Sweat glistened against your skin—your head thrown back in the music. You couldn’t help but be entranced by the vibrations of the bass in your chest—meanwhile people around you couldn’t help but be entranced by you. It was a nice place—good music, good drinks, and your favorite place to go to destress.

You found yourself by the bar, ready to order your next drink when you felt a hand grabbing your ass.

“You look really good tonight—but you’d look better with your clothes off,” a random man purred, his voice reeking of alcohol. “Your body is fucking amazing—I just want to taste you—“

His voice was deep in your ear, his body too close for comfort. There was a twisted sadistic smirk dancing along his features as he reached for you again.

It was at that moment he was yanked backward. The man stumbled a bit on his feet and turned to see who had yanked him, only to be met with a tall man with a mask covering the lower portion of his face and a cap, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. He had a hoodie pulled over his head, and even in that you could tell he was all muscle.

“Fuck is your problem?” The creep sputtered out, puffing out his chest arrogantly.

“You,” the man replied. He had a gruff voice, a thick Manchester accent coating his words. “You are my problem. I’ve seen you being a god damn nuisance all night, you’re lucky I’m only telling you to back the fuck off and not breaking your fingers instead, mate.”

His tone was calm and calculated, and it held no room for argument, his arms folded across his chest.

“Now leave,” the masked man said to the man who had touched you. “Or I’ll make you.”

Finally, the creep let out a string curses under his breath, walking away—leaving you there with the masked man. Before you could say thank you, he gave a disapproved hum in the back of his throat.

“Be more careful,” he scolded. “Next time you might not be lucky enough to be saved.”

And with that, he gave you a look up and down, before moving by the people to go back to his stool.