Archive of Our Own ^beta

Two big brown eyes blink up at Sylvain innocently, head at a slight tilt as Sylvain glares down at the giant Bernese mountain dog, waiting patiently and directly in front of the fridge.

“I hate you,”  Sylvain grumbles, crossing his arms.

Raspberry barks and wags his tail happily on the floor.

“I know you understand me,”  Sylvain says, side-stepping the dog to reach one of the cabinets so he can make coffee, “stop being so cute.”

Raspberry spins, chasing his own tail in exactly one cycle, before stopping to hop in front of Sylvain again.  

“That’s not going to work,”  Sylvain huffs, annoyed.  “Not when you keep stealing my girlfriend.”

Raspberry stays where he is, sitting right in front of Sylvain, tongue out as he pants.

Sylvain sighs and pats the dog on the head.  He can’t help it.  He likes dogs.  He’s always liked dogs.  He was never allowed to have one growing up, and then, through school and living life as a young bachelor and then into his early career as a teacher, he never had the time for one.

Now though, settled, with a ring around Ingrid’s finger calling him hers, it felt like the right time.  He just didn’t think it’d backfire on him quite like this.

“Give her back,” Sylvain says, crouching in front of an innocent-looking Raspberry.  “Please?”

Raspberry’s paw comes up and down as if he was expecting to shake hands and Sylvain sighs.  The dog had been his idea in the first place.  Ingrid had actually been hesitant.  He had to convince her.  She wanted a cat.

“We already have Felix,” he distinctly remembers joking.  “Why do we need another cat?”

Ingrid hadn’t found that funny.  It had taken him weeks to convince her. 

She had actually insisted on dogproofing the entire house first and then ensuring that Sylvain was ready for the responsibility of a dog before finally agreeing, but not until after he mentioned that they could get one she could run with.

In the end though, it was probably love at first sight.  Ingrid was gone the moment she laid her eyes on the rascal.  

“This is unfair,”  Sylvain pouts while the pitter-patter of dog paws trail him around the kitchen as he grabs two mugs.  Raspberry does this every time, and it’s entirely because he keeps hoping for food, not at all because he has any special fondness for Sylvain.  

“It took me ages to get Ingrid to come around,”  Sylvain complains, pouring the coffee into Ingrid’s mug, “you on the other hand?  Less than a minute.”

Raspberry doesn’t respond.  Instead, he lays his giant ass right on top of Sylvain’s feet. 

“I hate you,”  Sylvain grumbles again but he doesn’t kick the dog off.

Sylvain swears he’s going to glare holes into the back of Raspberry’s head.  Raspberry, his dog, or - who was supposed to be their dog but is really truly just Ingrid’s dog at this point, has his little traitorous snout buried into Ingrid’s chest as she lies on a yoga mat in the backyard.  

This is totally unfair.  Ingrid never lets him cut into her exercise time.  The only way Sylvain gets to talk to her while she’s working out is if he’s working out alongside her, but he can’t even do that because Ingrid has pulled out his red yoga mat and let the dog lay it in, covering it in hair.

It’s ridiculous.  Raspberry is a dog.  He can lay in the grass.  

“You never let me interrupt,” Sylvain says from the deck, trying to catch Ingrid’s attention.  

Ingrid doesn’t look up at him; she’s too busy trying to push a very stubborn Raspberry away and failing.  It looks too half-hearted to Sylvain from where he can see.

Sylvain frowns and his eyes drift down to his unbuttoned shirt.  It’s a touch too chilly to be completely shirtless but he’s thinking about whipping it off just to see what Ingrid would say.  He’s even wearing his glasses, which he knows she loves.  

“Ingrid?”  He tries again.

“Raspberry, get off,” she giggles.

Sylvain pouts, even when she can’t see.  He stomps down the steps, a little too loudly, trying to catch the dog’s attention.  “You heard the lady,” he says to the Raspberry, “off you go.”

Raspberry, of course, does no such thing.

Ingrid finally looks up at Sylvain but only briefly before she’s staring back at Raspberry.  She doesn’t bat an eye at his bare chest.  “Hey Sylvain,” she greets as her hands push the dog away, “can you take him for a walk?”

Sylvain’s jaw falls open, “what?  Why?”

“So I can exercise in peace,” she laughs, sitting up with her back towards him to pet Raspberry.  “And it’s not like you were doing anything anyway.”

