dragon age inquisition male romance options reacting to you being a serial killer
I got excited and did a few more than just the romanceable ones, including Krem, Varric, and your dear Quizzie Ceri 💖
Disclaimer: All of these are mlm regardless of whether it’s “canon” or not.
The Bull knew from the beginning, Ben Hassarath training, remember? Perhaps that should have been reason enough not to get involved, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t done terrible things himself. He looked for signs of regret and despair every day, and he saw them often enough that he convinced himself that this was just a sickness you had, it wasn’t an indication of your morality. But, soon he starts to notice a pattern.
He notices that the irritability and tense muscles occur in the week approaching that one night where you have a mission for the Inquisitor that you just can’t get out of, so you’re going to be gone until tomorrow, and you’re so sorry but you’ll make it up to him. The blood splatters on your clothes and skin aren’t akin to fighting bandits and those on equal standing, the tears in your clothes show sign of a struggle, but not your own. You weren’t regretting killing, you were suffering from the absence of it. It was an addiction, you revelled in it - for days afterwards you’d be on a high that couldn’t be stopped. Your grin would make your face ache, your laughter could be heard all over Skyhold. It made Bull grow solemn, and distant, something you tried to fix but you couldn’t - you’d didnt understand what you’d done after all. He didn’t let himself talk about it, what right did he have? He was a killer too.
Dorian had his suspicions when he was first hanging up your clean clothes, you insisted they had servants for that but he did so long to organise your wardrobe, feeling the fabric of your clothes between his fingers and coming up with new systems and categories to arrange them. You should have been more careful, a white shirt was never going to be rid of the stains - the red on the cuff from where you’d restrained your latest victim. When he asked you shrugged it off, saying you really shouldn’t have worn white on a mission in the Wastes. Dorian didn’t believe you, not really - he knew signs of a struggle when he saw them. He’d wanted to though, he forced himself to ignore his better judgement.
Of course, your final kill was too far, he was willing to ignore the signs for only so long, nobody’s perfect after all. You didn’t expect Dorian to find you, not when you’d been so careful - you’d picked a warehouse in the outskirts of Val Royeoux and used Inquisition forces to capture Halward Pavus, he’d pay for what he did to Dorian. And you were so sure his son would be ecstatic at the news, you planned it all - to come clean when he discovered and he’d be thrilled. That was the plan. One that went awry, because Dorian followed you, he followed his gut instinct for the first time in so long but it was too late - by the time he got there you were already standing over his father’s corpse, grinning from ear to ear. You tried to explain, reason with him, anything - but it was all for naught. He stayed to vomit and sit with his arms wrapped around his legs, he stayed to stare at his father. But the moment he had regained his composure he ran, leaving you with the torn silk from his robes in your bloodied hands.
“It is with sorrow that I announce your next judgement,” Josephine said solemnly, trying to disguise the tears in her voice. “A man who I think needs no introduction, [Y/N].” Knelt in front of the Inquisitor was a man she knew, someone she’d laughed with, played cards with, a friend, so she thought. But she couldn’t let her feelings betray her - no matter how difficult it was for her, for Ceri it would be a thousand times harder. No one should have to judge their lover, the only one Ceri ever truly allowed himself to trust.
He sat on his throne, his posture small and tight, his chin resting in his tight fists which made a table for his head as his elbows rested on his knees. His purple eyes stared at the man he thought he knew, he tried to look for signs that his prisoner regretted his choices, that it was in fact an elaborate con - it wasn’t his lover at all! He was tied up in the basement! Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Instead his lover knelt patiently, refusing to look at the Inquisitor, instead preferring to fixate on the floor so their face was covered by their hair.
“Don’t you have anything to say in your defence?” Ceri snapped, as he waited for his prisoner to speak. He flinched at the sound noise, and Ceri felt his chest ache with guilt. “[Y/N], please. Please give me something.”
“I can’t,” you reply quietly, so much so that the Inquisitor could barely hear you. “I won’t. You betrayed me. The moment I told you, you had me in shackles-”
“I had no choice! What else could I do? I can’t let you repeat your mistakes. I-“ Ceri hesitates and curled on himsel even tighter. “Will you stop? Ever?” He ended desperately. “Give me something.” You shook your head, you were prepared for the answer, when he gave the order for your execution, the whole room was silent. You lifted your chin and allowed yourself to look at him one last time.
“I have one final request, Inquisitor,” you said, formally enough that it made Ceri squirm. “I wish for you to swing the blade yourself.”
Thom Rainier / “Blackwall”
Blackwall denied it for a long time, growing angry whenever someone brought up anything about your behaviour. He didn’t think there was anything remotely suspicious about you being often covered in blood, nor did he notice your giddy demeanour at the executions. Blackwall adored [Y/N] and that was that. Of course you came home with dark stains over your clothes, the Inquisition was brutal work. And it was also the sort of job where you disappeared for hours at night. He eventually berated himself for not seeing the signs, but then he had just wanted to think the best of you - was there any harm in that?
