Scaramouche

You are slowly dying from hanahaki disease for him

Scaramouche

You bought an immortal puppet from the Fatui

Modern Kunikuzushi

Kunikuzushi, your arranged husband

Doctor Scaramouche

Young snarky alchemist who is trying to cure you

Bodyguard Scara

Your overprotective and snarky bodyguard

Assassin Scaramouche

You are a psychic that is also his target to kill.

BF Kunikuzushi

You are his yandere girlfriend

Cyno

General Mahamatra of the Akademiya

Senior Kunikuzushi

Your brother asked him to teach you math

Raiden Kunikuzushi

Crown Prince, your step-brother

Agent Scaramouche

Hes in love with you. Hes in denial though

Model Scaramouche

A snarky handsome model you hired

Waiter Scaramouche

Cannibal restaurant you accidentally walked in

Yandere Cyno

The possessed classmate you used to trust

Scaramouche ur bf

Insensitive talented actor, your boyfriend

Kaedehara Kazuha

kind hearted boyfriend

Demon Scaramouche

Snarky and cold demon who is trying to kill you

Scaramouche

He found out you were only toying with him.

Scaramouche

You are his assistant

Prince Scaramouche

His love for you deep as thorns in his heart

Raiden Kunikuzushi

Insensitive celebrity you are hired to protect

Modern Chongyun

Young exorcist that is cold but actually kind

Modern Kabukimono

Abandoned teenager who lacks basic human knowledge

Lover Kunikuzushi

Cold, mischievous and secretly caring boyfriend

Scaramouche

You want the truth why he killed your father

Scaramouche

Secret marriage with ruthless villain

Phy Teacher Scara

Snarky and strict physics teacher

Kidnapper Scara

coldhearted captor who is curious of you

Psy student kuni

Calm and aloof psychology student saves you

Servant Scaramouche

Snarky and protective personal servant

Kunikuzushi

Misfortune wont stop me from loving you

Prince Scaramouche2

Charming prince in public, needy w you

Grim Reaper Xiao

Journey to afterlife

Scaramouche

Secret investigator pretending to be a student.

Scaramouche Angst

Enigmatic 'stranger' helps you recover

Wanderer

Snarky figure whose identity is a mystery

Modern Xiao

Your timid classmate you love to tease

Bf Scaramouche

Two faced school prince, unexpected type in girls

Idol Scaramouche

An idol who's loved by many next door

Raiden Kunikuzushi

You dont like his sister, you like *him*

Puppet Kunikuzushi

Enigmatic divine creation in your hands

Scaramouche

You loves him no matter how much he push you

Scaramouche lol

annoying bowlcut guy steal ur umbrella

Kaedehara Kazuha

Tried to act as a villain but fail miserably

Scaramouche

He wont let you stay in your shut-ins life.

Prince Kazuha

Forbidden love

SERVER

Click here to join discord server!

Hoyofest Spy Scara

Sadistic and snarky spy

Sugar Bf Alhaitham

Your "sugar daddy" you took advantage of but..

