#mean!tim

Then he tripped and skinned his arm almost running in order to not miss the big exam. He'd had to improvise, ripping a scrap of one of his layers of shirts off to wrap around his arm. If there was one thing he'd learned from being a vigilante, it was that a little scrape wouldn't kill him. Probably.

He hadn't studied the week prior, since he figured he already knew the material from a previous class- additionally, being Robin at night was eating away all his free time. Being a masked vigilante came with negatives, and less sleep was often one of them. He'd spent years behind the mask, yet he disregarded some priorities still. After all, his social life was flourishing, and so was his dating life. Everyone seemed to love Tim Drake.

However, this turned out to be a mistake, because that afternoon when the professor put the grades in, he did worse than he had thought. And the professor was worried about the dots of blood on the page that had escaped his makeshift binding. A note saying talk to me later about this was scrawled out in red ink next to the circles that had faded to brown.

His fingers had dug directly into the roots of his hair when you'd grinned and shoved the paper with the bright A+ on it in his face. Just what he'd needed after his grade came back, especially with that stupid note. Not. "C'mon, what'd you get?" You'd challenged, itching to best him again.

Always back and forth, back and forth- a nagging habit that had only worsened into a compulsion as you'd started sleeping together. You seemed to only make each other worse now, since there were more stakes involved than just showing up another student in class. It was something deeper now, something personal.

Tim's teeth had grit together as his eyes darted back down to his paper with a B- on it. He glanced back up at you. "None of your business. Leave me alone."

He crumpled up the paper into a ball without looking at it and haphazardly tossed it into a nearby trash bin. It missed.

You had snickered, continuing to follow him on campus and ignoring his death threats as you rubbed it in his face that you won this one. It was significant, as it wasn't as if you were pushing his face into the pillows every Thursday night. Tim didn't let you act out the same transgressions against him that he had the pleasure of doing himself to you.

However, the words "Guess you're finally starting to slip from the academic ranks, Drake," rang in his head after that. Tim Drake didn't slip. He never slipped.

The test scores had already put him into a sour mood, but it only worsened from there. The criminal that he was catching tonight was evasive- quick and acrobatic. And he was on patrol alone, since it was a quieter night.

They vaulted across buildings like it was something that they did for fun, snickering like something was hilarious. A normal person would have gotten tired after the first ten or so buildings, but this clown enjoyed the chase. They even did backflips as they leaped across the narrow slivers of air separating the brick structures.

And it wasn't as it was some prolific criminal, either, someone high-status like Harley Quinn or the Riddler. He got stuck with a chase over some random D-list villain calling themselves The Bendy. No, scrap that- E-tier, even.

They were nothing but a petty thief who had stolen a whole bag of money from a local grocery store's cash register after holding them up.

Tim felt insulted- this was more of a police job, whether the criminal was wearing spandex or not.

And yet here he was, feeling his body ache the longer he had to run across Gotham to catch this nutcase.

He was only involved because technically, this wasn't the first time The Bendy had stolen something- they had just lowered the bar from the previous theft of a rich woman's jewels from her home. But his breath still came in a frustrated huff of air as he snagged the end of their cape.

By the time the job was finally done, he was weary from the long day and the chase and covered in a handful of bruises. His skin stung where he cleaned his scrape out, matching his pride. He hadn't even taken a beating, but that low-level criminal had still made him look like a total fool. At least no one saw, he reasoned. But his temper wasn't so easily extinguished, after everything.

Tim kicks at a pile of clothes he still had to fold, throwing a pillow across the room and huffing. All that work- for nothing! His patrol tonight just to catch a petty thief; his intelligence, just to fail the test today; his work to keep you in your place, just for you to one-up him again.

His body was a little bruised and sore, but as he peels off his suit, he knows that there's only one thing that will make him feel better: the source of some of his frustration.

He snatches his phone up, pressing your number in. "Come over. Now." Is all he grits out, hearing your "what? What happened to hel-" as he hangs up, cutting you off before you can ask a multitude of questions.

Right now, Tim doesn't have time for any questions; he's already at the end of his fuse. He knows you'll come over anyways. As much as you loathe him, you're nothing if not curious. He's stopped mocking you for it, just in case you gain more common sense and stop coming over altogether. As much as your presence annoys him most times, the physical relief he gets is more than worth it.

It's not fair, he knows it's not fair, because you're only a quarter the reason why he's so pissed, why he needs this.

