#AuPair

[maxworkarm]

#AupairGermany #MaxWork #AusbildungGermany FSJGermany

[stephenzerbe]

Life is simple

[askthefairlynormalparentsau]

Have either of you met the Tooth Fairy?

Mod here! I have some, uh- unfortunate news about one of this au’s roleswaps… 😂😂

[winniefrezcomics]

Grandpa Dale is SENDING ME- 😂

His Baby Shower present for Dev would be a mini-mansion "play house" or something-

Oh yeah, 100% he did 😂😂

Dev and Hazel did NOT accept the shrunken AU-pairs services, but he decided he liked his new size regardless lol

[perksofbeingasunflowerblog]

the Italians are more offended than larries

[neartothemoon]

Elizabeth Keen & Max Goodwin au

What if...

Elizabeth Keen decides to leave everything behind and go to New York. She meets Max Goodwin — who looks incredibly similar to Tom — and they instantly connect. But what will happen when Max finds out the truth about Liz and her past?

With the special guest appearance by Raymond Reddington!

[stopmyhearts]

sometimes you discover that you think in the exact same way your mother does and well. I'm gonna go have a drink

[wtfuckevenknows]

thanks for the tag @carlos-tk 😘

do this uquiz

do this picrew

tag people

no pressure tagging: @heartstringsduet @bonheur-cafe @lightningboltreader @inkweedandlizards @three-drink-amy @thebumblecee @thisbuildinghasfeelings @goodways @beautifulhigh @celeritas2997 @noxsoulmate @liminalmemories21 @paperstorm @theghostofashton

[maxworkarm]

#MaxWork կազմակերպությունը իրականացնում է բոլոր տեսակի վիզաների աջակցությւոն դեպի Գերմանիա:

[hahahax30]

The fact that my very first job ever might be in Austria (I barely speak german) is making me vaguely nauseous. Like, the place is BEAUTIFUL but ay dios mio

[sixteenyearoldmeblog]

THE VOICES ARE SO FUCKING TEMPTING

[askthefairlynormalparentsau]

For Perry and Iris: Did Dev experience Magical Backup in front of you two?

Iris: magical WHAT? Sounds gross…

Dev: YOU SHOULDN’T KNOW WHAT THAT IS AND NEITHER SHOULD THEY!!

Perry: w-woah, hey! Are you okay?

Dev: just- just go answer something else… the hell kinda question is that…

(Mod note! This AU’s equivalent of ‘the Battle of Big Wand’ has not yet occurred! Also I love questions that give me an excuse to do this ⬇️ to yall, keep em comin lol)

[lay-z]

dollhouse | 1 (prologue)

Based on personal experiences. This will be fun 🥰

Pairing: Cpt. John Price x AuPair!F!Reader Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | smut (male masturbation); humor; age gap; cussing

Synopsis: John Price needs a trustworthy nanny to take care of his precious baby daughter. Signing up as a host parent on an Au Pair agency website, he eventually matches with you.

When John finally accepts the fact that he can’t possibly do it alone any longer, he caves in and starts researching various Au Pair agencies. 

He reads reviews, experiences and even has Laswell investigate some of those agencies, before he eventually decides on one – Cultural Care Au Pair – and signs up as a host parent/family, looking for an international nanny. 

A whole process goes into signing up and getting approved as a host, a good amount of money and paperwork too, but John appreciates the agencies' effort to make sure the host families as well as the Au Pairs backgrounds are thoroughly checked. 

It took him long enough to accept that he will need help with his precious baby girl soon, so now he must make sure to find the most absolute trustworthy and perfect nanny for her. 

And it takes for fucking ever. 

His standards are quite high, he admits that; his Au Pair needs to have decent English skills and must have enough driving experience if she is to be trusted with his princess in the backseat, she needs to be in her mid-twenties at least and preferably has worked with children before. 

“A nice rack an’ bonnie face would be plus points eh, Cap’n?” 

John clicks his tongue in disdain and furrows his dark brows as he shakes his foolish Sergeant’s words from his head and keeps scrolling through profiles on his laptop instead. 

Oh, his bloody team of menaces had a proper blast when they found out their Captain is looking for an Au Pair to host; a young woman he’ll provide with a roof over the head and a weekly allowance in exchange for her services as a caretaker of his precious daughter. 

