Chapter Text
The apartment was quiet in the soft, comfortable way Damian had come to associate with evenings spent with Anya.
Rain tapped lightly against the windows, a steady rhythm beneath the muted hum of the radiator in the corner of the living room. One of Damian’s records spun lazily on the turntable nearby, filling the apartment with low jazz that drifted through the warm yellow light of the lamps. Books and lecture notes were scattered across the coffee table, abandoned halfway through a study session neither of them had taken particularly seriously.
Anya was sprawled across Damian’s couch like she belonged there. Which, at this point, she did.
She lay half on top of him, legs tangled with his, her head resting comfortably against his chest while Damian absentmindedly played with strands of her pink hair. She wore one of his sweaters—the sleeves swallowed her hands completely—and every now and then she’d steal sips from the mug of tea balanced precariously on his knee.
Damian looked down at her with the kind of softness he only ever allowed himself around her. Twenty-three years old, halfway through university, and somehow this still felt surreal sometimes.
Anya, curled up against him. Anya, stealing his tea. Anya, humming along terribly to the music because she didn’t know the words. Anya, who had somehow become the center of his entire life so naturally he barely remembered what things had felt like before her.
She shifted slightly against him, tilting her head back just enough to squint up at him suspiciously.
''You’re staring again,'' she informed him.
Damian scoffed lightly. ''You’re lying on top of me. Where else am I supposed to look?''
''My eyes?''
''You look like a sleepy raccoon right now.''
Anya gasped dramatically. ''Rude. I’m beautiful.''
''You’re definitely something.''
She narrowed her eyes at him before poking his ribs through his sweater. ''You’re lucky I love you.''
Damian smirked faintly, catching her hand easily before she could poke him again. ''I’m extremely lucky, actually.''
Her expression softened immediately at that, warmth flickering across her face before she tried to cover it with another dramatic sigh.
''Wow,'' she muttered. ''You’re being suspiciously sweet tonight.''
''I’m always sweet.''
Anya rolled her eyes fondly. ''Unfortunately, that's actually true. But you're being extra sweet tonight, and that makes me nervous.''
He rolled his eyes, but his thumb continued tracing lazy circles over the back of her hand.
For a few quiet moments, neither of them spoke. The rain continued outside. The record crackled softly between songs.
Damian’s gaze drifted toward the ceiling for a moment before he looked back down at her again, expression shifting into something thoughtful.
''Now that I think about it, there’s something very important we haven’t talked about yet,'' he said suddenly.
Anya blinked. Then immediately sat up slightly, curiosity taking over her entire face. ''What?''
Damian’s mouth twitched.
''No, seriously,'' she said, nudging him. ''What is it?''
He let the suspense hang for a moment longer, clearly enjoying himself.
Anya narrowed her eyes. ''Damian.''
That teasing smile finally appeared fully on his face—the smug, self-satisfied expression she knew far too well.
''You know,'' he said casually, ''that if we ever have kids, their names are going to start with D, right?''
Silence.
Anya stared at him. Actually stared at him.
For one full second she looked genuinely too stunned to respond, mouth parting slightly as she processed the fact that:
1. Damian had apparently thought about their future children enough to have naming opinions,
and
2. this idiot had somehow decided he could make that decision alone.
Then she gasped in outrage. ''Excuse me?!''
Damian immediately started laughing.
''No, seriously!'' she exclaimed, pushing herself upright properly now. ''When exactly did you decide this?''
''It’s tradition.''
''That's not the point!''
''It’s a very important Desmond tradition.''
''Damian,'' she said incredulously, pointing at herself, ''I’m the one who would have to get pregnant!''
He looked thoroughly entertained now. ''I’d noticed.''
''I’d have to carry the baby around for nine months!''
''Mhm.''
''My hormones would be insane!''
''I’m aware.''
''I would literally have to push a whole human being out of my body!''
Damian bit the inside of his cheek, visibly trying not to laugh harder.
''And after all that,'' Anya continued dramatically, ''you think you just get to decide the name by yourself?!''
''I didn’t say by myself.''
''You literally did!''
''I said they’d start with D.''
''That’s still deciding!''
Damian grinned lazily, one arm draped across the back of the couch now as he watched her spiral theatrically in front of him. ''You’re very intense about hypothetical pregnancies.''
''Because hypothetical me is suffering!''
He snorted.
Anya crossed her arms tightly, glaring at him with exaggerated betrayal. ''You’re unbelievable.''
''And yet,'' Damian replied smoothly, ''you’re still planning on having children with me.''
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then narrowed her eyes even further when she realized he had a point.
''That’s not the issue here.''
''It sounds like the issue here.''
''The issue,'' she informed him sternly, ''is that you apparently think your future wife gets no say in naming our children.''
The words future wife slipped out naturally. Effortlessly. Like she hadn’t even thought before saying them. And suddenly Damian couldn’t breathe properly for half a second. His expression softened before he could stop it.
