#Working in Germany as an expat

[movetogermanywithease]

Beyond Borders: Expat-Friendly Careers in Germany

Are you dreaming of embarking on an exciting new adventure abroad? Look no further than our comprehensive guide to finding the perfect job as an expat in Germany! With our expertly crafted list of Germany work visa requirements, we're here to help you navigate the often complex process of starting a new career in this vibrant European hub. Book a one-on-one call with us today!

[theblacklakesiren]

How do I leave the US? I can't live here anymore. I'm an IT student and would love to move to Europe. I'd love to go to Germany specifically. It would be great to learn the language and continue my education at the University of Munich in München, Germany.

[cosmogyros]

Literally can't pay my rent until I get paid for September, which hasn't happened yet. Today is Friday, and Monday is the last day of the month. I'm so tired of being poor.

[expatrace]

The Best Places To Work As An Expat | Expat Race

[annabelle--cane]

two things about this case:

1 - this is the second appearance of the millennium dome in the protocol canon, the first was in the arg. the east germany expat usenet forum had a thread for cat pictures, and one showed a picture of a cat in london with the dome visible in the background. interestingly, this picture was posted in 1994, several years before construction on the dome even began, which is one of a few weird time discrepancies in the forum.

2 - when leonardo kennings refers to the "Great Work," he is referring to the great work of alchemy, the process of working to create the philosopher's stone. the great work is also commonly referred to by its latin translation "magnum opus," and "magnum" is just a different conjugation of the word "magnus." which could mean nothing.

[gemsofgreece]

Positive news of the day:

Sklavenitis (big Greek owned supermarket brand) stops the insanity of 6-day working week and switches it to 5-day working week for both part time and full time employees, while motivating other brands to follow the trend.

As you may know, Greece suffers from extreme urbanisation while remote islands and provincial settlements fall into desolation. It is not uncommon to go in villages in Greece and find them entirely empty with only one or two elderly locals trying to keep them alive. The priest of one such shrivelling village in the very mountainous region of Evrytania took the initiative to call for relocation of people to the village, announcing there was a house available for free (or for low rent, not sure) suitable for a family and ensured job for at least one adult. He was aided in this project by the teacher of the village who could not bear see her classes empty anymore. The call was answered relatively fast - a family of Greek expats with six children :) formerly residing in Germany are relocating to the village, aiming for a rural lifestyle far from the stress of Berlin or Athens. This phenomenon is prominent in many regions of Europe and such tactics have been employed in Switzerland, Austria, Northern Italy etc. I hope to see this start happening in Greece as well - despite and against the financial issues of the country - because the population distribution in Greece is HORRIBLE. EDIT: There was interest from 100 families!!!

[violettduchess]

Last Vacation Update ☀️

Leaving to travel back to Germany. Being an expat is a weird thing. You've made a new home somewhere but your home country will still always be home too. You can sometimes feel caught between two places.

Maybe it's better to think of it this way: it's not that you're torn between two places but you have two places you can call home 🇺🇲🇩🇪

I look forward to being around here again. I downloaded Villains! I haven't started it yet but I will! And I've got an OC story in the works as well as some Cyran on the way 💜

See you soon!!

[sissylittlefeather]

Anybody else love Tulsa McLean?

Home Sweet Oklahoma

A/N: This is a one-shot featuring one of my favorite Elvis movie characters from his 1960 movie GI Blues. I loooooove Tulsa and GI Blues for lots of reasons, but one of them is because I was born and raised in Oklahoma. I just couldn't help myself 😂. (Also please forgive any inaccuracies in my German, the geography, the time period, the military, etc. I did my best here.)

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, masturbation (male), kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, and I think that's about it. It's pretty fluffy.

Word count: 6.3kish (I know it's long, but the backstory is important and it's a slow burn...)

When your father was transferred to Germany in 1956, the last thing you wanted to do was leave the states. You were just about to graduate from high school, so you argued and begged to be left behind. Of course, without a wedding ring on your finger, your father wasn't letting you live anywhere but where he was.

You never dreamed you'd love it here so much. Now, you've been here for four years and you've built a pretty good life. Still, sometimes you missed being back home. Not that you'd ever really had a place to call "home". Being a military brat wasn't easy and you'd never lived anywhere longer than 4 years at a time. Most places you only stayed 2, except for the stint in Colorado where your younger brother was born and the stint in Oklahoma where the twins were born. The time in Oklahoma was particularly memorable for you. You started 5th grade there and stayed until the summer before 9th grade. You were actually there long enough to make some good friends and experience your first dabbling in love. It was nothing serious, of course, but you'd never forget how he kissed you behind the swings at the park near your house. When you moved to North Carolina that summer, you were devastated.

Still, that was a long time ago, and living in Germany had changed you. You were a grown woman now, complete with a job singing in a night club. Your dad didn't love it, but being 22, you were more free to do as you pleased. And you typically did exactly that.

******

Tulsa, Cookie, and Rick were at the train station preparing for their transfer to Frankfurt. When they met the soldiers who just came from there, the first thing they wanted to know about was the girls. Where were the prettiest ones and what were they like? Rick was only concerned about one girl, Marla, who he had met and fallen in love with a year ago. Tulsa was ready to meet new ones and Cookie was along with him for the ride.

"There's only one dame to avoid." Turk warned.

"Avoid? That sounds like a challenge to me." Tulsa joked, his crooked smirk splayed across his face. He was the perfect combination of sexy and cute and he knew it. Girls didn't typically say no to him.

"You say that, but this dame is just mean. She's prettier than sin, but no man can get close to her. I'm telling you, don't waste your time."

"Well, now I'm really intrigued. Where do I find her?" Turk rolled his eyes at Tulsa's cockiness.

"She sings at the Cafe Amerikanisch."

"Amerikanisch? Is she--"

"American? Yes." Tulsa's eyes lit up. Picking up frauleins in a GI uniform was easy. A girl from back home would present a challenge worthy of his effort.

"Well, we'll see if I can't melt this ice queen." He looked at Cookie and wiggled his eyebrows. Turk scoffed. There was a whistle and everyone moved to board the train. As they walked away, Turk called out to Tulsa.

"Good luck! Her name is y/n!"

******

The Cafe Amerikanisch is owned by an American expat and is intended to serve as a haven for homesick soldiers and other Americans living and working in Germany. As an American singer, and a pretty good looking one at that, you are a perfect act for this particular club.