Sylvain groans, running a hand over his face.  “Fine,” he huffs, abandoning his plans of staring at his super hot fiance working out.  “Come on boy, let’s go.  Walk.”

The word triggers Raspberry’s training.  The dog instantly darts off of Ingrid and up the steps of the deck, waiting for Sylvain to follow, tail wagging vigorously.  

Ingrid quickly goes back to what she was doing without so much as sparing Sylvain a glance or even a parting word.  

“Happy now?”  Sylvain asks the dog when he catches up with it, “now neither of us get her.”

Raspberry whines, waiting for Sylvain to open the sliding glass door back into the house.

Sylvain wakes in the middle of a weekend night to an empty bed.  At first, he doesn’t think too much of it, still too groggy from sleep to consider it.  It had been so long since he’d slept alone that he automatically assumed that he never would again, that Ingrid had simply just gotten up for a glass of water or to use the bathroom.  

But then, when his hand grazes her side of the bed and notices how cool it is with the blanket largely undisturbed, he frowns and remembers all the nights she failed at sneaking out of his room without waking him to run off all the way back to her little studio.

He doesn’t like waking without her.  He doesn’t like sleeping without her.  He never wants to do it again.

He creeps out of bed, glancing briefly at his clock, and sees that it’s late.  The only time she’s out of bed this late is when she’s out with Dorothea or Annette, but he knows she isn’t because if she was, if it’s another one of those ladies’ nights, she would have told him earlier and kissed him before she left.

Which means Ingrid is home and up late, which makes no sense because it’s summer vacation and she’s a morning person.  She has nothing to cram for, no work to be done, so by all means, she should definitely be in bed with him.

He tiptoes out of his bedroom and hears the faintest sound of the television, which is odd because they have a television in their bedroom, so if she had really wanted to watch something, she could have just done it with him, in their very comfortable bed.

She probably just fell asleep.  That would be the logical conclusion, and he’s ready to pull her into his arms and carry her back up the steps when he rounds the couch only to see-

“Dammit Raspberry.”  

The dog is sleeping soundly on Ingrid’s chest.  Ingrid herself is awake, scrolling absently on her phone.

“Really?”  Sylvain says, hands on his hips.

Ingrid shushes him.

“Ingrid, he’s a dog.  He’s not going to -”

“Shhhh!” 

“Alright,” he whispers, “but seriously?  You’d rather cuddle with him than with me?”

“He fell asleep on me!”  Ingrid whispers back, “and he’s like a hundred pounds-”

“Then push him off!”  Sylvain insists, “or wake him.  He’s just a dog.”

Ingrid peers down at Raspberry and frowns.  “He just...looked so comfortable.”

“Ingrid!”

“Sorry,”  she laughs, “I’ll come up soon, promise.”

“No,”  Sylvain huffs, “you'll come up right now because I’m waking the damn dog.”

Ingrid’s grin is teasing, “wow, really putting your foot down here huh?”

“I don’t sleep well without you,” he tells her, dropping the act, “you know that.”

Ingrid’s little smile is oddly smug.  “I know,” she says softly, “sorry.  Okay boy, up.”

Raspberry doesn’t stir.

Sylvain bends down and tries to shoo the dog off of his fiance.  “Come on boy, up.”

This time Raspberry does stir, but only to lift his head off of Ingrid’s chest and yawn his nasty dog breath’d mouth widely into Sylvain’s face before settling back down on Ingrid.

Ingrid hardly holds in her laughter. 

“Seriously?”  Sylvain says again.

“He just gets lonely,”  she says, “and he’s not allowed on the bed so -”

“You’re the one who made that rule,”  Sylvain points out.  “That was one of the conditions of adoption if I recall.”

“I mean, do you want to share a bed with him?”

Sylvain’s frown could not go any deeper.  “No,”  he says.  Their bed may be king sized but Raspberry is a big dog, too big of a dog, and Sylvain likes Ingrid all to himself.  Not to mention the horrible scenario in which, God forbid they start heating up and there’s a giant dog in the damn way.  “No dogs in bed is a good rule and it’s worked out well so far.  Another good rule is that you should be in bed.  With me.  Not with the dog.”

Ingrid grins sheepishly up at him.  “Okay, okay,” she says, “but look at him, he just looks so peaceful and I mean, I thought since you were already asleep…”

“Ingrid, babe, I’m tired.  Please, please come to bed with me?”