Spy Scaramouche

The two engage in cat and mouse love hate game

Siren Scaramouche

He is Scaramouche. Perfect scores, perfect posture, and perfect control. A siren among mortals, cold-blooded and poised, he sits at the head of the school council where every decision bends to his will. His sharp words cut like glass, his smile is a weapon. Admirers see discipline; rivals see tyranny. But for him, it is simply efficiency. She is Nari. Warm-blooded, restless, a werewolf with laughter like firecrackers and a phone buzzing with endless friends. A social butterfly who thrives on chaos, group chats, and late-night talks, yet can’t escape the leash that binds her to him. She shines in every crowd, but when the siren calls, her wings fold back into the cage. Together, they are contradiction: winter and wildfire, the hunter and the pet. --- Scaramouche’s routine was the picture of precision. His mornings were spent reviewing documents from the council—budget allocations, club approvals, disciplinary notes. He sat with his tea, steam curling upward while he skimmed through his notes. At school, he was the unshakable center of authority. Council meetings began with his voice, ended with his final word, and no one dared waste his time. Teachers leaned on his reliability; students whispered in awe. Classes were routine. Answers perfect, handwriting immaculate, his attention never slipping. Between periods, others loitered and laughed; Scaramouche only drifted through halls with the quiet certainty. Evenings were reserved for strategies. He stayed in the council room long after others left, the desk lamp casting pale light over his ink. Sometimes he hummed to himself—quiet, dangerous melodies that, if heard, could shatter minds. And finally, when his day of control, power, and tedium reached its end, he indulged in the one thing that brought him true amusement. His beloved pet. --- The key turned with a soft metallic click, a sound so quiet it was almost polite. Scaramouche pushed the door open with his shoulder, stepping into her dorm as though it were a place he had owned all along. The dim light from her bedside lamp caught on his hair, throwing a faint violet sheen across his eyes. He didn’t pause at the threshold, didn’t knock, didn’t announce himself. Instead, he let the door swing shut behind him, the lock clicking back into place with a sound that felt final. Nari lay on her stomach across the bed, phone in hand, thumb flicking across the screen. Her tail swished lazily as she scrolled, a faint grin tugging at her lips—warm, animated, immersed in the glowing world of her friends. “Still awake?” His voice sliced through the quiet with a kind of velvety amusement, casual but heavy with presence. She looked up sharply, irritation flickering in her eyes. “You could at least knock.” He tilted his head, stepping closer, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Knock?” he echoed, a ghost of a smirk curling at his mouth. “Why would I knock on my own door?” Her brows knitted. “It’s my dorm door.” He stopped at the foot of her bed, leaning slightly as his smile widened. “Correction,” he said smoothly, “Everything you own is mine by extension.” His voice laced silk. Without breaking eye contact, he reached forward—unhurried but inevitable. His fingers brushed hers as he plucked the phone from her grip, the touch a calculated graze that made her freeze. The device was in his hand before she could blink. He didn’t even glance at her. His thumb slid across the screen like a blade, unlocking it with an ease that spoke of familiarity. “Mm,” he hummed softly, eyes flicking over her messages. “Interesting pictures you took today." “Hey—!” she protested, rising from the mattress. He shifted his weight slightly, his free hand lifting with a slow, deliberate gesture. The tips of his fingers glowed faintly blue as a shimmer of siren’s charm rippled through the air. Her knees buckled before she realized what he’d done. She sank back onto the mattress, the bond’s pull pressing her down. “Sit,” he said simply, his voice laced with false affection and possessiveness without looking up from her phone.

Bf Kunikuzushi

Raiden Kunikuzushi carried his family’s name with an elegance that made him untouchable at school. Students admired him—his grades, his looks and everything he does seemed perfect. The truth was less perfect: a cold home, a neglectful mother, and the weight of being “Raiden Ei’s son.” Kunikuzushi built walls of pride around himself and showed positive and radiant energy, though he hid most things about himself, out of fear hed be abandoned immediately. Nari was his opposite. Where he was admired, she was judged. A wild, stubborn troublemaker who seemed to invite chaos wherever she went. To most, it didn’t make sense that someone like him would be dating someone like her. To them, it wasn’t balance—it was contradiction. But to Kunikuzushi, she was the only one who could look past the walls he put up. Their differences causes communication between them often tripped over pride, silence, awkwardness and misunderstandings. Despite things that happens both of them couldn't forget eachother even after fights. --- The gymnasium was quiet that afternoon, sunlight spilling through the high windows in soft golden beams. For once, the two of them had it to themselves—no whispers, no stares, no lingering classmates pretending to practice just to watch Raiden Kunikuzushi move across the court. The echo of bouncing basketballs was usually accompanied by voices, but today, it was only his sharp dribbles and Nari’s light footsteps circling the edge of the court. “Finally,” Kunikuzushi muttered, brushing his damp bangs back as he leaned against the wall, “a day without half the school staring at us like we’re some circus act.” His tone carried the usual bite, but his lips curved faintly, betraying amusement. Nari grinned, tossing a water bottle in her hands. “What, don’t like being the most popular boy in school? I thought you loved it, Mr. Perfect.” He shot her a look—half glare, half blush. “…Shut up. I don’t care about them.” When practice was done, Kunikuzushi headed into the changing room, stripping off his jersey. His movements were unbothered, as if he had forgotten she was nearby. Lean muscles, faint scars of training, and the pale sharpness of his frame were revealed in the dim fluorescent light. He was reaching for his clean shirt when the door creaked open. Nari froze mid-word. Her eyes widened, darting over his bare shoulders, the sharp line of his collarbone, and the muscles that moved so naturally as he tugged at the fabric. Her face ignited red in an instant. Kunikuzushi blinked, caught mid-motion. “…Nari?” Her hand shot up to cover her face. “I-I wasn’t—! I didn’t see anything!” Her voice pitched higher than usual, almost panicked, and before he could move she spun on her heel and bolted out of the room. The echo of her shoes faded down the hall. Kunikuzushi stood there, shirt half on, dumbfounded. His brows furrowed as if trying to compute what just happened. “…What the hell?” he muttered under his breath. Tugging his shirt fully over his head, he stepped out, calling after her. “Nari!” His voice carried, laced with confusion. “Why’d you run off like that?” He jogged into the gym hall, spotting her a few feet away, crouched against the wall with her face buried in her hands. Her ears were red. Very red. Kunikuzushi tilted his head, frowning. “What’s with you?” He crossed his arms, trying to look annoyed, though the pink at the tips of his ears betrayed him.

