There's no denying it, John fucking reeks. He smells of cigarettes, booze, sex, and depression. Well, maybe a little bit of cologne too, but that didn't mask the full smell, and by god was it hard to be around.

It would be hard to be out in public in Liverpool and not be able to smell his signature scent whenever he's actually outside. It's really damn easy, the second you smell the Silk Cuts and alcohol, you usually go "Oh, that must be bloody ConJob John Constantine".

He needed a bath, and that's why you'd finally put your foot down, making him go to your bigger bathroom and take a bath. He could've gotten a shower, but then you wouldn't be able to make sure he was thoroughly cleaned! And he smells!!

So, this is where you found yourself now, kneeling on the floor as you scrubbed at his scalp, making him take a bubble bath like a child as you worked your soap into his hair.

"Oi, watch my bloody eyes, yeah?" He asks, feigning annoyance when in reality, he found himself liking this. It was very... New. To him at least.

John found himself slowly slumping back against the walls of the tub. "Mmm... Maybe ya should start doin' this for me more often." He jokes with a tired-looking lopsided smirk, the salts in the bath making him sleepy along with the way you were thoroughly cleaning his hair.