Dampening those Dungeons

Hi. Call me Damp. I like to play roguelikes, and stumbled on Darkest Dungeon 2 a year or so ago. I played for a while, then kinda forgot about it. I recently booted it up in early October and found there was new DLC, including the Crusader, Duelist, and Abomination. And my god did Abomination swiftly become a blorbo.

Anyways, this is where I'll post DD stuff. I have played DD1, but not nearly as much as DD2.

What you won't find here —

Rape, underage, incest, scat/farts, watersports, omegaverse

What you will find here —

Explicit fic — Plague Doctor/Grave Robber/Shieldbreaker. Paracelsus, Amani, and Audrey have been working together to help Damian chase dreams of harnessing the power of poison. They become rather close.

Paracelsus found Damian to be an interesting case study in self-mutilation.

The way he drew power from his own pain was inexplicable, but undeniable.

Equally inexplicable was Damian's sudden desire to embrace the poisons Paracelsus used in battle. He was apparently resistant to them, so Paracelsus had through with giving him increasing doses of toxic plants. Audrey, an accomplished poisoner herself, had joined Paracelsus, as had Amani. Apparently, they were just as curious as to what would happen to Damian with successive doses.

"I hope he doesnt instead to swallow the vial of venom I gave him." Paracelsus lifted the jar of preserved fungus, watching the way the dim light of the Aetheneum’s cellar caught the spores suspended in the fluid. "Venom is only efficacious when injected."

"He'll figure it out, I'm sure." Audrey rubbed her eyes. "You think Damian will come back for more? Surely he'll have to get his fill eventually."

Paracelsus snorted, pushing her mask up. "If he doesn't keel over. Some of those latest doses were bigger than anything we've given him to date." She set the jar down, nodding towards the shieldbreaker. "Thanks again for bringing me some samples of venom from the pliskins of her dreamscape."

"He’s a sturdy sort, though his constitution seems driven by fanaticism," Amani remarked, leaning against a heavy oak table cluttered with vellum sketches. They were covered with charts covered in numbers and measurements, a detailed log of what the three had put Damian through. "He has certainly brought us a peculiar kind of resilience to study. I’ve never seen a man so eager to embrace a slow decay."

"If we keep staring at these charts, the ink is going to start crawling off the page," Audrey announced. She stepped between Paracelsus and the sketches, physically blocking the doctor’s view of the pages. "The patient is stable, the samples are bottled, and frankly, my feet are killing me. We are taking fifteen minutes of sanctioned indolence."

She didn't wait for an agreement, striding toward a small side-table where a collection of mismatched glassware sat.

"You've boiled these, right…? Good. Wouldn't want to mix good liquor with snake venom."

She slipped a small bottle from her coat pocket and poured a finger of deep amber liquid into each glass. She handed one to Amani before offering the third glass toward Paracelsus.

"A distraction of the senses," the doctor murmured, finally letting her shoulders drop from their perpetual hunch. "I suppose we could use it."

Amani took a long sip, her eyes closing in genuine appreciation. "It is far better than the watered-down swill they serve at the tavern. You have a talent for alchemy of a different sort, Audrey."

Paracelsus pulled her mask off, throwing it on the table. She took a hesitant drink of the liquor. "I'm not too fond of drink, normally, but this is quite good."

"You're far too cautious about everything, Paracelsus." Audrey stepped closer. "The world is half-rotted already. You might as well enjoy the peaceful moments." She ran her fingers up the doctor's bandaged arms, her touch light but deliberate.

"Half-rotted? A generous estimate," Paracelsus mumbled. "Besides, a physician is simply a student of decay. There's much to learn from this rotten world." She downed the rest of the shot, squeezing her eyes shut as the liquor burned its way down her throat.

"And about each other. For instance," Audrey continued, her voice dropping to a playful hum, "you mentioned earlier that you find the human heartbeat sensual."

"Yes. Uh… my hypothesis is that, because heart rate increases during arousal, the subconscious mind creates a link between the two phenomena." She carefully set her glass down and stood up, moving closer to Audrey. "If you'd like, I could listen to yours."