It does sound like the setup of a bad porn movie. He knows that. A single dad/military man looking for a young woman to live with him to take care of his child? 

He’s all too aware of how wrong it sounds, Thank you very much, MacTavish. 

Even this feels wrong somehow – checking out the Au Pair’s profiles, reading through their motivational letters, previous work experiences, hobbies, looking through their photos... 

John is sitting in his spacious living room, laptop perched on his lap again while he’s sitting in his favourite armchair, feet propped up on the matching footstool, browsing through profiles of young females, 17+.  

It’s even more bugging and tedious, because both host families and Au Pairs can only be matched with three profiles at a time – so no one can get overwhelmed, which means John is even more reserved with the matches he makes. Then again, the cards to find a good match are stacked against him as it is, being a single dad in his late 30s. 

He’s already figured out that most Au Pairs don’t want to work for a single dad, no matter how tame he looks in his profile picture, no matter how fancy his house is and no matter the fact that he will pay way more than the necessary allowance if it means his daughter is well taken care of. 

Bloody hell –  

John is about ready to call it a night again, log out of his profile and push this task to the next day, when your profile picture suddenly pops up on his screen, making him nearly choke on the sip of bourbon he just took. 

Your sweet smile, those sparkling eyes looking right at the camera, the way you’re holding that chubby baby in your arm, perched on your hip –  

He reads your name, says it out loud a few times and tests it on his tongue approvingly. 

And in a burst of vanity and rashness, John clicks on the ‘match’ button before he even realizes what he’s done and yet he doesn’t regret it once he’s practically studied your profile. 

It’s almost too good to be true, really. 

But then he looks through the other pictures you’ve uploaded to your profile; pictures of you with family, friends, at a café all casual and – there's that selfie of you in a white sundress, flashing another bedazzling smile and showing off a hint of your womanly curves – and John knows he’s in trouble when his cock gives a twitch of interest in his underwear. 

He shouldn’t be doing this; shouldn’t be looking at you with any other thought in his mind than ‘This could be a potentially good nanny for my sweet daughter’. 

“Fuck–” He grunts quietly, shifting in his seat as he sets his glass of bourbon down on the vintage side table to his right, because as much as he hates himself for it, he is currently looking at you with other intentions in his mind. 

The alcohol has turned his insides all warm and now the sight of you in that sundress is already burned into his retinas without his conscious consent; it’s not your fault, no – Gods, no.  

It’s the fact that John hasn’t seen a pretty and friendly-looking thing such as yourself in such a long time. It’s the fact that John wasn’t bothered to look at another woman since his ex-fiancée and mother of his child cheated on him and then disappeared to fuck knows where with another man. 

And now John’s large, calloused hand is already palming his half-hard erection through his slacks absentmindedly, working up that steady blood rush south while his eyes are trained on your picture, until they flicker briefly to scan around his dimly lit living room, almost expecting Gaz and Soap to pop out from behind the drawn curtains, pointing their fingers at their perverted Captain – laughing at him, because they were right in the end. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” John curses again, shaking those thoughts off his tired mind, because he needs this now and he’s going to indulge this once. 

Once. 

And then he will withdraw his match request with you before he loses all his self-restraint, because there is no way he can be trusted with you potentially living in his home. 

John keeps the laptop steady on his lap with his left hand while he rucks up his shirt enough to expose his buff chest and the dark coarse hair covering it and then he pops the button of his slacks open with ease, pulling the zipper down before his other hand dives past the waistband of his boxer briefs. 

An almost pained, low groan escapes his throat when he finally touches and frees his throbbing cock from his pants. 

He should feel ashamed by the sight of his leaking cockhead, knowing he’s getting this worked up because of an innocent picture of you – a young woman who has signed up on a website to help families take care of their children and definitely not to help some perverted single dad and soldier get off – but instead of stopping, he swipes his thumb over his slit and spreads the pearly slick along his thick length, using it as lube while he gives his cock two, three slow pumps. 

The musky smell of his own arousal hits his nostrils, and it only confirms the need to revoke the match again, to stay away from you at all costs, because he can’t remember the last woman who had this strong of an effect on him, but it was surely not his ex. 

