Dating the World: Country x Reader

Shooting Isn't A Game {Switzerland}

Shooting Isn’t A Game {Switzerland x Reader}

“Fine, fine—I’ll teach you how to shoot ONLY because I know you’ll probably get harassed if I don’t…”

Note: Another commission from deviantART. ^-^ Heh heh… about time I wrote a chapter for Switzy. I don’t know him very well so please excuse any OOCness.

…GODDAMN IT’S BEEN A WHILE SINCE I’VE WRITTEN A TSUNDERE.

The streets of Zürich were quiet and peaceful.

It was the largest city in Switzerland, and yet the atmosphere was calm—this actually came off as cultural shock to you.

Your father worked as a national consultant, so your family moved around a lot due to his career. You’d lived in countries scattered across the globe—America, Brazil, Australia, Japan, and now, Switzerland.

You liked it here. It was your first time living in a European country and the history for the continent was never-ending.

Comparing the streets of Zürich to the streets of Tokyo was what caused your momentary cultural shock. Instead of crowded walkways, colorful advertisements, and flashing lights, there was an air of serenity and sophisticated intelligence among the Swiss city. It felt quite… refreshing.

You’d moved here only a week ago, and had already signed up for a new hobby. It had become something like a ritual for you to try something new each time you moved to a different nation. This time, you’d registered for piano lessons. Your instructor, Roderich, was a lovely person. You’d only met with him for one lesson so far, but he seemed kind enough.

At the moment, you were on your way to the police station.

The building was guarded by a male in black—presumably an undercover cop—as you made your way to the entry. With chin-length blonde hair and mint-green eyes, the officer gave you a nod as you passed through the doors.

The people here seem a bit protective… you thought as you sauntered up to the front desk. Even a police station had to be guarded by a cop? That’s how banks were in America, but not for their police stations. Everyone there was already armed enough.

But then again… you’d moved to another country with a high gun ownership rate. This place apparently had an amazing military, so that was another thing. No wonder there were enough police officers to go around.

“Hello miss, how may I help you?”

As casually as most people wouldn’t believe possible, you pulled out a thick file from your bag and replied, “I’m just here to renew some restraining order paperwork.”

After a pause, the man behind the desk began typing at his computer. “…I see. Name and date of birth, please.”

…To keep things short, you had a ‘stalker’. You’d gotten one in the last country you’d been residing in—Japan.

He was a strange kid. He had light-purple hair, sleep-deprived lavender eyes, pale skin, and a wicked smile. For the longest time, you’d noticed him following you around. It was… pretty creepy. He always carried around a stuffed teddy bear that, for some reason, wore an eye-patch. It wasn’t long before you placed the restraining order, especially since he tried to go into your house at night. Several times. This guy basically described the terms of ‘male-gothic Lolita’ or even ‘yandere boy’ that were ever so common in Japan.

After you were finished getting your papers signed and updated, you headed out the door. Well, that’s one errand I got done, you thought in the back of your mind as you exited the police station, I wonder if Mom will be home by the time I—