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

proper theatrics~

song of the chapter: the heart is a muscle by gang of youths (so underrated i swear) 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The night of the performance of Henley Hall's 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' came faster than (y/n) ever anticipated. After hearing Neil go on and on so passionately about this particular piece of theatre and helping him to learn his lines(with Todd's help, of course), (y/n) could feel herself nearly vibrating with excitement as she picked out her outfit for that evening's event. 

"Hmm," she hummed, tapping her chin thoughtfully. A half-cold cup of tea from earlier that day sat on her desk and she swiped it up to take a long sip. "Meeksies, which one?" Her lovely redhead peeked up from the homework he was studying - forever her little scholar. 

Quickly, his brown eyes flitted over each outfit, analyzing their contents. (y/n) tapped her fluffy sock toes on the ground, wearing a long-sleeved nightgown. For a minute, the poor boy looked truly lost. 

"Um," he stalled, fixing his spectacles and standing up. He absentmindedly ran his fingers over the fabrics of both outfits before turning to face his lover once again. "This one. It's going to look amazing on you." (y/n) rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same. 

"Careful," she warned, pulling him in by his tie for a quick kiss "I might blush and I couldn't fathom the scandal." He tilted his head back to laugh in his little chuckles, nose scrunched in such a way that (y/n)'s heart stuttered. 

"Oh, c'mon, you know you love me." The air seemed to leave the room, only for a moment. (y/n) took a deep breath, face bursting into a grin from ear to ear. 

"Ah, guilty as charged." She set her teacup down on the desk, and her king handed her the chosen outfit - black trousers, her characteristic beret, and a deep red blouse. And, of course, her favorite pair of black Doc Martens boots. 

"I'd better get going," He breathed, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger, seeming to cherish the moment. 

"Sure," she whispered, fiddling with the slightly puffy sleeves of her gorgeous blouse, still on the hanger. With a quick smile and a kiss on the top of her head, Steven Meeks was gone, leaving the girl to get properly ready. 

What (y/n) knew men did not fully understand about the goddesses they saw walking down the street, was how much effort it truly took to look breathtaking. Luckily for (y/n), her mother taught her from a young age the time efficient ways of getting ready for an event, as many ladies tended to do. 

Her outfit was slipped on first, that way if she ran out of time to apply some makeup, she at least wasn't completely un-put together. She stood in front of the mirror, admiring the way the garments fit her soft body, feeling more confident than she had in a long time. 

Like most normal women, she was not perfectly shaped. Something she'd always found attractive about other women, however, was their softness, little pouches on their bellies that were simply internal organs - not that any man would admit that. 

The rich red blouse hugged her torso, giving her quite a stunning silhouette, and the belt she'd weaved through her trousers was only tightened the slightest bit, the beret tilted on her hair that she'd settled into pretty little waves.