John lets out another low groan when the image of you kneeling between his thighs and smiling up at him eagerly is conjured up in his mind against his will while he fists at his cock in faster and firm strokes, and then he finally lets go – lets his mind run free for a moment. 

He imagines what your voice might sound like, soft and angelic, perhaps a little raspy and sultry, calling him ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Price’–  

His eyes flutter shut and his head lolls back against the headrest of his armchair, his chest heaves with a wanton moan, “O-oh... F-fuck –” 

And then, his blistering orgasm nearly catches him off-guard when the tension coils rapidly in his gut, his balls draw up taut, the muscles in his abdomen flex uncontrollably and John barely has time to cup his palm over his tip before he makes a complete mess of himself; thick, hot cum leaking through his scarred knuckles onto his dark happy trail while his hips keep bucking up into his own fist. 

Now, John is breathing heavy, his cheeks flushed uncharacteristically sheepish beneath his thick beard while he catches his breath and post-nut clarity begins to settle in. 

He feels like a complete degenerate and more than ashamed as he looks down at himself with a disdainful click of his tongue, poking it into his cheek as he assesses the situation. 

His cock is still hard in his grasp while his milky seed already threatens to dry up and become all sticky on his skin – so he needs a shower and another wank if he plans on sleeping peacefully tonight. 

John clenches his jaw when his eyes flicker back to the laptop screen on his lap, where your picture is still in full view, and his cock throbs meekly in his hand once more with a dirty mind of its own, and John exhales a huff through his nostrils. 

This is pathetic.  

It’s Friday, way past midnight, and Captain John Price has just knocked one out over an innocent, single picture of a beautiful woman on his search for a nanny for his daughter. 

No one could ever waterboard this information out of him. Ever. 

With his right hand a mess, John uses his weak hand to scroll, bids his non-verbal goodbye to your pics, albeit reluctantly, and goes back to your profile to un-match with you after his debauched deed just now. 

But then, his eyes narrow briefly before they widen, brows raising up to his hairline, when he realizes that he cannot take back his match request any longer. 

Because you have already accepted it. 

[melancholicstation]

CONSIDERING AVIATION? - a bobby kennedy one-shot

summary: turns out this attorney general is definitely prone to peer pressure by pretty women! who could've guessed that. authors note: of course gimagus was not around in the sixties (though i do try to dress the readers in period appropriate clothes) the reader's outfits are literally an apparition of my ssense shopping cart at a specific time! feel no pressure to imagine them that way. let that fashion freak flag fly high! shout out to @remotewatch for indulging in airport bobby kennedy and giving inspiration!

tags: @rocker-chick-7 @ultr4v1ol3nt @violetharmonsfavgf @darcyspirits @fortheloveofjos @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @bluelancergirl @snowsgames @salvatoresablondie @dulcegal @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @kimcrystal123 @jackiesgirl @chemicalw0rld @remotewatch @starsprangledgirl @strryhaze @beloved-angel @absurdlyvintage

warnings: none just bobby being peer pressured into taking off his shirt but he loves it more than he ought to!

words: 2,308

A lot of people probably thought you were crazed for selecting a career path in the sector of aviation—with all it's arduous work schedule, time away from friends and family, and draining time zone changes. But nevertheless you loved it.

"Do you think I'm crazy For considering aviation? I'm a fan of flying...

As a child of a particularly affluent New England family you enjoyed the pleasure of flying often in your childhood—your beloved aupair dutifully carrying behind you your soft shell carry-on luggage bag containing various cotton pique dresses and chemises, along with a backpack containing note pads and pencils to do your homework between flights.

Safe to say growing up flying across the globe gave you an innate fixation on it advancing into it as a career path in adulthood. Which is exactly how you got here, being an air hostess for Texas' biggest airline in the state: Air Texas.

Why not do it for the nation? Cause I have nothing else to do...

Safe to say your parents weren't the biggest fans of your particular career path. Your mother wanted you to be some sort of home-maker living it up in North Connecticut in a weatherboard house, sedated out of your mind on blue pills making jello moulds all day—okay maybe that's not exactly transcribing what she said but you get the gist!

In opposition your father always had dreams of you becoming a middle school teacher, claiming you had a certain way with children. However, you would beg to differ if a particular heated fight with one of your teenage cousins on Christmas morning ending in tears and a very unhappy look on both of your parents faces was anything to go by.