Tonight is a pretty normal Saturday for you as you sit in your dressing room waiting for it to be time for you to go on stage. Your shiny red dress is form-fitting with a dangerously high slit, but your legs are your best feature, so it doesn't bother you much. There's a knock on your door and someone lets you know you've got two minutes. You slip on your black heels and long black gloves and stand up, adjusting your hair in the mirror. The last thing you do is blow yourself a red-lipstick kiss for good luck and then make your way to the stage.

The band begins and you do your normal set, singing and flirting with the audience. You've just started your last song, a jazzy version of Dream a Little Dream of Me by Ella Fitzgerald, when you notice a group of American GIs come in and stand in the corner watching you. It's too dark for you to really see them, but your stomach drops and you have to actively stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Great, now you'll have to deal with them tonight.

You've learned from experience that the soldiers usually come in with one thing on their mind. For some reason, you seem to represent some kind of prize for them to win. You gave in once early in your career and fell in love head over heels just for him to disappear several months later. Since then, you've avoided these men like the plague and turned down, quite aggressively, every advance from one of them. It sounds arrogant to assume they're there for you, but it just always seems to be true. You don't intend on calling their bluff tonight or ever, really.

Seeing them standing in the corner sends up your defenses and you start to come up with reasons to go directly home after you finish singing. Finally, your set is done and you bow, smiling to the crowd, waving and blowing kisses. You head off the stage to your dressing room to change and get out of here. You're a little annoyed because you were hoping to stay and have a few drinks with some of the other girls in the show, but now you'll have to run home. Once you're back in your navy blue and white dress, you grab your coat and purse and make an attempt to leave. Several of the other girls stop you before you can get to the door, though, and you chat with them for a bit.

"Please get a drink with us, y/n!"

"No, I really need to go. I'm so tired."

"Just one? You always run out of here so quick."

"Alright, one drink. And then I have to go."

You let them lead you to a table, keeping your eyes on the group of GIs, waiting for them to try to approach you. You accidentally make eye contact with one of them and a bolt of recognition hits you. Why does he seem so familiar? No matter. You can ignore him, and his sweet blue eyes and perfect hair, the same way you've ignored all the others.

They stay put where they are, watching you, until after you get your drink. You're starting to think that maybe they'll leave you alone when you notice them making their way towards you. You down your drink in three gulps and say a quick goodbye to the girls. You stand up and almost run smack into the one with the blue eyes.

Between the alcohol and standing up so fast, you're a little dizzy and almost running into him knocks you off balance. He catches you with both hands on your upper arms before you fall.

"Whoa, honey, where are you headed so fast?" There's something about his accent that causes you to freeze. Who is he?

"Wait. Y/n?!" Your eyes scan up to his face and you try to place him. He's so familiar and he obviously knows you too.

"It's Tulsa! Tulsa McLean!" He steps back from you and gestures to himself.

Your heart stops.

"Oh my god. Tulsa..." Your hand goes to your mouth and you look up into his eyes.

You haven't seen him since you moved from Oklahoma 8 years ago. Your brain flashes back to holding his hand, going to the movies and getting hamburgers, and most of all, that kiss behind the swing set. You wrote letters back and forth for a while, but you lost contact once you both really got into high school. Now he's here, in front of you again.

"What are you doing here?" You ask. He points to his uniform.

"Isn't it obvious? What are you doing here?"

"My father..."

"He's here? I don't remember him liking me very much." He chuckles and looks around the club like your father might be right around the corner. You notice that the other soldiers are elbowing each other and laughing, like Tulsa has a real chance here and they're impressed. That makes your blood boil and you turn back to Tulsa coldly.

"Well, it's good to see you, but I really need to head home." He blinks, surprised by the change in your tone.

"Now wait a minute, can we go somewhere to talk?"

"No, I'm sorry. It's late. Goodnight." You turn and walk away. There's a pang in your heart as you do. You've missed him, a lot, but he's a soldier now. There's no way you can trust him. You swallow the lump in your throat as you walk out the door towards your house.

******

"Tulsa! We thought you were in for sure!" He and his group of friends make their way to a table to order some drinks.

"How do you know her?" He looks down at his beer when it comes, thinking about the time you spent together all those years ago. He hasn't stopped thinking about you in all that time.

"We went to school together for a while when we were kids." He's gotten unusually quiet and the guys look at each other in surprise.

"Isn't that a good thing? It'll make it easier, right?"

"Guys, I'm not doing this anymore."

"Aw, Tulsa, come on. You're our entertainment! You gotta prove to Turk that you can do it!"

"No, I'm done. I'm going to head back to the barracks. I'll see y'all later." He stands up and makes his way to the door. On his way out, he stops at the table of girls you had been sitting with.

"Hey, ladies. Do any of y'all know where I could find y/n?" The girls look at each other, hesitant to share your location with a soldier. Still, you live with your parents, so they figure your father will keep you safe if anything really bad happens. The girl that you're closest with, Maryann, tells him your address.

"Thank you. Truly." He flashes them a winning smile and heads for the door.

Cookie sees him walk out and turns back to the guys.

"Hey, fellas. I don't think this is over." They laugh and cheer. Your friends notice this and make a note to tell you later.

******

You're sitting in your room, brushing your hair and looking in the mirror, trying not to think about Tulsa. You've already gotten ready for bed, so you have on pajamas and your robe. It's really late and the rest of the house is asleep. The only lights on are in your small apartment over the garage. You live with your parents, but the house is large and you've got your own area with a bathroom and sitting room. Your father let you move over here when you started working at the club. This was the closest he would let you get to living on your own. Just as you put the brush down and go to get in your bed, you hear something hit your window. What on earth was that?

You ignore the sound and continue getting in bed. When you hear it again, though, you start to get nervous. You walk cautiously to the window and peek through your curtains at the street down below.

What the hell??

Tulsa is down there, throwing tiny rocks from the garden at your window.

How did he find you?!

When he sees you in the window, he waves like the 10-year-old he was when you met him. You open the window and call down as quietly as possible.

"Tulsa! What are you doing here?!"

"I need to talk to you!" He hollers.

"Shhhh! You're going to wake up my father. I'm coming down there." You look in the mirror quickly on your way down. Your pajamas will have to do, since you don't want to take the time to get dressed. And your hair is down around your shoulders, unfixed. But it's just Tulsa. He saw you in junior high; this can't be worse than that.

You tiptoe down the stairs and open the front door as quietly as possible. You pull your robe tighter around yourself and step out into the chilly night air, dragging the door closed softly behind you.

"What? Talk fast. I'm freezing."

"Maybe we should go inside?"

"Nice try, soldier. I'll be okay. Just talk."

"Well, I hadn't really thought of what I was going to say. I just needed to see you again." He smiles sheepishly.

"Tulsa. Why?"

