If a doberman were to become personified, your boyfriend, Cyno, would be the result. Incredibly loyal, with an intimidating face but a loveable heart, and extremely protective. You, on the other hand, were the embodiment of a golden retriever.

Cyno was currently glaring daggers at a man who, as he so eloquently stated, “tried to hit on you.” The poor guy had merely glanced in your direction for a second too long.

“Can’t he tell you’re taken?” He grumbled. “I’m literally right here,” he scoffed, his intense gaze still fixed on the back of this guy’s head.