Instead of submitting to either of your parents wishes you bucked the trend and got a big degree in philosophy of all things, to which your father calmly explained that he would not spend over four thousand dollars into Harvards pockets just to facilitate a degree that would leave you severely and desperately unemployed.

But, because he's your father he relented, as you thought most fathers ought to do with their daughter's aspirations.

However you can't he was entirely wrong on the whole unemployment rate of philosophy students. Well-paying employers weren't exactly falling over themselves to find young, freshly-graduated philosophy majors to hire. So when Air Texas provided you with an opportunity you took it with absolute and total vigour.

Have a big degree in philosophy But I don't know what I want to be...

Working for an airline was, to you at least, a pretty stable method of income which payed you to basically talk shit with other twenty-something women and have limited contact with the on-board passengers, bar simply asking them if they want orange juice or coffee with their plastic covered, stale piece of bread to go along with their miso soup that is probably still in the best by date. Probably.

All in all it was a good gig, with a stellar choice of wardrobe.

Getting ready for your job was a relatively easy and stress-free task for you. First step was to wash yourself and hair in rose water, then carefully assemble your hair into smooth waves with the front sections pulled back by two ivory chignon hair pins engraved with the company namesake. Moving onto makeup was easy: fresh skin with a powdered t-zone, red lacquered lips, and a tawn beige blush to the cheeks.

So I'm going into aviation, yeah, mom I'm going into aviation, yeah, dad Going into aviationI'm going into aviation...

The uniform in its basic form was relatively strict: white ballerina toe high boots in white, low rise mini skirt or denim micro shorts in white paired with a halter fitted top in a cotton-linen blend also in white.

The details, however, in your uniform were more customizable. A hat was required so you chose a paperboy denim cap, a pair of butterfly lenses and with some more affixing of random jewellery pieces you'd possibly stolen from your grandmothers estate years ago, you were all but ready to head to work.

You'd thought today to be a relatively normal work day, that was until you attended the mandatory briefing meeting required before every flight and was informed that a member of "very high influence" had loaned out the aircraft for the day and that your boss had offered staff to service those on board.

How curious.

You'd never really heard of famous people being able to loan out commercial airplanes, you'd heard that more often than not they fly private—which made you realise that it was more than likely going to be a large volume of passengers boarding the flight to even start to justify what you imagined would be a gargantuan loan price tag.

After briefing was done you'd forgotten mostly about it till boarding—besides it wasn't the first time a famous person had flown public before. Though somehow it was always your most hated colleague that got to unfairly serve said famous person tea or coffee instead of you, so the star-power of a boarding passenger didn't all that much change your workday or your mood.

At least it hadn't until now.

You'd begun boarding and preparing for the short three hour flight without much fuss—being informed that the group would arrive in the next hour. So you used the time to make coffee for your three closet work girlfriends: Renee, Colleen, and Virginia. Now, you'd never say this to them face to face but them being there made those arduous flight hours worth it to you, and they were the only ones who would indulge your inclination to lightly gossip about passengers. Lightly, of course.

You'd all assumed your positions as boarding came into session, as if on auto-pilot you simply did your job: politely meeting the eyes of passengers, giving them each an earnest smile. But, after the 5th passenger you'd started to see a pattern linking each person from the next—and it wasn't that they were just from the same group loaning the plane, they all donned a specific sort of pin.

Initially they moved much too quick for you to discern any sort of writing on the pin, but once a women kneeled down to slide her cabine trunk under her seat you could clearly make out the content of the pin: the pin writing "Kennedy" in simple, white arial font against a lapis background.

Some wore it on their jacket lapel, others on their tie, and others simply on their mohair sweater.

Huh, must be a Kennedy campaign plane you thought to yourself. Not even really entertaining the idea that the "Kennedy" up for office would be on board at this very moment.

The first thirty minutes of the flight was pretty much smooth sailing all around, from what you gathered the campaign members were all young, vivacious citizens putting in the effort. In a certain light they were incredibly admirable for their efforts, though you didn't know that you quite had it in you to follow a politician to every damn state in the country.

That was until you'd seen his face. That damn face on his face.

To Colleen's credit you weren't the first to spot him, quite frankly because you were so sure a man of his status would be irrevocably be flying private. Always.