"I'm not entirely sure." You scoff and start to go back inside. He grabs your arm lightly to stop you and his touch sends shockwaves through your body.

"No! Wait! I just... I haven't ever stopped thinking about you..."

"That was a long time ago, Tuls..."

"Have dinner with me." You shake your head no. "Please, Birdie..." Your eyes snap up to his. He called you by the nickname he made up for you back then, when you used to sing while he played the guitar. You can hear his junior high voice, "You're just like a little songbird. My very own Birdie."

"Just dinner?" You can feel yourself melting a bit and it bothers you.

"Yes. I promise."

"Pick me up tomorrow at 8." He nods excitedly and you turn to go back inside. You really hope you don't regret this.

******

Tulsa watches you walk back up to the house. He's still a little in shock that you said yes. He also can't believe what a beautiful woman you've become. He knew you were cute, but this is something entirely different. As he turns to go back to the barracks, his mind wanders to the way you looked in your red dress. It hugged every curve perfectly and your leg was peeking out through the slit. He longed to see both of your legs without the skirt in the way. And then you came downstairs in your pajamas and were somehow even more beautiful with your hair falling down around your shoulders. He imagines taking your robe off and running his hands up and under your silky pajamas. When he realizes how aroused he is, he decides to get a cab so he can sit down and not be wandering the streets of Frankfurt with a blatantly obvious erection.

Back at the barracks, he's the first one home for the night. He figures the other guys are still out at the club. His mind wanders back to you in the red dress and what it might look like on the floor of this room. Before he knows it, he's turned on again and he decides to do something pretty risky. He pulls his army-issue blanket over his lap and frees his painfully hard dick from his pants. As he touches himself, he imagines what your small, soft hands might feel like on him. The possibility drives him insane as he begins to stroke himself faster and faster. Then, he thinks of your beautiful red lips wrapped around him and he moans softly. He knows he probably doesn't have much time before the other guys come home, so he continues to move his hand up and down, moving his foreskin back and forth, the friction making his hips buck into his hand. His mind stays focused on you and your curves as he imagines holding your hips and pounding into you, first from behind and then with you on top so he can watch your breasts as they bounce with his motions. The image is almost overwhelming and he feels his release building. Finally, when he pictures the face you make when he gives you an orgasm, he comes hard, moaning your name with a string of cuss words.

His blanket is ruined, so he uses it to clean himself up quickly and then tosses it in his laundry. He's breathing heavily, a little embarrassed at having just gotten himself off to the thought of you, when he hears the guys coming down the hallway. He tries to slow his heart rate and gets ready for bed, laying down just as the door opens.

"Hey Tulsa! You missed a helluva night! You shoulda seen this girl Cookie was talking to!" He rolls over pretends like they woke him up.

"How'd it go with your girl?" They all look at him expectantly.

"Oh, well, uh, we're having dinner tomorrow night." They whoop and holler, the amount of beer they had becoming obvious.

"We knew you'd get her! Nothing like a connection from the past to get a girl to go weak in the knees for ya!" Tulsa frowns.

"It's not like that, fellas." He tries not to think about what he just pictured you doing. "We're old friends. That's all. Now let me go back to sleep." He rolls back over as they continue talking and laughing. He tries to go to sleep, but he can't stop imagining you curled up next to him in your silk pajamas.

******

You're standing in front of your house in your favorite pink dress when Tulsa pulls up in a cab. You forgot that he wouldn't have a car, since he's a soldier. He hops out and opens the door for you, but you shake your head.

"We'll take my car." He pays the cab driver and follows you to your BMW convertible. His mouth pops open when he realizes it's yours.

"Nightclub business must be good." He jokes. You remember how much he loves cars and toss him the keys.

"I don't really feel like driving tonight." His eyes light up and you can't stop yourself from smiling. He really is an attractive man. This might be harder than you thought.

You guide him to a restaurant, where he parks and runs to your side of the car to open the door for you. He still has his southern manners. Once you get to the table, you both relax a bit and it feels more like the two of you used to be, talking and laughing easily.

"And how's your mama? She was always so sweet to me." You ask, taking a bite of your food.

"That's because she loved you! Always said you were too good for me. She was probably right." He looks at you shyly. "But, she's good! She and Daddy still live in the same house. I haven't seen them in almost 2 years." He gets a little somber and you can tell he must be homesick.

"Are you almost finished with your tour?"

"I've got three months here in Frankfurt and then I'm free. I can't wait to get back to the states." You look down at your plate. He's going to disappear in three months. Don't get attached.

"What about you? Will you be headed stateside any time soon?"

"No, my father is about to retire, but he wants to stay here. And even if he left, I'd probably try to stay. I like it here and I don't really have a home in the US. Not like you do."

"You could always come back to Oklahoma." He cuts himself off before he says "with me." You look up at him, noticing that it seems like he wants to say something else, but he doesn't. Instead, he changes the subject to talk about your singing career. He tells you he has formed a group with some of the guys and has been performing whenever they get a chance. He also tells you about how they want to open a nightclub when they get home.

"See, you could come sing in our club! Be our main act!" You know he's joking, but there's an edge of seriousness to him that makes you wonder.

You continue to talk and laugh through the rest of dinner and it feels good to be with him, like he brings out a part of you that you forgot exists. A happy, hopeful, youthful part of you that's been buried since you had your heart broken.

You sit together at dinner for a long time after you finish eating and even when you can't sit there any longer, you're still not ready to be away from him. He suggests a drink somewhere and you agree with a swiftness that you fear gives you away.

You like him. A lot.

He's still the sweet, funny boy you loved so long ago, just in the body of this charming and devilishly handsome man.

You decide to take him back to the Amerikanisch for drinks. It's familiar and you know everyone that works there. You sit at your table together and continue your conversation from before. At one point, he says something really funny and you put your hand on his on the table. He stops laughing and looks at you longingly. You let him take your hand and hold it, running his thumb over your knuckles softly. Your heart beats faster and you start to wish that you were somewhere other than a crowded club so he could kiss you if he wanted to. And something tells you that he wants to. The spell is broken, though, when his friends come in and see you together. He gets up to take them to a different table.

"I'll be right back, Birdie." He uses your nickname again and you wish it didn't make you melt all over again.

As soon as he's gone, Maryann joins you at your table.

"You need to watch out for that one."

"For Tulsa? No, I've known him for a long time. He's not that kind of guy."

"Yeah, well, his buddies sure think he is." She tells you about what she and the other girls noticed last night.

"Just be careful, okay? I'd hate to see you become some kind of trophy for him." You nod and look over at him at the table with the other soldiers. You can't let yourself forget he's one of them.

******

"What are you guys doing here?"

