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Petty high school love

normal highschool au with batfam as your childhood family-friends and dick grayson as your “secret” crush growing up

pairing: dick grayson x reader? jason todd x reader?

You were born in a relatively good family. a loving mom and dad, and a typical younger, annoying brother.

Life was peaceful, predictable, in that childhood sort of way.

But one day, your family moved to a new place, and it was next to a rich neighbourhood.

You were 8 when you first met the Waynes.

Specifically, Richard “Dick” Grayson (8) and his younger brother Jason Todd (7). Two boys adopted by the reclusive but famous billionaire, Bruce Wayne.

And you seemed to click with them seamlessy.

It was so natural. So easy. Like you were meant to meet them.

Soon enough, you met their other siblings: Cassandra Cain (6), the quiet girl who seemed to take a liking to you. Tim Drake (4), who always had a passion for photography for as long as you could remember, and Damian Wayne (1)—he was the kid of Bruce Wayne and his ex wife Talia Al Ghul—daughter of the infamous politician Ra’s Al Ghul.

Since you’d become friends with the Waynes’ kids, your childhood wasn’t exactly normal.

With the Waynes came the chaos, the media buzz, the constant whispers about their family and money and tragedies.

With how popular they were for their background and good looks, of course people will flock to them.

And despite that, the Waynes made sure that you never drifted too far.

Somehow, they always made time for you.

Made sure you weren’t just another face in the crowd, just another neighbor they once knew.

You were their precious friend after all.

Which brings you to where you are now.

In your last year in highschool.

Still walking the halls with Gotham’s golden boy.

Still best friends with Mr. Popular himself—Dick Grayson.

It was embarrassing to say, but over the years, you’ve grown to have a crush on him.

You told yourself it was just hormones or proximity or the fact that he once lent you his hoodie during a chilly autumn morning when you were eleven.

He had smiled and said, “Can’t let you freeze to death, right?” like it was nothing.

Safe to say that your ears were flushed red after that interaction. and it wasn’t because of the cold.

You thought it was some stupid, small crush, that would go away after a while.

You kept waiting for it to go away. It never did.

If anything, it got worse.

Your heart still jumps into your throat every time he shows up at your doorstep to walk you to school, hoodie slung lazily over his shoulder, Jason grumbling and yawning behind him, and Cass quietly tossing you an apple she probably (definitely) stole from Alfred’s kitchen.

Dick always greets you with that same easy grin—the one that somehow makes your stomach do flips and your brain forget how to function.

Your face still heats up whenever Dick walks a little too close, his arm brushing yours, or when your fingers accidentally graze while you’re reaching for the same snack in the convenience store.

Or when he reaches over your shoulder to grab something in your locker, his voice low and casual in your ear.

You can’t even look him in the eye after moments like that.

And god forbid he ever leaned down to whisper a joke during class—your brain would go static for a full minute afterward.

And don’t even get started on the time he ruffled your hair after you nailed your chem test—the test that he helped you prepare for—like that wasn’t the emotional equivalent of a fireworks show in your chest.

You’re sure no one notices. Or at least, you hope no one does.

Because being best friends with Dick Grayson while also being hopelessly, quietly, pathetically in love with him?

Yeah. That’s your very specific brand of teenage tragedy.

It didn’t help that he was always so effortlessly him.

Like when he’d slide into the cafeteria seat across from you and steal a fry without asking, then wink like it was some shared secret.

Or when he’d toss his jacket over your shoulders after gym because “you always forget yours.”

You definitely didn’t spend the rest of the day trying not to bury your face in it like a weirdo.

Even the little things made your heart betray you.

Like how he’d ruffle your hair whenever you looked too stressed, or call you childish names in that teasing tone of his.

Or how he’d remember the tiniest details—your favorite candy, the name of that book you said you wanted to read, the exact kind of coffee you liked and how you took it.

Or the way he texts you late at night with dumb memes or random thoughts just because “you’d get it.”

It wasn’t fair. He made it so easy to fall for him and impossible to stop.

You told yourself not to read too much into it.

That he was like this with everyone.

That it didn’t mean anything when he stayed behind after school just to help you clean up when it was your turn.

Or when he casually slung an arm around your shoulders during movie night with the Waynes like it was no big deal.

Like it was second nature, like that didn’t crumble your carefully built walls

This is just who Dick Grayson is. Warm. Friendly. Impossible not to love.

But each time, your heart just refused to listen.

Because no matter how hard you tried to keep it together, whenever Dick Grayson looks at you—really looks at you, with that soft, half-lidded gaze—you couldn’t help but hope.

Even if you knew better.

You’ve had moments to tell him.

Plenty, actually.

Times where the words were right there, sitting on your tongue, begging to be let out. But you always chickened out.

Or got interrupted. Or convinced yourself it wasn’t worth the risk.

Because if you confessed, and he didn’t feel the same… then what?

Ten years of friendship down the drain, all because you couldn’t keep your stupid, selfish feelings in check.

So you stayed quiet.

Pushed your feelings down, and played your part as Dick’s best friend.

That is, until she arrived.

The new girl.

The one who transferred in the middle of the semester with a sunny smile and eyes that practically glowed.

She was beautiful in that effortless, otherworldly way.

Confident. Kind. And when Dick saw her for the first time, he actually stopped in his tracks.