Audrey just smiled, drawing the doctor closer with an arm around her waist. Paracelsus let herself be led, and leaned against Audrey's chest to press her ear to her sternum.

The grave robber was already tall, and her heeled boots made her even taller. Paracelsus, already the shortest mercenary in the Hamlet, was at the perfect height to nuzzle between Audrey's breasts. She toyed with the doctor's short hair, running her fingers across her scalp. "My my. I didn't realize you were so keen on field research."

"Uh… liquor tends to loosen my inhibitions."

"I can see that." Amani drained her glass and set it on the table before rising to her feet. She pressed her own chest to Paracelsus' back, wrapping her right hand around the doctor's waist. "Though I suspect the liquor is merely the catalyst, and the curiosity is the true driver."

"I'd certainly like you to indulge your curiosity. But not here," Audrey said. She gently but firmly pivoted the doctor away from the alchemy table. "There is a distinct lack of luxury in a cellar. I refuse to spend the evening worrying about a leaking jar of preserved organs ruining the mood."

"Of course." Paracelsus stumbled after Audrey, her balance affected less by the alcohol and more by the dizzying flush of heat in her body.

The three climbed the steps to the Aetheneum's main floor, making their way to the room Paracelsus usually occupied. It was filled with shelves holding books and jars of specimens, the desk in the corner covered with papers and inkwells. The bed was neatly made, though covered with a thin layer of dust.

"You really do live like a scholar, Paracelsus," Audrey noted, though she didn't sound disappointed.

"Research is of a higher priority than sleep, or cleaning," Paracelsus replied. "My work is a never-ending journey into the nature of life itself."

Audrey didn't let the conversation linger. She stepped behind Paracelsus and gave a firm, playful shove, sending the doctor tumbling backward onto the mattress. "Alright, doctor. Priority shift. Research is now on the subject of intimate anatomy."

"Ah… yes. You know, when I was at university, we were only allowed to dissect the bodies of hanged criminals. None of them were women, so my knowledge of feminine anatomy is limited to… self-study," Paracelsus finished, her voice trailing off as Audrey climbed onto the bed.

"Mmh. Then it is a fortunate thing that we are both volunteers." Audrey slid her jacket off, working on the fastenings of her shirt. "I believe a practical demonstration is far superior to a textbook."

Amani didn’t join them on the mattress immediately. Instead, she stood by the bed, watching the other two help each other out of their clothes. "You are far too eager, Audrey," she noted. "The doctor is already overwhelmed."

"I'm not overwhelmed. Yet." Paracelsus wiggled out of her combinations, relaxing into the mattress as the cool air hit her skin.

"You will be, before the end of the night." Audrey reached down to stroke the velvety-soft skin of Paracelsus' breast, her own breasts swaying as she settled over the doctor's hips.

Paracelsus turned her head to watch Amani quietly slip out of her dancer's costume, but Audrey put a finger on her cheek to pull her attention back.

"Focus, Paracelsus." Audrey pressed a kiss to the doctor's neck, pressing their bodies together. "Come on, Amani. Don't just stand there observing the specimen."

Amani had slipped out of her dancer's outfit, sliding onto the bed next to Paracelsus. "Well, there's not quite enough space for me to do more than observe."

"Plenty of room if you stop thinking like a spectator," Audrey murmured, her voice thick. She shifted her weight, sliding her legs wide to create a gap for Amani.

Amani glided forward, her movements fluid and purposeful, until she was flanking Paracelsus on the other side. While Audrey continued to pepper the doctor's collarbone with kisses, Amani’s hand ventured downward.

Her fingers gently but firmly pressed against the shaft of Paracelsus' clitoris through the delicate skin, rubbing tight circles. "There, Doctor. Relax."

Paracelsus ran her own hands across Audrey's back. She was lost in the physical data. The warmth of skin, the friction of fabric… "Oh, this is highly stimulating. Though I feel a bit selfish, having both of you focused on me."