"We had a feeling you'd be here with y/n and we wanted to come check on your progress. And even if you weren't, Cookie wanted to come see his waitress."

"Check my progress? I told y'all that's not what this is. You're about to ruin the whole thing." Tulsa raises his voice slightly to let them know he's serious. Cookie's waitress comes by and he disappears to follow her to the bar. The rest of the guys agree to back off, so Tulsa makes his way back over to you. There's another girl sitting with you, though, and he recognizes her as the one who gave him your address.

"Thanks again for helping me find her...?"

"Maryann. Nice to meet you. I've been hearing a lot about you in the last ten minutes." She stands up and lets him sit back down. As she walks away, she gestures to you that she's watching.

"What was that all about?"

"Oh, nothing really. She just worries about me since..." You trail off, not really wanting to talk about why.

"Since what?"

"Since Mike." Tulsa looks uncomfortable and brings his eyebrows together in a frown.

"Who is Mike?" You don't want to, but you feel safe with Tulsa, so you tell him the whole story. How you let him take you out, let him convince you to fall in love with him, let him make you believe he wanted to marry you, let him have you. When you get to the last part, Tulsa looks away from you, obviously affected. The thought of you with another man makes him sick to his stomach. The thought of that man hurting you fills him with rage. He suddenly wishes Mike was around, so he could punch him in the face and then take you in his arms and protect you.

"That's why you don't trust soldiers." You nod, not wanting to let the tears that have gathered in your eyes find a way to fall. He's dying to put his arm around you and comfort you. He wants to wipe the tears from your eyes and make sure you never cry again. But you're still in the middle of a crowded club.

"Do you wanna get out of here?" He asks, trying to sound as genuine as possible. You look over to his table of friends hesitantly. He looks down at his hands, frustrated by the fact that they've made you nervous. He'd give anything not to be wearing this stupid uniform right now.

"Yes." He looks up at you, pleasantly surprised. You decide to trust him, despite everything. He stands up and puts his hand out for you to take, so you grab your coat and wrap your fingers through his. At your touch, his heart skips a beat. This might be more than just rekindling a friendship.

******

When you get outside the club, the cold wind hits you and you shiver. Tulsa puts his arm around you, and you let him, warmth spreading through you.

The only place you can think of to go is back to your house. You recognize that this might send the wrong message, but you're not exactly sure that is the wrong message at this point.

Once you're in the car, Tulsa asks where you want to go.

"Home."

"Oh. Okay." He thinks you mean without him. You scoot close to him in the front seat and put your head on his shoulder.

"I want you to come with me." He tries to hide his excitement and fails, but instead of being annoyed, you think it's really cute. He puts the car in drive and you make your way back to your house.

Thankfully, the house is dark when you get there. You weren't looking forward to explaining to your father why Tulsa was coming upstairs with you. Instead, you both take off your shoes and walk as quietly as possible until you reach the safety of your apartment.

As soon as you close your bedroom door, you both burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. You're grown adults sneaking around like teenagers. He sets his hat down on your dresser while you take your coat off. You stand there for a while, staring at each other in silence. Then, slowly, carefully, he reaches out and puts his hand on your cheek, brushing it softly with his thumb. You close your eyes and lean into his palm. Your heart is beating so fast and your eyes flutter open to meet his blue ones. They're soft and calm, like the ocean on a still day. As he leans in, your fingers begin to tingle. When his soft lips finally meet yours, a tidal wave of desire washes over you and you're filled with a need for him to touch every inch of you. The same wave seems to hit him as well because he moves his hands from your face to your waist, pulling your hips in close to him as you throw your arms around his neck. Your lips part and he slides his tongue into your mouth to dance with yours. You feel your body heat up as he presses against you, kissing you passionately.

After a few minutes of being locked together like this, he pulls back from your lips and looks into your eyes again.

"Is this really what you want, Birdie? I don't want you to feel like I'm forcing you into anything." You think for a second. If this continues, you know you won't be able to stop yourself from falling for him. But do you want to stop? Tulsa isn't like the others. He knows you. And even if he is leaving in a few months, you've found each other once before. Who's to say you won't do it again? You're ready to stop being scared. And three months with him sounds better than a lifetime with Mike.

"Yes, this is what I want. You are what I want, Tulsa." He dives back into the kiss and never looks back. You walk backwards towards your bed, pulling his tie off and starting to unbutton his shirt. He finishes your work and drops it on the floor, his lips never moving from yours. His hands move to the back of your dress, finding the zipper and carefully pulling it down to the small of your back. As he runs his hands back up to your shoulders, his fingers graze the skin that was under your dress and the electricity is palpable. You wiggle your shoulders as he slides the top half of your dress off. He kisses down your neck to your shoulder and each place he presses his lips burns with a newfound heat. You push your dress down over your hips and let it fall to the floor with his shirt. He slides the tips of his fingers under your slip and pushes it down too. Then, he pulls back and looks at you standing there in your garter belt, hose, bra, and panties.

"Wow." You blush a little with his burning gaze moving up and down your body and move to cover yourself with your hands.

"You don't have to hide from me, baby." He gently moves your hands away from you and you start to feel more comfortable. His presence is comforting, even as you stand there nearly naked. You take a moment to look down his body, running your hands from his shoulders down to the waistline of his pants. That's when you notice that his dick is hard, pressing against the fabric of his pants dramatically. You look up into his eyes and he looks away and clears his throat like he's embarrassed. You put one hand on his cheek and softly move his face back to making eye contact with you. Then you take your other hand and touch him over his pants, rubbing up and down his dick carefully.

"Mmm." His eyes close and his hips buck forward into your hand. He is desperate for your touch, just as you are for his. He moves his hands up and down your sides and then finds the back of your garter belt with his fingers. He undoes the hooks and then sits you down on the edge of the bed. Kneeling down in front of you, he slowly unclips your hose and drops the belt to the floor. Then, he gently rolls your hose down each of your legs, lifting each ankle to his lips and pressing a kiss there. He kisses each of your knees and then pushes them apart to kiss the inside of each thigh. As he gets closer and closer to your center, you feel your arousal begin to gather in your panties. He stops before he gets there, though, and stands up. You lean forward and unbutton his pants.

"Wait, honey." He puts his hands on yours and stands there looking down at you, breathing heavily. He wants to savor this moment with you. He's been with women before, but something about this feels like another kind of first time. It's a little overwhelming and he wants to make sure it doesn't move too quickly. He looks at you sitting there in just your bra and panties. You might be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Even his imagination didn't do you justice. Is this what it feels like to be in love?

