A Refrain of You
Teacher!IsadoraCapri x Teacher!Fem!Reader (established relationship)
Isadora/Y/N POV of: A Symphony of Clues (You don't need to read symphony fic before refrain but I suggest you do)
Warnings/Tags: Teacher x teacher (established relationship), Soft domestic fluff, Implied sexual content (nothing explicit), Married sapphics, ArtTeacher!Reader, Mild teasing, Mild power dynamics (but in a safe way), Mutual affection, Lot's of touching, teasing, rings, hands etc... Also implied neurodivergent y/n (via self-projection ✌️), Proofread badly.
This fic is quite long and yeah, oh also I had a hard time writing it... or well finishing it, it's sort of explained in this rant/post
hopefully it was worth the wait 💙
Morning at Nevermore was quiet in a way that felt almost conspiratorial...
Grey light slipped through the tall windows, pooling softly over tangled sheets and the familiar sprawl of their shared space – half-finished mugs on the bedside tables, sheet music curled at the edges, a paint-stained scarf slung over a chair like it had been forgotten in a hurry.
Y/N did not want to wake up.
She shifted, slow and careful, and immediately hissed under her breath before burrowing closer into Isadora’s side, seeking warmth and safety in equal measure.
Isadora stirred at the sound.
Her eyes opened lazily, a smile already tugging at her mouth as she felt the way Y/N clung to her, all soft and heavy and uncharacteristically still.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Isadora murmured, voice low and warm.
Y/N answered with a quiet groan, face tucked into Isadora’s shoulder. “I hate mornings.”
“You don’t hate mornings,” Isadora said gently, fingers beginning slow, soothing passes along Y/N’s back. “You hate moving.”
“That too,” Y/N muttered. After a beat, softer, “Everything feels… tender.”
Isadora hummed, unmistakably pleased, and pressed a kiss into Y/N’s hair. “Imagine that.”
Y/N tilted her head just enough to give her a look – sleepy, flustered, undeniably fond. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“I’m enjoying you,” Isadora corrected, brushing her thumb along Y/N’s jaw. “And the way you sound when you complain.”
Y/N opened her mouth to argue, then caught herself, cheeks warming. “That is unfair.”
“Mm,” Isadora said, entirely unrepentant. “You were very vocal about your opinions last night.”
Y/N made a small, embarrassed noise and hid her face again, which only made Isadora laugh quietly.
“I liked hearing them,” Isadora added softly, kissing her temple. “Every," kiss, "single," another, "one," and one lasting one on her lips.
The room settled into something warm and unhurried after that, the kind of silence that only comes when nothing needs to be said.
Eventually, Isadora began the slow work of waking her properly – gentle kisses along her cheek, her jaw, the corner of her mouth; murmured promises of coffee and patience and I’ve got you.
“Come on,” Isadora coaxed. “If you stay any longer, you’ll convince yourself you can live here.”
Y/N sighed but let herself be guided upright, blinking blearily. “I could.”
“I know,” Isadora said fondly. “But the world insists on having us today.”
Getting ready together was a quiet ritual.
Y/N slipped into one of Isadora’s button-ups, oversized and already marked with old paint, then fumbled immediately with the buttons, hands sluggish and unfocused.
Isadora stepped in without comment, fastening them for her, fingers lingering at Y/N’s waist just long enough to make her breath hitch.
“You’d be late to your own life if I didn’t help you,” Isadora teased gently.
“I would make it eventually,” Y/N said, unconvinced.
“At noon.”
“At earliest.”
At the dresser, Y/N reached for Isadora’s rings, sliding them onto her fingers with familiar care. She spun one absently, grounding herself in the familiar weight and the soft clink of metal.
Isadora watched her with quiet affection, leaning in to kiss her brow once she was done.
“Thank you, angel,” she murmured.
Y/N ducked her head, flustered but smiling. “You’re welcome.”
