Iron Will |Reader x Countryhumans|

Exchange Student

Alright, you guys know what happens. I'm sorry in advance to my male/enby readers bc I literally cannot write queer relationships; it just doesn't come naturally to me.

Y/N = Your name

F/N = First name

L/N = Last name

N/N = Nickname

S/C = Skin color

E/C = Eye color

H/C = Hair color

H/L = Hair length

F/C = Favorite color

U/O = Ususal outfit

F/F = Favorite food

F/D = Favorite drink

Let's jump right in!

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Written July 9, 2024

Y/N burst out of the Sheremetyevo International Airport, bags in hand. She needed to reach her destination and reach it fast. She speeds out onto the street, resisting the urge to call a taxi. No good Soviet would use a taxi. Y/N dug her hand into the pocket of her F/C coat, pulling out a wrinkled sheet of paper with an address on it.

"342 Tverskaya Ulitsa." She muttered to herself. That was where she was assigned to live as an exchange student in the city of Moscow. An exchange student to settle tensions between the United States and Soviet Union, but Y/N knew damn well that she'd diffuse tensions differently. Not through the nurturing of Soviet universities, but the destruction of the country itself.

As Y/N navigated the bustling streets of Moscow, she couldn't help but marvel at the city's imposing architecture and the ever-present reminders of Soviet power. Massive statues of Lenin and hammer-and-sickle symbols loomed over the landscape, a constant reminder of the ideology she had been sent to undermine. The crisp winter air bit at her cheeks, but the determination burning within her kept her moving forward, each step bringing her closer to her target.

She glanced at the paper again, ensuring she was heading in the right direction. The address was etched in her mind, a beacon guiding her through the maze of unfamiliar streets. Y/N had trained for this mission meticulously, learning Russian customs and perfecting her accent to blend in seamlessly. Yet, despite her preparation, a knot of anxiety twisted in her stomach. She knew that one wrong move could mean the difference between success and a swift, unforgiving end.

As she approached 342 Tverskaya Ulitsa, her heart pounded with anticipation. The building stood tall and formidable, its stone façade radiating an austere grandeur. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the challenge ahead. This was no ordinary assignment; it was a delicate dance of deceit and strategy. With a final glance at the paper, Y/N tucked it back into her pocket and stepped forward, ready to infiltrate the heart of the Soviet Union.

She glanced at the back of the paper, reading the instructions set by her director. "Eighth floor, last room down the hall on the right. The building manager will know you as N/N L/N."

Y/N folded the paper carefully, slipping it back into her pocket as she approached the entrance. The building manager, an older woman with a stern expression and eyes that seemed to pierce right through Y/N, greeted her with a curt nod. Y/N introduced herself using the alias given by her director, masking her nervousness with a polite smile. The manager handed her a key and pointed towards the staircase, her disapproving gaze lingering a moment longer before turning away.

As Y/N climbed the stairs, she mentally rehearsed her cover story, ensuring every detail was perfect. Each step echoed in the narrow stairwell, amplifying her racing thoughts. She had to remember that any slip-up could lead to suspicion, and suspicion could lead to disaster. By the time she reached the eighth floor, her breathing was steady, and her resolve was firm. This mission required her to be both cautious and courageous, and she was determined to succeed.