persuadable ⪩⪨
baran al hashimi x fem!reader - 2k words - age gap (r is late 20s, baran is 40) - you and baran have been hooking up for a few months, never really going beyond that. one satruday you run into her at your favorite museum, and she has a guest | from this poll |
note: happy pride month gays. love y'all. unhh. (the sound is included in the message.)
Every other week, Kaveh stayed at Baran's house, which meant that every other Saturday, they ended up at the Carnegie Museum of Art.
It was one of Baran's favorite traiditons. The museum itself was stunning on its own, but it was made lovlier when a tiny little body was pattering next to her, pointing out this-and-that, talking his little head off with questions, darting around the exhibits while Baran tried to mindfully enjoy it.
Baran had loved this museum since she was roughly fourteen years old and miserable on her middle school trip to D.C. She had gone to a nice enough school that they could afford to do an afternoon stop in Pittsburgh on the way home, and Baran had wandered into the museum half-asleep and walked back out feeling rearranged. There were many things about Pittsburgh that, now 40, she tolerated rather than loved. But this place had stayed in her bones.
Kaveh, unfortunately, was seven. He was usually a fantastic sport, but there were only so many oil paintings a child could stare at before he felt he'd seen them all.
Still, every Saturday Baran asked, “Do you want to come with me today, joonam?”
And every Saturday her sweet boy said yes.
She always let Kaveh lead when they visited the museum because there wan’t a single exhibit she didn’t enjoy and she had learned really quickly that if he felt he had control over what they were seeing, the longer he was able to last.
Usually, this meant they ended up in the sculpture hall. Kaveh adored the tall, skinny statues there with his entire little heart.
“They look silly,” he would whisper loudly, staring up at the long bronze limbs and dramatic poses with complete delight.
And every single visit, without fail, he would eventually turn to Baran with barely-contained excitement and say, “Māmān, take a picture.”
Then he’d plant himself beside the statues and imitate them as seriously as possible, long face, arms thrown awkwardly into the air, knees bent at impossible angles as Baran gleefully snapped his photo.
Kaveh was bounding back to her side and standing up on his tip-toes to see the fruit of his photo shoot. She was showing him the latest one, his nose wrinkling with pleasure at his own performance, when his head snapped to the side with the speed of a small animal catching a scent.
Baran had about half a second of confusion before he pulled in a breath and used every bit of it:
“DOCTOR Y/N!!!”
Baran jolted so hard she nearly dropped her phone.
“Kaveh—”
Too late.
Across the gallery, you turned around and Baran’s heart sunk through every floor of the museum. It seemed like an awful collision of her two worlds that she very carefully kept separate.
She knew you in fragments that didn’t belong in a place like this, your scrubs and tired eyes after a long shift that always softened when you saw her, you padding through her kitchen at night, stealing water from the fridge like you lived there too, you half-asleep against her shoulder, breath warm.
She also knew how your voice sounded when it went all high-pitched and breathy, whimpering pleas of her name in her ear as your hands scraped down her back, her kissing your neck—
And now there you were. Dark jeans, a soft cream sweater with the sleeves pushed up to your elbows, a tote bag from a college Baran had never heard you mention, rings stacked on your fingers that caught the gallery light. Your hair was different than she'd ever seen it. You looked soft.
She watched your expression move through confusion and arrive at something warm and surprised and delighted.
"Hi, Kaveh," you called across the gallery.
Kaveh was already moving. He crossed the room at a pace that was technically not running because his feet were not fully leaving the floor at the same time, but was in every other sense running. You crouched down to meet him and he wrapped his arms around your neck without preamble.
"You're here!” he beamed.
"I am here," you laughed, settling back on your heels with your arms resting on your knees, completely unbothered by the contact with the museum floor. "What are you doing here, little dude? Are you an art guy?"
Kaveh pulled back and shrugged. "Sometimes," he said. "Māmān likes it a lot more than me though. But she says it's good for my brain."
"Smart woman, your mama."
Baran had crossed the gallery at a more appropriate pace and arrived to find you already looking up at her, easy and warm, not making anything of it.
"Dr. Al-Hashimi."
"Dr. Y/L/N." She heard how formal it sounded and internally winced. She cleared her throat and softened her tone. "Small world. I'm sorry about the ambush."
"Please don't be," you beamed, standing. "This is the best thing that's happened to me all morning."
You had met Kaveh twice before and Baran had kind of freaked out both times (you knew good and well she didn’t really want you two interacting, didn’t want to blend whatever fuck-buddy situation you had going on with the version of her life she was presenting to her son) but both interactions had been really, really lovely. You’re not sure what you did to earn Kaveh’s adoration, but you were glad you had it as the adorable little boy beamed up at you, staring at you like you hung the stars.
Baran, standing slightly to the side, was also looking at your face. For completely different reasons. She took in the different style of your hair, the jewelry she hadn’t seen because it was kind of a pain to wear rings at work, the tote bag with your college insignia — a school Baran had not known you attended, had never heard you talk about, another piece of the woman she hadn’t had yet.
There were so many pieces.
“Are you here alone?” Baran heard herself ask.
