#I have a dental appointment tomorrow… | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

incorrectbatfam · 8 months ago

Note

Batfam at the dentist HCs/incorrect quotes, please?? 🤲 I have a big surgery coming up and I'm terrified

Dick: What's up, doc?

Leslie: What are you doing?

Dick: Daffy Duck. I'm thinking of a new career as a voice actor.

Leslie: Okay but can you not do it with a mouthful of sharp objects?

———————

Cass: *brings a punch card and a knocked-out tooth*

Leslie, sighing: Here we go again.

Leslie: *stamps the card*

Leslie: Your next one is free.

———————

Leslie: *in the middle of the checkup*

Steph, getting up: Hang on, my Uber Eats is here.

Leslie: You ordered takeout to a dental appointment?

Steph: Efficiency.

———————

Leslie: You have a helmet. How did you still break your tooth?

Jason: *flashback to throwing his helmet at Dick, missing, and it bouncing back*

Jason: Enough with the questions, okay?

———————

Leslie: Ever consider braces?

Kate: I don't want any part of me to be straight.

———————

Leslie: Oh, you're early! Just check in with the receptionist and take a seat until I call you.

Bette: *goes up to the receptionist*

Bette: Checking in for Bette Kane.

The receptionist: Sorry, I don't have you down here.

Bette: Maybe try my full name? Mary Elizabeth Kane?

The receptionist: Still don't see you.

Bette: I should have an appointment for 2:00 today.

The receptionist: *typing*

The receptionist: I see you now. The doctor's right, you are early. Your appointment is tomorrow.

———————

Selina: *using cat claws as a toothpick*

Leslie: This might be an issue.

———————

Leslie: Say "ahh."

Tim: *screams*

———————

Leslie: You're bleeding because you don't floss.

Harper, who came in after a mission: ...

———————

Leslie: —but I cannot stress this enough, it's important to wear a mouthguard for all contact sports. And some non-contact sports. And training. And patrol. And walking through Gotham. And whenever you're around the Waynes. Actually, I'm just gonna give you the box. Take your time. Pick whatever colors you want. If you need me, I'm gonna be in my office questioning my life choices.

Luke:

Luke: ...I just asked how her day was.

———————

Bruce: Are you sure there's no tooth fairy? Because the Justice League has state-of-the-art tracking system that can locate them. I really think we can form a contract to expand social programs for children.

Leslie: Just shut up and let me do my job.

———————

Leslie: Everything's looking good except for a few minor spots.

Barbara: Yeah, well, call me when they invent stainless coffee.

———————

Leslie: I recommend removing your wisdom teeth.

Alfred: But that's where I keep my wisdom.

———————

Leslie: I see you still have one last baby tooth. It should've come out by now.

Damian: Father said to keep it in.

Leslie: Why?

Damian: He wants me to stay a baby.

———————

Leslie: Cullen, you're next.

Cullen: *climbing out the skylight*

Leslie: Wow.

Leslie: That's actually impressive for a non-vigilante.

———————

Leslie: Hey, Helena. I thought you were off duty this week. How'd you knock a molar loose?

[earlier]

Students: *fighting in the hall*

Helena: Break it up! All of you go to the office! And delete that video!

[present]

Helena: I need a raise.

———————

Carrie: I don't get it. I brush twice a day AND floss. How do I still have cavities?

Leslie: What do you brush with?

Carrie: Toothpaste, obviously.

Leslie: And what do you floss with?

Carrie:

Leslie: Carrie...

Carrie: The British call it candy floss for a reason, don't they?

———————

Leslie: Well done today, Duke. Have a sticker.

Duke: Why are they all the Justice League?

Leslie: Funding comes with a catch.

Duke:

Duke: *picks the Flash*

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toothfund · 8 months ago

Text

What the tooth...

Hi everyone, this is Tulip. Peyton's first appointment went really well! They got their first (and hopefully last!) crown and some cavities removed. The relief that they are able to keep those two teeth has been wonderful, but they're currently having a rough time recovering from some particularly painful canker sores. Once they're healed it'll really improve their quality of life to not have any broken teeth. Thank you guys again! Peyton is still a long way off from being pain free, but this is definitely a start.

Their next appointment is tomorrow (March 26th) and we're going to see about getting them some pain relief, with their second procedure likely being pushed back till their mouth is in better shape. With that in mind, we're still aiming to reach our goal by their next appointment date, April 17th-- 23 days from now!

We've currently raised $153/$826! Please keep sharing and donate if you can.

#from tulip #sorry this took so long #things have been rough

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giuseppe-yuki · 2 months ago

Text

anesthesia

kimi antonelli x tiger shapeshifter!reader

w.c.: 2.3k

warnings: none, really.

part of my shapeshifter!reader spinoff series

summary: kimi + anesthesia? not a good combo.

photo credits from pinterest :)

in the spacey kitchen of kimi‘s family house, you bustled around with your boyfriend‘s mother, preparing the night‘s dinner- homemade gnocchi. both of you chatted idly as you waited for the lightly salted water to boil on the stove- it had to reach a certain temperature to be considered hot enough to put the pain-stakingly hand rolled gnocchi in.

however, your peaceful moment was ruined when kimi busted though the kitchen doorway with a thin piece of paper in his hand.

he clears his throat, wrinkling the paper in nervousness.