She, according to her word had seen him set up shop across two recliner chairs, sitting cross legged with a gentle yet firm hand stroking his cocker spaniel 'Freckles' and another flipping through a manila folder filled to the brim with loose leaf.

What clued you into his arrival however was the loud ruckus that your three friends were making by loudly and not at all discreetly whispering in each others ears in the crew area. Feeling unbelievably left out you race over there desperate to hear whatever they've got to tell, they clue you in with remarkable speed and clarity. Bobby Kennedy is on board right this minute.

Though, it's only when Renee motions your eyes with her hand that you see the main topic of conversation for yourself: Bobby Kennedy quietly reading a book... innocuous enough sure to the naked eye. But after a short inspection you see that not only did he discard his sleeveless sweater vest but that his white button-down has two-less buttons covered than it originally did: making a littering of chest hair subtly apparent to those who looked for it. Giggling with your girls, you started to feel a little bad for objectifying a man who's simply just reading a book but in your mind it was utterly harmless.

After about 5 minutes of ogling you'd been called over to refill the beverage jugs, leaving the three to have their fun with him. But only when you got back you saw just how much fun they were having...

You weren't exactly sure what you had walked into—all you knew was the first thing you saw was bobby being cornered by your very charming and very attractive friends and Virginia saying in a tone bordering on mocking tone, yet exceeding at being sickly sweet,

"Oh C'mon Bobby it's only your shirt! A peek really can't hurt now could it?"

Peeking out from your position in the cabin alcove, you observe a deep red crimson blush wash over his face, bathing it in the kind of expression right before the big dip of a roller coaster: exhilaration meeting intense trepidation all along the features of his greek god like face.

Blushing, he begins to fiddle with the cotton of his button-up, listening intently to the encouragement from your two other friends,

"C'mon Bobby we won't ever tell a single soul, it'll just be our little secret!"

Quietly giggling, as to not give your specific vantage point away, you're deeply shocked when he actually does relent to their request. Sheepishly removing the cotton layer revealing a mosaic of chestnut hair mediated by a taupe natural tan to the skin.

What shocked you even more, however, is that Renee calls out to you, seemingly aware that you had been there the entire time,

"Y/n, honey, come take a picture of us with that Kennedy boy! He's real cute too!"

Groaning internally from the embarrassment of being caught you take the camera from her hands, quickly snapping a few photos of your friends either side of a shirtless Bobby Kennedy.

This would surely be a story to tell at dinner parties, Huh?

Laughing slightly you hand the photos back, to which the girls ogle at the pictures pointing at the picture and calling him over,

"Oh Bobby, Look how darling you look here!"

As if just registering your presence as you were about to leave this very strange bordering on erotic situation. He appears docile as ever quickly nodding at you as if to say hello without actually verbalising it, waving with his left hand.

You wave back warmly and decide to leave the alcove, but not before taking in the utter physical comedy of a United States senator completely shirtless, wearing black trousers adorned with a slate belt, in front of a handful of Texas flight attendants simply at their request.

It's about an hour before you encounter Bobby again, and coincidentally you'd hit the tarmac into the airport about 15 minutes ago, with all passengers boarding off bar one: Bobby.

Apparently he had fallen asleep on the floor of the seat along with his dog and no one had the heart to tell him the planes landed by waking him up. It felt cruel, almost like waking up a newborn fawn in the middle of nap time. Did fawns even have nap time? You didn't quite know.

Taking one for the team, and totally not because you were curious what his face would look like completely rested: not haunted by the daily struggle you were sure he faced being who he was and doing what he did.

Kneeling down you quietly knock on the side of the plastic seat in an effort to wake him up, although that only causes his dog, Freckles, to awake and furiously lick the face of its owner. Which does begin to wake him up.

"Mr Kennedy, Sorry to disturb you but we've arrived at Lafayette Regional Airport."

"That's quite okay—thank you very much"

You notice he's put his button-up and sweater back on, much to your chagrin. Turning away you start to leave to collect your own baggage when you hear an audible stomach groan of hunger from what you can only assess as coming from Bobby as your the only two on the aircraft.

Sympathetic, you reach into your waist pack and fish out some rice crackers, along with a bottled water, and place it on the cushion of the seat in front of him. Leaving food for him to find like a person leaves food out for easily scared woodland creatures.