"Should I... should I put on pajamas or something?" You look around the room, assuming something about you must have turned him off, despite his continuing erection. He sits next to you on the bed.

"Oh, no, honey--"

"You don't like me?" You look at him with tears in your eyes. You didn't realize it mattered to you so much, but now you know. You so desperately want him to want you, to like you, to love you the way you've realized you've always loved him.

"Don't like you?! Baby, I-I... well... to hell with it... I love you." Your eyes snap up to meet his.

"Y-you do?"

"Aw, hell. Yes, y/n I do. I always have." He searches your face for some kind of reassurance that he's not alone in this.

"I love you too..." you whisper it, but it's enough for him. He puts his hands on your face and pulls you into a deep kiss. He lays you back on the bed, running his hand down your body. He kisses down your neck, whispering "I love you" in between each kiss. His hand makes its way to your center and he moves your panties to the side, sliding his finger up your slit to the place that makes your back arch and a moan escape your lips. He smiles at how easily you come undone in his hands. After a few second of this, he slips one finger into you and then two. The feeling of some part of him inside you is enough to drive you to the edge. He sits up on his knees and slides your panties down and off. Then he climbs in between your legs and pushes his fingers back into you, moving them in and out rhythmically. You're overcome by the sensation of his hands on you and the intense emotions that are running through you. He loves you. But more importantly, you love him. Everything physical that's happening is just an expression of that and you never want it to end. Just as you think you're going to lose control, he lowers his mouth onto you and adds his tongue to the movements he's already making. You gasp and it doesn't take long for your orgasm to build up and crash over you like waves on a beach, over and over again out to the edges of your body and back again.

"Oh, yes, Tulsa!" You cry out as you shudder and pulse around his fingers. He sits up on his knees and finally lets you undo his pants, kicking them and his underwear off quickly. He unhooks your bra and literally throws it to the side. Now, it's like he can't move fast enough. He needs to be inside you as soon as possible. You help him with this task, lining him up with your entrance before he pushes into you hard and deep.

"Oh shit." He moans. "You feel so good, Birdie." When he uses your nickname again you whimper and kiss his neck. He begins to pump in and out of you and both of you begin to sweat. You feel him inside you, hitting all of your most sensitive places. The rhythm he keeps is not too fast or too slow, his hips pressing into yours and driving him deeper inside you. You can't believe how good he feels like this. But you want to repay him for the pleasure he gave you at the start, so you push him off of you and lay him on his back next to you. He follows directions easily, waiting patiently for you to straddle him and lower yourself onto him. Groaning with the change in sensation of having you on top of him, he reaches up and cups both of your breasts while you bounce. The picture that you make, sitting there on top of him, drives him absolutely crazy.

"God, you're beautiful." He moves his hands to your hips and starts to thrust into you deeply. You roll your hips to meet his over and over, your hands on his chest. His eyes roll back and close as his mouth is opened partially. The look of pleasure that he has makes you want to keep doing this forever. His arousal fuels your own as you continue to grind against him.

"Yes, don't stop!" You moan again as another orgasm builds inside you, starting in your abdomen and spreading through your legs.

"I'm gonna come, baby." He opens his eyes and tries to watch the expression on your face, but he's overwhelmed by his own ecstatic pleasure as you reach your climax together. You feel his warmth inside you and know it's risky, but you don't care. In that moment, the only thing that matters is you and him together, bodies intertwined and breathing heavily, your skin pressed against his. You lay on his chest and he wraps his arms around you and kisses your hair.

"Birdie, that was..."

"...everything." You look up at him from your position on his chest. You've never felt anything like this before, emotionally or physically. You gently run your fingertip down the line of his nose and he grabs your fingers and kisses them. The intimacy between you goes beyond the simplicity of sex. You belong to each other.

Eventually, you get up to go to the bathroom, thinking about everything that just happened. It seems like fate that you would run into each other again. And after what just happened, you don't ever want to let him go.

When you get back to the bedroom, he gestures for you to come lay beside him. He's under the covers now; it looks like he doesn't want to go anywhere either. It's fine by you that he stays. You wish he could stay forever. That's when you remember that he's leaving in 3 months.

"Tulsa, what are we gonna do?"

"About what, honey?"

"You're only here for a little while." You crawl into the bed and snuggle up against him. He's not worried about anything, though. In his mind, he's going to buy a ring tomorrow.

"Come back to Oklahoma with me." He says it matter-of-factly. You think about what that would mean, leaving your job and your friends and your family behind. But you've moved so many times before. And this time, you wouldn't be moving away from somewhere, you'd be moving towards a home with him.

"Okay. I'll go home with you. I'm not sure how my father will feel about me moving without--"

"--a ring on your finger? Let me worry about that part." He makes his crooked smirk-smile and you kiss his cheek.

"I trust you..."

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I wasn't sure if anyone would want to be tagged, since this is technically not an Elvis fic...

[hiskillingjar]

The German Stare

Relationship: Strade/Reader Rating: Explicit Contains: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Canon-Typical Violence, Non-Consensual Bondage, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Masturbation Length: 1700+ words

Summary: "In Germany, intense eye contact is a daily occurrence – to such an extent that expats and visitors have dubbed it The German Stare." AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42198930

"You're not very good at keeping eye contact, are you?"

You were halfway into your second drink (you had insisted on buying the next round and he didn't protest) when Strade broke up the idle small talk with his observation, a quirked, almost teasing smile on his face, like he was telling a good joke.

Your own face went red as you, ironically, immediately looked down at your clasped hands around your beer bottle.

"Oh, I'm not?" You said casually, offhandedly, attempting to shake his comment off as if you'd never been told that before. As if it was entirely new information that hadn’t been repeated by teachers and guidance counselors.

"Mmhmm." He mumbled around his own beer bottle as he took another drink. "Your eyes go all over the place. Up, down, to the side, down again!" He laughed, not unkindly, and rested an elbow on the bar, his cheek against his loose fist. Still staring you down so casually, like his very gaze didn't burn a hole in your core and make your entire body on edge and alert. "Anywhere but my eyes. Why is that?"

Your mouth went dry. He kept staring.

"I guess it's a little intimidating. And kind of intimate, ya know." You admitted with a shrug and an awkward-sounding chuckle, tapping your fingernails against the beer bottle and tearing at the label (a restless habit to stop the rest of your body from fidgeting). "And I'm not really used to, um..." You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, still not willing to turn entirely and meet his unrelenting stare. "Speaking so intimately with people I just met, I suppose."

That was the best explanation you could manage. 

You thought it best not to recite the DSM-5 to a potential first date.