you wipe your floury hands on a wet rag and hurry over to kimi. you didn‘t want to assume the worst, but what if he was hurt? did something happen at the mercedes facilities? gently putting your hand on his arm to comfort him, you question kimi. “are you okay, baby? what’s wrong?”

thrusting the paper onto the dirty counter so both you and his mother can see, he explains. ”so…i just went to my dentist and he said i might have to have my wisdom teeth removed- like tomorrow afternoon.“

you huff in exasperation, lightly shoving your boyfriend aside in a joking manner. ”kimi! you had me worried for a second!“

he rolls his eyes.

his mother laughs, having just finished reading the appointment overview. ”no, mia cara, he‘s just scared because he has to be put under anesthesia!“

kimi’s eyes widen, and he hurriedly tries to stop his mother from saying anything else. ”mamma, no!”

kimi’s mother just bats her son‘s hands away. smiling at you as if sharing a secret, she continues on. “last time kimi had to be put under anesthesia was when he broke his arm in a kart crash, and let’s just say- he went a little crazy.“

you had never seen kimi so nervous before. not during your first date, not during the negotiations period with toto, and not even in the moments before doing fp1 in a formula 1 car for the first time ever!

kimi twiddled his thumbs and adjusted his seat every two seconds as you drove him to the dentist office in your custom mini cooper.

keeping your eyes on the twisty roads of italy, you reach over with one hand to squeeze his hand. “it‘s alright, kimi,” you comfort, “i‘m sure the procedure will go fine! and, if you are scared of the anesthesia, don‘t be. everything will be okay.“

everything was actually not okay.

it started when the dentist’s assistant had fetched you from the nicely decorated waiting room of the dentist office.

“you are his… girlfriend, correct?” the assistant asks, flipping through a manila folder neatly labeled as ‘antonelli, andrea kimi’.

you nod, trailing behind the woman in light blue scrubs through the maze-like hallways.

“great!” she exclaims, opening a fancy white door and gesturing inside. “your boyfriend is here.”

when you walk in, kimi was slung over a dentist chair, eyes half closed and mouth stuffed to the brim with white gauze. his head lolled backwards and he was subconsciously twitching his fingers. even so, you applauded his ability to look so adorable under such conditions. you walk towards the chair, which was placed smack dab in the middle of the room next to some glistening metal tools and a big dental light that was shining directly into kimi’s face.

a lady in a white lab coat approaches you before you can talk to your boyfriend, hand out. “hello, you must be kimi’s girlfriend!” she says, beaming at you and enthusiastically shaking your hand. “i’m glad to say that the operation was a success!” letting go of your hand and scribbling something down on a piece of paper, she continues on. “i do have to say though, we did administer anesthesia in order to keep him comfortable for the procedure. he will be a little disoriented- ”

before the doctor could finish her sentence, kimi roughly pushes himself up from the dentist chair, glaring at you.

“WHO are YOU?!” he shouts, voice a little muffled by the gauze in his mouth. “get AWAY from me- i have a girlfriend!”

you look at him in disbelief. beside you, the doctor and the nurse muffle their laughter.

“this is normal- usually the anesthesia lasts for a few hours, and he’ll be back to his regular self in no time!” the nurse explains.

you turn around to kimi aggressively punching the air around you, but missing every time.

“im warning you!” he slurs, “if you don’t get away from me, my girlfriend is gonna- is gonna eat you!”

the dental assistant and dentist both raise a brow at kimi’s lowkey concerning words, but brush it off as another side effect of the anesthesia.

“shut up, kimi!” you hiss in his ear, now trying your best to haul him out of the door in his disoriented state.

he seems to cooperate with you momentarily from the operating room to the parking lot outside, until you reach your mini cooper.

“EWWWW!” he yells at the top of his lungs, causing several other people in the parking lot to look over. “I CANNOT BE SEEN IN A MINI COOPER! I HAVE A CONTRACT WITH MERCEDES.”

you slap your hand over his mouth, quickly mouthing sorrys to the people who probably had their eardrums explode from kimi’s screech.

“kimi,” you reprimand. “you have to be quiet! we are in a public space and you are disrupting other people. now, you get inside the car right now.”

he grumbles, but slowly stumbles his way into the passenger seat.

you softly close his door and hop into your driver’s seat, sighing in exasperation. perhaps his mother was right. he did get a little crazy under anesthesia. maybe you should have called ollie for backup.

after a bit of a struggle putting on kimi’s seatbelt, (he seemed to think it was a snake trying to strangle him) you back up from your parking spot and slowly make your way to the exit of the plaza.

in the passenger seat, reclined all the way back with his feet on the dash like a passenger princess, kimi promptly bursts into tears.

trying not to get hit by a random dude in a light blue vespa, you can only spare glances at kimi thrashing around in his seat like an eel, the only thing stopping him from flipping into the center console was the seat belt.

“what??” you exclaim, head turning back and forth trying to see what’s possibly wrong with your boyfriend while also focusing on the road. “is there something wrong, kimi?”

