#garth fluff

(Garth x Batsis!Reader)

❄️🎄this fic is part of my 3k holiday special🎄❄️

Word Count: 911

Debrief: Bruce hosts the Atlantean royal family for the holidays, because you, his precious daughter requested it.

Case Notes: I kinda blipped out for awhile, I’ve been a bit burnt out, and sick, and busy with the holidays but I’ve set a goal to get all these reqs out before the end of the season.

Request for @neera500 ❄️

Garth batsis fam dinner

766 - Need edit

Bruce Wayne had hosted heads of state, titans of industries, hostile board meetings disguised as charity galas, and even— once— a diplomatic dinner that ended with a small fire and a very angry ambassador.

None of those situations, however, compared to the sheer terror of hosting the Atlantean royal family for Christmas dinner.

He tolerated it for exactly one reason.

You. His beloved daughter.

Because when you had quietly mentioned, trying not to look hopeful, that you wished Garth could experience “a real Christmas,” Bruce Wayne had done what he always did when it came to his children.

He moved oceans… Literally, in this case.

Arthur Curry stood in the Wayne Manor great room, blinking at the massive Christmas tree like it was a mythical beast.

“…Is it alive?” Arthur asked carefully, squinting, eyes roaming from the lit star at the top of the tree, down all the golden tinsel, and sparkling baubles, down to the tree skirt wrapped around the 12 footers base.

Bruce Wayne, impeccably composed, folded his hands behind his back, “Only emotionally, it’s festive.”

Mera, standing beside Arthur with baby Andrina perched on her hip (though not for long because it took you two second from greeting to pluck her away), leaned closer to examine the twinkling lights, “So humans… decorate plants… for a holiday celebrating… a birth?”

“Yes,” Bruce replied smoothly.

Arthur nodded, “That is… Reasonable.”

Garth, meanwhile, had barely made it through the door before he spotted you across the room.

You were seated on the couch with little Andrina curled up against your chest, tiny fingers fisting your sweater. Your voice was low and soft as you murmured nonsense to her, a gentle smile playing at your lips while she stared at you with wide, fascinated eyes.

Garth stopped walking.

Actually… he forgot how.

Mera noticed, the way all mothers do when something lights up their children.

Her eyes slid from her son to you; warm, affectionate, glowing in the soft golden light of a Christmas tree that Arthur still suspected might attack.

“You may wish to close your mouth,” she murmured, delicate fingers pressing her son’s jaw closed, “You’re embarrassing the royal line.”

Garth flushed deeply, “I— I’m not—”

Arthur glanced over, a deep laugh leaving his chest, “Oh, he’s in love.”

Garth nearly dissolved on the spot.

Across the room, Dick Grayson clocked the exact moment Garth’s soul left his body and practically vibrated with glee.

“Oh my god,” Dick whispered to Jason and Tim, “He’s gone. The boy is wrecked.”

Jason snorted, “Atlantis is doomed. One Wayne and the entire kingdom falls.”

Tim, already filming on his phone, “I’m keeping this for… well, in case we need it one day.”

Garth hadn’t even reached you yet when Damian walked past him with clinical disapproval.

“You’re standing in a traffic lane,” Damian informed him.

“What—?” Garth shifted instantly, confused by the youngest Wayne.

Damian sniffed, “Tactically unsound. And emotionally transparent.”

Garth looked like he might actually perish.

Arthur Jr., however, was thrilled, because stood before him, was a fellow child his age!

He tugged Damian’s sleeve eagerly, “Hi! I’m Arthur Jr! You wanna be friends?”

Damian stared at him.

Then slowly, he held up a bat ornament.

“…This is a vampire bat,” he said, “one tried to maul me when I was young.”

Arthur Jr.’s eyes lit up, “COOL.”

Damian blinked. Friendship was… unexpected.

Dinner itself was surprisingly calm.

Arthur and Bruce found an odd, mutual respect while discussing politics and ocean pollution. Mera complimented Alfred within thirty seconds and was thereafter his favorite person in the manor. Jason learned Atlanteans eat seafood the way Italians eat pasta and died laughing about it. Dick tried, unsuccessfully, to get Arthur to wear a Santa hat. Tim was intensely interested in Atlantean tech and culture.

Garth sat beside you. Trying not to stare. Failing at it.

You shifted Andrina gently when she fussed, rocking her close until she melted against you again, small breath puffing warmly against your collarbone.

“She likes you,” Garth said quietly.

You smiled down at her, “I like her too.”

Something warm and unsteady twisted in his chest.

You didn’t even look at him when you said next, soft and fond, “I’m really glad you’re here. You and your family.”

That did it. Completely ruined whatever composition of himself that was left.

Across the table, Arthur nudged Mera, “reminds me of us when we were young.”

Mera, smiled, squeezing her husband’s hand, “they’re lovely together.”

Later, when you curled beside Garth on the couch with Andy asleep, limp and warm across your chest, the world hushed just enough.

Twinkling lights. Quiet conversation. The faint crackle of the fireplace.

You leaned into Garth without thinking and he froze like a statue until Arthur cleared his throat loudly from across the room.

Garth slowly relaxed.

Carefully— like the moment was made of glass— he lifted his arm and wrapped it around your shoulders. Just barely running his fingers over your arm

You sighed and melted closer. He nearly cried from how happy he felt.

Mera watched them with a small, knowing smile.

Arthur grinned.

Bruce watched with a warmth in his chest that his little girl was happy.

And Garth sat there, heart in his throat, surrounded by chaos, royalty, billionaires, and bat-children…

Knowing, with unshakable certainty—

He’d crossed oceans for you, and he’d do it again without you ever having to ask.

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