Future wife.
Anya noticed immediately. Her dramatic glare faltered slightly.
''...What?'' she asked, suspicious now for an entirely different reason.
Damian looked away briefly, trying and failing to hide the warmth spreading across his chest. ''Nothing.''
''Sy-on boy.''
''It’s nothing.''
''You’re doing the face.''
''What face?''
''The soft one.''
''I do not have a soft face.''
''You absolutely do.''
Damian rolled his eyes, but he could still feel his heartbeat thudding annoyingly hard against his ribs. Because the thing was that he had known for years. Known in the quiet, certain way you know something fundamental about yourself.
He’d never been able to picture marrying anyone else. Even when they were teenagers. Even when she drove him insane. Even when she punched him, stole his food, and turned his life upside down with terrifying consistency.
So hearing her talk about becoming a Desmond someday like it was obvious, like it was inevitable—
It did something dangerous to his heart.
Anya poked his cheek suddenly. ''You’re zoning out.''
He caught her hand instantly. ''You distracted me.''
''With what?''
''You calling yourself my future wife so casually.''
Her face immediately went pink. Then, slowly, a grin appeared. The kind Damian had learned to fear.
''Oh.''
''Oh?'' Damian repeated cautiously.
Anya tilted her head. ''Well, am I wrong?''
Damian immediately looked away. ''That's not the point.''
Anya gasped. ''Oh my God.''
''Anya.''
''Oh my God.''
''Stop.''
She sat up straighter, pointing at him dramatically. ''You've spent the last ten minutes talking about our future children.''
''I was making a point.''
''You have naming policies.''
''I do not have naming policies.''
''You have traditions.''
''That's different.''
''You've thought about this.''
''Anya.''
''For years.''
''Anya.''
She clutched his arm. ''Have you imagined tiny little Desmond babies?''
''I hate this conversation.''
''Oh my God, you have.''
Damian buried his face in one hand. Anya looked delighted.
''Meanwhile, I call myself your future wife once and suddenly I'm the suspicious one?''
''You said it very confidently.''
''You were planning children.''
Damian groaned. Anya leaned closer, eyes sparkling.
''Be honest.''
''No.''
''Be honest.''
''I'm not answering whatever comes next.''
''You've definitely imagined introducing me as your wife.''
Damian made the mistake of hesitating. Anya immediately pointed at him.
''THAT WAS A HESITATION.''
''It was not.''
''That was the biggest hesitation I've ever seen.''
''You're impossible.''
''And yet,'' she said smugly, settling back against him, ''you're apparently planning on keeping me forever.''
''...You are never letting this go, are you?''
''Not a chance, future husband.''
Damian groaned loudly and buried his face in one hand. Anya laughed so hard she nearly fell off the couch.
After a moment, she recovered enough to point accusingly at him again. ''Anyway. Back to the important issue.''
''The D names.''
''The dictatorship, yes.''
Damian sighed dramatically. ''It’s a family tradition, Anya.''
''That doesn’t mean our children automatically have to follow it.''
''All the Desmonds have names beginning with D.''
''And your mother is a Desmond whose name doesn’t start with D,'' Anya shot back instantly.
Damian blinked. ''...That was fast.''
''I’m smart.''
''You are. Unfortunately, you never let anyone forget it.''
She kicked his shin.
''Ow.''
''Good.''
Damian shook his head, still amused. ''But my mother became a Desmond after marriage.''
Anya immediately perked up again. ''Exactly! And I’ll become a Desmond after marriage too, and my name doesn’t start with D.''
Damian’s chest warmed all over again.
God. The way she said it.
Not like it was some distant possibility. Not like something that might happen someday.
I'll become a Desmond after marriage too.
Like she couldn’t imagine another outcome either.
He stared at her for a moment too long. Anya’s expression softened again beneath all the teasing.
''...You okay?'' she asked quietly.
Damian exhaled softly through his nose before tugging her closer by the wrist until she practically toppled back against him.
''Yeah,'' he murmured. ''I’m fine.''
''You got all emotional again.''
''I did not.''
''You absolutely did.''
He pressed a quick kiss to her temple to shut her up. It worked for approximately three seconds.
''Anyway,'' she continued smugly, settling back against his chest again, ''your argument has failed.''
''It has not failed.''
''It absolutely has. Future me is a Desmond without a D name.''
''But you weren’t born a Desmond,'' he pointed out.
Anya squinted up at him. ''Your mother wasn’t either.''
''Exactly.''
''So?''
''So,'' Damian smirked, ''the tradition is about Desmonds born into the family.''
''Oh my God,'' Anya said dramatically. ''You sound like an old aristocrat.''
''I basically am an old aristocrat.''
''You’re twenty-three.''
''I’ve suffered enough to count as elderly.''
She snorted loudly. Damian’s fingers drifted lazily through her hair again while she settled more comfortably against him.
''So,'' he said after a moment, ''you’re really against it?''
