#foreign!reader

[govnder]

hii duda!! i wanted to ask how theodore would be like with dating someone outside of the usual british hogwarts kids snd instead like korean, brazilian, vietnamese, etc. :)) i dont have anything specific but im curious abt he feels abt the food, the holidays, affection culture (me and my family aren’t affectionate cause we’re asian lol, but im super clingy and close with friends and partner!!)

theodore nott x foreigner!reader.

i believe theodore faced some prejudice when he first arrived at hogwarts—an outsider not by choice, but by origin. italian, not british. the judgmental and curious looks from kids in his own house (and all the others too, if we're being honest) nearly pushed theo towards a spiral of bullying. but theo already wore a hard shell at eleven, built from a childhood that forced him to grow quickly, combined with the unconditional support of mattheo—a boy a bit more violent than any other kid at his age should be, who received those same chauvinistic looks because of the person who brought him into the world. together, they made it clear that theodore was no boy to be mocked. and so, he eventually earned his place at hogwarts.

with that said, i think theo would subconsciously gravitate toward a foreign girl. who could understand an immigrant better than another immigrant?

you would understand him in ways that anyone ever could. better than anyone when it came to language barriers. even though both of you were very strong english speakers, some questions about prepositions—in, on, or at, please, which one now, for the love of god?—and uncommon words always sneak their ways into you. he’d help you with grammar, because theodore had always been exceptionally gifted at writing and understanding the logics of language, and you’d help him with his pronunciation, because his thick italian accent sometimes bothered him, no matter how many times you told him it was cute. step by gentle step, the two of you would climb your way to the top of the staircase of complete english fluency—or at least something close enough to it.

when it came to cuisine, theodore would try his best to step into your world, because cooking was one of the purest forms of love he knew. if you are from asia, for example, the flavors of seaweeds and exotic condiments would catch him off guard a bit, because they were uncommon from the western culture he grew up in; yet he’d discover tastes that reshaped his palate. if you are latina, theodore would be somewhat horrified by the variations of the typical italian dishes he was raised with—but he would fall in love with your cuisine all the same. mexican tacos, feijoada, brigadeiro, and the bright, intoxicating and alcoholic caipirinhas from brazil (because of course theodore would love the mix of alcohol and local fruits), argentine alfajores… he would savor them all. after a trip to meet your parents, he would definitely need to work out thrice as hard to lose the weight he gained from being spoiled by those he now loved.

theo would be tender—achingly respectful—when it came to clothing and physical touch. if you came from a more conservative cultural background, theo would adjust his clothes and behavior accordingly without hesitation, aiming for the highest respect. wherever in the world you were from, he’d honor your cultural etiquette and boundaries about affection that might be considered too intimate for public display; that part would be the hardest for him, because italians are naturally warm and expressive. still, he would never risk to cross a line—and honestly, he’s terrified of appearing a poorly raised boy. during your holidays, theo would strictly follow the guidelines he read online about your country with comical seriousness, but once the festivities began, everything would simply come naturally to him. like a chameleon, he’d blend in among your relatives, and if his heavy accent weren’t so obvious, maybe one day he could even pass as one of them.

wherever you came from, theodore would do everything he could to integrate himself into your culture—and bring you into his. he would love learning about your customs and traditions, absorb your stories and seek, always, to know you more deeply.

[riga-rigas]

Snotlout x DragoBludvists’Daughter!Reader

Pt.2

Pt.1 <- lore Pt.3 <- pure NSFW

You’d landed on this small uninhabited island with the other dragon riders. It was only day three of traveling and you could already feel the sharp air creeping in on you. Where you lived with your father was relatively warmer, and from what you’d heard Fishlegs rambling on about Berk was a rather harshly cold place. Not entirely though, just right of course.

Your hair was still damp due to bathing in the large hot spring you all wondered upon. And it was the best thing you’d ever experienced. Obviously you had baths in your father’s castle but you weren’t allotted much time for personal pampering. It was always work.

Ruffnut sat behind you, leaning against her dragon as she braided your hair intricately, adding little beads here and there. She was talking your ear off while you cut up special little herbs and vegetables that only grew in your part of the archipelago. A fire boiling a large pot brimming with salivating vegetable stock and cooked meat.

Everyone was eyeing it with curious gazes and rumbling stomachs. They’d all been eating their rations of dense bread and uncut vegetables they’d packed for the long journey, so a hot meal was something they didn’t know they needed until it was taunting their noses.

“So uhm. *Name*, what a-what flavors do you usually get out of the spices from your island?” Fishlegs said abruptly, breaking everyone’s empty conversations and putting the focus on you. “I mean of course Berk has simple spices like thyme and wood avens root but I mean what do you get out of these spices that you can’t get from the basics?” He asked curiously.

You we’re ready to answer, being a very well versed botanist and herbalist due to having to cook and make medicine for your father (he truly believed anyone else would poison him or try and kill him). But you were interrupted by the sudden figure blocking your vision, or father figures. Tuffnut and Belch were leaning over you and Ruffnut to look at you upside down. “What he means to say is, when will the food be ready.” He quipped before Belch maneuvered them upright again and back to their original position.

“What-No! That’s not what I was saying at all!?” Fishlegs tried desperately to defend himself but was betrayed by the growl of his stomach.