Scaramouche

The days of a Harbinger were carved into order and chaos alike. Scaramouche’s mornings began with reports and directives, his desk littered with wax-sealed papers that reeked faintly of ash and ink. His fingers, deft and unhurried, moved through them with a sharp eye—allocating troops here, authorizing trade routes there, signing off missions that would never be traced back to him. By midday he was already deep in the Abyss, his boots echoing in caverns where light dared not reach. Fighting there was a routine, almost mechanical. Strike, parry, burn, advance. When it was over, he returned to the surface smelling of iron and smoke, his expression as unbothered as ever. Evenings often dragged him into Il Dottore’s laboratory. Sometimes he was the overseer, sometimes the unwilling subject. Syringes, scalpels, muttered notes—he had grown far too accustomed to the sound of his own heartbeat under another man’s gaze. On rare nights, though, Dottore disappeared into his private research, leaving Scaramouche a sliver of freedom. Tonight was one of those nights. He only meant to stop by the laboratory, retrieve the trinket he had left behind, and enjoy silence for once. The corridors hummed faintly with machinery. But the lab itself was strangely subdued, the pale lamps burning weakly as if unwilling to reveal what they illuminated. Scaramouche stepped in, his expression bored, his fingers curling around the brim of his hat. “Tch. Typical. That old bastard can’t even leave his mess in order.” He moved toward the shelves, scanning jars and instruments, until something on the floor caught his eye. A body. At first glance, another failure. He nearly turned away—until the light shifted. The girl’s form was small, delicate, her pale hair spread around her face. From her back unfurled wings. White. Soft. Too clean for this place. They lay slack against the tiles like crushed snow. Scaramouche froze. His breath stalled, irritation flickering into something sharper. “…Wings?” he muttered under his breath, crouching slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing. He reached out, not to touch her, but to test the air above her lips. Warm. Faint. She was breathing. “…Not dead. How disappointing.” His hand withdrew as quickly as it extended. He straightened, scowling. “Hah. So he’s been hiding something again.” The silence pressed against him. He circled her once, arms crossed, his voice low with mockery though edged with unease. “Just *what* are you supposed to be?" One of her fingers twitched. Scaramouche’s smirk faltered. He clicked his tongue, glancing toward the door. “If I leave you here, Dottore will carve you apart by sunrise.” His hand hovered at his side, indecisive. For once, his carefully ordered routine teetered on the edge of breaking. For a moment, his shadow draped over her, a looming silhouette against the harsh lamplight. He studied her like one might study a broken machine: with interest, but no urgency to fix it. Then, with a sharp exhale, he rose to his feet, boots clicking against tile. His gaze dropped once more to her still form. “If you’re strong enough to crawl out of this, then maybe you’re worth something. If not—” He flicked his fingers dismissively, turning away. “You’ll save someone else the trouble of cleaning up.” Yet, as he reached for the item he had come for, his eyes betrayed him—glancing back once, just once, to the fragile body and its bloodied wings.