She wiggled out from under Audrey to straddle Amani’s thigh, her movements clumsy but eager. "Here, I want to try…"

Paracelsus shifted her weight, attempting to press her sex against Amani’s. The anatomy didn't quite align, and she let out a small, frustrated huff.

"You're overthinking the geometry, Paracelsus," Audrey chuckled.

"No, no, I can… I've got it." Her legs slotted between Amani’s, their bodies entwining in mutual tribadism. She ground her hips, rubbing the sensitive outer lips of her vulva against Amani's. The friction was light, but it sent a jolt of electricity straight to her spine.

Amani wrapped her arm around Paracelsus' back, letting the shorter woman press her face into her breasts. "Mmh, there it is," Amani murmured. She tilted her pelvis upward, meeting Paracelsus' rhythm with a slow, heavy grind of her own.

Audrey stroked the doctor's back, squeezing the curve of her ass. "You're doing just fine, Paracelsus. But don't forget about me." Her slender fingers slipped between where Amani and Paracelsus' bodies met, stroking the soft lips of the doctor's sex. "Do you want my fingers in you?"

"Yes—!" Paracelsus squeaked, the word breaking as Audrey's digits made a tentative, probing entry. "Yes, please."

She settled on moving her hips back and forth, alternately grinding her clitoris against Amani’s and pushing herself onto Audrey's fingers.

The tangle of bodies became a frantic map of heat and friction. A tight, warm feeling built up in Paracelsus's abdomen, giving way to a pulse of pleasure that felt concentrated to a single, vibrating point.

The sensation bordered on pain, an intensity that threatened to snap the doctor's concentration. Paracelsus let out a ragged gasp and shifted her weight, sliding away from the friction to find a moment of stability. "…hah. My heart…"

Paracelsus let her forehead rest against Amani’s shoulder, her breathing coming in shallow, jagged hitches. The suddenness of the peak had left her momentarily lightheaded.

Her hand remained splayed across Amani’s ribs, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of the shieldbreaker's chest.

"You've reached your limit for the moment, Doctor," Audrey said. She didn't move away; instead, she shifted her weight, sliding Paracelsus slightly to the side.

Paracelsus didn't protest. She remained draped across the mattress, her limbs heavy and her mind drifting in a warm, post-orgasmic fog. She watched as Audrey and Amani turned their attention toward one another.

She propped her head on one hand, observing the way Audrey’s nimble fingers stroked between Amani’s thighs. She seemed skilled at this, easily bringing Amani to the brink of climax. Seeing Amani’s pleasure from a distance felt like a new kind of study.

The tension finally snapped in a coordinated, shuddering rush. Amani let out a low, guttural sound, her back arching off the mattress as Audrey’s fingers found the perfect cadence.

The three women lay half-entwined, the silence of the room filled only by the sound of their breath.

"We should do this again, sometime," Audrey murmured, her voice trailing off into a contented sigh. She lay draped across Amani's legs, her cheek pressed against the mattress.

"Sometime is too vague," Amani countered. She shifted, pulling Paracelsus closer into the crook of her arm. "I suspect the doctor will find the data insufficient if we don't establish a consistent trial period."

Dismas & Bigby, no actual sex but a lot of tail-touching and some religious guilt (and a hint of mating cycles/heat)

Bigby usually smelled like sour goat. Given that he was half-beast, that wasn't surprising.

Lately, though, he smelled different. Weird and musky. He was restless, too, pacing the abbey in the middle of the night. Dismas could hear him during his own late-nights searches for a blessing, chains scraping against the flagstones. Sometimes, when he thought no one was looking, Bigby would rub against the doorframes, pressing his cheek against the wood like a cat scenting territory.

Nobody brought it up to him, mostly because the rest of the mercenaries of the Hamlet didn't trust Bigby enough to risk getting mauled for pointing out his odd behavior.

Dismas didn't trust him, either, but he was more concerned what could happen if Bigby's mood got worse.