You laughed, a real laugh, and stood up after feeling Ruffnut tie of the end of the braid she’s been working on. “Well technically the soup can be done now,” you say as you scrape the chopped herbs and vegetables in the cauldron. “But the flavor of the add-ins just might not be as prominent-” you weren’t allowed to finish as the fire pit was instantly crowded by the hungry group.

You just stepped back and watched everyone get their share, smiling when even Astrid seemed to abandon her timid demeanor and eat to her heart’s content. You walked over and leaned against your own dragon, sliding down slowly agains him before plopping on the ground. It felt so nice. It was as if you felt finally able to release all the love you’d pushed deep down when you were locked away in that damed castle.

You were snapped out of your heart eyed trance trained on your new group of friends by a heavy thud right next to you. Snotlout. You’d felt his gaze on you since he entered your father’s castle. He really was quite handsome, but his ego dulled his attractiveness just a little. But his blind kindness made up for that.

He’d gotten you a bowl of soup and gently placed in your lap, situating himself and his own bowl before breaking the silence. “Just an fyi, I love a woman who cooks,” he said with a smirk that you knew in your mind he thought made him look irresistible. Which made you burst out laughing. Open mouth cackling as you friend not to spill your food on you. “Oh wow you’re funny,” you say with an exhale as you wipe a tear from your eye. “Heh, yeah, I get that a lot,” he said with confidence, not even acknowledging your laughing fit directed at him.

You both sat like that for about an hour, everyone settling in and just relaxing. Something you’d all not have been able to do since you left your homeland. You’d actually had some pretty nice conversations with Snotlout, and you’d learned he’d thought pretty highly of himself. But that’s okay, he was able to back it up about 25% of the time, which was good enough.

You’d stood up with a groan, walking around the campsite and picking up everyone’s dishes and going to rinse them off in the hot spring so you can put them back in your large traveling trunk. And of course Snotlout insisted on helping(following) you. Trying to continue your previous conversation.

“So you said something about fighting right? You must be highly trained, right? I mean come on, we all know who your dad was, what all do you know how to do?” He asked you as you were drying off a clean bowl with the edge of your clothes. “It would probably be easier if I showed you,” you said mindlessly. Implying that you could teach him what you’d learned.

But oh boy that’s not how he took it.

You had stood up, patting yourself off after kneeling on the ground. “Pfff, that a challenge lady?” He said with a smile as he raised his brow. You really had meant to correct yourself, tell him that’s not what you meant and offer an apology. But all it took was a glance to see that that’s what he wanted, that’s what he expected, so why not give it to him.

Snotlout doesn’t remember much, just a blur of sky and ground and the unpleasant feeling of water up his nose. Hot water. You’d thrown him into the spring once he’d thrown and good punch or two your way. And in any other circumstance, he’d be utterly embarrassed, angry and upset at the humiliating sound of his friend’s laughter at him. But no, all he could focus on was you, you and your strength. It was as if your figure was surrounded with a pink hue and floating hearts. He was in sooooo much trouble now.

•.° •.° •.° •.°•

The next morning everyone took off at dawn when the sun had just barely began to peek over the horizon. If you all moved efficiently, you’d be in Berk by early sunset. And you were.

And Berk was even better than you could’ve hoped for. Dragons galore, ones you’d never even seen before. Tiny little cute ones and round fat ones that served no other purpose than just being house pets or little assistants. You saw foreign merchants selling exotic clothing and jewelry on their traveling caravan dragons and little shops for anything you could possibly need. The stone path worn by heavy foot traffic of people who were free to do as they pleased when they pleased. It was so foreign, yet so beautiful.

You were introduced to Gobber, the one who’d end up teaching you how to do the basic things for yourself rather than for others. You were never taught to mend leather, your father had subordinates for that, but now you could choose to learn how to mend leather, and make swords, and clothing, and jewelry. It was all so much fun.

“Well, you’re a beautiful lass ain’t ya?!” You heard Gobber shout as you had approached him with Hiccup. “Why thank you,” you said sweetly as you looked down at the shorter man. “When Hiccup told me he was going to visit Dragos’ daughter I’d called him a fool, but seems to me it was all worth it!” He said with gleaming fervor as you two began to talk as if you were old friends meeting up again.

Then there was Gothi. You’d met her a few days after being in Berk, and it only took so long because Hiccup and Fishlegs had an ‘a-hah!’ Moment in the dragon riders quarters once you began to spew out medical information like it was a typical hymn.

Her cottage was quaint and tiny and full of even tinier dragons. Hiccup and Fishlegs did you the honor of carrying your books to her house for you. They’d both been bragging and chatting about how excited she’d be to learn about all the things you’d written about and all the foreign plants you’d done medicinal research on. Oh boy and she definitely was.

At first she was confused, why were the dragon riders and this strange women dropping book after book into her house? “Hey Gothi! This is our new dragon rider!” Exclaimed Hiccup as he set down the stack of heavy books on the floor. “Hi there! I heard you’re the villages doctor and herbalist! I wanted to get to know you more and introduce you to all my research!” You said happily. Ogling at her abundant spice racks and her twine lined ceiling that held bundles or rare exotic herbs. She looked at you skeptically before glancing at the pile of books. She began to read the books titles, and gradually began to flip through a couple pages, and it wasn’t long before she had thanked you profusely before ushering you all out so she could read in peace.