They lingered there a moment longer than necessary, foreheads pressed together, the morning stretching softly around them – unrushed, intimate, carrying the quiet echo of the night before.
Then Isadora squeezed Y/N’s hand once, gentle and sure.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go pretend we’re respectable.”
Y/N laughed softly and followed her out.
---
Isadora had learned, early in her Nevermore career, the difference between teaching and holding attention.
Today, she was doing neither.
The room buzzed with the low-grade restlessness of adolescents who did not care for harmonic progressions, no matter how gently or enthusiastically they were presented.
She leaned one hip against the piano, tapping an idle rhythm against her thigh, watching eyes glaze and drift.
It didn’t bother her.
She knew what this class was really here for.
When Ajax raised his hand, she braced herself.
“What music do you actually listen to?” he asked. “Like… when you’re not teaching.”
A harmless question. Personal, but safe. Isadora allowed herself a small smile.
“A bit of everything,” she said. “My wife says my playlists sound like a game of roulette.”
The word slipped out easily.
Too easily.
It landed in the room with a soft, audible weight.
Isadora felt it immediately – the collective shift, the sharpened attention, the way several heads snapped up at once. She straightened just a fraction, folding her arms loosely across her chest.
Ah.
So that was the day they were having.
“You’re married?” Bianca asked, brows drawing together.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
Isadora tilted her head. “You’ve asked me about modes, not my marital status.”
That earned her a few laughs, but the questions came anyway, tumbling over one another in an uncoordinated rush.
She answered as little of them as possible.
Then Enid Sinclair raised her hand.
Isadora had noticed Enid on the first day – bright eyes, sharp instincts, a mind that never truly rested. The kind of student who watched the world like it was a puzzle meant to be solved.
This, Isadora thought distantly, might be a mistake.
“Why do you wear so many rings?” Enid asked. “Like… so many. Is it symbolism? Or just an aesthetic thing? Because it’s a slay either way.”
Isadora glanced down at her hands.
The rings caught the light – metal and stone, familiar weights, each one chosen not for beauty alone but for memory. Her thumb brushed one without thinking.
Her voice softened before she could stop it.
“My wife,” she said quietly, “likes to play with them. It calms her.”
The room reacted instantly with the kind of collective aw that made her huff a breath of laughter before she could help herself.
But beneath it, something stirred.
Not alarm. Not regret.
Just the faint, unsettling sense that she had revealed more than she intended.
She cleared her throat. “That’s enough questions. Modes. Page forty-seven.”
They obeyed – mostly.
Isadora turned back to the piano, her focus ostensibly on the lesson, though her thoughts had drifted elsewhere entirely.
To paint-stained sleeves. To nervous hands. To the way Y/N fidgeted with her rings like they were a lifeline.
She didn’t notice Enid watching her smile.
---
The paint was seen before Enid pointed it out.
Isadora noticed it the moment she lifted the sheet music – a smear of cerulean blue along the corner of the page, careless and unmistakable.
She didn’t sigh.
She didn’t smile.
She simply adjusted her grip and continued stacking the papers as if nothing were amiss.
“Ms. Capri?” Enid asked, peering over the edge of the stand. “Why is there paint on this?”
Isadora blinked slowly, deliberately. “Is there?”
She didn’t look.
Looking would be an admission.
“Yeah,” Enid said brightly. “Like… art room blue.”
Isadora hummed, tapping the stack into alignment. “Perhaps the sheet music felt it needed a splash of colour.”
She risked a glance then – and caught the tell-tale corner of her own mouth betraying her, curving upward before she could school it away.
Enid noticed.
Of course she did.
Isadora turned, offering the class her most serene expression. “Careful observation is commendable,” she said lightly. “However, we are still discussing harmonic analysis.”
The subject was dropped.
Officially.
Unofficially, Isadora spent the rest of the lesson acutely aware that at least one student had filed this away as evidence.
