“WEAR. THE. FUCKING. GLASSES.”
pairings — Tim Drake x reader
summary — men in glasses are so hot. And you’re sure Tim would look even hotter in them. If only he’d take a fucking hint…
You could only leave so many hints.
For the smartest person you knew, Tim Drake sure was acting like a clueless idiot. You did everything! And by everything, I mean everything!!
All you wanted was for him to wear glasses. No I mean seriously, your brain short circuited at the thought of Tim in glasses. Cause we can all agree, men in glasses is the hottest thing ever.
You started by leaving a pair of reading glasses you bought him next to his bedside table every morning, and somehow the most observant guy ever didn’t observe them. It went on for three days before you decided to switch their location.
If there was one place Tim’s eyes were guaranteed to focus on in the morning, it was the espresso machine. You set the stylish, sleek black frames right on top of his favorite mug. Surely he couldn't miss them now. You sat at the kitchen island, sipping your tea, waiting for the exact moment his brain registered the object.
Tim stumbled into the kitchen at 6:00 AM, lHe reached out, picked up the glasses with two fingers, set them gently on the counter next to the sugar bowl, poured his coffee, and walked away.
He didn't even look at them.
You stared at his retreating back, your mouth slightly agape. Are you actual bullshitting me right now, Timothy?
Okay, subtle wasn't working. It was time to invade his sacred space.
While he was out on patrol, you snuck down to the Batcave and laid the glasses directly in front of his central monitor, resting right on his keyboard. There was zero chance he could type a single line of code without touching them.
When he finally returned, cowl pulled down around his neck, hair sticking up in endearing chaotic waves, he sat down at the console. He picked up the glasses, frowned at them for a fraction of a second, moved them six inches to the left, and immediately began typing furiously about a cold case in the East End.
You, watching from the top of the stairs, nearly pulled your own hair out. He was literally a master detective. He tracked international assassins for fun. But a pair of glasses sitting on his keyboard? Completely invisible.
By day nine, you had lost your mind.
You were currently sitting on the couch in his apartment, watching him hunched over a stack of reports that were about who knows what. His eyes were bloodshot, squinting heavily at the fine print under the dim lamp light.
You stood up, picked up the glasses—which had been sitting on his desk as a paperweight for the last two days—and walked over.
"Do your eyes hurt?" you asked, leaning over his chair.
"No," Tim mumbled, rubbing his temples, not looking up from the page.
You held out the sleek frames right in front of his nose. "Glasses. In case."
"No," he grunted, gently pushing your hand aside to keep staring at a spreadsheet. "I don't need them."
Your remaining sanity snapped in half. You slammed your other hand onto the desk, shoving the glasses right into his grip.
“WEAR. THE. FUCKING. GLASSES.”
Tim flinched, blinking at you in utter shock as your sudden shout shattered the quiet room. "What? Wait—why do you keep moving those around anyway? I thought Dick was leaving his stuff here again."
You choked on air. "Dick's stuff?!"
"Yeah," Tim said innocently, holding the frames up to inspect them. "I thought someone left them behind. Wait did you get these ?
"Tim. Put. Them. On." You pointed a finger inches from his face, your tone leaving zero room for negotiation. "I swear Timothy you better put them on NOW or ELSE I swear I’m throwing all your shit out the window. I’m not playing around."
Tim blinked, realizing you were dead serious and dangerously close to executing that threat. "Okay, okay! Chill, I'm putting them on!"
He unfolded the arms of the glasses and slipped them over his ears, adjusting them slightly on the bridge of his nose. He looked back up at you, his blue eyes suddenly framed perfectly by the sharp, dark rims, making him look unfairly handsome, sophisticated, and ridiculous all at once.
Your brain instantly flatlined.
The silence in the room stretched for five long seconds.
"What?" Tim asked, suddenly self-conscious, reaching up to take them off. "Do I look ridiculous? Are they blurry? They're non-prescription, right—"
"Don't you fucking touch them," you choked out, slapping his hand away from his face.
Tim froze, his hand hovering in mid-air. "Huh?"
"Tim, what the fuck," you whispered, taking a step back and grabbing your own face in sheer disbelief. You paced back and forth in front of his desk. "What the fuck. You look—oh my God."
"I... look good?" Tim asked, a slow, hesitant smirk starting to tug at the corner of his lips as he realized what was actually happening.
"You look absurd. You look illegal. NEVER take those off," you demanded, pointing at him accusingly. "I am placing a court order on your face. Those stay on forever. You're sleeping in them. You're patrolling in them."
Tim chuckled, leaning back in his chair, his eyes crinkling behind the lenses as he crossed his arms. "So... all those random places you left them..."
"I was trying to be romantic and subtle, you idiot!"
"Right," Tim said, his smirk widening as he reached up to lightly tap the frame. "Well. Guess I'm wearing glasses now."
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