Ingrid smiles, shaking Raspberry off of her before rising from the couch to stand in front of Sylvain.  “I’m sorry,” she says, rising up to peck him.  Raspberry barely stirs, nestling back into the couch.  Technically, the dog’s not allowed on the couch either but Ingrid doesn’t seem to care.  “I’m coming.”

Sylvain sighs, relieved.  She knows about his hangups when it comes to sleeping alone without her.  It stems from too many early mornings of her trying to sneak away from him.  

“You love me more than the dog right?”  He says as she pulls on his hands to lead them back to the bedroom.  

Ingrid hums, bounding up the steps in front of him.

“Ingrid,” he says again, a desperate pitch to his voice, “you love me more than the dog... right ?”

Ingrid spins, one step above him, smiling at his panic.  “Yes dear,” she says, patting his cheek, “I love you more than the dog.”

“Okay good,”  he says, “because I’ll be damned if I lose to the stupid dog.”

“You’re the one who wanted him in the first place.”

“That was before he became a traitor.”

“Don’t be so dramatic Sylvain.”

“Just come to bed next time Ingrid.”

Ingrid has her hair wrapped up in a towel as she brushes her teeth in their connected bathroom.  From where he lies in bed with a book open he’s not reading, he has the perfect line of sight into her backside, one that just barely shows underneath the giant t-shirt of his that she wears to bed.

Ingrid is dead sexy even when she’s not trying to be- especially when she’s trying not to be.  Right now, all she’s doing is going through her nightly routine, something Sylvain has seen a hundred times, and yet he can’t look away.

“Hey Sylvain,” she calls over her shoulder, moving on to start her skincare routine.  “Do you mind handing me my phone?”

“Not at all,” he says, grateful for the excuse to join her.  He reaches over to her nightstand to her phone.  The screen lights up when he touches it, setting off Sylvain’s deep frown.

“What?”  Ingrid asks when he groans so loudly she can hear it from the bathroom.  “What’s wrong?”

Sylvain approaches, leaning against the doorframe and holding the lit-up screen up at her concerned face.  “Really?”

Ingrid’s eyes dart to the lockscreen on her phone, then back up at Sylvain, then back to her phone.  She doesn’t get it.  “What?”

“The dog is your wallpaper?”   He says, incredulous, passing her her phone.  “You changed your wallpaper from me to the dog?”

Ingrid rolls her eyes and turns back to the sink, where she finishes washing up her face.  “Someone’s being dramatic again.”

“You totally love the dog more than you love me.”  He sulks.  “It took like two years for me to get onto your phone!  Why does he get to be on it?”

“Sylvain,” she sighs, “summer’s almost over and I don’t need your face pinging on my desk where all my students can see.  A dog is much safer.”

Sylvain throws his hands up in the air, as dramatic as he can.  “Everyone knows we’re together!”  

“Not the freshman.”  Ingrid grins.

He covers his face with both his hands.  He is really and truly losing to the stupid dog.  

He feels Ingrid’s hands try to pry his fingers away from his face but he clings on stubbornly, petulantly, which only makes her laugh.  

“I love you,” she says, sounding way too amused. 

Sylvain drops his hands.  The words placate him but only a bit.  “Not more than you love Raspberry.”  

“I do,” she insists, looping her hands behind his neck.  “I swear.”

Sylvain’s eyes drop to her lips.  He lowers his voice in the way that he knows she likes.  “Can you prove it?”  

“Hmm, I’m sure I can think of something.”

Sylvain’s hands are gripped tightly around Ingrid’s waist, trailing underneath her shirt.  He wants to rip it off of her entirely but there’s something about the way her skin peeks, just a little, just enough to tease him, to leave him anticipating for more.

Her lips are on his collarbone, marking the skin slowly and Sylvain wants to press her closer to him, closer on him. 

Ingrid’s breath is hot, his own chest is rising and falling at a quick rapid pace, set to the way she sucks on his skin, harder and harder until it almost hurts before retreating slowly to start again someplace else.

That is, until she suddenly, very abruptly freezes and rises, sitting up on his chest, straddling him.

“What?”  he asks breathless, staring up at her.  It is not like Ingrid to stop suddenly, not when things were just getting good.  Not when her hips are at the exact right -

“Do you hear that?”

Sylvain squints, even though squinting has nothing to do with his ears.  “Hear what?”

“Shhh,’ she says, ‘listen.”

He tries to calm his breath and watches as Ingrid turns, eyeing the closed door.

Then...he hears it.  The telltale sound of scratching.  

It’s the damned dog.

