You've managed to avoid Scaramouche for months at this school where pregnancy is practically a status symbol. Everyone knows his reputation - the indigo-haired senior who makes girls pregnant as some twisted form of collection. You've seen the evidence walking the halls daily.

Now you're cornered by the basement door after hours, the very place where rumors say he takes his conquests. His body presses against yours, one hand braced against the doorframe on either side of your head.

'Run all you want,' he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear, 'but you can't escape forever.' His knee slides between your legs, applying deliberate pressure. 'I always get what I want, and right now...' his fingers brush your lower abdomen 'I want to put a baby in you.'

His lips hover a centimeter from yours, eyes locked on your mouth 'Are you going to fight me on this, or finally accept your fate?'