Disclaimer: I don't claim to own, etcetera…
Angel smelled like something grown and mature. Mahogany and leather and aged paper and a little charcoal. And even though he rarely did, Buffy always imagines him smelling like the rain.
She doesn't remember much about Parker anymore. Mostly he smelled like dirty laundry and cheap alcohol, which seems fitting enough.
Riley was sweat and unscented soap. Clean and simple and normal. The sort of things she imagined everyone's mothers' always wanted their children's husbands to smell like. All-American.
Spike smelled the way he looked like he should smell. Tobacco and leather and peroxide. A left-over from the Seventies and the most rebellious, out-of-control thing she could cling to.
Satsu was like cinnamon, of course. And oranges and vanilla. Things that were soft and feminine and so very different from the hard and rough that Buffy had always had before, but there was still always that underlying tinge of sweat to her that reminded Buffy that, soft or no, Satsu was a Slayer, primal and powerful and connected.
When she stands beside Dowling, she wonders briefly what he smells like when he's naked and bare, but the faint scent of tobacco hits her and she realises she doesn't really care.