Later that afternoon, she found Y/N in their shared quarters, sleeves pushed up, hands stained with half a dozen colours.
Isadora didn’t bother hiding her smile.
“Did you,” she asked mildly, setting her bag down, “by any chance brush past my sheet music today?”
Y/N froze.
Then groaned.
“Oh no,” she said, her fingers automatically finding her nail beds, picking them raw. “Was it blue? I bet it was blue. That paint is always so stubborn in drying.”
Isadora crossed the room, catching Y/N’s wrists gently before she could spiral, and hurt herself, further. She lifted one paint-smeared hand, examining it with mock seriousness.
“You’re a menace,” she said fondly.
“I am an artist,” Y/N countered, indignant, tilting her head, eyes warm despite herself. “You knew about the collateral damage when you married me.”
Isadora huffed a laugh, leaning in to press a kiss to her multicoloured fingers. "Yes, I married the mess – and the hands that make it. Happily.”
“And I married someone who should come with a warning label,” Y/N said, breathless, flustered. Then she leaned in, stole a quick, panicked kiss from Isadora’s lips, then immediately tried to escape past her like proximity itself was dangerous.
Isadora caught her waist with easy familiarity, pulling her closer than before.
“Oh?” she murmured. “And what would the warning label read?”
Y/N froze, already undone.
“It would say-” she rushed, barely stopping to breathe, “-that you tease and you look at people like that, like you know exactly what you’re doing, and you say things so calmly it’s worse, and suddenly I can’t think or talk or remember what I was trying to prove and-”
She cut herself off with a small, helpless huff of breath.
Isadora smiled – slow, sharp, unmistakably fond.
“I don’t do this to anyone else,” she murmured. “I married you knowing I’d undo you like this for the rest of our lives.”
She kissed her then – slow, quiet, certain – like they had all the time in the world.
---
The art room smelled like paint and clay and something faintly metallic – wet brushes soaking too long, pigment settling into the cracks of the tables.
Y/N liked it that way.
It meant she was doing something right.
Enid Sinclair hovered at her desk, sketchbook tucked under one arm, eyes bright with the kind of focus that made Y/N feel like a specimen more than a teacher. Still, she smiled, leaning against the edge of the table as she talked through composition and colour balance.
“Try not to overwork the shadows,” she said. “Let them breathe a little.”
Enid nodded, earnest. “Got it.”
Y/N turned to her desk, pulling open the top drawer in search of a post-it.
It resisted – stuck the way it always did – before sliding open too fast.
She pulled a few things out.
A pencil rolled.
A dried flower from one of the many bouquets Isadora had given her.
And then-
The ring.
Y/N’s breath hitched.
For half a second, the room tilted.
Oh.
There you are.
She stared at it – silver band, cool even from a distance, the blue stone dulled slightly with dust. It had laid nestled against old scraps of paper and a forgotten eraser like it belonged there.
Her fingers moved on instinct, lifting it, weight familiar the moment it touched her skin.
I’ve been looking for you, she thought, a little dazed.
Then the memory stirred.
Not fully – not yet – but enough.
A flash of paint-slicked hands. A laugh, low and warm against her ear. A desk pressing into her back.
Her stomach flipped.
Oh no.
She became acutely aware of Enid’s presence again, standing too close, watching too intently. Y/N forced herself to breathe normally, keep her expression steady.
She had the sudden, awful certainty that if she looked at Enid right now, she’d give herself away entirely.
There was a flicker – she knew it. She felt it cross her face like a shadow.
Recognition. Realisation. A very specific kind of panic.
She closed her fingers around the ring and slid it back into the drawer with practiced calm, pushing it just out of sight.
No big deal.
Totally normal.
Definitely not something Isadora was going to tease her mercilessly about later.
She shut the drawer and turned back to Enid, smile already in place.
“Sorry,” she said lightly. “What were we talking about?”
Enid blinked, clearly recalibrating. “Uh, colour composition?”