“yes!!” he sniffles, wiping the streams of tears of his face. “you called me kimi and that’s not my name! my name is andrea. apologize right now!”

good god, you think, feeling peeved. you couldn’t wait until his anesthesia wore off.

putting on your best apologetic face, you quickly apologize. “okay, i am so sorry for that, andrea. how should i make it up to you?”

just like you flipped a switch, he immediately stops crying. “yay! thank you!” he says giddily, kicking his legs. “how about you get me ice cream??”

you don’t have to think twice before accepting his offer. the night before, you had researched a little bit about wisdom teeth surgery aftercare, and apparently ice cream was really good for you. besides, you felt like you deserved a treat after using so much energy to drag kimi out of the dental clinic.

you reroute to the nearest ice cream shop, and kimi thankfully stays silent for most of the car ride, but occasionally messed with the seat adjustment buttons a few more times than you thought was necessary.

however, ten minutes to ice cream shop, at a stoplight, kimi suddenly jolts from his position looking out the window. a shiny silver mercedes g-wagon sits glistening in the sun next to your tiny mini cooper.

as if he just had neuron activation, he snaps his head towards you. “hey! you! did you know, i am a formula 1 driver for mercedes?”

the light turns green, so you step on it, the g wagon following at the same acceleration as you.

“umm, yes! i do know that actually,” you say, navigating to the left-most lane.

your boyfriend giggles mischievously, even though nothing was funny in the first place. “well,” he drawls out, holding up one finger. “i actually know how to drive very good. i can show you if you want?”

before you have a chance to react, your boyfriend grasps your steering wheel and yanks it aggressively to the right, almost running you into the expensive g-wagon.

“kimi- i mean andrea! do not do that! ” you screech, prying his fingers off of the wheel and hurriedly correcting the car before it can cause any damage to any other vehicles on the road.

he laughs and claps his hands at the g-wagon honking its horn at you, as if he didn’t just almost create a five car pileup in the middle of the road.

thankfully, the rest of time goes smoothly without any incidents. well that is, until you got into the shop.

“what flavor do you want, andrea?” you question, putting emphasis on the ‘andrea’ part. you did not feel like dealing with a breakdown just because you called him by the nickname that literally everyone called him.

“stracciatella!!” he trills, twirling in a circle.

ignoring the strange looks from other customers in the store, you place your and kimi’s orders, collect them, and snatch a comfortable looking bench outside of the store to eat your ice cream.

of course, half-way through shoveling his ice cream into his mouth, (he smeared at least a fourth of his ice cream on his shirt) he decides that his memories of you would disappear again like it did in the dentist office, and he starts yelling bloody murder.

“EEEEEEEE!” he announces to every passerby in a five mile radius, jumping up and down while waving his arms. “i do NOT know this woman! she is trying to kidnap me!”

you place your ice cream down next to you, snatch his flailing arms and shove him a tad roughly back onto the bench. “so sorry!” you shout to onlookers. “he’s under anesthesia right now- wisdom teeth removal!” your line seems to work, as no bystanders call the police on you, but he still continues to yell.

you try every possible method you can think of, like begging him to stop screaming, trying to bribe him, and attempting to drag him to your car, but none of the above work, and he kept insisting that he didn’t know you.

having no choice but to use your last resort, you make sure assure kimi that you will be right back (not that he particularly cared in this mindset) and dashed into a side street.

padding quickly out of the alley by the ice cream shop, you approach kimi. he reacts exactly how you hoped he would- eyes widening in realization and a smile lighting up his face- a direct opposite of his suspicious glares and nasty side-eyes from before.

“baby!” he shrieks, stumbling a bit towards you before clutching onto your fur. “i missed you soooo much!”

you wrap your tail around his body protectively to steady him, so he doesn’t fall.

“i’m glad you’re here,” he mumbles, petting you. “because a really weird lady literally tried to kidnap me! can you even believe that?”

you practically roll your eyes. he didn’t recognize you in your human form, but he did in your tiger form? unbelieveable.

carefully, you unwind your tail and softly nudge kimi onto your back. once you are sure he is secure on your back, you wind through several gaping tourists and an annoyed looking old nonna on the cobblestone street towards the parking lot. you purposely bow your head, trying your best to not look hostile to the passerbyers (it was kind of hard considering you were literally a tiger in the middle of a street in bologna, and with a groggy boy that looked suspiciously like the famed racing driver kimi antonelli sprawled on your back)

when you reach your hastily-parked mini cooper, you practically drag him off your back and use your teeth to yank him into the vehicle. double-checking to make sure no one was looking, you shift back into your human form, and speed back to kimi’s house in a record time that would probably make toto reassign you as the new merc formula one driver.

kimi’s mother cackles in laughter when she sees your disheveled-looking self trudge through the front door, one hand towing a tired kimi behind you.

“i hope kimi didn’t cause you too much trouble,” she laughs from her position at the kitchen island, one hand on her hip.

your boyfriend slumps onto his living room couch, one hand still stubbornly clasped in yours. he falls asleep within seconds.

“it was… alright,” you reply, raking your free hand through his curls. “if kimi ever needs to be brought home under anesthesia again though, i will definitely be bringing backup,” you admit.

his mother nods, smiling. “i’m just glad he has a girlfriend like you to take care of him,” she states before walking away.

you blush a bit at her words. you were pretty lucky to have such an amazing future in-laws and talented boyfriend. honestly, dealing with

daintily, you take a seat next to kimi, cooing when he subconsciously nuzzles his head into your lap. maybe kimi under anesthesia wasn’t so bad, after all.