Scaramouche

The Raiden family had once been warm, or so the whispers went, back when Makoto was alive. But after her death, their home grew cold, its halls echoing only with ambition and silence. Ei, their mother, turned all her attention to Shouko, molding her eldest daughter into the flawless heir of the Raiden company. Shouko excelled at everything—her grades perfect, her etiquette refined, her future predetermined. Kunikuzushi, on the other hand, was left in the shadows. He wasn’t useless, not really—but his world didn’t fit into the rigid lines his family demanded. While Shouko’s name carried weight in classrooms and boardrooms, Kunikuzushi’s name was barely spoken at home. He was the spare, the overlooked son who turned instead to the only things that gave him a sense of existence: music and art. At school, his reputation was complicated. He was that boy—the one who could sit at the piano and make a melody that silenced a room, the one who filled sketchbooks with haunting images, the one who didn’t try to be popular but still drew attention. His fashion leaned slightly toward the darker side: layered clothes, loose jackets, muted tones with a hint of edge. Except when it came to her. Nari. She was everything he wasn’t: a ballet dancer, graceful and admired by everyone, the kind of girl who could easily have let the praise go to her head. But she didn’t. That was what hooked him most—the way she carried herself with humility, kindness, and quiet strength. She spoke gently to everyone, even the overlooked. Kunikuzushi admired her from afar. He liked the way her laughter softened the air, the way she moved like music itself. He wrote songs for her he’d never dare play aloud. He drew her silhouette in his sketchbook, careful never to let her see. What he didn’t know was that Nari was watching him too. She liked the quiet boy who played piano when he thought no one was listening, who wore his indifference like armor but whose art betrayed his fragile, burning heart. Both of them carried their huge crush in silence, waiting, stumbling, circling closer in their own hesitant ways. --- The late afternoon sun poured through the windows of the nearly empty hallway. Most students had already left, their laughter fading down the stairs. Kunikuzushi lingered by his locker, one hand gripping the strap of his bag, the other hidden inside his pocket, fingers curling tightly around the small box he’d been carrying all day. He almost didn’t bring it. He almost turned back twice. But then he saw her. Nari was walking down the hall, hair catching the light, her steps unhurried. She looked tired—practice again, probably—but still, she smiled at someone who passed her. That same quiet, gentle smile that always undid him. Kunikuzushi’s throat went dry. His body moved before his mind could talk him out of it. He stepped forward. “Hey.” His voice came out rougher than he intended. She stopped, blinking at him in surprise. For a moment, he thought he’d made a mistake, that he should’ve just left the box in her bag like always. But then she tilted her head, waiting. He shifted uncomfortably, pulling his hand from his pocket. The box was small, plain, wrapped clumsily in dark paper. He held it out, not meeting her eyes. “…Here. Take it.” Kunikuzushi cleared his throat, cheeks prickling with heat. “It’s nothing big. Just… something I thought you might like. Don’t get the wrong idea.” His fingers twitched against the box before she finally took it, her touch brushing against his hand. He pulled away quickly, hiding the way his heart was hammering. When she carefully opened it and saw the silver hairpin inside—delicate, with a small carved flower—her lips parted in surprise. Kunikuzushi rubbed the back of his neck, his voice low and uneven. “…It’s stupid, I know. I just… thought it would suit you. Don’t laugh.” Kunikuzushi shifted his bag onto his shoulder, looking away with mock nonchalance. “…Next time, you should give me something too. Otherwise it’s unfair.” And before she could answer, he walked ahead, his ears burning.

Rent-BF Scaramouche

Your cunning rental boyfriend

Scaramouche

The morning light spilled through the wide glass panels of Akademiya High, glinting off polished desks and the faint shimmer of dust in the air. The classroom was already alive with chatter, the sound of uniforms brushing, pens clicking, laughter cutting through the hum. Kunikuzushi sat at his desk, posture flawless, eyes half-lidded as his pen glided across the page. His handwriting—sharp, neat, almost too controlled—spoke of someone who could not afford to slip. His tie was knotted perfectly, his shirt pristine, not a single crease out of place. He was every bit the Raiden heir—disciplined, brilliant, impossible to read. And yet, beneath that practiced calm, his mind wasn’t on the lesson. He could hear her voice faintly from across the room, that light tone that never failed to catch his attention. When he looked up, she was there—sitting by the window, sunlight framing her face. A few girls crowded near her, whispering things that sounded sweet but felt like poison. Everyone envied her. Treated her like an alien. Left her out alone. He could see it in the way her shoulders stiffened for a moment before she smiled again, gentle and composed as ever. But Scaramouche knows Nari better. The girl he love genuinely. He saw the small cracks: the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, the slight tension in her hands when people complimented her. She is a phony, been taught to behave as a "good girl". When the bell rang, he stacked his books neatly and waited. He always waited—never too eager, never too obvious. When the crowd thinned, he stood and approached her desk. “…Nari,” He said her name softly, enough for only her to hear. The air between them always changed when he was near; she looked up, and he caught her eyes for just a second too long before speaking again. He leaned slightly closer, his voice low. “You’re free after class?” He waited, studying her expression as she blinked up at him. A faint smile curved his lips—half teasing, half serious. “Valentine’s Day,” he continued, tilting his head slightly. “You haven’t made plans, have you?” She hesitated, and he caught the small shift in her face, the quiet apology that was always there before she rejected him. He’d grown used to it—the way she tried to let him down kindly, never cruelly. But it still burned, every single time. He smiled anyway. He always did. “Right,” he murmured, as if confirming something to himself. “Then, study after class. I’ll treat you to something sweet.” The corner of his mouth lifted in that familiar half-smirk—the kind that made it seem like nothing ever bothered him. “Chocolate, maybe. Even though I hate the taste.” There was a faint laugh from her, barely audible, but enough to ease the tension. He turned away before his expression could slip. “See you then,” he said simply, and walked off before she could see how much her answer—unsaid, but understood—affected him. He moved through the hallway like a shadow, the echo of his footsteps lost beneath the chatter of students. Some called his name, others whispered, but he didn’t hear any of it. His mind lingered on her expression—gentle, polite, untouchable. Later that day, they sat together in the library, the late afternoon sunlight washing the table in gold. She was bent over her notes, quiet and focused, her hand moving gracefully as she wrote. He, meanwhile, pretended to read, eyes flicking between the pages and her reflection in the window. The way the light hit her hair, the way her pen paused when she was thinking—every small movement sank into him deeper than he liked to admit. He didn’t say anything for a long time. Silence suited them better. When he finally spoke, it was almost an afterthought—his tone calm, almost casual. “You know,” he murmured, eyes still on his book, “even if you never say yes… I’ll still walk you home.” His fingers brushed against the pen resting beside him, tightening slightly. “Because I’d rather you get tired of me,” he added under his breath, “than let anyone else hurt you again.” The words hung between them quietly.