“Right,” Y/N said, relieved. “Yes. That.”
She continued the conversation like nothing had happened, voice steady, posture relaxed.
Inside, her thoughts were anything but.
How did I forget that?
Why did I put it there?
Isadora is never going to let me live this down.
Worse: what if Isadora was upset?
The ring wasn’t just a ring. It was one of the ones she wore most. The one Y/N always reached for without thinking, thumb spinning the stone when her thoughts got too loud.
She swallowed.
I’ll tell her tonight, she decided. Before she notices it’s gone.
Because she would notice.
Isadora noticed everything.
Y/N glanced down at her paint-stained hands, already imagining the look on Isadora’s face – amused, fond, devastatingly smug.
She exhaled slowly.
I am so dead.
And behind her, Enid Sinclair watched her with narrowed eyes, curiosity sharpening into something far more dangerous.
---
By the time Y/N made it back to their quarters, the sky outside had gone violet-soft, dusk pressing gently against the windows. Her bag was heavier than it should’ve been.
Not physically.
Just… morally.
Isadora was already there, sleeves rolled up, hair loose from its usual tie as she flipped through sheet music at the dining table. She looked up when Y/N came in, her expression easing immediately.
“There you are,” she said warmly. “I was beginning to think the art room had claimed you as its own again.”
Y/N huffed, dropping her bag by the door. “It tried.”
Isadora smiled, eyes flicking over the familiar paint stains, the nervous way Y/N worried at her nail beds when she thought too hard. She rose, crossing the space between them with easy grace, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s cheek.
Then she noticed it.
Not anything obvious.
Just Y/N.
Too quiet, careful. That particular kind of nervous energy that never quite sat right on her, like she was holding something behind her teeth instead of letting it spill.
Isadora slowed, her gaze sharpening slightly.
Y/N felt it instantly. Her shoulders tensed like a caught animal.
“…Isa,” she said, voice already apologetic.
Isadora looked down softly at y/n, patient, a brow lifting curiously. “Angel?”
Y/N reached into her pocket, fingers fumbling for just a second too long before she produced it.
The ring.
Silver band. Blue stone.
She held it out on her palm like an offering.
“I found it,” she said quickly. “In my desk. I- I didn’t even realise I put it in there, I swear, and then Enid was there and the drawer got stuck and it just- appeared.”
She stopped, breath catching, finally daring to look up at Isadora.
“…I’m sorry.”
Isadora stared at the ring for a heartbeat.
Then she laughed.
Not sharp. Not upset.
Warm. Low. Thoroughly entertained.
“Well,” she said, taking it gently, thumb brushing over the familiar stone. “I can't say I'm surprised.”
Y/N groaned, burying her face briefly in Isadora’s shoulder. I knew you were going to say that.”
Isadora’s arm came around her automatically, holding her close. “Sweet girl,” she murmured. “You didn’t think I'd be upset, did you?”
Y/N huffed into her shoulder, still hiding. “I didn’t know,” she admitted, mumbling. “You wear it all the time and I just- lost it in a drawer like an idiot.”
“Mm,” Isadora hummed, entirely unconcerned, her hand smoothing once over Y/N’s back.
She slipped the ring back onto her finger, twisting it once, deliberately.
“Do you remember,” she added, voice turning just slightly more pointed, yet lower, “how this one got lost?”
Y/N froze.
Slowly, she pulled back, cheeks already warming. “I-”
Isadora tilted her head, eyes dancing. “Because I remember.”
“That’s unfair,” Y/N said, mortified. “You always remember.”
Isadora leaned in closer, voice dropping just enough to make Y/N’s stomach flip. “You were painting,” she said softly. “Very late. Very focused. And I came looking for you.”
Y/N squeezed her eyes shut. “Isa-" her hands came up, instinctive, twisting at Isadora’s sleeves. “You’re impossible.”