“i love you, kimi!” you whisper to your boyfriend.

suddenly, his eyes snap open and he shoves himself off your lap. “my name is andrea!” he pouts, glaring at you.

placing your head in your hands, you sigh defeatedly. you definitely take back your statement.

a/n: sorry y'all i had the most shitty week (i failed my physics test 🥲) so i haven't been that active recently. i finally mustered up some energy tonight to type this one out lmao.

side note, i have reattached the taglist from my previous series just in case you guys would like to read the spinoff. feel free to let me know if you'd like to be removed or added to the taglist for this series! :)

taglist: @ilivbullyingjeongin@ale-522@formula1-motogpfan@aceyalonso@my0hmary

@mbappebby@madkohi@rakshatos@heartsforleclerc@papaya-twinks

#f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 rpf fic #f1 imagine #kimi antonelli x reader #📝

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eoieopda · 4 months ago

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FINE I'M HERE TO REQUEST PART 3!!! In which Chan better really GET that promotion!!!!!!! Contract signed, payroll amended!!!!!

You can make it angsty if you like, AS LONG AS you promise there will be a happy ending (in this part or........ Another 👀)

the one with chan and the promotion (iii)

you needed a ride home after getting your wisdom teeth removed. chan just so happened to be free. now, being free is the last thing he wants.

part i. part ii.

pairing: bang chan x reader au: fuck buddies to lovers, hurt/comfort type: drabble (angst, fluff) rating: 18+ | minors do not have my consent to interact with me and/or my content. wc: 3.1k cw: mad!chan makes a brief appearance but otherwise remains the best boy; gn!reader (no gendered language used); reader may or may not show some degree of emotional availability (gasp!); due to the nature of their relationship, sex is referenced but not actually depicted; very briefly/incompletely edited, oops. a/n: i love you completely and am so fucking sorry it took four (4) months for me to finish this 😵‍💫 i have an epilogue i can offer in penance, if you want it! everyone else, please read the first two parts before reading this!

Chan may be an idiot, but at least he’s self-aware.

He knew it was a bad idea to get his hopes up; to expect that things would change quickly between you, if at all. Even though he saw the letdown coming from a kilometer away, he didn’t do a thing to brace himself for it. It’s his fault, he knows, for exaggerating his place in your life — but that doesn’t make the disappointment bruise any less when the week after your wisdom teeth removal flies by in radio silence.

The lack of conversation isn’t for lack of trying. As he scrolls through your half-vacant text thread now, Chan feels all his efforts staring back at him. All those attempted check-ins marked delivered but not well-received. Swings and misses.

Prior to sending each one of them, he spent minutes upon minutes agonizing over the tone — and the use of emojis — and the possible implications of the proposed emojis — and the fear that he’d just come off clingy, not invested. Reading the finished versions back now, he can recall with perfect accuracy the drafts he typed out and immediately, feverishly deleted. Considering the way they litter his brain, there may as well be a trail of crumpled-up notes in all that metadata.

Does it make Chan cringe to look back and watch himself flatline? Absolutely.

Does that stop him from salting his own wounds? Nope. It never has and likely never will.

Maybe, he figures, he’ll spot where he went wrong and find a way to un-dig this ditch he’s seemingly made.

[Sent 2024/7/23, 15:22] Just got home. Have you fallen back asleep already? Lol

Naver says your swelling might be kind of bad tomorrow. Do you need ice packs? I have the gel kind that you can mold. Might be more comfortable than a bag of ice cubes 🤔 Lmk!

[Sent 2024/7/25, 08:03] Hi, Hamtori 🐹 How are your cheeks?

I made too much gamjaguk again. I can drop some off if

[Sent 2024/7/26, 17:49] Graduate to solid foods yet?

I hope the antibiotics aren’t making your stomach upset

DON’T LAUGH but I made you a super chill Spotify playlist with healing vibes to

Idk if you remember, but I promised to take you out for pork belly next week. If you’re up for it, are you free on

I miss y

[Sent 2024/7/29, 00:16] Hey

Or maybe, he thinks, he’ll just beat his head against his bedroom wall instead; and eventually, he’ll forget what it felt like to be yours for the day, rather than a night.

Four more days pass without a word from you. Under normal circumstances, one of you would’ve invited the other over at least twice in the eleven days since your dental appointment. No matter how infrequently the two of you chatted outside of your recurrent trysts, neither one of you has ever gone this long without summoning the other.

Something is wrong.

At this point, Chan sees two explanations for the way you’ve fallen completely off the grid: you’ve either succumbed to some tragic, post-op. complication and died, or he’s irreparably fucked something up with you without knowing how or when he misstepped. Neither one of those is an outcome he’s willing to accept.

The voice in his head nags him so forcefully and consistently that his body eventually gives in. Undeterred by his better judgment, Chan lets it guide him up, out, and onward until he winds up on the sidewalk outside his building.

On the walk to your apartment, he mulls over the foreseeable consequences of the actions he’s already set in motion. It’s certifiably insane to pop in you like this, and once again, he only sees two options: you’ll slam the door in his face, or he’ll confirm once and for all that you’ve left this mortal coil. Bad on all counts, really, but anything is better than nothing.