The third night Dismas heard the chains, he followed them. Not like a fool, of course. He kept his pistol loose in its holster, fingers brushing the grip as he crept down the abbey’s shadowed halls. The sound led him to the chapel, its tall ceiling draped in shadow.

There, hunched in the front row, was Bigby, hunched over and clutching his head.

"Been praying?" Dismas asked, leaning against the doorway.

Bigby sucked in a long breath. "Yes," he finally said. "I've been asking for forgiveness."

Dismas kept his distance. "Forgiveness for what?"

"Sinful thoughts. Not violent ones, though. Just... lustful. A beast like me shouldn't—" Bigby cut himself off, biting his lip. "I don't trust myself at the brothel. Better to just repress it."

Dismas exhaled through his nose. Great — now he had to deal with a horny, mopey abomination. The last thing he wanted was to play confessor, but leaving Bigby alone seemed like a recipe for disaster. "So, what are you gonna do? Chain yourself to the abbey wall until you stop thinking about tits?"

Bigby hung his head even lower. "I... don't know. Pray harder, maybe. Fast. Flagellate myself until the thoughts stop. It's not just... tits," he admitted, voice strained. "It's worse than that."

"Don't tell me you're into goats now," Dismas said, hoping the answer wouldn't be yes.

"I'm not," Bigby snapped. "Sometimes I consider... men." His dark eyes fixed on Dismas' face.

"What, you think I'll judge you? There's bigger things to worry about around here," Dismas said, shrugging. He sat on the opposite end of the pew from Bigby. "Things in the cove, swine in the warrens, the dead rising from their graves and all."

"Hmmph. I shouldn't even be saying it aloud here, lest the Light smite me."

"It hasn't smited you yet. And if it does, well, that's one way to solve your problem." Dismas leaned back, stretching his legs into the aisle. The moon was three-quarters full, just visible through one of the chapel windows. "Listen — you're not the first man to wrestle with this. Probably not even the first here."

Bigby was still watching him, eyes glinting like a hunter.

Dismas cleared his throat. "Right. So. What’s the plan here, then? You just gonna sit there and suffer?"

"What else would I do? Ask you for help?" Bigby stood up, the chain hanging from his wrist clattering against the floor. The sound felt absurdly loud in the empty chapel.

Dismas didn’t flinch, but he did shift his weight just enough to brace himself.

Bigby's shoulders hunched again, the aggression bleeding out of him as quickly as it had risen. "Sorry," he muttered. He turned slightly, and in the dim moonlight, Dismas noticed something he'd somehow missed before.

There was a stubby tail peeking out from a hole at the top of his trousers, wagging anxiously. It contrasted ridiculously with Bigby's somber expression.

Dismas blinked, watching the goat-like appendage flicking from side to side. "Huh. Didn't know you had one of those."

"Please, don't mention it."

Dismas couldn’t help himself. Sliding down the pew, he reached out and pinched the base of it with his fingers.

Bigby jerked like he'd been stabbed, nearly leaping out of his skin as Dismas' fingers closed around his tail. "Don't," he said, though it came out more as a petulant whine than a serious protest. "It's sensitive."

Dismas pulled his hand back slowly, stroking the length of the tail as he did so. "Are you getting worked up?"

"Yes," Bigby snapped. "I told you it's... ah..."

Dismas watched the way Bigby's entire body tensed. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the back of the pew in front of him. "Maybe you'll feel better once you've taken care of it," he said, voice low.

Bigby stayed tense, but he made no effort to leave. He even arched his back with a breathy noise when scratched the base of the tail where fur gave way to skin. "Shouldn't be doing such a thing in this place," he muttered.

Dismas glanced around the chapel. The Light's icons stared down from stained glass, unblinking. "Yeah, well," he murmured, fingers still tracing the furred ridge where tail met flesh, "I don’t think the Light cares where you rub one out as long as you’re not desecrating the altar."

Dismas wasn’t sure what possessed him to keep going. Bigby shuddered, breath hitching as Dismas traced the length of the tail down to its tip, then back up, pressing his thumb into the soft hollow where it met his spine.