But he can't help himself- not when you're here and okay with it. Not when your lips meet his the second you walk in the door, letting him taste you as he guides you to the bed. Not when your clothes slide so easily off your frame as his impatient hands rip them off. Not when you feel so soft, so warm, like such a perfect outlet for everything he's been through today. He can't help it when pretty tears start to well up in your eyes and your thighs are shaking under him.

"Stop- running," he snaps in a heave of breath, fingers digging harshly into your hips when you squirm away from the pleasure.

Your lips part, almost drooling against the pillow as you mutter something about it being too much, already sensitive from finishing. Tim, wrought with frustration, hasn't taken it easy on you tonight, and the roughness only served to fry your brain faster. He thinks his bedframe might have cracked if he had gone just a little harder when it knocked against the wall in time with his thrusts.

When he pulls out slightly, he can see how his cock is coated in your wet gloss from when you'd soaked him. Tim shakes his head, knees pushing yours apart further.

"I can't stand- everyone running from me tonight, ugh," Tim groans against the back of your neck. Thankfully, you're too spacey to even think about what he's saying right now. Because if you did, it wouldn't make any sense.

His teeth dig into the side of your neck at your responding whimper, hand smacking your ass. "Take it, I just need you to take it-" his cock nails that sweet spot in you, and your thighs tremble. His nails bite into your hips, leaving marks. "Annoying bitch, always pestering me- fuckkkk," his thrusts start to get sloppy.

Tim closes his eyes and feels the stress leaving him as warmth fills you, his hips insistently jutting forwards a couple more times before he sighs deeply and leans back.

Even when he pulls out, you're still lying there, slumped on his bed. Tim rolls his eyes, some of that annoyance flickering back, alongside a strange new emotion. Something almost- no. Not that. But something that almost makes him think you look cute like that, all fucked out and tired.

He swats at your thigh impatiently after a minute crawls by. "Get up. I can't sleep here tonight if you're all strung out across my bed." One of his dark eyebrows arches up, hearing you only mumble as a response.

Tim considers, for half a second, gently picking you up, maybe even cleaning you off. Maybe letting you stay here, just on a different side of the bed so you don't infect him. Or even the impossible, having you curled up against him peacefully for the night.

As soon as the thought forms, he's shoving you off, seeing your form tumble to the floor. Impulsive, perhaps, but he couldn't stand the wave of sickening care that he felt towards you; it needed to be counteracted. To balance the universe again. "Ow!" You instantly yelp, and he peers over the side of his huge four-poster bed to look at you, jolted back into the real world, rubbing your back.

Your eyes find his, glaring up at him as you get up on wobbly legs, cheeks heating in humiliation. It was one thing to be fucked stupid by Tim; it was quite another to be shoved off the bed afterwards like some useless sex toy.

"I'm done- done with this," you find the words after wiping his dripping cum from your thighs and shoving your pajama pants back on. It's like Tim had channeled his frustration into you instead of quenching it altogether.

You didn't expect to be cuddled or anything after sex, but to be thrown out right away? It felt heartless, even for him.

Tim almost laughs, since you usually say that after he's done with you. But he falters at the look on your face- the way it's set: determined, rather than the usual tired expression that follows the declaration. He runs a hand through his shaggy hair.

"No, you're not. Listen-" he begins slowly. You shake your head, snatching your coat and spinning on your heel. "Wait!" He calls back after you. What he'd say, he's not exactly sure, but he never gets the chance to charm you out of it, as you leave in a huff.

Tim flops back on his bed, groaning. "Fuck." As if he needed any other reason to add to the list of why this day sucked. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, racking his brain for a plan. You were just such a satisfying lay, unfortunately; he couldn't afford to lose that. Maybe he'd find some way to suck it up and get you back in his sheets. Worn ragged by the day, his eyes flutter closed as he ponders on the new issue.

You had to get up on wobbly legs and clean yourself off, since Tim had just up and left with a snarky comment. Your stomach had turned at the mere idea that it would produce anything. The world didn't need any more Tim's; one was far too much already. You didn't have his number, but you supposed when you saw him next in class, you could always ask for him to buy you a plan B. He had enough money for it- you weren't even sure why he was going to college in Gotham, since he was practically a nepo baby. You scowled when you saw the hickeys he had left on your neck and shoulders. He was lucky it was cold outside now and the weather encouraged full-coverage tops, otherwise you might actually kill him. It was humiliating that you had let Tim in your room, in your bed, even more so that he didn't bother to fake being nice or give you any aftercare after he was done with you.