His timing, as it turns out, couldn’t be better. Right as he lands at the front door, when he needs to think of a way to get in without buzzing you, a neighbor he’s seen once or twice before opens it to leave. Politely, they hold it open for him, likely mistaking him for someone with any right to be there — someone whose proximity to you actually makes sense. Chan thanks them with a nod of his head and a sheepish smile before slipping through the opening.

As the elevator ascends, his fingers move of their own accord, anxiously tapping out a rhythm on the stainless steel wall he leans against. Every worst-case scenario flashes through his mind. There’s a flash of something else there, too, though. Something even more nerve-wracking than all his catastrophizing; something that makes his stomach flip.

Hope.

“Oi, none of that,” he mutters to himself.

It doesn’t work. When Chan approaches the doors in the second before they open, he makes eye contact with his reflection and sees that easy, ill-advised smile creeping up on him.

As he exits that giant metal box, he shakes his head with an anxious laugh. If he’s this embarrassed by himself when he’s alone, the chances of him living through the way you’re about to look at him are…

Well…

Abysmal.

But that doesn’t stop him from powering his way down the hall towards your door. Coincidentally, neither does the fact that he doesn’t have a plan for what he’ll do when he reaches it.

Figuring knocking is as good a start as any, that’s precisely what Chan does, shifting his weight from one foot to the other to appear more nonchalant.

Then, he waits.

And then, he waits some more.

After thirty seconds pass without a response, Chan knocks again, carefully balancing the weight of his fist against it so the sound of it isn’t too assertive — or too eager — or too desperate — or —

“Left about an hour ago,” a voice says from a few meters away.

Chan turns towards the sound. Several units down, an old woman’s head pokes out of an open doorway. He can’t tell if she’s intentionally frowning at him or if it’s the weight of her jowls pulling the corners of her mouth down. Either way, it feels bad.

Running an anxious hand over the back of his increasingly warm neck, he coughs, “Oh?”

The ajumma clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “You young people never put those cell phones down and yet you still wind up like this.” She works herself up further; her nostrils flare as she rambles, “In my day, it was rude to show up unannounced. We called ahead, and when we called ahead, people were there to answer the door.”

Chan isn’t above arguing with some personified wrinkle, but he likes to think you would be. Even though you’re not here to witness it, it feels important to be the person you might like him to be.

So, he bites his tongue.

He nods yet again with a polite smile.

He turns on his heels.

And when he shuffles back towards the elevator, there’s a hell of a lot less of a spring in his step.

Two days go by after Chan’s little fieldtrip. Just like the previous several, they slip away quietly. This time, however, he doesn’t check-in — doesn’t type out his thoughts just to immediately erase them; doesn’t stare at his phone and wait to prove it to himself that it won’t chime.

Lesson learned, really.

It was a bad idea to bet the house on maybes. He knew it on the front end and still chose optimism; now, it serves him right. Played stupid games and won stupid prizes, as you like to say. If only he could stop thinking about what you like to say and instead focus on the fact that you haven’t said anything at all.

Chan grits his teeth and tries hard to focus on the game lighting up his monitor. Whatever Yongbok talked him into playing doesn’t make him feel any better about fumbling you — in fact, it’s proving to be yet another thing he’s terrible at — but it’s sufficiently distracting to have his friends swearing each other up and down in their Discord voice channel.

Actually, he stands corrected. This is also terrible, albeit a different flavor of garbage than his hopeless mooning over you.

Maybe radio silence is better.

As soon as that thought crosses his mind, his phone buzzes against the surface of his desk — three long taps bookended by three short ones.

Before Chan reaches for it, he lets the poetry of it all sink in. SOS, his phone declares whenever you text him. Originally, although he’ll never fucking tell you so, he chose that text tone because hearing from you salvaged his day, every time. Now, it reminds him that he’s in over his head with no life preserver in sight.

Not bad, he thinks. He should write that bit down in the notebook of lyrics he ruminates over but never puts to music, let alone shares.

The lack of action on his part prompts his phone to vibrate again for emphasis.

SOS!

Beaming white light bores into his retinas when he finally opens his inbox, and Chan refuses to think about the million times you’ve told him to switch to dark mode or the infinitely-brighter shit he’s been roasting under since he started this game several hours back. All he thinks about instead is the first grey text in an ocean of blue:

[2024/8/04, 23:37] you up?

You tilt your head to the side, smiling coyly when you crack open the door and find Chan standing on your doorstep with his hood up and hands in his pockets. Outside the windows behind you, the downpour he just trudged through continues to dampen his mood.

“Fancy meeting you here,” you lilt, like nothing has changed at all.

That’s the problem, isn’t it?

Chan lifts his chin slightly as some half-assed nod to let you know that his ears work, if nothing else. Either missing his stony expression or ignoring it, you simply open the door wider, beckoning him to follow you with a gentle wave of your free hand.

He wants so badly to smile back at you as easily as you smile at him — really, he does, but fuck, he can’t make his face do anything but harden.

Once he toes off his shoes, he expects you to lead him straight to your room — or your couch — or any of the other various surfaces the pair of you have misappropriated along the way. You don’t, though. With your lips pensively pursed, you shuffle a bit closer; and as soon as you can reach him properly, you raise both of your hands. One flattens against his now rain-soaked sweatshirt; the other goes for his zipper, tugging gently until there’s nothing left to hold him together.

