#(lance out here always fighting shitty bfs or exes)

[soulsuckrrs]

open to: m/f/anyone plot: your muse is arguing/fighting with their toxic ex & Lance can’t stop being a big protective dummy. hmu if you wanna plot. connection: friend, old fling/ex, current partner/lover, neighbor, employers daughter/son/child (he’s a bodyguard/security), idk whatever works!

He dropped down the stairs with a fluid motion, stance prepared and more than willing to knock someone out if he had to. Blue eyes swept over the situation and he only caught the last few words that were shouted at the person he was sure was the antagonist. The Irishman stopped a few paces away from the two, letting his presence be known but it wasn’t like they hadn’t drawn the attention of the others in the neighborhood. Lance flexed his fingers, the ache of wanting to curl them into a fist far too tempting as the two continued to argue, words harsh and loud. He wasn't a stranger to people fighting, too much of his childhood had been spent standing between his parents but this was different, now he could actually do something.

When it seemed to escalate a little more than Lance liked he inserted himself, not getting between the two but definitely stepping closer and putting his hand up as if that was enough to control the situation. “Oi! D'ye want me t'get rid of t'is prick?” He asked the person he shifted his gaze to before flicking it back in a warning to the ‘prick’ in question. It was obvious to Lance that things would likely get ugly before they got better and he eyed the man seething in anger in a way that sized him up. Eh, Lance could take him and that thought almost made the Irishman smirk but he refrained, turning his attention to the other person arching his brows some to silently ask if he needed to get involved further.