Coming back to do your final sweep and check of the seats before they were to be cleaned by the cleaning crew for the next flight, you lock eyes with Bobby and trail your eyes down, down, down to a surprisingly, shockingly large bulge in the pant of his trouser, accompanied by a pained from anticipation expression that almost drips over his entire face covering, encasing him whole.

All in all he looks utterly a mess and pathetic, not at all how he should present himself to the adoring fans lined outside the airport immolating his presence. So you do as anyone in your position would do—okay maybe not everyone but you'd wager on most,

"Give me one sec, I'll take care of it I promise."

You leave Bobby alone and catch your three friends unloading their personal carry-ons, you inform them that Bobby's in the bathroom and you'll see him out and make sure everything's in order for the next flight. They eye you suspiciously as if they know what's really going on, but no one dares to share.

They know you'll debrief tomorrow anyway so what's the point in spoiling the fun early anyway?

Safe to say after a good 20 minutes, Bobby Kennedy departs the plane and greets slobbering fans looking more chipper and revitalised than any person ought to look after spending hours on board a metal flying tube... but who were they to speculate on what went on during that flight?

I'm gonna take a vacation, yeah, man Fly fighter jets all over the nation Fly fighter jets all over the nation"

[silentmagi]

Little MD au idea: J, back in the manor, had been tasked with raising Tessa after she was born. After a disastrous gala when Tessa's 8, she risks it it all and runs away, the child she raised in hand.

Years later, on Copper 9, J is a union worker, disillusioned and no longer caring to appease her corporate overlords, making ends meet and operating on spare parts to take care of her adoptive daughter Tessa, who's now in her teenage years, going through high school, and worrying for her mom's health.

Series: Murder Drones AU Criteria: J 'adopts' Tessa after being her aupair for so long, and after an 'incident' takes her on the run. AU title (optional): Baby Mine

Serial Designation J is an office drone with a focus on efficiency and managing subordinates. James Elliot is an idiot that doesn't care for lack of training in childcare and brings her home to take care of Tessa, his new baby girl that his wife insists they need a nanny for.

She loves the girl, and does everything she can to reprogram and train herself to be the best parental figure possible.She is kind, caring, a little strict, but Tessa never has to wonder if she cares.

Shortly after Tessa's eight birthday, there is a gala for her parents. A gala that is far too late to allow Tessa to attend (not that she wants to), and so J and her are up in her room, when a disgruntle ex-employee expresses their displeasure over their termination with explosive results.

In order to protect Tessa from any reprisal, J runs away with Tessa and boards a colony ship bound for Copper 9, where she fakes her position as a worker drone in one of the mines. Seeing things at this level, she is quickly disillusioned to the corporate bull, and just wants to ensure that her daughter (charge) Tessa is safe. Meanwhile, Tessa is not so oblivious as to not notice the stress her mother is under, and tries to help her lesson the burden.

Nori and Yeva, two drones at the underground offices notice J's efficiency and unusual modifications for a mine drone, and decide that they should talk with her. So they invite her to join them at charging station during lunch one day. Little did they expect to get a pitch for a union of drones. Then again, she probably wasn't expecting them to have an offer for her, one that would mean better pay and hours.

[byizoyas]

2023/byizoyas. — pls do not plagiarize or repost and claim as yours ! thank you very much.

beneath your beautiful. – childe x fem!reader

genre. - funny?? i’ll try lol. angst if you squint. enemies to lovers. semi fake dating if it makes sense??? poor gf x rich bf & popular x outsider dynamics. synopsis. - (name) has been needing a break from college and from her life in general for a while.. so when she’s lucky enough to be chosen by a wealthy family to take care of the younger son : teucer, she’s all excited and happy to leave fontaine for a year. little did she know, it was going even better than she could have ever imagined. but that is of course, until she meets the insufferable, annoying older son of the family. OR ; modern au where (name) joins a snezhnayan family as an aupair girl and seems to find it difficult to befriend childe, older son of the family.

a/n. - the picture is ugly af lol srry im so so bad at this I might try redoing it later lol BUT i promise the story will be good ehe. also for some reason childe and reader are both in their early twenties in this fic.

starting on september 1st. | taglist open, just ask below this post

step 1 ❅ this is how you build a snowman in snezhnaya