August’s Patreon Oneshot is Now AvailablePrompt: A klance story that takes place in a dnd-type

August’s Patreon Oneshot is Now AvailablePrompt: A klance story that takes place in a dnd-type setting, not playing dnd and not thunderpike, but a fantasy setting that’s vaguely dnd inspired. Lance stays at an inn after adventuring solo and nearly dying. He asks Keith to spend the night with him.Klance - dnd setting - strangers to lovers - 8,620 wordsLance has been an adventurer for years, but since his friends all retired, he finds himself walking the path alone for the first time. It hadn’t been so bad at first, but after a job nearly goes sideways and he nearly loses his life, he has to face the fact that… this life is lonely. And he doesn’t like being alone.In an attempt to simply be around people, he seeks out a nearby town and a local inn. Hopefully he can find a hot meal, a soft bed, and company for the night._______________________________________________If you want access to this oneshot, many others like it, drabbles, early access to chapters, outlines, and other rewards, please check out my Patreon!Reblogs appreciated! Excerpt Below…Patreon | Ko-fi | Twitter | Ao3 | InstaHe sits at the end of a long table, far from the center of the crowd. Shrugging off his bag, he tucks it beneath the table, hooking his legs over it to keep it safe. Now that he’s alone, he has to be more careful about his belongings. It’s strange, as is observing the main thoroughfare from the sidelines. To sit in a quieter corner and watch as adventuring parties gather and chat all around him. But he doesn’t let himself dwell on it. No, not anymore. He shakes his head, tearing his gaze from the nostalgic sight of a man half standing on a table while telling his tale— and instead he lets his gaze roam the waitstaff. The red-haired woman is gone, but there are others. A pale elven woman with light blonde hair tied back in two long ponytails. A curvy woman with beautiful vitiligo skin and twin blond braids, a sharp look in her eyes and a cunning smile. A man with shaggy white hair sticking out from his hat, lidded eyes and an easy smile. They’re all handsome in their own right. Any one of them would no doubt make a beautiful companion for the evening. His gaze lingers on the woman with vitiligo skin. The cut of her bodice is low, giving a suggestive view of her cleavage. Her touches teasingly linger on customers, and she winks when they catch her eye. She’s beautiful, playful, and flirtatious. Her laugh rings out over the crowded room, and it’s absolutely captivating. Her coyness is charming, even from a distance, and she carries herself with a confidence that Lance can’t deny that he’s attracted to. He has no doubt that she would take him up on his offer, but…At the thought of taking her back to his room, of sleeping together and sharing in her nearness… it leaves a strange hollow pit in his stomach. One that tightens and churns. It fuels that ache in his chest and tastes like disappointment on his tongue. While he knows that she would sleep with him, he doubts she would stay the night—He’s startled from his thoughts by a shadow in his peripheral and the unceremonious clatter of a bowl onto the table in front of him. He jumps, hand already halfway to his bow before he registers the stew sitting before him. Steam rising from it. Splattered drops freshly decorating the table. A hunk of bread and a wooden spoon sticking out of it. Lance blinks, hand lowering. “Uh, sorry,” comes the mumble, voice deep and vaguely sheepish. A mug of ale sets down next to the bowl, and Lance follows the arm—And finds himself gaping at one of the most beautiful men he’s ever seen.He’s not beautiful like the waitress he had been eyeing. No, he’s nothing flashy. Nothing seductive and coy. It’s… a rugged sort of beauty. His clothes are simple, nothing more than a red tunic and black leggings with matching boots. There are stains on it, and the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows. His skin is pale, and his hair is dark. Long, messy waves captured in a haphazard bun at the back of his neck, strands falling free to frame his face. He’s all sharp angles and rugged lines. A scar on his cheek. Thick brows. Broad shoulders. A narrow waist. Lance can’t see much beneath his tunic, but he’s willing to bet the man is strong. And this thighs strain against the fabric of his leggings. And his eyes. His fucking eyes are dark in the low light, glittering purple where the flames from the hearth fire catches in his irises. It’s… a humble sort of handsomeness. One that he’s not even sure the man knows he possesses. And Lance’s heart leaps into his throat, strangling him as it beats in overtime. The man’s face is currently pinched, brows furrowed and lips pursed. He glances at the bowl in front of Lance, meets Lance’s gaze, and then looks away. “Um…” He clears his throat, sheepish upon the realization that he probably should have announced himself. Or at least been a little more graceful in delivery. “You ordered dinner?” He says it like a question, but also like an apology. With so much uncertainty that Lance finds it incredibly endearing. He lifts a hand to scratch the back of his neck, and Lance spots the same symbol tattooed on his forearm as the inn-keep. It takes Lance a moment to respond. A moment to swallow the lump in his throat and find his voice, fumbling through several half-aborted attempts before finally settling on a cracked, “Yeah, thanks.”The man simply nods and spins on his heel, striding away before Lance can even stew in the embarrassment of his flustered reply. -- source link

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