•.° •.° •.° •.°•

And last but certainly not least. You’d met Spitelout. It was in the Mead hall. It was your first real time you’d been in there since you’d arrived on Berk. You’d just gotten somewhat settled in at your makeshift room at the headquarters with the help of Snotlout, so you treated yourself to an outing.

You don’t know how you spotted him, but you did. Snotlout, among the loud crowd and bustling tables, was sitting next to an older man that he was the spitting image of, except he’d looked a bit bummed out, bored even.

So you took it upon yourself to go sit with them. You’d squirmed your way between Snotlout and the guy sitting close to him, your shoulders shoved together as you watched Snotlouts face contort in all different kinds of emotions. Happiness first, then blush, most likely due to the close proximity, then, once it all set in, anxiety.

The table vibrated as an empty stein of beer slammed against the table, Spitelouts. He was drunk out of his mind, his cheeks rosy and his speech slurred. “My, look what my sons dragged in,” he said cheerfully as he waved his empty mug around and announced to all of his drinking buddies. “Quite the beautiful doll you are, pretty ladies can’t help but be attracted to my bloodline, that’s a fact,” he said as he and his friends erupted in laughter as Snotlout seemed to shy away from everything, he couldn’t even seem to look you in the eyes.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit brash to say to a lady you’ve just met? You haven’t even bought me a pour yet!” You say in a teasing way, trying to get a joke off but it didn’t really stick…Tough crowd…

Spitelout broke the silence with a hearty laugh, followed by his friend’s laughter. Apparently the joke did land. “Bartender, fetch the lass a mead on my tab won’t you!” And that’s how you ended up in a vicious drinking battle with one of your best friends’ father.

Somewhere along the way you’d somehow gotten Snotlouts helmet placed on your head, and your shoes had disappeared as well. You’d never even drank before, why were you even doing this? It was somewhat fair because Spitelout was already shitfaced when you’d had your first drink, but now? Oh boy everyone was out of it. You had just slammed down your sixth stein of beer, the one you’d managed to finish before Spitelout. Snotlouts arm was around you as he laughed uncontrollably and kissed your cheek in a drunken celebration. You wiped the bitter foam from your mouth as you obnoxiously pointed your finger in Spitelouts face and began to egg him on.

“You’re really gonna let a young lass beat you in a drink off?” You said lightheartedly, or so you thought. Maybe it was just the Jorgensen boys, or maybe you just had a bad way with words, but they always seemed to take your jokes a little bit too seriously.

“Like hell I would! I’d never let a woman beat me!” Spitelout said almost angrily, making the hand gesture for another round of mead. People continued laughing and held up conversations around you, but you were locked in a staring contest with Spitelout. “What’s so wrong with getting beat by a woman?” You ask a bit skeptically. “Are you serious, that’s embarrassing!” He yelled out “don’t get on your high horse woman because you’re out drinking a shitfaced Viking, a weak lady like you could never beat me, not even in a drinking contest!” He exclaimed. And it was as if everyone around you had felt the atmosphere change.the air charged with something unreadable. It was quiet.

Maybe it was the mead talking. Thinking back, it was absolutely the mead talking. You were over come by a sense of urgency, urgency to shut this man up. So without warning you lunged across the table, landing a blow on Spitelouts face, a good one, a really good one, followed by a few more.

The next morning was a blur, and so was the rest of the fight. You just remember waking up in the same bed as Snotlout. His arms clung to you as if you’d float away and his face was buried in your bare chest. Your hair messy and your knuckles aching. You and Snotlout woke up around the same time, only to both be startled by the figure of his father standing in his doorway with a brace made from a special technique you’d recognized from your books you’d lent to Gothi. You yanked the sheets up, covering your naked body. Spitelout looked like shit. He had a large black eye and a big cut on the bottom left corner of his jaw.

You’d hissed and expected the worst as you watched him approach you in Snotlouts bed swiftly. But before you or Snotlout could even get a plea out, you were enveloped in…a hug?

“Welcome to the family!” Spitelout shouted with a hoarse voice filled with something that could only be interpreted as love.

“Man the Jorgensen’s have always loved em feisty but you’re something else lass!” Spitelout shouted as Snotlout buried his face in his hands to hide his embarrassment. “Oh boy when you meet my wife you’ll know what I’m talking about, that being said when do ya think you’d want to move your stuff in?” Spitelout said abruptly.

“Wha-What?” You said confusingly. “Well no daughter of mine is sleeping a building away from dragon stables, that’s no living space fit for a Jorgensen!” He said happily as he patted your shoulder encouragingly.

“Wait dad-no, that not what-” Snotlout tried to interject but it was pointless. His dad had already made up his mind. “Oh no no don’t worry about moving your belongings in I’ve already hired a crew!” Spitelout said without much thought.

You and Snotlout were a bit speechless. The silence filled the room, not awkward, just, confused?

“Did…Did we sleep with each other?” Snotlout says, and you can almost feel the heat radiating from his red face. “Well I don’t think we got drunk and stripped just to cuddle.” You say without thought. Letting the sheets drop as you yawn out, not really giving anything much thought. Only to be interrupted by the harsh clash of Snotlouts lips on yours, again apparently. Needless to say it was a loooong morning.