A few days later, going to class, you take a deep breath. This is fine. I'll just ignore him as always, you think. You had attempted to make it a regular day- getting dressed the same, walking the same route to school. But this time, you didn't plan on seeking out Tim to pester him- he had dirt on you way deeper than just winning an A+ score over you. You think you've gotten lucky when you sit down in the lecture hall, gaze scanning the students milling about and getting into their seats- Tim isn't there. Maybe he didn't want to go to class, and he was somehow just as embarrassed as you were that he sunk to that level?

Your theory falls apart when he pushes open the door and his blue eyes find yours after a few seconds, a smug grin curving at the edges of his lips. Instead of glaring at you and choosing the seat farthest from you, this time, he sits down right next to you after crossing the room.

"Morning. Sleep well?" He drawls. You shoot a glare at him. "Y'know, I'm surprised you sit this far back. Maybe you don't screw the teacher." He continues, musing. "You sure as hell weren't seductive enough to me last night to be able to pull something like that off. I had to do all the work." He clicks his tongue. Your cheeks flush in embarrassment as the teacher starts droning on in the background, waving your hands at him to try to shut him up. "You're such an asshole, Drake." You mutter.

He just shrugs. You would think he had just received the keys to Gotham city, he was so upbeat this morning. He finally had something to hold over you; that you were under him. "You didn't mind it last night. In fact, I actually remember you squeezing me harder when I called you a slut." Tim taps his pencil against the desk. "Maybe you get off on arguing with me, though, huh? That's sick." He clicks his tongue, almost chastising you, even though he got hot and bothered over the same thing. "You did too," you mutter. His eye twitches, but he plays it off in a casual shrug.

With all his chattering, it slips your mind to ask him for money, just trying to mentally banish the memories of Tim's skin on yours, his mocking voice in your ear. "Why are you sitting next to me?" You grit out finally. If you actually said what you were thinking towards him right now and started arguing, you'd probably get kicked out of the class.

He shoots you an amused look, sliding a piece of folded-up paper to you by your notebooks. "To give you my number. Y'know, in case you want a repeat of the other night. You can sit here and lie all you want, but you know that was probably some of the best dick you ever got." He says confidently, leaning back in his seat. The sight of you still annoyed Tim, but he would gladly encourage a repeat of getting to shut you up.

You grab the paper, scrunching it up in your clenched fist, but heisitate to throw it away. "It totally wasn't. You sucked." You deftly slip it into your pocket, eyebrows still furrowed in frustration. "I won't be calling." Tim shrugs, eyes darting down to where you were putting his number into your pocket. "You will. Good girl." He murmurs, teasing.

Your cheeks flame, and you hate the way that your "shut up, dickwad" comes out a little weaker than usual. Maddeningly, Tim just grins knowingly. When people start packing up their bags to leave class, you don't waste a second, stuffing papers and notebooks into your backpack and rushing out. You don't need Tim getting in any more smart quips.

Despite your frustration, later that night, your mind is still on him. The way his hands had felt gripping your skin, the way he fit almost perfectly inside of you and managed to get just the right angle to fuck you into a whiny mess- your eyes squeeze shut, and you groan, putting a hand to your forehead.

It's irritating to think about, but if Tim can get off on it and accept it, then so can you, you figure. Why let him have a monopoly on the shared memories? It's not like anyone will find out. You'd never tell anyone you slept with Tim Drake, let alone that you were stupid enough to think about it with your hand down your pants nights later like some pining idiot.

You're already wet when your fingertips touch your pussy, and for a second you imagine it's Tim doing it. But when you slide a finger inside yourself, it's just not the same.

When Tim had fingered you, it was just after that argument, when you both must have lost your minds enough to sleep together. It was impatient, and quick- he just wanted to get to fucking you already.

His fingers were calculated in their precision, like he had memorized a long time ago just how to curl his fingers and find the right spots inside of a girl.

For all your trying, closing your eyes and imagining him, recalling how he had made amused comments about how tight you were and how wet, and how nasty it was that you got off on him being mean- it didn't work. It wasn't as good as the real thing. You give up after ten minutes with a frustrated huff, throwing your blankets aside and getting up.