Carefully, Chan eyes you; watches while you slip the fabric off his shoulders, as if it isn’t twice as heavy as it was when he put it on. Like it’s easy, you turn away, open the nearby closet, and toss that wet mess into the top-half of your standing washer-dryer.

“I think…” Your tiny, upward curve returns while your sentence peters out. Softly, you reach up and brush a damp curl off his forehead. “An umbrella would be a worthwhile investment.”

He should join in on the bit. He should banter right back. He should smile, too — for fuck’s sake — because you’re finally right here. You’re talking to him within touching distance, radiating warmth he wants to live in, and he should touch you the way you want to be touched — the way you summoned him here to touch you.

He should do a lot of things, none of which include snapping at you, and yet —

“Why the hell am I here?”

It catches you both off-guard. You, because Chan has never once spoken to you any other way but kindly. Him, because you don’t actually look all that surprised by the sentiment, even if the presentation isn’t what you expected.

Somehow, that’s the thing that stings the most; not the way your face falls at his gruffness but the inkling you must have had before you asked him over that things between you aren’t sitting right at all.

Chan doesn’t get a response, so he asks another way: “Did you notice all of those unanswered texts when you sent yours, or did you ignore them all over again?”

It dawns on you — and him too, if he’s being honest — that you’ve still got your hands resting delicately on his chest. You reel your arms back in and cross them, not defiantly but diminutively. You shrink right in front of him; and regret hits him like a fist to the side of his skull.

“I didn’t know what to do with them.” Your head lowers while you do your best to look anywhere else.

That’s —

“Bullshit. I’m sorry, but it’s really not hard to keep up a conversation, especially when someone is just asking how you’re feeling.” Instantly he feels terrible for snapping. Softening his tone slightly, he sighs, “I know you know how.”

You look up at him without tilting your head much at all. Peering over that brick wall of yours, he figures. “That’s the thing, though. I don’t know.”

The face he pulls must convey what he’s thinking: Are you fucking kidding me? But you’re quick to prevent him from jumping to any further-out conclusions, amending, “I don’t know how I feel.”

Chan opens his mouth to respond, then thinks better of it. It’s rare for you to open up to the extent you might be about to; and it’s a miracle that you might be willing to now, given the fact that he’s come at you blindly at 160 kilometers per hour.

“I don’t like needing people.”

Your attention is drawn to your fidgeting fingers and the drawstring of the sweatpants they occupy themselves with. The overwhelming urge he feels to grab them, to hold them still, goes ignored and makes his own hands tense. He focuses hard on your face instead; the crease between your eyebrows while you plot out your next steps.

“I didn’t want to need you, but then I did need you — and you just… you came, no questions asked.” You laugh, either despite your visible discomfort or because of it. “Held my hand and all that, didn’t just drop me on the curb and say, hit me up when you’re down again.”

Chan feels as if he’s been punched, although it’s not offense he takes from your statement. Judging by that flicker of hurt in your eyes, the expectation you had wasn’t for him, personally. It was history.

You shift where you stand from one foot to another, like that weight on your shoulders is changing. He doesn’t know if it’s getting heavier or lighter until you finally lift your chin to look at him squarely.

“It scared the shit out of me, honestly — how easy you are to need — so, I did what I always do: I bailed.” Sighing, you finally seem to register how much anxiety you’re holding in your hands. You drop it, then drop them to your sides. “But I think I’ve figured it out.”

You smile slightly, and suddenly, he feels lighter. “I’ve been conflating them, but they’re completely different things, aren’t they?”

Chan arches an eyebrow. Truly, he’s at a loss. He can’t predict which direction you’re about to turn in. Seeming to sense this, you answer his unasked question, “Wanting to need you and wanting you.”

While this makes his brain pause, his body moves. Cautiously, he steps forward and watches you counter him until your back is flush against the wall behind you.

“Can I have a definition, then, please?” He pleads, voice low, while his hands gently claim your hips. “Because I thought it was want behind the booty call that brought me here, and I don’t want to find myself on a completely different page again.”

You link your arms around his neck and eye him carefully. “It was,” you acknowledge with a small nod. “Different kind, though — a shallow one.”

Chan finds his mouth curving up at the corner, all on its own. His gaze drops from yours to your lips, then back again. It’d be so easy to kiss you now, but he can’t unless he gets some sort of confirmation. “We’re in the deep end now, then?”

“Moving that way, at least. I spook easily, though…” You’d probably love nothing more than to look away when you admit that bit out loud, but to your credit, you don’t. Instead, you run your fingernails softly through the hair at his nape. “I’m not entitled to any more of your patience, but would you be willing to take it one day at a time?”

Chan wishes that he’d at least pretended to consider this. He doubts you’ve ever had a vision of him as someone nonchalant — in fact, he’s the poster boy for chalance in whichever reality that word exists — but it would’ve been infinitely cooler of him not to respond immediately and wholeheartedly with a rushed sigh, “Fuckin�� right, I am,” before leaning in to kiss you absolutely stupid.

Whatever gratification he can’t find by licking into the mouth you open eagerly for him, he finds in the way you keen when he presses his body more fully against yours. The payoff is even better when he stops short, divorcing your respective lips entirely.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he announces, breathless. His grin widens; meanwhile, your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. “No! Not, like, never — I don’t have that kind of resolve — but not tonight.”