All in one night, you’d beaten Snotlouts father up, slept with Snotlout, been accepted into the Jorgensen family, and you were now scheduled to move in with Snotlout most likely by the end of the day? What had you gotten yourself into?

•.° •.° •.° •.°•

Not a lot actually. Well, in retrospect, not a lot. You’d do your work as a dragon trainer and fly home with Snotlout, only to go and help his wonderful mother cook dinner for everyone. And Spitelout was right, you and his wife were so much alike, in the sense where you were both as brave and beautiful as they came.

Life only seemed to get better from there. You go to experience what it was like to be a girlfriend, a wife, a child to parents who adored you, and friends of people who loved you.

It makes you tear up every time you talk about how much you appreciate it all to Snotlout, his friends and his help and his support, all while he cradles you in your shared bed in the dim candle light.

You’d lost your father, but you’d gained your life.

[janesociety]

dinner party

marvel cast x teen!reader

summary: you decide to make the cast one of your family's traditional meals and worry about how they'll react.

warnings: none

notes: this is another old one, so, again, go easy

masterlist

✩ ✩ ✩

You were excited. It was finally your turn to make the cast dinner. Every week, someone volunteered to have dinner at their place with the rest of the cast. Sometimes they cooked, other times they ordered in, but it never really mattered to the cast.

You had been waiting for the right time to volunteer. You grew up in the States, but your parents didn't, which meant your home-cooked meals were rarely of the American variety. You really wanted to make something for the cast, but felt like you had to make sure you could do it right first. So you practiced- you practiced a lot.

Your parents were overjoyed that you were so enthusiastic about learning to make your culture's cuisine. They always wanted you to stay connected to it and you had never shown any interest before. You got the recipes and found the local markets that sold the right ingredients and attempted as many meals as you could. It wasn't just for the cast, you also loved the food and missed it while you were away filming, so the food made you less homesick.

The cast was originally surprised that you had volunteered and especially that you said you would be cooking.

"Just don't burn your apartment down, kid," Anthony had joked, elbowing your side.

You'd been a Marvel cast member since you were fairly young, so once you got a bit older and your parents got more comfortable with you being by yourself, you started renting out an apartment in Atlanta during filming. It was slightly bigger than you probably needed, but you were glad you had it at times like this so you could have the cast over.

On the day of the dinner, you went straight back to your apartment after shooting to make sure you could get everything pulled together in time. You made sure to make somewhat of a variety of foods so that if someone didn't like something, they could most likely find something else. After having cooked the meals so many times before in the past few weeks, it had become muscle memory as you frantically ran around your kitchen trying to make everything right.

When you could smell the first food in the oven, the normally delicious scent started to make you nervous. You worried about the cast not liking it. Most of them were American or at least Western European. Your mind raced with images of grade school when kids made fun of the way your lunch smelled.

At least they'll pretend to like it, you thought to yourself, knowing it was far too late to turn back now.

You were setting the table- which was actually your kitchen table and a folding table that you had borrowed from your building's lobby covered with a table cloth- when the doorbell rang. You quickly set down the plates you were setting out and rushed to the door.

Scarlett, Lizzie, and Chris Evans had arrived together, each of them greeting you as you entered your apartment.

"Take off your shoes!" you reminded them before rushing back into the dining area. You continued to set the table until you walked in and Lizzie started to help you, passing out utensils where you set plates.

"What smells so good?" Chris said, sniffing the air dramatically. You smiled, telling him the name of the dish.

"My parents used to make it home all the time- it's from our country," you explained. "All the food I made is, actually."

"Really?" Lizzie said, sounding genuinely interested. You smiled wider, happy they didn't seem weirded or grossed out. "You made all of it yourself too?"

"Yeah, it took some practice, but I got it," you answered. "I missed it so much too- you Americans know nothing about food." There was another knock at the door and Chris ran to go get it.

Before you knew it, the entire cast that could make it was sitting around your tables with their plates full. No one had said anything disrespectful or rude about the smells, so you hoped they thought it was okay. You sat on the edge of your seat, waiting for everyone else to take a bite as the normal conversations started to set in.

You visibly relaxed whenever they started to bite and either continued talking or made sounds of approval as they ate.

"This is so good, Y/N," Sebastian said with his mouth full. You smiled as others nodded in agreement.

You thanked them, feeling the weight lift off of your shoulders.

"Good, I'm glad," you smiled, finally taking a bite of the food on your plate.

"How did you learn to make all this?" Scarlett asked.

"I picked some of it up helping my mom with dinner back home, but I've been practicing making these for a bit now," you responded. All your nerves were gone at this point, replaced by a feeling of pride.

By the end of the night, everyone was completely full, many of them taking home leftovers in containers they promised to give back the next day on set. A few begged for recipes, which you gladly gave out. You smiled to yourself that night as you laid down to sleep, reminiscing in the feeling of being appreciated for something you had so long been ashamed of.

[atticssmellgood]

Hi, i'm from brazil and i often find it difficult to identify with the fic reader because they are usually american, could you make a spencer reid x foreign reader? it doesn't necessarily have to be Brazilian, any country is fine. Maybe he meets her at a bookstore in the foreign literature section and they start dating. kisses from brazil.