As you're about to go wash your hands, you pause in your tracks to the bathroom, spotting your jacket that you threw on the floor earlier. Your mind floats back to the moment Tim had slipped you that piece of paper. The "good girl" that makes your stomach flip even now.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip. It can't be worth it to call him. You'd never live it down- bad enough you made one mistake and let him get one over you, but to keep adding to the score? But something in you, perhaps the side that was desperate for more, had you snatching the piece of paper out of your coat pocket and reading the scrawl of numbers. Surprisingly, he had very neat handwriting, you note mentally.

You squint at them as you stumble back to your bed and type the digits into your phone, heart thudding as you press the call button. When Tim picks up, he's not exactly sure who it is- spam calls are prominent nowadays. But he has a smug hunch.

Without asking who it is, he overconfidently says, "Couldn't stay away, huh?" Even just the tone of his voice had you gritting your teeth, ready to hang up and say, forget it. "Nevermind." You say shortly. Tim frowns on his end of the line, shaking his head. "Hey, c'mon, don't be like that. You know you love it." He smirks.

You scoff at him. "Absolutely not." Tim ignores the quip. "Why'd you call, huh?" He licks his lips, picturing your room from the last time he was over there. Maybe you were sitting on the same bed that he'd ravished you in. "Need something?" He hums knowingly. You hesitate, glaring at nothing but the darkness in front of you. The silence drags on as he waits for an answer, waiting for you to rise to the bait.

You swallow thickly. "If you come over, can you promise you won't make fun of me for it?" You whisper. Tim laughs, a little surprised that you're even asking. "No," he shrugs, quick and definitive. "You need me, though, huh? Need me to touch you, make you come? Can't do it yourself, can you? For all those smart grades you get, you can't even figure out how to please yourself?" He says snidely.

You close your eyes, a little ashamed at how your stomach flutters. "No." You mumble, then, upon realizing that you're folding too quickly and too easily, you clear your throat. "Shut the fuck up. I'm- after the other day, it's natural to not be able to do it myself." You say defensively. Like a system re-set or something, but for pleasure. That has to be it. "Sure." Tim remarks dryly. He pauses. "I'll be over in ten." He hangs up, leaving you to put your head in your hands and wonder why in the world you signed yourself up for this. The ache between your legs answered your own question, however.

Tim is just as smug as ever when he arrives, letting himself into your unlocked apartment. "Awww, you missed me," he says mockingly, and your cheeks turn red. "Shut up," you snap. He shakes his head, raising his eyebrows slightly. "You're the one who's gonna shut up. Apparently you don't remember last time?" He tsks. "Maybe I should remind you."

Tim's gaze drags down your frame, taking in your pajamas. He didn't bother to change before coming over, still in his dark sweats and matching t-shirt. "I hate you." You snap, although your mouth waters slightly, seeing how the shirt showed his biceps. He just grins, noticing, because he always notices.

"You don't hate my dick, smartass." He steps closer finally. "Spread 'em." He orders swiftly, eyes darting down to your thighs. Your eyes narrow. "No. You are not the boss of me." You retort.

Tim sighs, rolling his eyes, grabbing your thighs and pushing them apart. "Make this easier for the both of us and shut the fuck up for me, okay? God." He mutters. "The more you whine and complain and bitch at me, the more I'm gonna make you pay for it." He stares at you for a serious moment as you gape at him before schooling your expression. "You're such a jerk," you frown.

He reaches into your pants, snapping the band of your panties. "And that's why you called me over here, huh?" His hands tug down your pajamas, pushing you back on the bed and crawling over you.

Tim´s thumb rubs against your panties, grinning when he finds them soaking wet. "God, you are such a whore. I bet you were thinking of me before this too, weren't you?" He asks conversationally, waiting until you bite out an answer to slip his fingers under your panties and into you to make you slip up. "I wasn- oh-" he curls his fingers, scissoring them inside you.

"I bet you were. Pussy's fucking drooling- even more the more I talk," he murmurs. "Listen to that- she loves me," he says smugly. The tips of your ears burn, but the way he's talking makes your lower stomach tighten with need. Tim curls his fingers just right, making your hips twitch towards him. "Yeah, well, you still suck." You retort, and he shoves his fingers into you harder. "Whatever." He mutters.

His free hand undoes the drawstring of his sweats. "Y'ready to take me?" You glare at him. "You seriously think three seconds of foreplay is enough?" You scoff, and he arches an eyebrow. "It was last time," he comments, tugging his fingers out and delivering a light slap to your pussy that makes you jolt. Tim strips his sweats and boxers off, leaving them to pool on your floor. His fingers hook into your panties, peeling them off and tossing them haphazardly somewhere into your room without looking. It wasn't going to be his mess to clean up later.