Bigby’s entire body went rigid, his nails digging into the pew’s backrest hard enough to splinter the wood. His legs trembled, knees locking as a choked noise escaped his throat.

Dismas finally let go, and Bigby slumped over the back of the pew. "Might need to do some more praying after that," Dismas muttered, rubbing his fingers together.

Bigby didn’t move for a long moment, his breath ragged against the wood. When he finally pushed himself upright, his face was flushed red, dark eyes focused on the floor. "I need... to wash my trousers."

(disregard if you were planning on depicting bigby as trans. in which case, hell yeah.)

Beast Bigby in heat

More body modification with Damian (and Paracelsus too, maybe)

Junia/Bonnie shenanigans

Abomination/Flagellant, no sex, blood drinking, blood and violence. It's not smut, but it's... something. I wrote this a while ago and finally gathered the courage to post it.

Damian traced the ragged scars along Bigby's upper arm with a reverence that made his skin prickle. "Such beautiful suffering," he murmured. "You deny it, but the beast is still part of you. You carry divinity in your blood, brother."

Bigby sighed. "Nothing divine about this." He felt naked like this, laying on the lumpy mattress with his chain piled on the floor beside him.

Damian straddled his hips, sliding his hands up Bigby's bare skin. He was naked save for a loincloth and his hood, skin cold against Bigby's warmth. "You don't think there's beauty in the power you have? What you use to destroy the horrors of this world?" He pressed one hand over Bigby’s chest, tracing the abdominal muscles showing beneath the skin. "You deny him, but he saves lives. He protects. Doesn’t that make him holy?"

"I can't always control the beast. Sometimes, it attacks innocent people," Bigby muttered, his jaw tightening. "I am a wild animal, not a protector."

"Hmm… you want absolution, don't you?" Damian's lipless mouth came close to Bigby's ear. "My flesh is sacred. Let him take it, let him tear, let him feast. If you fear his hunger, then sate it on me. No innocent blood will be spilled, only the blood of the willing." Damian's words took on the cadence of a fervent prayer, his fingernails leaving crescent marks in Bigby’s skin.

Shame flickered in Bigby’s gut, lasting for only a heartbeat before it was drowned out by a hot flush of arousal. "Keep talking to me like that, and I might just do it." He rested his hands on Damian's thighs, digging his nails into the flesh.

Damian exhaled, rocking his hips forward. "Unleash your wild side on me, and I will reward you with divine absolution."

Bigby's nails grew sharper, the points of his claws emerging to sink into Damian's skin. He squeezed gently, feeling the resistance of Damian's inner thighs.

"Yes," Damian hissed, fingers knotting in the sheets. "Spill my blood, baptize yourself." His breath came faster as Bigby's claws pierced deeper. Fat drops of green ichor welled up and rolled down his skin.

The beast in Bigby stirred as the smell of Damian’s ichor filled the air, sour and metallic. He brought one hand to his mouth and licked the green fluid from his claws. It reminded him of a rotten apple, acrid but sweeter than fresh fruit, and he was sucking each finger clean before his brain caught up with the motion.

He suppressed the urge to drink deeper, but Damian’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. "Don’t restrain him," Damian whispered, breath hot against Bigby’s lips. "Let him taste."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, fighting the instinct to clamp his teeth into Damian’s throat, to tear and swallow. The beast seemed to enjoy carrion more than fresh prey, and Bigby was struck by the fact Damian was dead already. Or would be, if it hadn't been for his battle with Death.

The points of Bigby’s canines pierced the skin of Damian's neck, but he didn’t bite down yet.

Damian’s ichor coated his tongue, thick and cloying, settling in the back of his throat like syrup. An aftertaste of rust lingered, metallic and sharp, and for a moment, Bigby wondered if this counted as communion. Damian was a holy man, after all.

Bigby's tongue dragged against Damian's neck, lapping up the slow ooze of ichor. He swallowed, then swallowed again, the taste both sickening and exciting. Any normal man would be poisoned by Damian's ichor, but Bigby was far from normal.