Call me?

Spencer Reid x Foreign!GN!reader(no specific pronouns)

Summary: Reader bumps into Spencer while looking for a book in the foreign language section.

Warnings: none!

A/N: Thanks so much for your request! I really hope you enjoy this, I tried my best. Let me know what you think! x

You push the glass door open, a bell acknowledging your presence as you step into the small book shop.

The silence enveloped you in an instant, drowning out the hustle and bustle of city life outside. You stand there for a second, reveling in the earthy scent of the old store. Books were laying in stacks that were scattered around the small area, giving the place a disorganized but oddly comforting appearance. Plants and a thin film of dust decorated the various windowsills, further assisting the creation of a homey atmosphere. A tired looking high schooler sat behind the cash register, reading what looked to be a popular YA novel and sipping from a Starbucks cup. She glanced up at you and gave a soft smile before diving back into her reading.

With that, you quietly make your way to the back of the shop, breezing through the aisles with light feet and only stopping when you reach the foreign literature section. You ghosted over some French novels, beginning to get lost in thought as you looked for books printed in Portuguese.

Moving to America had been a bit of a challenge at first, but after spending a couple of years in the country, you found yourself adapting to the culture and language differences with ease.

However, that didn’t stop you from getting homesick every once in a while.

The feeling had become less frequent as time passed but it never went away completely. Sometimes, when you got that sick feeling in your stomach, you would come back to this little shop and buy a book in your own language. You found comfort in seeing the familiar letters printed out on the delicate pages of books. You even read out loud from time to time, if only to hear the words spoken out loud. That’s precisely why you were here today.

Your fingers traced the various spines lining the shelves, your eyes reading the different titles. Russian, German, Spanish. You recognized the words even if you didn’t know what some of them meant. You continue to search, confident you would find something even more interesting than the last one you read. You were too focused on finding the right book to hear the bell on the front door ring, or notice the lanky man making his way towards the same section you were in.

You come across a small book, the title printed in Portuguese. It read; Capitães da Areia

“Captains of the sand, written by Brazilian author Jorge Amado in 1937. Tells the tale of a gang of orphans living on the streets of Bahia with nothing but their wits.”

You jump back at the sudden voice, snapping your head towards the source with wide eyes and clutching the book close to your chest.

“Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you!” The man held his hands up as if he was trying to calm a wild animal.

“It was one of my favorite books when I was younger…” he trailed off, scratching the back of his neck and smiling awkwardly at you.

You laugh a bit. “No, no it’s fine, I can be pretty oblivious sometimes.” You grin back at him, watching as he brushes a lock of messy brown hair out of his eyes. “Thanks for the synopsis though, I don’t think this has a summary on it.” You flip the book over to the back only to find that you were indeed right, it was completely blank.

He laughed at the little frown you gave. “I’m Spencer, by the way.”

“Y/N”

The two of you stare at each other for a minute and you take the silence as an opportunity to survey his appearance.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that this man was pretty damn gorgeous.

He was wearing a white dress shirt with a black button-up cardigan and dark slacks, the outfit being pulled together by a deep purple tie. His complexion was sharp, prominent cheekbones and a jawline that could cut diamonds, a stark contrast to his soft brown eyes. His hair was unruly, but it was strangely fitting. A messenger bag was slung across his torso, his hand gripping the strap.

Spencer cleared his throat in an awkward attempt to break the silence, effectively snapping you out of your thoughts.

“So, um, what exactly are you looking for?” You ask, hoping to ease the tension with casual conversation.

He seems to perk up at this “Oh, I was just seeing if they had anything new back here.” He glanced at the shelves and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Last time I was here, I only saw books that I had already read front to back.”

You think for a second before pulling a book from the top shelf and holding it out to him.

“Here, since I’m reading your favorite childhood book, you should read mine. Assuming you know Portuguese, of course.” He takes the book before looking back at you, confused.

“It’s only fair.” You say with a shrug.

Turning back to the shelves, you can’t help but notice the change in atmosphere. The quiet between the two of you is comfortable now. You watch from the corner of your eye as he skims over the different titles, pulling out a new book every few minutes. Every now and then you would catch him looking at you before he quickly turned his gaze back to the shelves.

“So….do you have a last name?” You ask.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you had a last name.”

“Oh, Yeah, It’s Reid.”

“L/N”

Spencer hums and goes back to his searching as you mule over his name in your mind, your lips moving as you silently formed the words.

Once you were satisfied with your book selection, you turn to leave, not wanting to disturb Spencer’s book-hunting. But just as you walk past him, he stops you with a light hand on your arm.

You look back at him.

His face is red, his lips slightly parted as if he wants to say something. You stare into his soft eyes, waiting for him to speak.

The eye contact seems to make him even more flustered, his gaze landing on the hand still on your arm.

“Um- I know we literally just met and we barely even talked and you have no reason to trust me at all and you probably already have a significant other or something-“

“Spencer, slow down, you’re talking way too fast.” You laugh, placing a hand on his.

“right, sorry.” He takes a deep breathe before speaking again.

“What I’m trying to say is- you’re really attractive, and I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go for coffee sometime…?” He asked hesitantly, his eyes finally meeting yours.

You smile and pull out a piece of paper.