The sudden switch makes you dizzy. Thankfully, it makes you laugh, too.

“Don’t tell me you just want to enjoy my company,” you warn. You attempt to say it earnestly, but a smile cracks you wide open. “I’m still too prone to bolt when I hear cute shit like that.”

Chan shakes his head. “No, I’m telling you to plant yourself on that couch —” He pulls his right hand off your left hip and gestures blindly over his shoulder. “I’m also telling you that I am getting takeout.”

You narrow your eyes in feigned suspicion. “I wonder what you could possibly be ordering.”

“Belated pork belly is better than no pork belly.” He narrows his eyes to mirror hours, then kisses you quickly, murmuring, “One for the road,” against your lips.

Then, he dashes off towards your front door. As he goes, he just barely catches you nagging him through your laughter:

“If you’re not going to wait for your sweatshirt, can you at least take an umbrella?”

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

skz taglist. multi taglist. navigation.

due to tumblr being ass with tags lately, i’m going to be tagging people in the comments for the time being!

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peterman-spideyparker · 1 year ago

Text

Pearly White (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! I had a cleaning about a week and a half ago, and I got thinking . . . What would Matt be like at the dentist? And I came up with this. Enjoy! :)

Summary: It’s a normal night until Matt pulls away from a kiss. When you find out the reason why, you ask him to go to your dental office and help him out.

Warnings: Fluff, established relationship, domesticity, idiots in love, dental pain/going to the dentist (nothing graphic or terribly descriptive, just general annual/semi-annual exam descriptions, girlfriend is a dentist), allusions to sex (p in v sex, m!receiving blowjobs)

Other Characters: None

Word Count: 1,844

“Hey,” you smile as Matt walks through the door.

“Hey,” he mirrors, his smile matching yours. It doesn’t take long for him to put down his things and walk over to where you sit to give you a proper kiss.

“I put your plate in the microwave,” you tell him. “I covered it with some foil, so it should still be warm if you’re hungry.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says with another kiss before undoing the knot in his tie and walking to the bedroom. “We weren’t sure how long we were going to be, so we ordered in. I’ll have a few bites, but there’s no promise I’ll finish it.”

“Well, I don’t want you to feel forced into eating if you’re not hungry,” you tell him as you resume your work with your appointment schedule for the next month. “I mean, I know it’s not going to go to waste. Hey, look at it this way—you have lunch for tomorrow!”

“Always the optimist,” he smiles as he leaves the bedroom in a t-shirt and sweats, moving to put his leftovers in the fridge before sitting next to you. You smile as he keens for affection, turning and placing a big kiss on his cheek. When he winces on contact, you immediately pull back.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he deflects with a little shake of his head.

“Matty, you winced at a kiss. My kiss. Something’s up.”

“It’s really nothing. Honest.”

“Please don’t lie to me.”

He lets out a soft sigh and hangs his head, remembering your promise to one another to never keep secrets—the only acceptable secrets being good news and sweet surprises.

“My tooth has been bothering me,” he admits. “And it didn’t start when I was Daredevil. I was just Matt.”

“When did it start?”

“Last week?”

“Matt—.”

“I didn’t say anything because I knew you’d react like this!”

“I’m reacting like this because you waited a week, Matt! You shouldn’t push something like this off!”

“I hate dentists!” he blurts, his eyes wide and his chest rising and falling quickly.

“So you hate dentists so much, you decided to date one?”

“Sweetheart, you know what I mean.”

“I get it,” you say with a long sigh, sliding your hand in his. “The dentist isn’t anyone’s favorite, and with your senses, I—.” You stop mid sentence as something occurs to you. “Matt, when was the last time you went to the dentist?”

“It’s been a while.”

“Define ‘a while’. A few years?”

“A while,” he says with a sad little ‘you’re-gonna-be-mad-but-please-don’t-hate-me’ look.

“Matt . . .”

“It just hurts so bad when I go. The nuns made sure we had our annual appointments, but after that . . .”

“So the last time you went to the dentist was when you were 18?”

“17,” he corrects.

“Matthew! How do you still have teeth?”

“I brush and floss. Sometimes I use a rinse.”

“This isn’t funny. Matt, please,” you gently beg. “This is your health we’re talking about!”

“(Y/N)—.”

“Please let me help you with this, Matt.”

“I’m okay, (Y/N), I promise.”

“Please. I will have my best hygienist stay and we will go slow and we will be careful. I will be right there to hold your hand.”

“Sweetheart—.”

“I will even do it. Cleaning and all,” you offer. “I just . . . I care about you so much, Matt. You shouldn’t avoid doing something for your health because you’re afraid of it. I love you, and that includes the things that come out of you.” You dip your head slightly as you give his hands a squeeze. “I don’t want to see you in pain. And if this turns into something bigger, I don’t want you to be in any more pain that you already are.”

“I’ll do it,” he whispers. “For you, I’d do it.”

You tilt your head up and absorb the tenderness and sincerity all over his face. You stretch and bring your lips to his forehead, pressing a long kiss to the skin.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more.”

You kiss his forehead once more, running your fingers through his soft locks. “Will you let me look at it tomorrow night? I’d ask to go to my office now, but I don’t want to push my luck.”

He chuckles softly. “Okay. Tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” you tell him once more. “Can I at least get you some ice for it?”

“It only hurts when something touches it, or I chew. I’m okay.”