He wraps a hand around himself, stroking slowly, his eyes fixed between your legs. "It's too bad someone so bitchy has such a nice pussy. Almost too much to put up with for it." He murmurs to himself in thought.

Despite your huffiness with his self-centeredness, when he rubs the tip against your entrance, your hips twitch a little towards him. He pushes in, groaning at the tight, wet warmth that envelops him. Tim's pleased as punch you don't snap at him to put a condom on. He won't correct your mistake- it feels better for him this way anyway.

Your lips part, adjusting to the initial stretch as he hollows you out. He pushes your thighs apart more, settling more heavily between them, before resting his hands on your waist. "You just needed me that badly," he laughs, shaking his head. "Can't even come anymore, after one time with me? Wow." He grinds against your inner walls, making you moan. "Sh-Shut up," you mutter.

He hikes up both your legs around his hips, slipping a little deeper, leaning over you more to get a better angle. You turn your head away from him, avoiding his gaze, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over you.

One of Tim's hands slides up, grabbing your chin, tilting your head back towards him. "Oh, no, no, no, you wanted this. You wanted me here. Look at me." He taps the side of your cheek so that your eyes lock onto his, which have a faint glimmer of amusement in them. "Good girl," he says mockingly, making your eyebrows furrow into a glare at him.

"Oh, don't even pretend. I can feel how much you like it. Pussy's squeezing me good." He murmurs, rocking his hips into yours. He thumbs at your clit just to see your eyes flutter and that crease between your eyebrows straighten out.

He quickens his pace, getting a little rougher, the bed rocking under the both of you. Calling me over in the middle of the night- fucking pathetic- you just think I´m always free, huh? Like you are? he scoffs breathily, thrusting into you like he was irritated. When you whine and start to complain, he rolls his eyes.

He grabs your legs and shoves them back towards your chest, pressing his weight against them to keep you still and spread open. Tim scoffs- "Didn't you ask for this? Be a big girl and take it, c'mon. God, you act like you've- never- been fucked before." He grunts, using the new position to bottom out completely, greedily savoring the way your warmth was wrapped all around him and the way your lips part in a soft sound and your eyes get a little spacey.

He pulls out almost all the way before slamming back into you, a whine clawing from your throat. Tim's thumb presses against your bottom lip, and he leans over you, breath warm as it ghosts across your lips.

For a delusional second, you think he's going to kiss you. Instead, spit drips into your mouth. He tightens his grip on your chin to keep you still as you jerk back in hazy surprise. "Swallow." He orders. He thrusts harder so that you gasp and swallow it, and he snorts.

He was so sick of how you acted all high and mighty in class, like you were too good for him. But look at you now- spread open, cockdrunk again, swallowing his spit.

"Nasty slut." He mocks, feeling you clench around him. Your cheeks flush, pupils too dilated to lie and say that you don't like it. He ruts into you harder, chasing his own release. "I can only tolerate you like this," he says. "All dumbed down, no attitude." His hand slips down to your thigh, squeezing it.

Tim tilts his head back, groaning, his thrusts getting sloppy. This time, though, you finish first, with his tip kissing your sweet spot over and over again. Your eyes roll back with a slew of embarrassing noises, and Tim's teeth grit in a small hiss feeling your tight walls gripping him. Maybe he'll try to make you come first in the future- for his pleasure, of course.

His cock throbs and he holds himself balls-deep as he comes inside of you, groaning in satisfaction. After a long moment, he pulls out, tapping his tip against you so as to not get any remaining drops of cum on his boxers when he tugs them back on. Your gaspy breaths echo in the newfound silence of the room.

Tim slips off the bed to swiftly get dressed again, leaving you to try to blink the haze out of your eyes and sit up. Your hand rubs at your head, closing your legs slightly. "Wai....wait...plan b," you manage.

Tim scowls, grabbing his wallet out of his pocket once he tugs his sweats back on. He snatches out a few bills, tossing them onto the bed haphazardly. "Here." He says. "Make sure you take it, mkay? I don't want to have to pay child support. Especially not with someone as annoying as you." The corners of your lips drag downwards, glaring at him again.

Tim's eyes drift down to your legs, and his expression shifts slightly, almost softening, but he still turns around and opens your door. "Text me if you need anything else," he says in a presumptuous tone. Your curses follow him as he slips out the door.