to be a part of the fun?” There is an edge of danger to Yeosang’s voice and your stomach dips.

San slowly lowers his hand and you can’t help but gasp at the two dainty holes located on his collarbone. San does not appear ashamed but more as if he’s worried.

You swallow loudly. “You go through an awful lot to keep up appearances. I’ll be sure to note everything I’ve seen here today, don’t worry, Yeosang. Now if that concludes our interview…?”

Yeosang sports that smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes again. He’s back to the calculating man that intimidates you far more than the entertaining one. “I have one last thing to show you,” he admits, crooking a finger at you.

Your feet move on their own accord and you feel a bit foggy-headed, much like the same state you ‘woke up’ in when you found yourself in this room. It was as if you didn’t have control over your own body.

“Everyone has seen me flash my fangs on stage but I want you to have a front row seat to the event,” Yeosang croons softly.

The corner of his top lip lifts up and his canine is there but just as a normal human’s appears as. Then you watch in horror as it slowly elongates into a sharp tooth, perfect for a predator. “Do you need any more proof, miss reporter?”

You shake your head quickly. “No, Yeosang, that’s plenty.”

Yeosang throws his head back and his laughter echoes in the tiny, empty room. “I put on a grand show for you and the one thing that convinces you is something base like my teeth? How dull.”

“Can I be excused?” You say in a small voice, your throat tightening up in fear.

“No, I think I’d like to show you first hand why people go missing after spending a night with me,” Yeosang says.

“A-are y-y-you threat-t-tening me?!” You can’t help but stutter in disbelief.

“Master!” San protests.

Yeosang sighs deeply. “You two are wet blankets. Can’t we have a little bit of fun here?”

There’s a sense of mirroring between you and San; a held breath like a deer pausing in the middle of a clearing. Neither of you knew how to move until Yeosang, in this case the predator, indicated what would happen next.

Yeosang practically growls his next sentence, “Well?”

You can’t help but whimper. “I don’t want to die tonight.”

Yeosang rubs the bridge of his nose. “I said ‘the why’ they go missing, not that I was going to make you go missing. I thought you were smarter than that.”

“Is that why you only took a sip from me?” San hazards a guess.

Yeosang looks like he is the cat that ate the canary. “If I had it my way, I would have drunk from you then our lovely reporter here. Two lovely dishes, how could I resist?”

“I’m not making it out of here with your secrets, am I?” You whisper.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Yeosang informs you.

“Master, you cannot have told her all your secrets and let her leave. What will the other vampires think?” San objects.

Yeosang performs one of his gallic shrugs. “Perhaps that’s why I set up this interview, San. I tire of hiding everything. Having a proper reporter document everything might be nice.”

If you writing everything down that Yeosang told you was going to keep you alive, you were all for it. “I’ve made avid notes, I promise!”

Yeosang’s eyes, a light amber color that you were starting to believe were not contacts, darken when he locks eyes with you. “Do you still want that live demonstration?”

On second thought, perhaps you wouldn’t make it out alive, at least if Yeosang kept looking at you like that.

#pirateeznet #cultofdionysusnet #kang yeosang x reader #kang yeosang scenario #yeosang scenario #ateez scenarios #atz scenarios #ღatz #topaz's work #teezers birthday fics 24

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