You smiled. “I am, embarrassingly enough. I just like it here.” You paused. “Mom-son date?”
“We come most Saturdays,” Baran said. “When Kaveh is persuadable.”
“It’s an awesome hangout spot,” you nodded warmly, trying to will your heart to stop fluttering. Baran looked so… touchable? Something about her was calmer, more settled, and you wanted to soak it in like a sapling begging for just a drop of water to sustain it, but she was here with her son. And you were just a friend. Barely even that.
“Well, it was lovely to see you both,” you started to turn, “I hope you—”
Kaveh latched onto your arm, eyes going big with sudden sadness. “Wait, are you going?”
You froze, mouth falling open a bit, and your eyes shot to Baran. Sure, you liked her company and loved her son, but you knew this woman had boundaries and you never took that personally.
“Um, well, Kaveh—”
"Don’t go yet because we are looking at statues and you can join us," Kaveh said excitedly. "Do you want to see?"
You blinked. Your eyes still searching Baran's face.
It was sweet, Baran realized. She allowed her head to tilt, a warm smile to come across her face.
"Yes," she said warmly. "Join us. We could use the company."
Huh. You shook of your shock and replaced it with an eager nod of your head.
"I'd love to," you replied, a similar smile pulling at your lips. "Show me."
—
You fell into step beside her at an easy distance, and Baran noticed that too — the careful inch of space you maintained, not crowding her nor presuming that the invite meant she, all of the sudden, wanted you on top of her.
You talked to Kaveh mostly, crouching when he pointed at things, asking him questions that took his opinions seriously, which made him stand a little taller each time.
"That one is super sad," Kaveh pointed at a bronze figure with its head bowed.
"Hm," you studied it. "What do you think he's sad about?"
Kaveh thought about this. "Maybe he lost something."
“Lost something?” Baran prompted.
“‘Cause his head is down, Māmān,” Kaveh replied. “He’s lookin’ for it.”
It surprised a laugh out of you — real and unguarded, bubbling up from your chest and floating out into the high-ceilinged room — and Baran's eyes went straight to your face.
She'd heard you laugh before. But not like that. Not with nothing behind it but the simple fact that something delighted you.
She looked away before you could catch her looking.
She was noticing things she had no particular right to notice. The way you paused longest in front of the landscapes. The small private smile when something caught you, unannounced and unperformed. The fact that you knew which paintings were which without looking at the placards.
Initially she had been bracing herself for some level of awkwardness bred from the reminder that you existed in a different compartment of her life, one that didn't belong here under the high windows with her son. But you hadn't made it awkward. You just looked very content not to be alone on a Saturday, and it made her heart twist.
She felt herself begin to unknot.
"You come here often?" she nudged you with her hip as you walked again, and didn’t miss the way your eyes twinkled at the contact.
"Most weekends I'm not working," you tilted your head at the room around you. "There's a painting in the next gallery I've been coming back to for about a year."
"Which one?"
You smiled a little. "I'll show you when we get there."
In the decorative arts wing Kaveh grabbed your hand to drag you toward a suit of armor, and you let him, and Baran watched your face when he pressed his small nose against the visor to peer inside. The expression you wore was so soft, so unself-conscious, that it caught her off guard.
She had long wondered what you were like when you weren't managing anything at all, be it your poise at work or your manners in her apartment or your ecstasy in her bed. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was exactly what you looked like laid bare.
—
They reached the end of the last gallery with the slow inevitability of a good afternoon running out. Kaveh had gone boneless against Baran's side around the second hour mark, dragging his feet and clinging to her arm, suddenly non-verbal.
You crouched down to him. "It was very good to see you, Kaveh. Thank you for the statue tour."
"You can come next Saturday," Kaveh offered, hand reaching out to fiddle with the neckline of your shirt.
Baran watched your face. She saw you almost smile and then she watched you catch it and smooth it over.
"That's a very kind invitation," you said carefully, to Kaveh, but you were still looking at her.
The restraint of it was so practiced and so deliberate that it nearly hurt. She had put you here in this careful, curtailed space and you had stayed in it without a word of complaint, because she'd asked you to a few months ago. Please don’t ask about my ex-husband, please don’t ask about my son. You had nodded and respected it ever since, because that was the kind of person you were.
She had an empty afternoon ahead of her, but you were full of so many little pieces that had started to crack away from your skin and fall into her palm just over the course of an hour. She wanted more. She wanted every shard until she could build your full mosaic.
"We were going to get lunch," Baran said. "There's a place around the corner Kaveh likes."
She paused, small and deliberate.
"I would like it if you came."
Baran watched the surprise dance across your eyes even though you tried to remain nonchalant. You were a very smart girl and she knew you understood exactly what she was actually saying. This was very different from when you would brush shoulders in the hospital, or when your phone would buzz with a "Are you free tonight?"
"Are you sure?" you asked softly.
"Very sure," she said, then raised her brow with a smirk. “Do I have to say please?”
You looked at her for a beat longer, something soft and open moving through your expression, and then you smiled so large it changed your whole face.
"Okay," you said. "I'd like that."
Kaveh grabbed both your hands at once, one each, and lurched forward without ceremony.
Baran let him pull her out into the light.
—
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