Chapter 1: The Delivery

Sitting on my couch in old sweatpants, surrounded by empty takeout boxes and my anxious rescue mutt, I clutched my phone and wondered if my new demon was dying. I bought a handsome, aloof incubus online. There was something about his photos—those cool, unreadable eyes, the razor-sharp jawline, the way he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else but posing for an ad. He seemed like he could just stroll out of my screen and into a swanky downtown bar, a little too perfect for reality. But now that he’s here, he keeps making these weird, low, rumbling purrs and just stares at me, saying nothing. His skin is scorching hot whenever I brush past him, which is honestly alarming.

I shot off a frantic message to customer service, thumbs pounding. After I described everything, the rep went silent. A few seconds ticked by—just enough time for my brain to spiral. Then, with that late-night, zero-filter bluntness, I got: "Sweetie, maybe he’s not sick—just starving for a little, uh, action?"

I spent a small fortune online to buy a male incubus. No joke, the price tag was enough to make my credit card whimper. But hey, if you’re going to splurge on something life-changing, why not go all in? The product description promised a gorgeous and cool guy with abs you could bounce quarters off, a jaw sharp enough to slice bread, and a waist so trim it made me want to sign up for a spin class.

Most importantly—He’s capable. That trait hit my soft spot, hard. I’d always wanted someone who could take initiative, who could get things done without me nagging. The idea of someone not just pretty but useful? Incredibly attractive.

Without much hesitation—just a fluttery skip in my chest—I clicked buy, barely giving myself time to second-guess.

But right after placing the order, customer service messaged first.

"Hi there, are you online?"

I frowned at my phone, half-expecting a scam, half-excited. "Uh, yeah? What’s up?"

"Here’s the thing: the incubus you just ordered looks amazing, but he’s a bit on the cold side. And since he’s mature, his stamina… is a lot."

I stared at that line, trying to decode it. Did that mean more laundry? Or was this a euphemism for something way spicier?

"If you’re not sure about this type, I suggest you request a refund first. We can recommend a gentler incubus."

I replied: "No need, the cold and capable type is exactly what I want right now."

I threw in a winky emoji, hoping to seem more confident than I felt.

After that, customer service sent a blessing: "Alright, hon, then this incubus will arrive at your home on time. Wishing you and him a happy life together every day~"

I couldn’t help but laugh at the tilde. The whole thing felt more like ordering a pizza than summoning a supernatural roommate.

A few days later. I was halfway through reheating leftovers when a broad-shouldered, slim-waisted, icy-faced incubus knocked on my door. The sharp rap startled my dog, who dove behind the couch. I cracked open the door, expecting a delivery guy in a cheap costume. But—damn.

My brain short-circuited. Of course the hottest guy in the universe would meet me when I looked like I’d lost a fight with a tornado. Everyone knows incubi are famous for their looks, but this one was too good-looking. If you didn’t know, you’d think an aloof billionaire had gone off the grid and ended up in my apartment building.

"Uh, ma’am—sorry, Morgan." His voice was cool and distant, but a velvet undertone tickled my ears, making me shiver. My cheeks flushed as I realized I was wearing a hoodie with a pizza stain and my hair looked like a bird’s nest.

Flustered, I waved my hands. "N-no need to call me ma’am, just Morgan is fine. Oh, do you have a name?"

He didn’t hesitate, like he’d been waiting for this. "I’m Adrian."

As he spoke, Adrian’s tail slid forward—a little heart-shaped tip at the end, ridiculously cute. I blinked, half-expecting it to wag. It was so out of place with his serious vibe that I nearly laughed.

"By the rules, you need to hold my tail to count as receiving the goods."

"Oh, oh." I hurried to grab his tail. It was smooth, soft—almost plush, the kind of thing you want to pet just because you can. Without thinking, I gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Mmm..." Adrian let out a low, muffled sound. For a split second, he looked almost... bashful? Maybe it was just the hallway light.

Thinking I’d squeezed too hard, I quickly let go and apologized. "Sorry, did I hurt you?"

Adrian looked down at me, Adam’s apple bobbing, and a strange rumbling purr came from his throat. I’d never heard anything like it outside of a cat video.

"No, I just wasn’t ready."

Relief washed over me. "That’s good, that’s good."

Trying to comfort him, I said, "Don’t be nervous. Why don’t you rest for a bit first? There’s still a lot of work to do later."

He didn’t miss a beat: "If you want, actually, we can do it now."

"Now?" I hesitated, suddenly wondering what exactly I’d signed up for.

"Mm... that’s fine too."

"Okay."

The rumbling in Adrian’s throat grew louder, vibrating like a distant car engine in the night.