I'm hoping to make this quite a long fanfic but just for now, here's chapter one :3

Bloodstorm (Cutter!College!reader x College!Russia)

"I hate life, and that frigging scholarship," you whisper to yourself "if only I had gotten that damn degree shit then… Anything! I could have been anything- 'smart enough to be a brain surgeon' they would say. Well, heh, we all know that I-" You flinch as the warm blood runs down your wrist "I have no problem cutting." You crouched behind the college building in a small alleyway where the bins were kept. It was the first time you'd done this so close to other people and you'd be lying if you said you weren't worried; you peeked up at the windows that glinted on the side of the towering block to check no-one was watching. Suddenly the hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you turned around sure someone was watching you. Nothing.

Calm down, you told yourself leaning back against the cold, stone wall. You bought the jagged shard of glass to your wrist again flinching as it touched your skin; you bit your tongue as it sank into your flesh as you dragged it down your arm. You cherished the sharp pain as the cut glowed a pure white, before scarlet blood escaped to taint it. A fast crunching sound to your left made you drop the shard which shattered "crap," positive that there was someone there this time you ducked your head and ran off in the opposite direction, pulling your neon arm warmers over the scars.

You had made your way to main block just as the bell went off sending hoards of gossiping girls and fighting boys on their way to class. You however- along with a few others- meandered off to the left, across the campus gardens and into the upper college where you found a quiet corner to sit down and check your timetable. Free time, free time, ICT skills: that seemed easy enough. Reaching into your bag you pulled out your lunch and set it out in front of you, you were about to start eating when something-or more someone-smacked you on the back of the head. You turned to hit them back but they caught your hand.

"Don't make me laugh, sissy,"

"Gil," you confirmed angrily. The albino German smirked "Come on, don't you remember ze awesome agreement?"

"I didn't agree to any shit," you add but give him your sandwiches anyway. "Danke," Gilbert takes them "my 'friend'"

"Yeah right…" you mutter as he walks off with your only food for the day, you burry your head in your lap "this sucks." You grab your bag off the floor and decide to go somewhere where you lunch won't get taken out of your hand; but when you look up you see a slice of cake on your desk. "Ummm…" you look around to see if anyone had just set it down for a moment but everyone was either chatting or reading, how anyone could have snuck this here I don't know, is this some kind of joke? You think poking the light gold sponge-cake what have they done to it? But you shake the matter from your mind and shove the slice into a bag before slinging your rucksack over one shoulder and walking away.

****************************Le time skip****************************

You prop your head up on the desk and stare blankly at the computer whilst half-heartedly listening to your teacher droan on, and on about programming and codes and formulae and about a million other useless things.

Your eyelids droop slightly as you fall into a daydream; you're clutching your hand to your face, which feels swollen. The dirty brown corridor flies past you as you search desperately for a way out, a way to escape-but from what? You hear someone yell angrily "(Name)!" the voice brings a chill to your spine "(Name)! Where the hell do you think you're going?!"

Your head hits the desk.

"(Name)!" Your teacher calls "(Name)! How many times, No arm warmers in class! Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No Sir," you mumble sleepily

"Well what are you waiting for, remove them at once,"

"Yes Sir," you were happy to be sitting at the back of the class as you slipped your arm warmers off and held your arms under the desk. "Thank you miss (second name), now about the variable formulae on your website design, you can use the…. A…. Of the… when you…. The F8 button…. With, of course-" you were about to drift off to sleep again when you felt a pair of eyes on you. You look up just in time to see a new boy on the other side of the classroom turn around swiftly. You give the back of his head a menacing glare and then return to your own matters: sleeping through this lesson.

****************************Le time skip****************************

The sharp sound of the end of school bell slaps you out of your dozy trance, you instantly come to your senses, pull the arm warmers back on and rush for the door; you can see him making a beeline for you. Too slow: he grabs your shoulder. "So quick to sortez mademoiseille," hepurrs turning you against a wall "why won't you consider coming to my house just for un minute ces't soir?"

"Not interested Francis," was your firm answer. Francis had a habit of taking girls back to his house- and not always upper school ones at that. "But mon chere," Francis argued in a sickly sweet tone of voice "you know vat I-"

"Mr Bonnefoy!"

"Oui?" Francis replied

You heard a reply in a strong British accent "I hope you're not harassing young ladies again you frog,"

"Non, just the one…" Francis muttered annoyed that he had been interrupted.

"Pardon?" asked the British boy knowingly.

"Je suis desole'," Francis sighed raising his hands in a mock surrender, he strutted away with his hands in his pockets. "You will be," added the other boy. You turned to confirm his identity: he was Arthur Kirkland- the year head boy- he had messy blonde hair, thick eyebrows and bright eyes that were a striking green. But by far his most prominent attribute is the fact that he's very tsundre "Are you ok, miss?"

"Yes thanks," you reply about to turn away when Arthur suddenly shouts "I…It's not like I did that for you though, I just needed to get that frog! That's all!" He leaves it at that and runs away. Just about used to everyone's antics at this school you walk off unfazed and eager to get home: but not for the same reason as anyone else.

On your way out the gates you remember that cake in your bag, you had narrowed it down to some sort of trick, so you retrieved it from you're bag and chucked it into the nearest bin.

On your way home your legs start shaking to the point where you need to sit down, why is that happening? You've walked home so many times before now. Just be calm. Calm. You get up and continue on, well into the twenty five minute journey home. Calm.

****************************Le time skip****************************

You approach the front door, eager to get to your room as you turn the handle and push.

"Home!" you call dumping your bag down, running upstairs, into your room and slamming the door behind you.

"Sorry?" you hear a sarcastic voice call and you realise your mistake, "I said, SORRY!?" It repeated as footsteps echoed up the stairs- the voice sent shivers down your spine. "Home sir…" you mumble to the person that was now outside your door. "No," the door-knob rattled before giving way "no way! I don't bloody think so, not today," he shouts storming across your room to where you sat on the bed. He spat as he spoke "where the hell is my money little miss?!" he asked, anger in his eyes. "I don't know," you quiver "where am I meant to get it?"

"A job!" he shouts "beg for it! Steal it! I don't give a shit, I'm the idiot taking care of you!"

"I can't!" you yell back. His hand meets your face in a sharp slap, you gasp and turn your head to the side smashing your temple against the wall, "gahh…"

"Grow up you scum, and get out," he adds. You didn't need to think twice about it before running downstairs and picking up your bag, "And if you don't have the money by nine, you're not coming back in!"

The door slams and you sit down on the step, you had no way of getting money or anything else for that matter. You couldn't go back in the house and god knows that within a couple of hours these streets will be crawling with drunkards and strange men, who are all to welcoming to the sight of a teenage girl wandering about. Creeps. You just held your hurt cheek and sobbed. You wished you'd eaten that cake.