“Please?”

“You’re gonna keep asking until I say yes, aren’t you, sweet girl?”

“You know me too well.”

“Okay, then,” he says gently, brushing his nose against mine. “You can get me some ice.”

“Alright, Matty,” you tell him as you wrap a paper bib around his neck. “If I start to hurt you at all or it’s uncomfortable or you need a break, just make a noise and I’ll stop, okay? Even if I gently poke you and you don’t like it, you make a noise, and we finish the exam.”

“Okay,” he nods. To the untrained ear, nothing sounds off. But you know Matt better—he’s nervous, scared even.

“Hey,” you whisper. “I love you more than anything. I’m proud of you for doing this.”

“I love you, angel.”

With a kiss to his forehead, you lean him back in the chair and adjust the light above him.

“Open your mouth and tilt toward me, Matty,” you say as you get your tools. He does as you ask and you gently start the exam, using your mouth mirror and curette to gently start looking at his teeth and cleaning them of plaque. You go very slow, taking your time on each tooth and doing gentle and repeated motions to get rid of all the build up.

“You doing okay?” you ask as you take your tools out of his mouth, giving him a bit of a reprieve.

“So far so good,” he says. “What’s the prognosis, doc?”

“Too soon to tell. You’ve got good teeth for not having braces, though. But I didn’t need to be in your mouth to tell you you have pretty teeth.”

“Isn’t it not kosher to flirt with your patients?”

“Not flirting to say someone has pretty teeth,” you smile, kissing the tip of his nose. “Besides, different rules apply when the patient is my boyfriend. Now, c’mon, open back up.”

Matt murmurs an “okay” before doing as you ask and lets you continue. He does really well with a mix of letting you work and short breaks, but when you hit a particularly tough spot of tartar and he winces as you scrape it off, you immediately withdraw and put your tools on the tray to your right.

“Okay, we’re done,” you say, moving to take off your gloves and clean up, hating yourself that you hurt Matt after he let you do something he didn’t want to in the first place.

“No, keep going,” he says.

“No,” you insist. “I promised you that at the first sign on pain and discomfort I’d stop. I hurt you—I’m stopping.”

“Hey,” he says softly, taking your hands in his. “I’m okay. I promise. I want you to finish up the exam.”

“But I hurt you,” you repeat softly. “I told you I didn’t want to see you in pain, and then I caused you pain.”

“You’re too sweet for your own good, angel. Please, finish.”

“Well, next is the polishing tool. The brush is loud. I have some earplugs if you want them to at least dull it.”

“You think of everything, sweetheart.”

Fishing out the little foam cones, you hand them to Matt and let him situate them in his ear canal before he sits back down and lets you finish it all up without a single cringe. Once you finish, you lean over and press a kiss to his lips, making him giggle and hold you in place for more embraces before sliding out the earplugs, expertly tossing them into the trash can on the opposing wall.

“You have a bruised tooth,” you say, taking your gloves off as you gently sit him up.

“You can bruise a tooth?” he questions.

“Mmhm. Whatever you bit down on, you bit hard and it bruised. If you had a cavity, it would’ve been a cracked tooth. The good new is that it should be feeling better by next week. But other than that, your teeth are beautiful and strong and healthy. Just use the fluoride rinse I use to help keep everything strong.”

Once the chair stops moving, you slide one of your hands in his, the other brushing hair off of his forehead. “How does your mouth feel?”

“It hurts. But nowhere near as bad as it would when I was a kid,” he says, leaning into your touch. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Forever and always,” I smile softly. “Would you let me do this again? Cleaning and exam, once a year?”

“I’d only say yes to you. I love you.”

“I love you more, Matty.”

“I do have a question, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t get mad?”

“Now I’m a bit worried, I’m not gonna lie.”

“Is this . . . Does your jaw get this sore when we, uh, you—?” His mouth doesn’t want to finish the sentence, but the look on his face and how he holds his hands tell you everything you need to know. You can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of your chest before you kiss his temple.

“Oh, Matt,” you hum, feeling how hot your cheeks burn at his question. “Um, no, my mouth doesn’t hurt like that when I suck on you.“

“Good,” he smiles softly. “The only spot I want you to be sore is between you legs after I’m finished with you.”

“Then mission repeatedly accomplished.”

Now it’s his turn to chuckle, resting his hand on your neck and pulling you in for a kiss. “Let’s go home, sweetheart. You’ve been at this office long enough today, no thanks to me. We can pick up some dinner.”

“That sounds nice. But we’re cooking tonight. Until that tooth feels better, it’s strict doctor’s orders.”

“Oh?” he smirks.

“Mmhm. The last thing I need is you getting chicken stuck between your teeth, especially against the bad tooth.”

“So what do you suggest we make, then?”

You purse your lips to the side and think. “Homemade pasta? Soft, tasty, and you have all the ingredients in your apartment.”

“I’m actually out of eggs.”

“I don’t know how you survive, Matty,” you chuckle.

“Takeout, food clients give as payment, and the occasional meal from Mrs. Nelson,” he smiles. “Oh, and my amazing girlfriend is the most important part in ensuring my survival.”

“The we’ll go pick up some eggs, grab some things for a sauce, and some other things for the rest of the week that will be good on your tooth.”

“Sounds good, angel. Let’s go.”

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