Perhaps that’s what made you so relaxed, you never tried too hard to hide your actions in regards to your partner - he was far too trusting, stupidly trusting you thought sometimes. On occasion it made you angry and scared, thinking of all those who would manipulate and take advantage of him. You were certain that he could walk in on you on the battlements with blood on your hands and organs on your armour and you’d be able to talk your way out of it. When that happened however, you both just stood in silence - lying became difficult, and Blackwall couldn’t do it to himself any more either.
What made it worse is that the victim was a nobody - it wasn’t a noble, an enemy of the Inquisition or [Y/N], it wasn’t a criminal... it was just nobody. A random person taken from the streets, as Blackwall stared at the torn apart, brutalised pieces of the body he wondered if they had a family, where they shopping for food? Did they have a decent job? Maybe they were a merchant themselves, or a farmer. Would their children be able to eat tonight? He voiced this, he shouted it so loudly that you were certain someone would here and you’d both be doomed. But he only spoke, he still helped you dispose of it, he never mentioned your activities again, simply nodding and going quiet whenever the subject came up. Afterall, you weren’t the only one with a secret.
“Mm, well done, excellent technique, if a little grotesque... But overall very nice. I can’t say the same of your attempts to cover up your little night time habits though,” Solas said as he entered, his voice smooth and steady and causing you to jump from your skin and let out a yelp of shock. You slowly turned around to see the elf stood in the door way, a smirk on his lips. You stood above your victim, a fucking Shem whose favourite past time was torturing elves - those were your targets. Solas would understand that, he had to. His expression said as much, and he approached you with that smug sadistic demeanour you knew so well. You thought he’d help you destroy those who’d hurt and oppress... but he was just looking for a new agent, and he knew just how easily you could be controlled.
You didn’t realise for a long time that your beloved knew, but it started to all connect after a while. The apostates who’d been all too easy to track, so much so they basically fell into your lap and begged to be killed. And they all came from Cullen. Every single one was pointed towards you from the War Table and it was your commander’s suggestion every time. You realised over one of your’s and his nightly games of chess. He picked up the bishop, and took your rook. A foolish mistake, truly. You walked right into that one.
“Well, that’s not a mistake the Inquisitor would usually make,” Cullen smirked, leaning back in his chair after he’d finished his turn, resting his hands on his gut. “Normally you see everything coming then you go in for the kill.” You froze and looked up at the knowing, piercing smirk. He knew what you did, and not only did he not care - he was playing with you the entire time.
Cremisius Aclassi had seen his fair share of death and everything that came with it. He’d seen blood magic and watched the Chief’s eye be ripped from his head, he still saw the man with a bloody empty socket when he closed his eyes. He didn’t consider himself squeamish, or easily frightened. From living as a lower class Tevinter to the army to working for the Inquisition he’d been raised around this sort of life, even a tailor’s kid saw his fair share of muggings, stabbings, slave hunters, and houses being burned to the ground... but none of that prepared him for what awaited him when he walked into his chambers that night.
When you told him you had a surprise for him, he’d been excited - a little wary, as he tended to be, but he was looking forward to returning from the Herald’s Rest. Of course, the moment he entered and saw you sprawled across the bed, he couldn’t saw a word - his body convulsed, shook, his eyes rolled backwards, and he doubled over with his pints of beer mixed with Shepard’s pie rapidly gushed all over the wooden floor. You sat up instantly, rushing to his aid, barely aware of the fact that you were naked or that the blood from your victim was staining your legs and gut. Perhaps this was too much, you had been so sure him coming home to see you, sprawled out on the bed, naked with a Tevinter Magister’s head covering your genitalia would be so romantic... You’d have loved it. Unfortunately it turned Krem into a shaking terrified wreck. You tried to comfort him but he flinched away from you, shaking and weeping on the floor, rocking back and forth - barely aware of his knees being soiled by vomit. Eventually he stood to his feet, you tried to aid him but he pulled away, stumbling. He couldn’t speak, but his thoughts were more than clear.
Varric enjoyed murder mysteries and detective novels, they had a nice formula that felt welcoming and calm to him. Maybe that’s why he figured it out so quickly, he didn’t dawdle, didn’t wait for you to kill again. He simply showed up to the scene of the crime one day, shaking his head and letting out the mother of all sighs.
“Shit, what have I got myself into now?” He said as he helped you clean up. He didn’t approve, that much was clear - but as far as he saw it he’d gotten involved with worse people than cutthroats, assassains, and murderers. Some of his best friends fit those categories.
“Listen, sweetheart,” he said to you, as you threw the sack of limbs from the cliffs of the wounded coast. “If I could find out it was you, it won’t take long for anyone else to. You gotta make yourself much more subtle. I can help with that.” He had his standard smile, but his eyes weren’t quite the same after that. He tried to see it as a hobby or a personality quirk - but it got harder every time. He often thought of turning on his heel and leaving you, but he was never the sort to give up. He mated for life in a way.
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