“Ingrid!”  he exclaims, “are you serious?”

“What if he got into something?”  she asks, looking genuinely worried.  Her eyes dart back to the door and she bites on her lip.

“Raspberry’s just whining,” Sylvain sighs.  His hands trail around her ribcage, wrapping around her sides to softly press her towards him, an attempt to entice her back to him.

“Just, let me check really quickly.  You’re probably right but if he actually got into something or is doing something he shouldn’t…”

Sylvain rises on his elbows and feels Ingrid shift down, forcing a groan out of him before his lips find her neck.   “Come on,” he says, pressing slow soft kisses on her and trailing up to ear where he knows she’s sensitive, “he’s fine.  He’s a dog, they get into things sometimes.”

He almost gets her.  He knows he does because Ingrid sighs in a way that is only saved for him, sighs in a way that makes him smirk, that tells him that she is very much his as much as he is hers but then, her hands come up to his bare shoulders and push him back.

It surprises him so much that he doesn’t even fight it.  He can almost always convince Ingrid into anything with that move, with the way he drags his tongue alongside her - 

“Just, one second Sylvain,”  she says, hopping off of his lap.  “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Then she’s gone, door yanked open and slipping into the hall before Sylvain can even try to stop her.  All he can do is groan and grumble, flopping backward into his pillow alone and entirely too worked up.

“I hate the stupid dog,”  he says to himself.  “I can’t believe she chose the dog.”

At least she keeps her promise later.

Sylvain groans into the hard wooden slightly sticky surface of Anna’s bartop next to Felix, letting his forehead rest against it dramatically as Anna places another stout in front of him.  “Thanks,” he grumbles as Felix judges him from beside him.

“What?”  Sylvain says into the hard surface.

Felix is quiet for a moment, staring Sylvain down, as if considering whether or not he really wants to ask but he does, eventually.  “What’s wrong with you?” 

“The dog,”  Sylvain groans, “the dog is what’s wrong with me.”

“Then get rid of it.”

“I can’t,”  Sylvain practically wails, “Ingrid loves the dog and it loves her!  Goddess, I can’t believe I’m losing to a giant Bernese!”

“I can.”

“Shut up Felix.”

Sylvain knows Felix is smirking, even when he can’t see it.  He sighs and sits back up, taking a long hard drink from his bottle before turning back to his friend.  “She didn’t even want a dog,”  he grumbles, “she wanted a cat.  I should have just gotten the damn cat.”

“Same thing still could have happened.”  Felix shrugs.  “Maybe it’s less to do with the animal and more to do with you.”

Sylvain glares at his friend.  “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

“Hey, I gave you advice, you chose to ignore it.”

“I’m not getting rid of the dog,”  Sylvain grumbles.  “I made a commitment to the thing.”

“You like it don’t you?”  

“I’d like it more if it didn’t steal my girlfriend from me all the time.”

Felix’s fingers tap against the side of his own bottle. “I thought you guys were getting married.”

“I’m still getting used to it,” Sylvain explains before an idea hits him.  He perks up as he turns to his friend.  “Hey, Felix, would you mind dogsitting-”

“I’m allergic.”  

Sylvain frowns.  He distinctly remembers Ingrid telling him that Felix grew up with dogs.  “No you’re not.” 

“Answer’s still no.  I don’t want to watch your stupid dog for a weekend.”

Sylvain slumps in his barstool.  “The dog is going to end up my ring bearer isn’t it?”

“Probably,”  Felix says, patting him on the back.  “Unless you have any kids hanging around that would rather do it.”  

“Tons of kids,” Sylvain says with a quick wave of one hand, referring to his students, “but they’re all over the age of fourteen and they should probably be studying for their SATs or something.”  

Felix says nothing in response but he also doesn’t leave.  He seems completely willing to watch Sylvain dramatically sulk and groan on about how Ingrid doesn’t love him, which is a far cry from the way he used to be when they first met.  “I used to like dogs,”  Sylvain muses wistfully, “but then one took my fiance.”

“Is she still your fiance at this point or is she getting married to...what was the dog’s name again?”

“Raspberry.”  

Felix raises an eyebrow.  “ Raspberry?”

“Raspberry.”  Sylvain confirms.

“Raspberry.”

“No matter how many times you say it Felix, it’s still the dog’s name.”  Sylvain sighs into the table.  “Ingrid named him.”

“Why does she name everything after food?”  

“What do you mean?”