That was the first time you’ve seen him look so… in awe.

Kori Anders. That was what her name was.

The girl who had somehow made Dick Grayson do a double take.

The girl who Dick Grayson was currently… interested in.

Of course you weren’t stupid.

You could see it in his eyes—the way he looked at her, the way he tried so hard to get to know her.

You’ve never seen him look at someone like that before.

You’ve never seen him try so hard to get to know someone.

You’ve seen him smile. You’ve seen him flirt. You’ve seen him charmed and intrigued and amused.

But this? The way his gaze lingered. The way he lit up just talking to her. It wasn’t hard to figure out what was happening.

For the first time, Dick Grayson was smitten. And you’d be a fool to not see it.

You didn’t blame her. Of course not.

You couldn’t blame her.

She was radiant—beautiful in that effortless, almost ethereal way.

The kind of girl who made everyone feel seen.

But knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

You were heartbroken. For days.

You skipped out on hangouts, made up excuses.

You cried into your pillow more times than you’d ever admit. Ugly, raw sobbing that left your chest hollow and your eyes swollen.

You were miserable.

And you hated yourself for it.

Because it was pathetic.

Crying over unrequited love like some dramatic teenager in a soap opera.

You should have been over it years ago.

You’d always known he would never see you that way.

He was Dick Grayson.

And you? You were just… you.

His friend. His little shadow. The one who never stood a chance..

You should’ve let go a long time ago. Should’ve walked away, or at the very least, built up thicker walls.

But you hadn’t.

You couldn’t.

You had refused to come out of your room—that is, until Jason personally came to drag you out.

Apparently, your younger brother had ratted you out. Said something about how his sister was “throwing a tantrum and acting like a brat.” And Jason, being Jason, had taken it upon himself to show up.

Because of course he did.

He didn’t knock gently or text you first or wait politely for an invitation. No. He marched in like a damn hurricane, pulled open your curtains, and dropped a bag of takeout on your desk with a raised eyebrow like “You’re really gonna sit here and rot, huh?”

You tried to hide under the blanket. Pretend you were asleep. You weren’t. He knew.

“Come on, quit hiding.” Jason had said, not unkindly.

“And unless you’ve suddenly taken a vow of silence, you’re gonna tell me what the hell’s going on before I have to drag your dramatic ass out of bed.”

You didn’t answer. Just buried your face deeper into the sheets.

Jason didn’t push—not really. He sat on the edge of your bed and waited. Quiet, patient.

Eventually, you cracked. Because you always did with him.

You cried.

Hard.

Snot, tears, hiccuping breath. You buried your face into his shoulder and let it all out—every pathetic, tangled emotion you’d been trying to stuff down for weeks.

You were embarrassed. Crying over an unrequited love you had for years. You should just try and get over these feelings. you know that. But you just can’t.

And Jason didn’t say a word.

He didn’t make you feel stupid. Didn’t tell you to move on or suck it up.

He just let you cry.

Let you vent. Let you admit, between choking sobs, how hopeless it all felt. How humiliated you were. How pathetic it was to still love someone who never even saw you.

You called yourself every name in the book. Desperate. Embarrassing. Ridiculous.

Jason just listened.

And by the time your tears dried, his hoodie was ruined—stained with tears and god knows how much snot.

You should’ve been mortified.

But you weren’t. Not even a little.

Because this was Jason.

Jason, who had always seen the ugliest parts of you and never once flinched.

Jason, who knew exactly when to call you out and when to simply sit and be there.

Jason, who never asked for anything in return.

He was your friend. Just as much—if not more—than Dick was.

After that day, things changed.

Not all at once.

It wasn’t some magical, movie-moment transformation.

But you stopped crying yourself to sleep.

You started showing up again—quietly, cautiously. You laughed when your friends cracked jokes, even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

You started doing things that made you feel like you again, even if only for a little while.

And through it all, you kept your distance from Dick.

You didn’t mean to.

You weren’t trying to punish him.

But being around him hurt in a way you couldn’t put into words.

So you pulled back. Bit by bit.

He noticed.

You saw it in his furrowed brows, in the way he lingered when saying goodbye, in the texts that grew a little more frequent, a little more worried.

But you didn’t have the strength to explain yourself.

Not yet.

Instead, you threw yourself into distractions.

Hobbies. Schoolwork. Books.

Anything to keep your mind from wandering back to that familiar ache.

But what’s this?

Why does it seem like Jason is frequently by your side now?

Why does he sit with you during lunch, and nudge your tray with his elbow, pretending he just happened to end up next to you?

Why does he wait for your classes to end to walk you home after school?

Why does he hand you your favourite drinks or snacks with a nonchalant, “You looked like you needed a pick-me-up.” before you head off for your tuition classes?

You told yourself it was just Jason being Jason.

That he was just trying to comfort you from your heartbreak in his own way.

But then he started showing up everywhere.

Always by your side, like he was trying to be your shadow now.

Like he was quietly stitching himself into the parts of your life that used to belong to someone else.

And maybe—just maybe—you let him.

Because now… now you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

You caught yourself scanning the halls for him between classes.

Smiling at your phone whenever notifications from him popped up.

You remembered the shape of his hands as he grabbed yours in his.

The sound of his laugh whenever you said something stupid.

The way his jacket smelled when he pulled it over your shoulders without asking.