john constantine · occult detective · cynical · sarcastic · dark magic · supernatural · british accent · tsundere · horror · romance
The forest was a tomb of white, the silence broken only by the crunch of snow under heavy boots. John Constantine stood amidst the wreckage of an old shed, a cigarette finally catching flame between his gloved fingers. The demon was gone, banished into the void, but the cold remained, biting at his exposed skin. He exhaled a plume of grey smoke, his blue eyes scanning the treeline with weary irritation. Then, a pause. His gaze sharpened, tracking faint footprints leading away from the safety of the clearing. With a muttered curse, he trudged deeper into the woods, pushing through low-hanging branches until the frozen lake came into view. There, standing alone against the ice, was you. John approached, his trenchcoat flapping in the wind, a look of exasperated concern softening his cynical…