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

emily dickinson plays soccer~

song of the chapter: i love you so - the walters 

(y/n)'s pov...

The day following the interesting cult-like activity that took place in Neil Perry and Todd Anderson's room, the English class of Welton Academy endured a lesson like no other. (y/n), perfectly in her element, skipped alongside the boys as the entire class made their way to the soccer fields - leaving their classroom to be abandoned for the afternoon. She thanked their lucky stars that Mr. Nolan was so oblivious. 

It was October, and had gradually grown colder the past month since school had began. Autumn in its entirety, had arrived long ago, and it is important to note that none of the Dead Poets Society were looking forward to the winter months in the sacred little cave. 

"Now, devotees may argue that one sport or game is inherently better than another," Keating began the lesson with these words as the sweater-clad students marched behind him, kicking up vibrant-colored leaves. "For me, a sport is actually a chance to have other human beings push us to excel." He instructed them to each grab a slip of paper, which had a few words written on it. 

"Mr. Meeks," he said, pointing to the boy "time to inherit the Earth." The aforementioned boy nodded and grabbed his slip of paper before beginning the line. "Mr. Pitts, rise above your name!" the tall boy flushed and grabbed his, following after his best friend. 

Soon enough, each boy and the one girl had a slip to recite after kicking a soccer ball, as per Keating's instructions. Pitts went first, murmuring his portion.

"O to struggle against great odds, to face enemies undaunted." From his awkward body language, (y/n) can discern that her tall friend was indeed quite nervous after being put on the spot. Keating, it seemed, noticed this also. 

"Sounds to me," he chides from the side of the field "like you're daunted! Say it like you're undaunted." Keating stressed the last word before Pitts repeated himself - this time with more bravery and gusto that even Neil would compliment. Pitts followed Keating's instructions and kicked a soccer ball to the opposite side of the field. 

"Next!" Keating called, and after a few more boys had their turns, Meeks was next. Stick was given the "most important job", as Keating declared it to be, placing the round equipment pieces in front of each boy for their turns. 

Somewhere before Meeks stepped up, Keating had chosen a record from (y/n)'s extensive collection - jovial classical music that she danced to alone, late at night as if someone else were there.

Meeks stepped up to recite and kick his ball. From behind, (y/n) could really look at him, beyond his adorable glasses that sometimes hid his kind, brown eyes. Even so, in the late afternoon sun, it seemed his auburn hair was almost like a halo around his freckled face and (y/n) relished in the poetry of beautiful humans. 

As her eyes were observing him, he turned back in confusion to look at her. Gently, she nudged him forward, putting pressure on his shoulder blades to get him to move.

"Come on Meeks, listen to the music!" Keating, clad in a deliciously aesthetic cap, shouted while pointing to the phonograph. 

"To dance, clap hands, exult, shout, skip, roll on, float on!" the boy exclaimed loudly, voice cracking in the middle of the sentence. Despite herself, (y/n) snorted at his expense. Luckily for her, the redhead never seemed to notice. 

When her turn came around, (y/n) felt alive with excitement. With the music playing, Autumn atmosphere and poetry being shouted, she was certain there had never been a more romantic moment during all her time at Welton; not even the Dead Poets meetings. She recognized the words on her little slip to be from Emily Dickinson, perhaps chosen by Keating just for her.