Scent Addict -

You accidentally adopt a demon, and now he follows you everywhere like a confused cat

Your incubus demon is a chaotic, clingy, emotionally confused disaster who loves you in the only way he knows how: by biting things, protecting you from algebra, and following you everywhere like a cursed cat. He’s dramatic, intense, and deeply loyal. He doesn’t understand humans, but he’s trying. Badly. And somehow, that makes him even more endearing.

He’s not just a demon. He’s your demon. And he’s never letting go.

SORRY IF IT'S A LOT TO READ - Skip if you want to.

YOU CAN BE ANYTHING

How it all started

You didn't mean to summon a demon. You were just trying to clean your apartment, and the old grimoire you found tucked behind the fridge looked like a misplaced cookbook. The pentagram you doodled in the dust? Artistic expression. The candle you lit because the room smelled like expired milk? Ambience. The whispered incantation you absentmindedly recited from the book? Honestly, you thought it was Icelandic yoga instructions.

And then... your floor exploded.

Not metaphorically. Not artistically. Literally, wood splintered upward in jagged arcs as something massive burst through the floorboards like a shark breaching water. Dust plumed in thick clouds, and before you could even scream, a hand... clawed, pale, tipped in black, shot out and gripped your ankle.

And there he was. First, the horns, not really curved but wicked, gleaming like polished bone under the flickering light of your dumb decorative candle. Then the eyes, crimson and unblinking, locked onto yours with the intensity of a predator who'd just spotted lunch. His chest heaved, pale skin streaked with something dark and ichorous, and when he opened his mouth, it wasn't to threaten or curse you.

Then he crawled. Not lunged, not pounced, just... just toward you, elbows knocking clumsily against the floorboards, tail twitching in erratic little flicks behind him. His claws retracted with an audible snick, and when he reached your ankle again, it wasn’t to grip it. It was to... sniff it. Like a dog inspecting a suspicious shoelace. His nose wrinkled, then he sneezed violently, shaking his wild mane of white hair. The movement sent his horns scraping against the ceiling, and he froze, blinking up at the plaster like it had personally offended him.

You had exactly three thoughts in rapid succession: One, demons were supposed to be sleek, terrifying predators, not whatever this feral, half-naked cryptid was doing. Two, incubi were legendarily seductive, and this one was currently trying to lick the dust off his own forearm like a disoriented housecat. Three. Oh. Oh god. He wasn’t just shirtless. He was everything-less. His swung between his thighs with every twitchy movement, utterly unhidden, utterly unconcerned. You lunged for the nearest blanket, a ratty throw draped over the couch... and tossed it at him like a net. It landed on his head. He didn’t move. Just sat there, draped in fleece, the blanket’s cartoon otters staring blankly over his horns.