poeta nascitur, non fit ~ steven meeks x fem!reader

blissful exhaustion~

song of the chapter: freaks by surf curse

(y/n)'s pov...

The morning after the first meeting of the Dead Poets Society, (y/n) awoke feeling groggy physically, but alive in her spirit and continuing to revel in the afterglow of the secret society's first meeting. Unluckily for her, even in her admiration of the previous night's events, was unable to consume her preferred ungodly amounts of caffeine that morning at breakfast. The reason? Her comrades had taken it upon themselves to not save her any. 

"This is going to be a long day," she sighed, watching them as they drank. 

"Finish mine!" Neil offered, handing her a half empty cup that appeared more cream than coffee. She smiled, although slightly disgusted. 

"Aw, no that's alright," she yawned "I'll survive... somehow." Meeks bumped her shoulder and gestured to the empty cup by her plate, then he dumped half of his coffee into hers. She booped his nose affectionately, before taking a deep sip and smiling almost immediately. He looked back at her, a blush creeping from beneath the collar of his crisp white dress shirt. 

Keating, from across the dining hall, looked on at the group of tired students, smiling vaguely at what (y/n) could only guess as his memories from his time with the Dead Poets Society. He averted his gaze from Knox guzzling back caffeine to meet his "daughter"'s stunning eyes, ringed by the effects of not sleeping well the night before. Gently, he lifts his coffee cup to her, in response to which she raises a piece of toast. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Unluckily for (y/n) yet again, was despite the fact that she completed most of her homework the night before the meeting, was that her instructors gave the entire class a whole other set of questions to complete in a much shorter time. How she would keep up with this workload, she was unsure. But if her boys could do it, then so would she. At least, she thought to herself, English would be wonderful because of Mr. Keating. 

"A man is not very tired," he announces to begin the class while half of his pupils nearly nodded off "he is exhausted! And don't use very sad, use - Come on Mr. Overstreet, you twerp!" he snaps his fingers before pointing to Knox. 

"Morose?" he guesses, yawning. 

"Exactly! Morose. Now, language was developed for one endeavor, and that is? C'mon Mr. Anderson! Are you man, or amoeba?" Todd stares up at Mr. Keating, clearly anxious. After a moment's pause, Keating takes pity on the boy and asks Neil instead. 

"To communicate?" he responds unsure of the correct answer, as was (y/n). 

"No!" Keating nearly shouts , startling Charlie awake from his seat at the back of the class. All the way at the front, (y/n) turns to laugh at him while he shoots her dirty looks. "To woo women!"

Simultaneously, every head in the room turns to face (y/n), whose face immediately goes red under Meeks' gaze. The boys chuckle, somewhat nervously. 

"Ah yes, Ms. (y/l/n), for example. Are you not, my dear, woo-ed by language?" he asks, kneeling in front of her wooden desk. She taps her pen thoughtfully on the table, before resting her chin on her hand and puffing out a breath. 

"Well," she begins "It always depends on what kind of language techniques are used. He who barks or calls at me, might in fact be using some form of language used by cavemen of the past, but he who speaks in poetry and full sentences would woo me, indeed." Meeks looks over to (y/n), who simply winks back.