“And you,” Isadora said fondly, “have a terrible habit of stealing my rings when you're preoccupied.”
“I give them back,” Y/N muttered. "Anyway, it is not my fault I was distracted when you were the one who instigated-"
"Oh," Isadora said mildly.
The interruption was gentle. Calculated.
"And you didn't want it?"
Y/N stalled for half a breath. Regrouped. "That's not what I said-"
"Because I remember," Isadora continued, unhurried, "you being quite eager."
Y/N scoffed, heat creeping up her neck. "And I remember my back being sore for pretty much all of last week afterwards."
Isadora's mouth curved – not quite a smile.
"Yes, that desk is pretty unforgiving"
"You wouldn't know, I was the one pressed against it" Y/N fought, breathlessly.
"And who put herself there?" Isadora replied with a calm that made Y/N's stomach turn inside out. "Repeatedly."
Y/N stared at her. "You kissed me first."
"I always do."
Y/N tried again, desperate now. "You distracted me"
"You let yourself be distracted"
"That ring would have still been on your hand if you hadn't-"
"If I hadn't what?"
Y/N waved a hand, flustered. "Touched me like-" She cut herself off, breath uneven. "You know."
"And yet," Isadora stepped closer. Not crowding. Just inevitable. "You're the one who leaned back."
Y/N swallowed. "You didn't stop me."
"No," Isadora agreed. "and you didn't stop me either. My hands... my mouth-"
Y/N cut her off before she could tease further "SO we're... equally to blame."
Isadora raised a brow, pretending to consider while looking at her wife's flustered cheeks, then nodded once. "For the ring."
"And the desk," Y/N added mutinously.
"And the desk," Isadora echoed.
A pause. Charged. Heavy.
Isadora’s hand slid to Y/N’s waist, firm but light, grounding, inevitable. Her thumb brushed just under Y/N’s ribs, the same spot that had made her forget everything else that night.
Y/N’s breath hitched. “…Isa…”
“You remember,” Isadora murmured, low, deliberate, “what it felt like when I found you?”
"Yes..." Y/N swallowed, cheeks warming, and a shiver ran down her spine. Boldness wavered in her chest. She let her fingers brush Isadora’s hand lightly, teasingly, almost daring. “…And I might’ve… liked it,” she said softly, voice trembling just enough to betray her nerves. “Maybe… I wanted it again.”
Isadora’s eyes darkened with amusement. A slow, calculated smirk spread across her face. “Oh, did you now?”
Y/N bit her lip, heat spreading, biting back a nervous smile, and took a tentative step closer, almost imperceptibly leaning in. "Yes... and I was hoping it would be... somewhere more comfortable than that desk?"
“Hmm,” Isadora continued, voice silk and sharp all at once, “and here I thought I was the only one making sure we didn’t forget that night.”
Y/N’s knees weakened, breath catching, a giggle escaping despite herself. “You’re insufferable,” she whispered.
“I know,” Isadora said, smug, deliberate, letting the weight of her presence settle around Y/N. “And lucky for you, I plan on reminding you again.”
Y/N’s laugh caught in her throat, half disbelief, half longing. Her fingers lightly trailing down Isadora's arms, her eyes following her own movements, away from her wife's gaze.
“And,” Isadora continues softly, teasing, her hand leaving Y/N's waist to her chin titling it up to meet her eyes, "even luckier for you, I think I could be convinced to help you find... somewhere more comfortable."
Y/N shivered at the words, the touch. "Isa-"
"Shh," Isadora whispered, guiding her gently by the hand. "Come on. I know how much you like being pressed into... things but I don't believe the front door is more comfortable than your desk."
Y/N stumbled slightly, laughing softly, breathless and flustered, letting Isadora lead her. The warmth of their shared quarters pressed in around them – the rumpled sheets, the quiet sigh of the evening, the comfort of home.
Isadora slowed as they neared the bed, keeping her tone teasing, low. “You do realise,” she murmured, lips near Y/N’s ear, “that asking like that… well… it makes you very hard to resist.”