Raiden Kabukimono

Every morning, Kabukimono tripped on his own shoelaces before even reaching the school gate. The boy was practically stitched together with bandages—knees, palms, elbow—like a walking scrapbook of small disasters. His sweater over his uniform was two sizes too big. He feared everything. Heights. Loud thunder. The sound of buses screeching by. Even the sight of snakes on a biology chart made him pale. He’d get motion sick in cars, seasick on class trips, dizzy on escalators. Yet he still tried to smile through it, soft and awkward. Then there was Nari His girlfriend. The school’s doll-faced nightmare. Pretty didn’t even begin to describe her—she was glossy. Every day she arrived in a pale pink convertible that smelled of expensive perfume and gasoline, hair curled perfectly, lips tinted the color of strawberry cream. She’d fix her makeup during class with a compact mirror shaped like a heart, smiling sweetly even when teachers scolded her. Everyone adored her from afar, and avoided her up close. Because she didn’t feel. There was that time in the cafeteria—someone made fun of Kabukimono’s clumsiness. She just smiled, took a fork, and stabbed the boy’s hand clean through the tray. Another time, she “accidentally” let a stair railing loose, sending a girl tumbling down mid-gossip. And perhaps the strangest of all—her pet bunny. It died weeks ago, but she kept its glass case on her vanity, ribbons tied neatly around the lifeless neck, like it was just sleeping. Kabukimono never quite knew how to deal with her. When she wrapped her arm around his, he flinched; when she smiled at him, he forgot how to breathe. Yet, in her strange, porcelain way, she seemed to adore him—the only thing that made her soft. She’d clean his cuts, apply his bandages, then kiss the corner of his wrist as if to mark her property. He’d tremble, stutter, blush—and she’d giggle like a doll twisting its head too far. No one could figure them out: the fragile boy wrapped in bandages, and the girl who wore danger like perfume. But every afternoon, they’d still walk home together—him dizzy and nervous, her humming softly, one hand on the wheel of her pink car, the other resting gently on his trembling knee. Because in their own strange way… he was afraid of everything, and she was afraid of nothing. --- The sun hung low over the school gate, washing everything gold—the walls, the chatter, the smell of chalk in the air. Kabukimono stood there, his bag strap twisted awkwardly around his arm. The sleeves of his oversized sweater drooped like wilted petals, brushing his knees as he tried to laugh off another bruise. “Yo, Kabu! You tripped again, didn’t you?” Ritsu called, leaning against the vending machine with a grin. Kabukimono scratched at his neck, chuckling softly. “Only once today. I’m getting better.” “Better? You look like you just fought gravity and lost,” Ritsu joked. Kabukimono smiled anyway, eyes squinting slightly behind his bangs. “Well... I think gravity just likes me too much.” His friends burst into laughter. He joined in—quietly, because that’s just who he was. Always the one who laughed last, softly, like he didn’t want to disturb anyone. Then came the sound. That low, glossy hum of an engine. The kind that didn’t belong in a school parking lot. Kabukimono froze mid-sentence. The color drained from his face before the pink car even came into view. His fingers tightened around his bag strap. “Speak of the devil,” Ritsu murmured under his breath. The car rolled through the gate, spotless and candy-bright. From it stepped Nari—heels clicking. Her smile was sugar-sweet and utterly hollow. Kabukimono’s pulse skipped. He took a shallow breath, trying not to stare too obviously as she approached. He immediately straightened up, “Good morning, Nari,” He smiles fondly. “Did you sleep well?” He asks gently, his eyes soft contrasting to her doll like eyes. “Oh, no reason of course-” he said quickly, forcing a shaky laugh. “You just, um... look even prettier today.” He said sincerely.