"Aw. It’s sweet that it’s so intimate to you." The teasing smile came to his lips again, and his eyes softened with endearment (and what you would now recognize as poorly concealed lust and sadistic intrigue). "Though it does hurt my feelings a little that you’re not comfortable being intimate with me yet. How about we give it a try together?"

"Huh?"

"Come on, it'll be good for you!" He insisted enthusiastically, sitting forward in his bar seat, bringing his body closer to yours. Still staring. "Think of it like a drinking game, ja? You just have to keep your eyes on mine to win."

You attempted to swallow past your dry mouth.

"...Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of intense?"

“All the time.” He said with a charming laugh that made his nose scrunch endearingly and his smile lines dimple. “But I'm sure you can do it if you try." Any teasing quality to his smile turned into one that beamed with pride and encouragement, and you couldn't deny that you felt more inclined to listen to him.

Without another word of rebuttal, you nodded your head reluctantly.

“Brav hund.” He said with a satisfied nod (you didn’t know what he said, and didn’t think to ask), before he held up two fingers (his fingernails were slightly grubby, you noticed, but you didn’t mind at the time) and gestured them towards his eyes.

Compelled by the game, you finally met them with your own. 

They were warm and inviting, the color and sticky depth of honey, and shined with a kind of peculiar intrigue that was typically reserved for school boys up to no good. 

The corners of them crinkled handsomely as they shined even brighter. 

"Just keep your eyes..."

-

"On me."

The whirling drill bit was pressed deep into your thigh, spitting out a splutter of blood and shredded muscle as it relentlessly span inside you, tearing skin and flesh. 

You didn't even try to suppress the sound that lurched from your throat, the scream, the wretched wail of agony that barely sounded human, as your body involuntarily folded in on itself, straining against ropes and zip ties. As if you were trying to shy away from the pain and contain it within yourself, despite the petering sobs that were now tumbling from your lips as the drill continued to whir deeper and deeper.

“Stop, stop, stop, please!” You screamed as a vicious spasm wracked through your body, shaking the chair that you were bound to.

You thought you were going to be sick when you heard the splintering crunch of bone and felt a similarly splintering ricochet of pain shooting through every nerve as if you were on fire.

"Wow, it’s like you're not even trying!"

Strade yanked the still spinning drill bit from your thigh, wrenching out more shredded muscle and another pained shriek and string of desperate sobs from your lips. 

“It’s really not that hard to keep eye contact with someone, you know.” He said, rolling his eyes and giving the drill a few idle spins to dislodge the cartilage from its groves (making you heave as you saw it fall and crumble at his feet). “It’s actually kind of rude that you won’t. It’s a sign of respect.”

You could barely hear what he was saying, the pain in your thigh was so intense. Your head drooped down heavily between your legs, straining at your bonds, as you tried to steady your breathing and make the pain subside, even slightly.

“Even now…”

Crossing the basement with a short sigh, as if he had a reason to be irritated or annoyed with you, he then pressed the fingers of his free hand into your tangling, sweat-drenched hair and wrenched your head up forcefully, painfully, forcing you to make eye contact with him again.

"Hey buddy," He said, his voice a teasing lilt, a dangerously amused smirk spreading on his face as he brought it closer to your own (that was flushed red and sticky with tears, snot, and spittle down your chin). "You're not listening to me, are you?"

"Please, I-I’ll pay you anything..." You mumbled, trying to pull away from his grasp (or at the very least, lessen the pain just a little, though you only succeeded in making him pull tighter. "Please let me go."

"Come on, don't give up on me so soon!" Strade said almost cheerfully, completely ignoring what you had said, though his grip on your hair was unrelenting. "Oh, what a letdown. You know, I really thought so highly of you back at the bar.” His other hand, the one still clutching the drill, rested on your opposite thigh, the heavy battery weighing down on your weak frame. “I thought 'yes, this one won't break on me as quickly as the others have. This one will be a, uh, a keeper!'" 

He tilted his head, his eyes slightly narrowed.

Still staring down at you, like he was examining a medical specimen underneath him.

Though if you knew his type, and you generally did, that was probably nothing medical about any sort of invasive examination he had planned.

"Was I wrong, liebling?” He asked, his voice dangerously quiet as the drill on your thigh turned and the metal bit was pressed threateningly into your other thigh. “Are you already broken?"

You attempted to swallow past your dry mouth in lieu of a spoken answer, your lip quivering as you fought hard to keep your eyes on his, the still drill bit a looming threat as it pressed deeper into your flesh. 

You shook your head curtly. You weren't broken, not yet.

"Good." He praised. "Now, how about we try again with something new, then?" He then offered, a slow grin coming to his face, suddenly removing the drill from your leg and raising it to your eye level. He even gave it a little wave, like he was joking around and playing a prank on you. "If I promise to put the drill away, hm?"

You blinked wide eyes at him, waiting for him to laugh, take back what he said, and start up the sick cycle of pain again.

It took a moment for you to find the nerve to speak.

"Y-You promise?" You murmured, cringing inwardly at how small and helpless your voice sounded.

"Promise." He replied with a nod.

When you nodded back at him, he let out a short, satisfied chuckle and stepped away from your bound body to place the drill back on the workbench. When you looked closely, you noticed that a trickle of blood, your blood, had run down the hard, yellow plastic and was now pooling on the wood.

You wanted to be sick, but you wouldn't dare give him the satisfaction of it.

"Brav hund," He said, repeating what he had said in the bar, before he approached you again, giving you a few affectionate taps on the cheek before pressing his hand in your hair again. Though this time he allowed you to keep your gaze down instead of forcing it up to meet his eyes again, granting you that small, merciful relief for just a moment. "I knew you'd make the right decision."

His free hand then went down to the crotch of his trousers, pale khaki slacks that were now speckled with a splutter of blood, and unzipped them.

He wasn’t wearing underwear (god, he wasn’t wearing underwear), so you could immediately see that his thick cock, nestled beneath a dark patch of hair, was hard and straining underneath his trousers, and he gripped it loosely with a short grunt of pleasure. When you quickly looked back up at him, your eyes wide and disbelieving, he was still staring you down, his gaze hazy and lecherous, a sick grin on his face and his tongue between his teeth as he loosely jerked himself off in front of you.

“Keep your eyes on me now, then.” He said finally, his voice already husky and low with subdued pleasure. “And if you can’t, I’ll put that drill,” He nodded to the workbench, before idly tapping the space between your eyebrows with the tip of his thumb. “Between them. Du verstehst, ja?”

Once again, lost for words, all you could manage was a few quick nods that he laughed unkindly at before he kept going.

Never stopping, never stalling or hesitating.

Always staring.