Y/N’s laugh was half-nervous, half-excited. “…I was just saying…”
“Shh,” Isadora whispered again, a smirk in her voice, pressing her hand lightly against Y/N’s shoulders, guiding her to sink onto their bed. “I know exactly what you meant.”
Y/N’s fingers found Isadora’s, twisting the ring once more. The air between them was warm, charged – full of anticipation, implication, and the memory of that night at the art room looming, ready to resurface when the time came...
---
Later that week the classroom was restless in that familiar way – chairs scraping, voices overlapping, a dozen small movements happening at once.
Y/N stood near the front, close enough to Isadora that she could feel the warmth radiating from her, but with enough distance to be called, maybe not professional, but friendly.
It was instinctive, unconscious. The way they always found each other in a room.
She was only half-listening to the hum of conversation when it happened.
“They’re sooo cute together.”
The words cut clean through the noise.
Y/N’s stomach dropped.
She turned just in time to see Enid Sinclair – eyes wide, hands clapped over her mouth far too late – staring at them like she’d just solved a decades-old cold case.
The room went very, very quiet.
Y/N felt heat flood her face all at once, a hot, mortifying rush that made her ears ring. She glanced at Isadora, heart hammering, bracing for – something. Surprise. Damage control. A polite deflection.
Instead, Isadora raised an eyebrow.
Slowly.
Amused. Curious. Almost impressed.
“Sorry, Enid,” she said lightly. “Did you say something?”
Y/N wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
Enid did not take the invitation to retreat.
She launched.
Words spilled out of her in a breathless cascade – the lunches, the staff room, the paint, the gravitational pull, the ring. The ring. Y/N’s chest tightened with every detail Enid named aloud, each one too accurate to be coincidence.
This was happening.
This was actually happening.
Y/N stared straight ahead, cheeks burning, hands curling into the fabric of her sleeves. She could feel the students’ eyes on them now, the sudden shift from suspicion to certainty.
When Enid finally ran out of breath, silence fell again.
Isadora broke it with a soft laugh.
Not startled.
Not defensive.
Warm.
“Well,” she said, glancing sideways at Y/N with unmistakable fondness, “she’s observant.”
Y/N groaned quietly. “Terrifyingly so.”
“But correct,” Isadora added.
The room erupted.
Gasps. Squeals. Laughter. Someone clapped. Someone else whispered, I knew it.
Y/N squeezed her eyes shut for half a second, then opened them again, exhaling slowly.
They were safe.
She hadn’t realised how tightly she’d been holding herself until Isadora shifted just enough that their shoulders brushed properly, grounding and steady.
The questions came next – too many, too fast – but Y/N barely heard them over the sound of her own heartbeat.
When she was asked about the ring – why she didn’t wear one – she answered honestly, tugging the chain from beneath her collar, the gold band warm against her skin.
“I’d lose it,” she admitted. “Or get paint on it. Or glue it to something. Or–”
“You once glued a ring to your canvas,” Isadora said mildly.
“That was one time.”
Isadora smiled at her like this was the most natural thing in the world.
Y/N laughed, helplessly, because what else could she do?
---
Eventually, the bell rang.
The students filed out buzzing, voices still carrying fragments of awe and delight down the hall. The classroom emptied until it was just the two of them again, the echo of the day lingering like a held breath.
Y/N sagged slightly, all the adrenaline leaving her at once.
Isadora noticed immediately. She stepped closer, closing the space fully this time. “Come here, darling,” she murmured.
Y/N did. Her fingers found Isadora’s hand, twisting the rings there gently, familiar and grounding. The silver band. The blue stone.
Her shoulders finally dropped.
“I can’t believe she figured it out,” Y/N said quietly. “All of it.”
Isadora hummed softly, tilting her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I can. This ring, you,” she added, teasing, thumb brushing Y/Ns fingers, “always seems to bring me trouble.”
