#its like...an american antique store staple 😂

[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy V

a yandere art professor Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... (also featuring Matt from River's Edge) masterlist/chapter map

V. 

“You missed all the fun,” Matt tells you with a shy smile the next time you see him. “Our van wouldn't start. We spent half the night getting it running again.”

You lift an eyebrow. “Sorry to hear that. What was wrong?”

“Dead battery. And a flat tire.”

“Tough break.”

“Yeah. Kinda weird though, right?”

“A little.”

Professor Wick listens with half an ear from across the room, fighting to suppress a smirk.

-One afternoon you are poking around your neighborhood thrift store when you see a familiar crop of raven hair through the shelves. With mischief in your heart you take down a mangy-looking jackalope taxidermy from a shelf, using it like a puppet to peek around the corner. In a funny voice you say, “Pssst? Hey mister…wanna buy some milk duds?”

You peek around a moment later to find him smiling slightly, one eyebrow raised. “Young lady, do you have a license for that cryptid?” 

You can't stop yourself from grinning at him. “I fed it and it followed me here.” 

“They do that.” 

You have no idea how badly this man sympathizes with a stuffed rabbit defiled with deer antlers at that moment. 

You stand looking at each other for a very long, pregnant moment, which at least in your part is filled with a burgeoning longing you just don't quite know what to do with. You notice he's in the book section. 

“Looking for something particular?”

“Just…looking for books to rescue. It’s kind of a hobby.” He holds up a Victorian cloth bound edition of Washington Irving’s The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Other Stories. It’s seen better days.

“You're…going to fix it?”

“With luck.” He flashes a shy smile that sets off fireworks in your heart. “What are you hunting for?” 

“This and that.” You show him your basket filled with bric a brac. Boxes you want to turn into dioramas, fabric with prints you like, tin cutouts and costume jewelry by the pound you intend to glue onto things…for no better reason than it makes you happy. You do have some purpose to this trip though. “I’m…working on my submission to the Monster Masque. Have you ever been?” 

He shakes his head, that fluffy hair swinging into his face in an unfairly adorable way. “I’m kinda new in town.” 

You sort of knew that. You found out that he’d moved here to take the place of the professor who went on sabbatical.

“Well, it's the Halloween party around here. You have to try it at least once.” Part art show, part masquerade, part rave, it takes place in a warehouse by the river, and the art scene puts on their best. No commercial costumes allowed, everything must be handmade. Part of the fun is guessing who's who beneath their masks��and part of the fun is being anything or anyone you want to be. 

“Sounds like too much fun for an old fogey like me.”

You snort. “As if. You're not old.” This seems to hearten him, somehow. 

“Are you submitting one of your miniatures?”

You pause for a moment. You don't remember telling him about them, but they're not exactly a secret. “Yeah. I'm making a tiny haunted airstream trailer with ghosts who are like…glamping.”

“Glamping?”

You put on a serious air. “Am I commenting on the death of the American Dream, or do I just like cute creepy things? Who can say…”

He huffs with laughter, a sparkle in his dark eyes. “Interesting.”

“Do you…have any projects you're working on?”

He shakes his head and offers you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. “I…haven't been too motivated, since my wife passed,” he admits, looking down at the stacks of books on the table before him. 

“I'm so sorry.”

“Thanks.” He sighs, putting on a brave face, and when he meets your eyes…you don't think you imagine the warmth that kindles between you, out of your own desperation. 

You don't know where you get the cheek to say, “Maybe something will inspire you soon.”

He holds your gaze, and it's like withstanding a lightning bolt straight through your heart. Yet somehow, you stand fast, resisting the urge to wilt before a wildfire.

“If I'm lucky,” he answers, and your heart lodges in your throat, tasting of ash.

You browse the rest of the store together, chatting lightly and chuckling over some of the treasures you find. By the time you are ready to leave you have filled your basket with odds and ends. He has three books–and the jackalope.

“What are you going to do with that?” you laugh as he tucks it under his arm when you leave. 

“I think I’m going to make you pose with it next class,” he jokes. 

You cackle with delight, your mirth filling the street. People shoot you odd looks as they walk by, and you try to look contrite, smiling sheepishly. 

“Should I bring a cowboy hat?” you tease, more in the spirit of being silly than suggestive, but you can tell immediately that your offer hits a different way. You’re not sure how it’s possible for this man to appear equally flustered and wolfish, his eyes darkening to true black as his attention sharpens upon you.

“That…might be too much…for all of our sakes,” he answers diplomatically, and once again you feel too hot under your collar, wishing the sidewalk would open up and swallow you. Why do you always have to ruin everything by running your mouth?

“Ok.” You look around, wondering which way would prove your quickest escape. The least painful option would probably be to walk straight into traffic. “I guess…I’ll see you Monday.”

You have to go crawl into a hole. 

You have no idea how badly he does not want you to go, but before he can think of another thing to say to ease your embarrassment or possibly pry his big foot out of his mouth you’re already halfway down the block.

He watches you go with a sigh.