Doesn't he wear the Chasseurs outfit? With the cross too-

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: Vanitas No Carte

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Roland x GN!Reader

𝐓𝐖: possibly ooc, grammar errors, mildly suggestive insinuations

𝐂𝐖: 2.3K

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚:

It’s a gloomy afternoon in the catacombs beneath Notre Dame. Roland has reports to finish. You have absolutely no intention of letting him finish them. But as it turns out, there's only so much teasing Roland can take before the tables turn.

The air in the base was damp with the scent of old stone and a hint of wet paper. Rain tapped faintly against the high windows of the cathedral above, and the distant, steady rumble of thunder gave a ghostly life to the quiet corridors of the underground bastion.

Paris above was drowned in a veil of grey storm clouds, but down here, time slowed to a hush beneath the vaulted ceilings.

Roland sat at his large oak desk, quill in hand, the tip hovering just above the signature line of yet another report. He had already signed thirteen. Olivier had left him with twenty-four.

"Do you think," came a voice from the corner of the room, slow and silken, "that if I stayed overnight, anyone would notice?"

He didn’t look up immediately. The voice was familiar. It was warm honey poured over nip of venom, and he’d been enduring it for a full two hours.

“I’m sure someone would,” Roland replied, keeping his tone polite. “You’d cause quite the stir in the base if you wandered the halls past dark.”

From your seat curled in his oversized armchair, you didn’t glance up. You merely dipped your pen in the inkwell and continued sketching something with long, elegant strokes. “Mhm. What a shame. I thought perhaps I could sleep in your bed.” Your tone was as casual as if you were commenting on the weather.

Roland paused, his hand freezing mid-sentence.

He blinked.

Steadily, he signed the line.

Your lips curled slightly, but you never looked at him. Your eyes remained trained on your sketchbook as though your words hadn’t practically set fire to the room.

A little twitch danced in Roland’s brow. “I believe the cots here are quite firm,” he said, smoothing his papers. “You wouldn’t like them.”

You clicked your tongue softly. “Oh, I don’t mind a little...firmness.”

Another silence.

He was fairly certain he smudged the next line with his sleeve.

The scene had played like this since your arrival.

You had been “encouraged”, which, in your father's language, meant ordered, to drop by the Chasseur base and personally thank Roland for the formal letter he had sent to your father the week before. A gesture of respect, duty, and… proximity, of sorts.

You hadn’t resisted too much. Not outwardly. But from the way you now lounged like a pampered cat in his office, clearly having decided the place belonged to you alone, Roland had started to suspect this was a mission of seduction more than gratitude.

He couldn’t say he minded.

“You’re staring, Fortis,” you said flatly, after a moment. “I didn’t realize I was such a distraction. Perhaps I should take off my—”

“That's quite enough.”

“Yes?” Still not looking at him.

He cleared his throat, returning his eyes to the reports with the last semblance of discipline he could muster. “Would you like tea?”

You finally turned your head to glance at him, hair curled around one ear. “Only if you were to serve it shirtless,” you joked idly.

Thunder cracked faintly in the distance.

A corner of Roland’s mouth threatened upward.

He said nothing.

Some time passed. The scratching of pen against paper continued, the soft flick of pages and your quiet, almost angelic humming. It was just enough to be innocent, and just enough to be not.

You stood up after a while, placing your sketchbook on the side table. Your steps were unhurried as your wandered to the nearby shelf, humming softly. You scanned the items like it was your own study, fingers lightly grazing the rows of ink bottles. You reached to take one down.

In that moment, something clicked.

There was a shift in the air, not from thunder, but from Roland himself.

His papers were set aside silently.

The chair scraped softly as he stood.

You barely noticed.

Then—

You let out a very small noise, surprised and sharp, as Roland’s hand suddenly caught the back of your belt at the small of your back.

He tugged you toward him with all the gentleness of an executioner lifting a sword.

You stiffened like a cheeky cat being lifted by its nape.

“Wh—what do you think you’re—”

“I was thinking,” Roland’s voice came low, breath ghosting against the shell of your ear, “that you’ve had quite the mouth on you today.”

His tone was not scolding, nor angry. Just quietly amused. Calm.

Deadly.

You didn’t dare move. You could feel the heat of his body just behind yours, but he hadn’t pressed closer. Not yet.

“I was beginning to wonder,” he murmured, “if you were only being bold because I wasn’t calling your bluff.”

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

“You really shouldn’t provoke things you can't handle.”

Immediately, you bristled. “I’m not.”

“Mm.”

He turned you slowly, one large hand cupping your jaw, turning your face to meet his. Your breath caught.

The light in his emerald eyes was warm and heavy.

And then he kissed you.

Not roughly. Not clumsily. It was slow. It was warm. So warm, and steady. But it stole the breath from your lungs.

You gasped into his mouth at first, whether in protest or surprise, even you didn’t know, and his lips drank it down like wine.

His other hand reached to trap your wrist, raising it beside your head against the wall, keeping you steady as you squirmed. His body barely pressed into yours, but the weight of his hand on your waist said enough.

You let out a muffled sound against his mouth, soft, flustered, maybe a little pitiful.

He didn’t let go. His tongue found yours, slow and deliberate, and your knees gave a warning tremble.

You wriggled, he held. You squirmed, and he breathed calmly through his nose and kissed you deeper.

By the time he pulled away, you were barely upright.

His hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb brushing the curve of your jaw as he leaned back just far enough to meet your eyes. His smile was faint, and his gaze was… unfamiliar.

“You’re very quiet all of a sudden,” he said.

And you didn’t respond. Your eyes were wide, the faintest blush blooming across your cheekbones. Your hands dangled uselessly at your sides.

“Was that too forward?” he added, as if worried.

Ten long seconds passed.

“…You're evil,” you finally muttered, voice barely audible.

With a gentleness that felt far too unfair after what he'd just done, Roland reached up and ruffled your hair. “You’re lucky I didn’t carry you upstairs,” he said, grinning.

You visibly twitched.

Roland leaned in again, mock-thoughtful. “Would you still like to test the bed, chérie?”

He pulled back before you could respond. Not that you did. Not that you could, anyway.

You emained frozen, one hand slowly, slowly coming up to hide your mouth. And for the rest of the evening, you didn’t utter a single suggestive word.

And Roland, quiet, amused, and unexpectedly smug, sat contentedly down by his desk, perfectly at peace.

.

.

Now I say this, I don’t know how much inspiration mochijun is taking from the bible. Like is Gano gonna kill himself? Probably not, even if he does it won’t be from remorse of his actions. But if we are following some threads here, if Ogier is a paladin I don’t think he’s Spider then because there’s supposed to be only one traitor. Moving onto my next point, is Jesus then Charles or Roland? I’m going to go with Charles, he is the head and I think he also chooses the paladins so yeah. But Roland just embodies the Christ-like values. Unless you want to say Roland is Peter. Because Peter also believed in himself as a follower of God. He made mistakes and thought he was the most faithful apostle yet he denied Jesus three times.

Like Roland trusts in himself and his thinking more than God actually. I don’t know James like that so by default we’re gonna say he’s Olivier.

And John has to be Astolfo.

Because if you didn’t know, John was the youngest apostle. And he’s the only apostle that survived, living to old age. Every other apostle was brutally murdered for their beliefs.Fueling the hope that Astolfo will live. Finally Peter, James, and John are usually named as a trio in the bible. They were the closest to Jesus.

Chasseurs à cheval & Cuirassiers.

i can’t wait to learn more about him he’s so pretty he may be manipulative but i love him