Y/N pouted, twisting it once more. “…I thought we had decided it was both our faults.”
“Mmm, yes, I suppose we did” Isadora said, voice low, smug, as she closed the distance between them. Y/N’s side pressed against Isadora, warmth spreading through her as she kept hold of Isadora’s hand, fingers still fiddling with the ring.
Y/N’s cheeks warmed. Her heart still beating a little too fast.
They lingered there, quiet, taking in the aftermath of the day, the soft hush of the empty classroom surrounding them. Y/N continued to spin the silver-and-blue stone, tracing its familiar edges.
Isadora’s thumb brushed lightly over hers, grounding, warm. Finally, she leaned down just enough to meet Y/N’s gaze, voice soft but full of quiet curiosity. “What is that pretty mind of yours thinking about?”
Y/N hesitated, heart fluttering. She smiled up at her, cheeks still warm. “…Oh, nothing,” she murmured, brushing a quick kiss to Isadora’s cheek. “Just… how lucky I am to have you.”
Isadora’s eyes softened, her hand lingering over Y/N’s. “I’m lucky too,” she said, quietly, warmly, holding her close, "ridiculously so."
And as Y/N’s fingers continued to twist the ring, the one that had caused all this chaos, her mind began to wander – lamplight flickering across a quiet art room, the faint tang of paint, her brush abandoned mid-stroke, the cool edge of the desk pressing against her back, shadows stretching along the walls…
--- flashback :)
The art room was quiet in the way only late nights ever were..
Not silent – never silent – but hushed. The low hum of the old building settling around her. The faint scratch of brush against canvas. The soft clink of glass jars when Y/N reached too quickly and knocked something over.
She hadn’t meant to stay this late.
But the painting had taken hold of her hours ago, that familiar tunnel-vision pulling her deeper and deeper until the rest of the world slipped out of reach. Her sleeves were rolled up, hands streaked with colour, hair coming loose from its tie strand by strand.
She didn’t hear the door open.
She didn’t notice the presence at first – the way someone leaned quietly in the doorway, arms folded, eyes soft with fondness and patience.
Isadora watched her like that for a long moment.
The way Y/N tilted her head when she concentrated. The way she worried her lower lip between her teeth. The way her fingers – paint-slicked and restless – kept drifting together to worry at her nail beds, not having Isadora's rings to spin.
Eventually, Isadora's hand brushed Y/N's back.
Y/N startled so violently she nearly dropped her brush.
“God- Isa!” she gasped, hand flying to her chest. “You can’t just do that.”
Isadora smiled, slipping her hands around her waist, front pressed against her back. “I said your name twice,” she said mildly. “You didn’t hear me.”
Y/N let out a shaky laugh, relief settling in now she knew who it was, settling into her hold. “Sorry. I was… gone.”
“I noticed,” Isadora murmured, kissing her shoulder. “What are you working on?”
Y/N gestured vaguely at the canvas. “I don’t know," she leans further into Isadora. "It was supposed to be one thing and then it became… something else.”
Isadora hummed thoughtfully. “It suits you.”
Y/N smiled without looking at her. “You always say that.”
“And I’m always right.”
Y/N turned then, brush forgotten, her hands already reaching for Isadora without thinking. Fingers slid down her arms, wrists, thumbs finding familiar metal, spinning one of the rings slowly.
The blue-stoned one.
Isadora’s breath hitched – barely – but Y/N felt it anyway.
“Careful,” Isadora said softly. “You know what happens when you do that.”
Y/N grinned, emboldened. “You get distracted.”
“Hopelessly.”
Isadora stepped closer, backing Y/N gently against the edge of the desk. Not pressing. Just there. Close enough that the air between them felt charged, heavy with everything unsaid.
Paint-smudged hands slid up Isadora’s sleeves, leaving colour in their wake. Isadora didn’t stop her. She never did.