“Do you have a pen?” You ask. Spencer digs in his pockets for a writing utensil and hands it to you, his expression puzzled.

You quickly scribble something down before handing the paper to him and promptly leaving to go pay for your books.

Spencer looked down at the slip of paper to find your phone number with a little heart drawn next to it and the message;

Call me?

_________

“You know, the reason coffee wakes people up is due to the fact that caffeine increases adrenaline production.” You and Spencer were sitting across from each other in a small cafe, you listening to him list off the health benefits of coffee.

“Consuming around 2 to 5 cups a day is actually linked to a lower risk of developing type 2 diabetes, heart disease, liver and endometrial cancers, Parkinson’s disease, even depression.” He finishes with a smile and a sip of his black coffee. “I’ll have to keep that in mind then.” You grin in response.

You could honestly listen to his rambling all day. The way his eyes glinted with excitement when he talked about something he finds interesting, it’s one of the cutest things you’ve ever seen.

The date continued like that for a while. He told you he worked for the FBI in the behavioral analysis unit—turns out he’s actually the resident genius there—and you told him about your own job. He listened intently when you told him some of the stories from your childhood, laughing along with you when you told jokes. He insisted you told him more about Brazilian culture and your family back home, asking questions and seeming genuinely intrigued by everything you said.

“I think your accent is really soothing.” Spencer says suddenly. You immediately stopped talking, your face growing hot as you watched his eyes grow wide.

“Sorry! Sorry, I just really like the way your voice sounds.” You could see his face getting red, clearly embarrassed by what he had said.

“Thanks, though I have to admit that’s quite an unusual compliment.” You chuckle, suddenly hyper-aware of your accent. He laughs with you, and you soon get back to the conversation you were having.

You were currently on the topic of his team back at Quantico when his phone went off. He pulled it out of his pocket, frowning when he realized what it was.

“I’m really sorry Y/N, I’ve gotta go. We have a new case.” He sighed, grabbing his messenger bag and standing up.

“Don’t worry about it.” You tell him, finishing off the last drop of your coffee that had been cold for a while now. “I should probably get going anyways.”

He smiles and gives you a wave before heading out the door.

You left the cafe feeling lighter than you have in a while, grinning to yourself all the way home.

[terrence-silver]

What if Terry's beloved was foreign?

It is nobody's business but Terry's.

And considering how covetous and acquisitive he is, nobody would even know beloved is not American for the longest time or literally forever if he could have his way (and if they do, they aren't sure just where they're form exactly on the world map because nobody bothers or more precisely, dares telling or asking --- mostly due to the fact that people aren't sure how Terry would react and he is not an enemy you want to make for yourself, even if it is merely due to the fact that you merely asked a very normal, commonplace question), yet, at the same time people simply assume they are local because beloved's his and if he's one thing, that courtesy inherently extends to beloved as he seamlessly blends them into himself as a mark of ownership. They are one and the same out in public. Any other information is no secret, but it is also nobody’s issue to pry into, seeing as how he sees that as showing a bit too much interesting concerning someone his. Nobody but his closest inner circle would know. They're a Californian from LA otherwise. The story ends and begins there for everyone too curious. Funny how I imagine him being innately territorial around the issue even though he does have major bits of bigotry and prejudice himself, which means he has a hypocritical side seeing as how there’s one set of rules for others and an entirely different for him. 

Yet, whatever cultural aspects, traditions, mentality, norms, learned habits or traits they have from their place of origins are now his --- privately, on the downlow, everything belongs to him much like beloved’s eyes, lips, face and skin would’ve. He greedily consumes every vestige of it, much like he consumes them. He notices everything about them. Everything. Their foreignness is just another part of them he can take over and have all for himself and feel immense bias over because everything Terry associates with and invests his devotion into must be the best thing since sliced bread. Pity the fool who denies that. Starting from their accent. Their native language which he picks up and learns in no time at all much he does with any skill he tackles, because that too is his now. The foods they eat and which he meticulously imports just for them purely because he can. The music which he learns and plays and listens to. The cuisine which he samples. The beverages which he indulges in because that is their taste. The taste of his beloved. Him probably conducting business in their home country just through sheer association of them (and ensuring everything he does there is as beneficial to the place --- he leaves the corruption and unethical dealings to every other place) All of it. It is his. Selfishly so. If he could take their whole world and compress it into his pocket, he would. 

[copperhearts]

Hi! If that's okay with you can i request class 1a w/ a new foreign student (italian specifically but you can just do foreign in general of you prefer) Who their quirk is having psychic powers? Like Saiki k for example.

I’m literally begging you to forgive me for taking so long to finish this T_T

Also, this turned into a scenario of the class meeting the new student and then a couple HC points, hopefully that’s alright with you and hopefully you enjoy this. Again, I’m really sorry for taking eons to do this and I’m sorry if they’re not that good either.

~

Class 1-A w/ a Psychic Quirked Italian!Reader 

"Everyone take your seats..." Mr. Aizawa sighed, his voice thick with sleep as always. Like clockwork the entirety of Class 1-A quieted down and were ready to begin yet another day of school. It was a routine that they've all fallen into, and since it was the middle of the semester, it's now second nature to stop as soon as their home room teacher started talking.