[onwriting-hrarby]

i didn't realize i was being flirted with and the guy didn't speak my language - on speaking a minority language

hey folks, i hope you're fine! this week i have been going into cafés and bookshops and trying to tackle a little bit of writing. i always seem to flow better at those spaces, when i'm not home, as if my time was somehow more restricted and i had to make it worth it.

something happened on one of my outings, though. aside of not being able to write because a guy wanted to talk to me (and at that time, i thought he really wanted to talk to me. only when i explained it to other people i realized he might be flirting, which is sad, because we talked about writing and literature and it might have all been a bluff... anyways. i gave him my email and instagram cause i thought he was genuine but now i'm hesitant to answer, truly. i am so naive. look, i haven't been flirted with for 13 years. i don't realize these things.), this same guy was working on the café i was on. and so i approached and asked him, in my language: could you watch my bag while i go to the toilet?

and he looked at me, almost glaring, took out one of his buds from his ear, and said: "ENGLISH?"

Like, not even a "please". Not even "I don't understand". He requested English just like this. Just like... it was easy.

Some of you may know that I speak a minority language in a country that has TWO official languages: mine and Spanish. Not English, mind you. We know English because we learn it at school, same as fucking French.

Thing is: We can't speak our minority language anymore. I mean, we can, but people don't understand us. The policy of coming to our country is that everyoen is free to come (and everyone is! thank god for that) but that means that people learns the bigger language, which is Spanish. And, look, I mean, I could understand that. Maybe it's ignorance, maybe it's because it's easier, and a lot of people already know Spanish when they come, so why do they care about learning for a smaller language? (Well, then they'll record videos saying that we are not welcoming, that it's difficult to have relationships or friendships with people... I mean... You're forcing me to change my language but.) The thing is: Waiters don't understand us, people from shops, in the fUCKING DOCTOR i can't speak my language. And I'm not bilingual. I don't have the same ability with one language or another, because I speak my native tongue much more than I do Spanish. When I go to therapy, I need to ask beforehand if they speak my language.

Anyway, the thing is WE ARE LOSING OUR LANGUAGE and people that come here don't really care about it. Okay, globalisation, capitalisation, economisation.Fucking whatever.

But we have been living an age when there's also a lot of expats. And I mean A LOT. And they all use English as a common language and that's so... DISRESPECTFUL. Learn the fucking language of the country you're going to. They do this in all the countries they go, though. I get angry when Spanish people don't learn my language, because they would fucking learn portuguese if they went to Portugal, right? Or Germany. But Spanish is an official language, so I can understand their reasons. But to pressupose that people know English EVERYWHERE in the world... it's another level. It's so fucking disrespectful.

Honestly, I don't know why I engaged in conversation with him. He had just moved here (no knowledge of nothing, not even the neighbourhoods in the city. He wanted the experience. Okay) and I found him interesting because I always find people interesting. But I should have told him: NO ENGLISH. NO FUCKING ENGLISH. I'M NOT ENGAGING IN SOMEONE WHO MOVES BUT DOESN'T CARE TO LEARN MY LANGUAGE.

I've had enough. So disrespectful.

[handweavers]

It can work like that - there are technical definitions for "expat" and "immigrant" that don't necessarily = how they are used colloquially by people from country to country. Expat is short for 'expatriate' which just means 'someone who leaves their country of origin to live elsewhere', whereas immigrant means 'someone who moves to a foreign country to live permanently.' So all immigrants are expats but not all expats are immigrants.

Like in your example, if you wanted to talk about Germans who move overseas regardless of where they move to or why or how long, you could say "German expats." But if you are talking about Germans who move to the UK permanently they are immigrants.

In a similar vein, someone who moved away from Germany is an emigrant, someone who moved to Germany is an immigrant. It's a small contextual thing. Put another way: if I'm talking about people who leave a country, they are emigrating from that country. If I'm talking about people who move to a country, they are immigrating to that country. Ex. "People emigrating from Ireland" VS "People immigrating to Ghana"

However, these words aren't necessarily used that way in casual/daily speech, where they take on cultural associations that imply things like race, national origin, economic class, etc. These associations vary from country to country but speaking about Southeast Asia as a region (because that is what I'm familiar with), people from the global north who move to Southeast Asia whether temporarily or permanently are usually called "expats", and "expat communities" have specific connotations that are very different from those of "immigrant communities" which is what I'm talking about in this post. The literal definitions of these words have additional meaning here. A Westerner living in Southeast Asia will very rarely if ever be called an immigrant, even if that's what they are on paper, because that word is not associated with Westerners. This is the case elsewhere, in varying degrees/ways, in Central and South America as well as in Africa. The specific ways these terms vary from country to country in these regions I'm less familiar with.

Further, in the West, when people talk about 'immigrants' in a political sense they usually are not talking about other Westerners - this varies, of course, depending on the country's concept of 'Western-ness' as well as xenophobia, racism, and classism. Ex. my white Irish grandfather who moved to Canada has never been called an immigrant but my Malaysian Indian father has. My white Canadian mother who moved to Malaysia is called an expat but my father who moved to Canada is called an immigrant. These words clearly have political meanings outside of their technical definitions.

the dichotomy between the "immigrant" (someone from the global south who moves to the north) and the "expat" (someone from the global north who moves to the south) makes me feel fucking crazy. a white person who moves to asia is an expat but an asian who moves to the west is an immigrant. & how those terms are politicized and assigned class statuses, like the word "immigrant" tends to imply a blue collar worker (even if that isn't the case) while "expat" implies a white collar worker. the associations with "expat neighbourhoods" in asian countries is very very different from those of "immigrant neighbourhoods" in western nations. also how "immigrants" who dont assimilate are seen as "failing" and bad, lower class, a burden on society, etc. whereas "expats" not assimilating into local culture is expected and viewed as a sign of their higher status. the double standards are so insane

[movetogermanywithease]

Discover the detailed job seeker visa Germany requirements for applying for a work visa in Germany! Learn the necessary qualifications to work and live in Germany. Get started now!

[krispyweiss]

Album Review: Dan Reeder - Smithereens

Hilarious in the days prior to Nov. 5, Dan Reeder’s “Fun campfire song” is suddenly more ominous for listeners in the United States.

Oh, the government can execute you/they can put you up against the wall and shoot you/they can gas you/or electrocute you/they can strap you down and lethally inject/you/three, four, he sings on one of the 27 short, lower-case tracks that make up Smithereens, a 45-minute tour de farce from the singular musician.

The LP is typically twisted Reeder fare, with songs - often featuring wordless refrains of stacked vocals - about living 1,000 years ago (“Hunt a little”), doing nothing (“Fuck off”), getting dumped (“52 years ago”) and diffusing a bomb at the airport as described in “Sex is still a mess.”