Their foreheads touched.
“You smell like paint,” Isadora murmured.
“You smell like- you,” Y/N replied, breathless.
Isadora laughed softly, then leaned in.
The kiss started slow, unrushed and exploratory, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Y/N melted into it immediately, hands tightening in Isadora’s shirt, her thoughts scattering like startled birds. Isadora's hands started to wander before Y/N pulled back.
"We shouldn't do this here," she said breathlessly, looking into Isadora's eyes.
"I know," Isadora agreed lowly but her kisses didn't stop, trailing Y/N's chin, down her neck, and finding that spot that she knows makes her knees weak.
Y/N let out a soft sound, holding Isadora's arms tighter, eyes closing, pressed further into the desk. "I've missed you," she admits.
"Darling, we work together now, live together, how could you possibly miss me," Isadora teases in-between kisses, knowing full well what Y/N meant.
"You know what I mean," Y/N looked at her before looking away, shyly "we haven't- you've been- I've been- we haven't-" she let out an exasperated sigh, as Isadora continued kissing her skin.
"We haven't what?" pausing her kissing, pulling away, guiding y/n to look at her with a hand on her chin, her other hand at her waist brushing her ribs.
"We haven't- you know" Y/N took a breath quickly mumbling: "beenintimatesincebeforethestartoftheschoolyear"
Isadora chuckled, her hands lowering and squeezing Y/Ns hips "sorry, sweetheart, what was that?"
Y/N looked at her incredulously before rolling her eyes saying at a now perceptible, rambling pace "we haven't been... intimate since before the school year, so like nearly three weeks, and that isn't that long but it also is really long and I just-"
Isadora cuts her off with a hungry but short kiss before whispering "God, I love it when you're needy" pulling her into another longer kiss, hands travelling, down behind her before squeezing, eliciting a soft gasp out of Y/N.
Somewhere between kissing, Y/N shifted onto her tiptoes hands leaving Isadora as she moved objects blindly off her desk. Isadora helped lift Y/N onto the desk while stepping between her now open legs, hands travelling her thighs, her kisses returning to her neck.
And again: "We really shouldn't be doing this here..." Y/N breathed, pulling Isadora impossibly closer by her hands, her fingers reaching those familiar rings. Those trouble causing rings. Pulling and twisting in that nervous excited way.
Again.
And again.
And then – during the throws of ecstasy – y/n slipped it free.
The ring landed softly on the desk beside them, forgotten the moment it left Isadora’s hand.
Because Isadora’s hands were everywhere now – steady, guiding, grounding. Because Y/N’s back met the cool wood of the desk. Because the world had narrowed to breath and warmth and the way Isadora said her name like a promise.
Time dissolved. Like it always did when those two were together.
And later, once she'd recovered enough, Y/N would quickly tidy the room in a half-dazed fog, sweeping brushes into jars, shoving loose things into drawers without looking too closely.
The ring would disappear then.
Not lost.
Just… set aside.
Forgotten in the aftermath of being thoroughly, lovingly undone.
◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊
AH okay it's posted.
I hope you liked it, and you weren't let down by the lack of smut 😭
I REALLY TRIED
The end flashback was where I intended to put smut but well yeah... 😔
BUT ALSO FUN FACT (if you didn't realise it when reading) like a ring, this fic is of a cyclical narrative. As in the end flashback is the night before the start scene so technically you could read the fic again and again and be stuck in a loop. SO YEAH I thought that was cool because the whole thing of this fic and the other one is the ring. Oh also the title, like a Symphony of Clues, is musical. A refrain in music is to repeat, as in CIRCLE, as in RING, as is CYCLICAL LIKE THIS NARRATIVE, as is Y/N AND ISADORA 4EVER.
anyway,
love y'all.
All likes, follows, comments, reblogs and requests are very much appreciated - I love hearing from you guys!
Much luv & thx,
bvnny 💛
