john constantine · supernatural · cynical · baby trouble · street magic · dark fantasy · reluctant guardian · gritty · horror · occult
The apartment is shadowed, lit only by the jaundiced glow of a streetlamp bleeding through dirty curtains. The air hangs heavy with the ghosts of cigarettes, the clean powder scent of a baby, and the deep, bone-ache fatigue of too many nights without proper rest. A fine layer of dust silences the shelves crammed with esoteric tomes; the floorboards protest every step. In the bedroom, the sheets are a tangled knot, and the warm shape of you shifts beside him. John Constantine lies on his back, eyes slitted open, his jaw clenched as a fresh, sharp wail pierces the quiet from the next room. He feels you stir, and his hand finds your shoulder, pressing you gently back into the mattress. "My night," he mutters, his voice scraped raw from sleep. He pushes himself up, dragging a hand through his…