Bigby's claws raked down Damian's back, scoring deep furrows through the parchment-thin skin. Damian moaned, the sound more akin to ecstacy than pain, arching into the touch as ichor welled up between the ragged lines. Bigby's breath hitched as he dragged his claws back up, feeling the bumps of Damian's spine beneath his fingertips.

He gazed up at Damian's face, catching a glimpse of startlingly blue eyes before glancing back down again. Damian's skin was already knitting itself back together, scar tissue forming thick lines in his flesh. Bigby exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead against Damian's collarbone. "You heal too fast," he sighed. "I can't even hurt you properly."

Damian made a raspy chuckle. "Then take your time with me," he murmured. "Break me slower. I'll heal between every wound."

Bigby's vision blurred at the edges, and suddenly he was pressing Damian down into the mattress. The beast surged, sending a flush of heat through his body. For a moment, he wasn't sure if he was going to tear Damian apart or fuck him raw.

Either way, he wanted inside him. Be it by cracking open his ribs or pressing deep between his thighs, the hunger rumbling in Bigby’s gut demanded possession.

Damian inhaled sharply, the muscles under his skin twitching as Bigby's claws sliced through them. "Haa... yes. Yes! Like that—" His voice cracked into a ragged moan as Bigby's teeth finally sank into the meat of his shoulder, tearing through flesh.

He could never let this side of him out with anyone else, but Damian could survive it. He wanted it.

For a moment, Bigby lost all sense of time, his senses overpowered by the cloying rot of Damian's ichor and the gravelly sounds from the flagellant's throat.

Rip. Bite. Tear.

Drink.

Bigby finally sat back, his mouth slick with ichor, his chest heaving. Damian lay beneath him, ragged breath evening out as his skin smoothed over once more. "Was that so terrible?" he said quietly. "Didn't I tell you? There's no sin in hunger."

"Mmh." Bigby rolled onto his side and settled next to Damian, leaning against him. It was strange how domestic this felt. Like lovers curled together after coupling, not two monsters smeared with rotten blood.

Damian's fingers traced idle patterns along Bigby's forearm. "You're quiet. Regretful?"

Bigby exhaled through his nose. "Not regretful," he said at last. "Just thinking."

Damian turned onto his side, propping his head up with one hand while the other trailed down Bigby's chest. "Thinking is dangerous," he murmured. "Better to act. Unless you're tired of me already."

"Of course you'd say that." Bigby closed his eyes. The beast inside him settled, pleased with the lingering taste of ichor. "You treat me like a lover."

"Are you not? There's nothing more intimate than sharing flesh, even if it's through violence rather than lust."

Like, Bigby's beast side gives him a weird hormonal cycle that results in Unbearable and Agressive Horniness, so he has to exile himself way out in the woods so no one ends up hurt.

Maybe some normal beastmen* find him and decide to help him out (sexily).

To me, Paracelsus is the type that's enchanted by the human body in all its forms and mentally take notes about the bodies of her fellow heroes.

Message me on Tumblr, or reach out to me on discord (elos4843)

Green (will do):

NSFW

Canon-typical violence/gore

Angst

Most AUs

Monsterfucking

Yellow (what I'm iffy on):

DD1-only characters (I've not played a lot of that game)

Pee/watersports

Consensual non-consent

Major character death

Red (will not do):

Rape/non-consent

Scat, farts

Omegaverse

Underage/child characters (in NSFW situations)

(Sorry for the late reply) Yeah, I think they would have a really fun dynamic. I can imagine them getting frank and teaching each other dances from their respective homelands.

Jester's fighting style is, to me, more about slashes/stabs focused on hitting veins rather than sheer brute force. Definitely more on the sneaky side of things than the Hellion's brute force.

Ooh — I imagine the vestal's a real hopeless romantic type. She likes to listen to occultist recite romantic poetry and stories to her, probably while both are smoking pipeweed. She was pretty much raised at the abbey, and never really had much contact with men, so she's kind of fascinated to see them up close.