Reeder is a sick fuck. And that’s why so many musicians love him and why John Prine signed him to Oh Boy Records more than two decades ago.

Reeder’s “Work Song” has for years served as the walk-off music at Todd Snider gigs and Fruition, boygenius and Carsie Blanton all play his songs. He’s an American expat in Germany who makes his own instruments and plays and sings every part on his records.

While this can result in similarly among tracks, Reeder is one of those artists who sounds like nobody else, with his breathy, old-man voice spewing expletives and making musical jokes that would make most comedians jealous. And he throws a couple of curveballs on Smithereens as on the finger-snapping doo-wop of “Ma baby” and his frenetic dance/Bruce Springteen tribute “Hungry Heart,” the only cut that doesn’t really sound like a Dan Reeder song even as Dan Reeder sings:

What’d he say/about a hungry heart/everybody got one

Grade card: Dan Reeder - Smithereens - B+

11/18/24

[indietalent2coms]

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[farawayhomesblog]

Furnished Apartments in Frankfurt: The Ideal Choice for Flexible and Comfortable Stays

When planning a visit to Frankfurt, Germany, whether for business, study, or leisure, finding the right accommodation can be a challenge. Furnished apartments in Frankfurt provide a convenient and practical solution, offering flexibility, comfort, and a true home-away-from-home experience. Whether you're staying for a few weeks or several months, renting a furnished apartment in Frankfurt can make your time in the city more enjoyable and stress-free.

What Are Furnished Apartments in Frankfurt?

Furnished apartments in Frankfurt are fully equipped living spaces, ready for immediate occupancy. Unlike traditional rentals, which may require tenants to bring their own furniture, furnished apartments in Frankfurt come with all the essentials: beds, sofas, tables, chairs, kitchen appliances, and often additional features such as linens, towels, and kitchenware. This means you can move in right away, saving you the time and hassle of purchasing or arranging furniture.

Why Opt for Furnished Apartments in Frankfurt?

1. Convenience and Comfort

One of the biggest advantages of furnished apartments in Frankfurt is the convenience they offer. Whether you're a business professional, an expat, or a student, these apartments are perfect for those seeking a comfortable living space without the long-term commitment or need to furnish a place. You can focus on what matters most—whether it’s work, studies, or exploring the city.

2. Cost-Effectiveness

While furnished apartments in Frankfurt may appear to have a higher monthly rent compared to unfurnished options, they can be more cost-effective for short-term stays. This is because utilities like water, electricity, and internet are often included, meaning you don't have to worry about setting up or paying for additional services. For those who are only in the city for a short time, furnished apartments save you the expense and hassle of buying or transporting furniture.

3. Flexibility

Another key benefit of furnished apartments in Frankfurt is the flexibility they offer. Many landlords provide flexible lease terms, which can range from a few weeks to several months. This is especially ideal for people who are in Frankfurt for temporary assignments, internships, or studies and don’t want to commit to a long-term rental contract.

4. Prime Locations

Frankfurt is a bustling metropolis with diverse neighborhoods, and furnished apartments in Frankfurt can be found in many of the city's most sought-after locations. Whether you're looking to stay in the vibrant city center, near the financial district, or in the quieter residential areas like Sachsenhausen or Westend, you're sure to find a furnished apartment that suits your needs and lifestyle.

Types of Furnished Apartments in Frankfurt

Depending on your requirements, furnished apartments in Frankfurt come in various sizes and configurations:

Studio Apartments: Perfect for solo travelers, these compact spaces combine the living, sleeping, and cooking areas into one open plan, making them an affordable and efficient option for short stays.

1-Bedroom Apartments: Ideal for couples or individuals who need a little extra space, 1-bedroom furnished apartments in Frankfurt offer a separate bedroom, living area, and fully-equipped kitchen.

2-Bedroom Apartments: For those traveling with family or needing extra space for work or guests, 2-bedroom furnished apartments offer more room, including larger living areas and sometimes additional bathrooms.

Luxury Apartments: If you’re looking for premium amenities and upscale living, luxury furnished apartments in Frankfurt offer high-end furnishings, fully modernized kitchens, spacious layouts, and additional perks like concierge services, fitness centers, and stunning views.

How to Find Furnished Apartments in Frankfurt

Finding furnished apartments in Frankfurt is straightforward, thanks to a variety of online platforms and rental agencies catering to both short-term and long-term stays. Websites such as Spotahome, Airbnb, HousingAnywhere, and ImmobilienScout24 feature listings of furnished apartments in Frankfurt across different price ranges and neighborhoods. Additionally, corporate rental services specialize in furnished apartments for business professionals, providing fully serviced accommodations with flexible lease terms.

Things to Consider When Renting Furnished Apartments in Frankfurt

Price: While furnished apartments in Frankfurt can be pricier than unfurnished options, keep in mind that most include utilities, which can make them a more affordable option in the long term.

Lease Terms: Ensure that the lease terms for your furnished apartment in Frankfurt meet your needs. Some landlords may have minimum stay requirements or impose restrictions on subletting.

Amenities: Check if the furnished apartment includes all the necessary amenities such as Wi-Fi, fully-equipped kitchen, heating/air conditioning, and other utilities. Some furnished apartments in Frankfurt may also offer extra services like cleaning or concierge.

Location: Consider the location of your furnished apartment in Frankfurt. You’ll want to be close to work, school, or transport hubs, as well as local amenities like grocery stores, restaurants, and cafes.

Insurance: Some landlords require renters to have renters' insurance for the duration of the lease. Be sure to ask about this before you sign any rental agreements for furnished apartments in Frankfurt.

Conclusion

Whether you’re in Frankfurt for a few weeks, months, or even a year, furnished apartments in Frankfurt offer the perfect blend of convenience, comfort, and flexibility. With a variety of options available, from affordable studios to luxury penthouses, these apartments provide an ideal living solution for anyone seeking a hassle-free stay in one of Europe’s most vibrant cities. So, if you're planning to move to Frankfurt or need a temporary home in the city, a furnished apartment in Frankfurt might just be the perfect choice for you.

[earthrelocationusa]

Top 5 Reasons Why Moving to Germany from the USA is Smart

Relocating to a new country is a major life decision that brings both excitement and challenges. For many US expats, moving to Germany from the USA presents an appealing opportunity due to Germany’s strong economy, rich cultural heritage, and high quality of life. Whether you’re seeking career advancement, a healthier work-life balance, or simply a new adventure, Germany offers a welcoming environment for expatriates.