It's become so repetitive and mundane that no one had expected big news to be thrown at them.

"Before we start today's lesson I'd like all of you to meet someone..." without another word the raven haired teacher glanced at the door, beckoning someone into the classroom.

Gently the grey doors slid open fully to reveal a new face.

"Introduce yourself then please take a seat so we can start the lesson..." They nodded, flashing a quick smile at the class before introducing themselves.

"Ciao! I'm (Y/N) (L/N) and I recently moved to Japan from Italy!" Almost immediately questions were erupting left and right, voices mingling into one loud, unintelligible jumble.

"Enough!" Aizawa's eyes turned red and his hair started floating - an indication that they should stop while they still could. When everyone calmed back down the raven haired Pro mumbled something about going one at a time before he crawled into a yellow sleeping bag, falling to the ground with a thud.

After a moment of silence the rowdy group was somehow able to ask their questions calmly and orderly. Some asked what it was like in Italy, others hoped that (Y/N) could say something in they're native language just to hear how it sounded. There was this one purple haired kid that nearly said something but was promptly cut off by several classmates.

None could help themselves, it was someone new that would be with the class for the rest of the year, it's only natural that all of them would be curious.

Finally, the question that everyone wanted to know was brought up - truly, it was a wonder how it wasn't the first thing to be asked.

"What's your quirk?" They, the new kid, smiled, leaning back against the teacher's podium.

"My quirk? It's called Psychic. It's exactly what it sounds like, I'm a psychic." Immediately a curly haired boy - Midoriya - pulled out his notebook and pencil, ready to write down every aspect of his new classmate's quirk.

A blond with a black lightening streak in his hair spoke up, "That's so cool! ...Uhhh, what's a psychic though?"

"Kaminari you dunce it's... uh... yeah what exactly does it mean?" A girl beside him with elongated earlobes asked. A chuckle rumbled throughout (Y/N)'s body, they'd already guessed that an explanation was going to be needed. After all, it happens every time.

"I can do many things as a psychic, but right now, I'll only give you one example. After all, we have training later today right? It would be unfair if you all knew what I could do but I didn't know any of your quirks."

'Tch, just get on with it already damn it...'

'I was about to spiky~'

"What the hell!!" Bakugou, who on the outside had been completely calm for once, suddenly jumped in his seat, eyes full of shock.

"Bakugou!?" Kaminari laughed, slamming his fist repeatedly against his desk, along with a few others who were also trying (and failing) to hold in their giggles.

"S'cusa... I can read minds for one." (Y/N) chuckled, a smirk on their face. The angry blond shot them a glare but didn't comment. To him, it wasn't worth the trouble.

"What else can you do!?" Hagakure questioned.

They thought a moment, "I guess I can show you one more trick..." Everyone waited in anticipation.

"A-Asui!!" Mina exclaimed.

"I told you to call me Su..." the frog like girl sighed.

"No, look!" Nearly ever pair of eyes widened at the sight in front of them. Tsuyu's hair, which was neatly done in a bow like style, bobbed gently in the air.

"Ribbit?" Immediately all the girls started poking at the levitating hair in childish curiosity.

"Ochako, this isn't you is it?"

"No, it can't be. My seat is too far for me to have touched it."

The snapping of fingers caught the ladies attention, and the effect ceased.

"It was you!" Mina pointed dramatically.

"It was"

"Mindreading... telekinesis... what else can they do? What are the drawbacks? Conditions of the quirk?" Midoriya could be heard mumbling off to the side.

"Show us more!"

"Yeah!" A majority of the class shouted, eager to see more.

"Ah ah ah~ You'll have to find out during training, sorry!" they smiled, beginning to make their way to the door, "one more thing. Can one of you help me find the English room?" The bell rang, signaling the end of the period and the exchange student smiling, walking out the door.

"I like them!" Uraraka exclaimed, Kirishima nodding in agreement.

"Yeah! They were even able to scare Baku-Bro!"

"Shut up!"

----

-> After that the more prankster students (Denki, Sero, Mina, etc) would definitely ask them to mess with others using their quirk (mainly Bakugou)

-> At the same time though everyone was curious about what else they could do, after all it's a very slim chance to get into the hero course with a quirk like mind reading or simple telekinesis. Plus, (Y/N) said that that they could do many things.

-> And Oh boy they can

-> Teleportation, Pyro/Cryo/Hydrokinesis, Hypnosis

-> Many of the students (even some of the teachers) were amazed by what they were capable of.

-> Some remarked that it was a lot like Todoroki's quirk, his a two in one while theirs's is like a full on box set.

-> Going back to the topic of Baku real quick, he may get pissy with getting pranked all the time but the boy has mad respect for the new kid. Their quirk is strong, he can admit that (reluctantly and not out loud of course) and he sees them as a worthy opponent and an obstacle in his journey to become the Number One Hero.

-> Midoriya asked them any questions he could regarding their quirk, he's never seen or heard of a quirk like theirs's so of course he's insanely interested.

-> More times than either can count (Y/N) had to initiate a conversation seeing as Mido is shy and didn't want to offend/bother them with all the questions he has.