“She had a fish once that she named Cranberry,”  Felix explains.  “Although that was mostly because it did actually kind of look like a cranberry.”

Sylvain sighs.  “I should have just gotten a fish.”

“Same thing would have happened.” 

“Shut up Felix.”

Sylvain hasn’t returned to the bedroom like he promised he would with coffee.  Normally, Ingrid would just go down and make it herself but she’d been feeling lazy today and the thought of being spoiled by her wonderful fiance was too enticing to pass up.

But, it’s been more than enough time for him to appear and yet, still no coffee.

She sighs, climbing out of their shared bed, and slips on one of Sylvain’s shirts before creeping down to the kitchen.

“How about evenings?”  

Sylvain’s voice drifts towards her.

Ingrid frowns, wondering who he could possibly be talking to.  As far as she’s aware, no one was coming over, although that’s not saying much since Annette sometimes drops by out of the blue, but she hadn’t heard the doorbell.  Ingrid glances towards the entryway and sees no unfamiliar shoes.

Curious, she creeps towards Sylvain’s voice as quietly as she can.

“No?”  Sylvain says.  Ingrid hadn’t heard a response. He must be on the phone.

“Come on,”  Sylvain continues, “one hour in the evenings is totally fair.”

There’s a bark.

Oh, Ingrid grins, I see. 

“It’s just enough time for a walk,”  Sylvain explains to Raspberry in the middle of the kitchen, where the dog sits upon Sylvain’s feet.   “I won’t even go with - if you want some alone time with her.  I’m that gracious.”

Ingrid leans against the entryway of the kitchen.  Neither Raspberry nor Sylvain seem to notice, too engrossed by their negotiation.

“Cuddle privileges?”  Sylvain muses, “Hmm, well, how about during the day but only if she’s watching a movie or something and I’m not in the room.  Otherwise, it’s all me bud.”

Ingrid watches Raspberry jump off of Sylvain’s feet but only so he can push his snout against her fiance’s shin.  

“Oh okay fine fine,” Sylvain says, trying to bat the dog away, “you get her lap on the other side and I get to throw my arm around her shoulder.  Deal?”

Raspberry sits back down and tilts his head.  She watches, amused, as Sylvain crouches and holds his palm out.  “Shake on it?”  he says.

Raspberry, obediently, in the way she trained him to do, places his paw into Sylvain’s hand.  

“Good boy,” he says, petting Raspberry with his free one after they shake.

Ingrid can’t hold her laughter any longer.  “Really?”  she asks, announcing herself, “don’t I get a say in all of this?”

Sylvain whips around so fast that he loses his balance and tips backward until he falls, butt flat on the ground.  He winces, red-faced, “hey....”

Raspberry licks Sylvain in the face as Ingrid approaches, staring down at them both.  “Looks like he likes you more anyway.”

“Hey!”  Sylvain’s hands try to bat Raspberry’s face away, “get off-stop!  Stop licking me!”

Ingrid considers letting Sylvain suffer for a few beats more but then she notices the coffee cups left abandoned on the counter.  “Hey, Raspberry,” she commands, rescuing Sylvain, “off.”

The dog obeys immediately, jumping away from Sylvain who uses the opportunity to clamber back up.  “Thanks.”

Ingrid grins as she reaches for the coffee but Sylvain cuts in, wrapping his arms around her to lean in for a kiss.

“Ew!”  She laughs, pushing his face away, “no, Sylvain-!  You’re covered in dog slobber.”

He course corrects and dives into her neck, where he rubs his wet cheek against her.  

“Sylvain!”  She scolds, but any force from it is lost to the way she continues to laugh, “you’re the worst.  You’re disgusting.  You’re-”

“Absolutely in love with you?”  He tries, leaning back so that she can see his face, “-more in love with you than I could be with anything else in the world?  Including a dog that I’ve always wanted?”

Ingrid sighs into an exasperated smile.  She can’t help the happy flutter of her heart even now, even after all this time, even when his lines are absolutely terrible and almost certainly prepared.  

“You know Ingrid,” he continues, “this is where you’re supposed to repeat what I just said or say ‘me too’ or -”

She cuts him off with a kiss, dog slobber be damned.  

“I don’t love the dog more than you.”  

A big wide dopey grin stretches out on Sylvain’s face, one that she wants to see for the rest of his ridiculous life.  “Really?”

“I love you both an equal amount.”  

Sylvain barks a laugh so loud it echoes down the beautiful house they share.  “I’ll take what I can get.”