Anya tilted her head thoughtfully.
''No,'' she admitted. ''I’m against you acting like you already decided.''
''That's fair.''
''Also,'' she added, ''some names with D are ugly.''
Damian looked offended. ''Excuse you.''
''I’m serious! Imagine if you wanted to name our kid Dietrich or something.''
Damian laughed quietly, shaking his head. ''Okay, that’s also fair.''
''See?''
''But there are good D names.''
Anya narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but there was something softer in her expression now. ''You’ve thought about this a lot.''
Damian looked away. Which was answer enough.
Her expression softened even more. ''You’ve actually thought about names already?''
''...Maybe.''
''For years, haven’t you?''
He groaned quietly. ''Anya.''
''Oh my God, you have.'' She sounded so delighted by this discovery that Damian could actually feel himself getting embarrassed.
''Don’t make it weird.''
''You imagined little baby names!''
''I was a child.''
''You were a romantic.''
''I was not.''
''You absolutely were.''
Damian buried his face briefly against the top of her head in defeat while she laughed quietly against his chest. Then suddenly Anya sat upright again with alarming seriousness.
''Okay,'' she announced.
Damian eyed her warily. ''Okay?''
''We make a deal.''
His eyebrows rose immediately. ''A deal.''
''Yes.''
''You sound dangerous.''
''I usually am.''
''That’s true.''
Anya pointed at him firmly.
''If we ever have a son,'' she declared, ''you can give him a name that starts with D.''
Damian blinked.
Then tried not to look too victorious too quickly.
''But,'' she continued before he could speak, ''I have to like the name too.''
''That’s acceptable.''
''And,'' she added dramatically, ''if we have a daughter, there is absolutely no way her name starts with D.''
Damian stared at her. Anya crossed her arms stubbornly.
''Any other letter,'' she said firmly. ''Literally any other one.''
''You feel very strongly about this.''
''Yes.''
''Why?''
''Because I said so.''
''That’s not a reason.''
''It’s a perfectly good reason.''
Damian laughed softly, shaking his head. ''You’re unbelievable.''
''And you love me.''
''Unfortunately.''
She grinned. ''So? Deal?''
Damian pretended to think deeply about it for a moment before finally extending his hand toward her with a smug little smile. ''Deal.''
Anya narrowed her eyes suspiciously before shaking his hand firmly. ''You better not betray me, Sy-on boy.''
''Please. I’m deeply honorable.''
''You stole my fries yesterday.''
''That was survival.''
Anya snorted, but she still leaned forward immediately afterward to kiss him anyway.
Soft. Warm. Familiar.
Damian kissed her back slowly, one hand sliding to her waist automatically as she melted closer to him again. When they finally pulled apart, she rested her forehead briefly against his.
''You know,'' she murmured, smiling slightly, ''our kids are probably gonna be really weird.''
Damian laughed quietly. ''With us as parents? Totally.''
Anya snorted. ''Good point.''
''I mean, one of our kids' parents spent most of first grade committing crimes against academic integrity.''
Anya raised an eyebrow. ''...Are you talking about me or you?''
Damian looked scandalized. ''How dare you.''
''You need to be more specific. I'm not actually sure which parent you're insulting right now.''
Before she could dodge, he reached over and pinched her nose lightly between his fingers.
''You,'' he informed her. ''Obviously.''
Anya swatted his hand away. ''That's hurtful.''
''It's accurate.''
''I was a delightful child.''
Damian smirked. ''I'll ask your father what he thinks about that.''
Anya gasped. ''Traitor.''
Damian's smile widened. ''I'm pretty sure he still has several stories I haven't heard yet.''
Anya pointed a warning finger at him. ''Any testimony he provides is biased and should be disregarded.''
''Gremlin, you routinely made life decisions based on information no human being should have possessed.''
''...When you say it like that, I sound insane.''
''You were.''
Anya gave him her signature smirk. ''Well, our kids' other parent spent his childhood reading family records for fun.''
''...That's classified.''
''You had a favorite family tree.''
''I did not.''
''You absolutely did.''
''I was interested in history.''
''You were eight.''
Damian looked offended. ''You say that like eight-year-olds can't have hobbies.''
''Normal hobbies, maybe.''
''I had a normal hobby.''
''You memorized your ancestors.''
''They were historically significant.''
Anya barked out a laugh. ''Oh, our kids are doomed.''
Damian groaned. Then a faint smile appeared on his face. ''I think they'll be really happy.''
The joke she was about to make faded away. Instead, Anya reached for his hand. Their fingers intertwined automatically.
''Yeah,'' she murmured. ''I think they will be too.''
Damian squeezed her hand once. Anya smiled and rested her head against his shoulder. Outside, the rain continued to tap softly against the windows.
For a little while, they simply sat there together, enjoying the quiet. Soon enough, Anya would inevitably find another way to make fun of him.
And Damian wasn't nearly as annoyed by that prospect as he pretended to be.