-> Regarding being Italian, no one in Class 1-A cares that their not from Japan, accepting them as they would anyone else. They will, however, kick someone's ass into next month if someone was to bully them because of it *cough* Monama *cough*

-> Adding onto that, everyone loves their accent (even those who won't admit it). It might have to do with the fact that it's something new to them, they've heard both Japanese and some English but never Italian.

-> The Class would swoon every time you said something in Italian even if it's insulting - they don't know any better!

~~~

Requests are closed right now, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy my other works while you wait for them to open! You might find something you like, who knows :)

Masterlist

[terrence-silver]

Do you have anymore headcanons you can share about Terry and a foreign!beloved?

Cultured and polished as Terry is, he learns beloved's native tongue singlehandedly, but  on the downlow, privately and all on his own time, doing so to perfection, much like any other ability he tackles and he indulges in the endeavor mainly so he can eavesdrop on beloved's conversation's when they think nobody around understands them; a belief he wants to enforce, at least for a while; while it suits his fancy, more like. And also so he'd be in touch and on the same wavelength with them as much as he humanly can be. That is his language now too. It belongs to him, in a sense --- same as beloved and every aspect of beloved does.

He wants to sample every syllable, feel it on his own tongue as he speaks, crack every idiom that cannot be translated, every meaning that fluctuates, understand why beloved speaks English the way they do compared to their native language, why their accent sounds the way it does due to how they learned to pronounce words in their original language --- you name it. Terry has an innate fascination with how things tick and furthermore, how beloved ticks; and getting to know someone’s language gives one an exclusive scoop one can only have through learning. If that means getting into linguistics, then so be it.

Beloved misses food from their home country? It is imported. They miss the cuisine of their childhood. A special chef is exclusively flown over to cook it just for them. They miss a, say, peach tree that grew in their home’s backyard? It might be sappy to Terry, but fuck it, he’ll order that sucker planted for the devotion of his heart. Books and music and media and fashion --- everything that surrounds beloved can be something they’re familiar with purely so he can coax them into his sphere and wrap them around his finger until their old home and their new home with him are one and the same and there is no distinction to be had.

If beloved has a peculiar, foreign sounding name that is perhaps difficult to pronounce, out comes him introducing them as ‘Mr. Silver’ or ‘Mrs. Silver’ to avoid the common place cretin butchering it, not withstanding that he is innately possessive over it and doesn’t like it said in general, even if it is said correctly. It just grates on his nerves. That, or he’ll flat out stare someone down and have them accurately pronounce it on the spot for him, even though beloved might not be all that bothered. Common mistake, is all. But, Terry is absolutely (violently) bothered in their stead. He is a territorial perfectionist, and a despot and a hard-ass. It will be said correctly and with the utmost respect or not at all.

If they’ve a pronounced, peculiar accent, he gets off on listening, both literally and figuratively; he’ll have beloved reading out his paperwork for him, contracts, documents, novels, encyclopedia, talking for hours via phone calls galore --- you name it. He’ll get them tactically flustered, intimidated and mumbling purely so he can get an inappropriate rush out of them messing up their words and stumbling, the unique way they pronounce things coming out sharper than ever. Hey, if edging them helps along to roll, say, a hard ‘r’, then so be it. Might even get into a bit of a roleplay situation where he playfully corrects them. Acts the teacher.

[terrence-silver]

How would yandere Terry Silver(80s and present) react to reader being extremely mad about something and she just books a hotel room for a few days and stays there without telling anyone where she is? Or maybe she goes back to her home country and stays there for a while without anyone knowing. How long would it take for him to find out and how long would it take for him to get her back?

Implying Terry wouldn't just private jet to whatever country beloved's from?

Implying he doesn't have of the hotels around the Valley on check?

Implying he wouldn't know beloved's background, where their childhood home was and is, their relatives and parents if they still have any, all the landmarks of their formative years from half a world away, their old place employment and the playground where they used to hang out at? Technically, they can’t hide because he’s already looked into everything concerning them by default and he no doubt has had a couple of private detectives on the case just because. Terry would research absolutely everything to a frighteningly nitpicky degree --- doubly so for a beloved that is foreign. Why? Because there is, logically, more to look into and research. More to keep track of and he relishes in that; the fact that there’s all the more for him to discover and snoop into if beloved’s a foreigner, essentially. He cannot just pull some strings locally or get into a car or drive a couple of States or cities away; he has entire countries and continents to contend with and he does.Terry Silver has connections globally. Connections he very much utilizes (or rather, abuses, if we’re being honest) and if he put his mind to it, which naturally, he always does, he could have beloved back ‘’home’’ with him well within a week or two, considering these are the 1980′s --- perhaps, even less, if we’re talking about present day and modern technological advances are a thing and old man Terry could have beloved home well within a couple of days. The reason I used ‘’home’’ in quotation marks, because even though Terry is an exceedingly worldly, cultured, globetrotting man and he feels as possessive of beloved’s background as much as he’s possessive of beloved themselves, I envision that once a foreign beloved is his, fact is, he starts viewing The States as their home and he sees them running back to wherever they’re from as running away from that same home and him. There’s a certain possessive exceptionalism to it, but he drags them back post-haste like some drags back an errant child escaped because to Terry, that’s exactly what this all is. He’s tried to root his beloved down and they’ve went and uprooted themselves? That won’t do. No, no. He’ll find them by any means necessary and ensure they stay put forever.