Roselle = Monaco. Donald = Scotland. I chose Donald because of the song "Donald Where's Yer Troosers?" I absolutely love the song. :3

Pairing: MonacoxScotland

Angst

Roselle sipped on her cup of tea, watching the other micronations roaming around and being loud. She would have liked to have joined them in their activities but she found them rather ridiculous. None of them wished to play poker with her either. She wished that she wasn't such an outsider to both the nations and these young micronations.

"Hey, ye got ony tea fer me?" asked a thick-accented voice. Roselle glanced up to find Donald standing beside her, grinning at her. "Ye look a bit lonely – thought Ah'd come be a 'gentleman' and sit wi' ye. If ye want o' course."

Fluff

Roselle gritted her teeth in determination and walked along the quiet path to Donald's house, the kilt draped carefully over her arm. She hoped this was the one she had lost to the Russian in the poker game. She hadn't exactly been entirely serious when she had bet it but Ivan was incredibly serious about taking it. And she had been only meaning to keep it till it was clean from when she had spilled the tea over him. She rang the doorbell and waited.

Donald answered the door a few minutes later in nothing but a towel. "Ah, Rose," he said, a grin appearing on his face instead of the irritated expression he had had on his face a moment before. "Oh, ye brought me kilt! Braw! Ah needed somethin' t'get dressed in."

"I… I do not know whether zis is your kilt, cher," she said, looking away and blushing. "I… lost it in a poker game. I 'ad to win it back. S'il vous plait, forgive me!"

Suddenly, Donald gently took her wrist and pulled her towards him. "O' course Ah'll forgive ye," he said, holding her close. "How could I e'er be angry wi' you fer ony length o' time?"

Humour

Roselle raised her eyebrow at the red-head seated across from her. "Well?" she asked. "Are you goink to bet or are you foldink, cher?"

Donald's brow furrowed. He didn't want to lose to a girl. With a dissatisfied grunt, he threw some more chips onto the table and a final card was dealt to him. His eyes almost widened as he noticed that, now, he had a one pair. He glanced up at Roselle. With a grin he laid down his cards. "There ye go! Did Ah win?"

"Non," said Roselle with a happy sigh. She flipped over her cards, revealing her royal flush. "Désolé," she said with a grin.

Smut

Roselle smiled rather teasingly before pushing Donald back onto the bed. He landed with an 'oof' before raising himself up on his elbows. He flashed a grin at her but stayed where he was, letting her do what she wanted. He did nothing as she straddled him and she let her hand reach down beneath the kilt and up his thigh, brushing against his sack. He gave a small moan of pleasure and closed his eyes. This was enough to encourage her.

She continued to brush her fingers lightly across his sack and he continued to moan. Then, suddenly, she grabbed at his hardened arousal. He gave a gasp and his eyes flew open. He was beginning to pant. She smiled before letting go and trailing her fingers lightly along his length and to his tip. There she stopped there and rubbed at it a little, waiting for something to come out.

Au/Crossover (Ouran High School Host Club)

Roselle was looking for a quiet place to study her poker techniques when she found the quiet music room. Pushing the door open, she found herself confronted with some boys, welcoming her in. She raised an eyebrow at their welcome – it was rather friendly. One of them, a boy with red hair and a cocky grin stepped forward.

"Ah, a new customer. So… What's yer type?" he asked her.

"Excusez-moi?" she asked, a little confused.

"For yer host," he explained, taking her hand and kissing it with a cheeky grin. "Ah hope ye like the little de'il type…"

(Cardverse)

The King of Spades, Donald, knew he was in trouble as soon as he saw her. He had his own Queen of course, but the Queen of Hearts was beautiful. She wore a pair of thin spectacles, had her beautiful brown hair drawn back in a bun and her beautiful blue eyes sparkled as she looked at him. Roselle was her name, declaring her beauty to the world.

Her King, of course, got on well with Donald. However, Francis knew nothing of the love he felt for his Queen. Nor did his own Queen, of course. In fact, Donald had managed to keep it to himself, even though all three of them accepted his flirtatious attitude towards her without comment.

But he was no longer sure he could last without telling someone.

Kinky

Donald was starting to get tired of waiting. Really now, how much longer would they keep him waiting while they fetched the manager? With a sigh, he rose to leave, adjusting his kilt as he did so. He froze when he noticed that the door was opened slightly. He watched as a stocking-clad leg hooked around the door, making suggestive movements.

Then the door opened and a woman wearing a red cocktail-dress, slits in it up to her hips on each side, walked in. She shut the door behind her, looking across at Donald. The eyes behind her glasses looked determined as she stared at him. He merely stared back, wondering who the woman was.

Fetish

"Go away, Donald," said Roselle, turning back to her work. "I have a lot to do."

"Aw, but-!"

"No 'but's!" Rose said, firmly.

Her will immediately wavered when he leaned forward to speak into her ear, his breath tickling her neck and turning her on. She gasped, trying to control her urges as he said, "C'mon. Don't be too hasty, aye? Come wi' me." Then he lightly licked her neck, barely touching her. She gave a small moan, wanting very much to strip immediately. She resisted – for the moment.

Hurt/Comfort

Roselle jumped when Donald spoke in her ear, dropping the knife. With a gasp, she tried to catch it, managing to grab at the blade. She felt it slice into her palm and once again gasped, instinctively letting go: it hit the floor with a clatter.

"God! Lass, are ye okay?!" exclaimed Donald, spinning her around. He grabbed her hand, his eyes wide with fright and worry. "Ah'll have t'clean this and get a bandage. Where d'ye keep yer first aid kit?"

First Love

Roselle stared at the huge bouquet of red roses facing her. Her heart had skipped a beat when they had been thrust into her face, the sweet smell enveloping her. She peered around them to see a rather red-faced Scot staring resolutely at the bell-pull.

"A-Are these for moi?" she asked, hesitantly. No-one had ever given her flowers before. Well, unless you counted Francis but he was family and she didn't approve of his trying to make their relationship into something more. Donald, however, was different and she could feel her own blush forming as he nodded.

"Aye," was all he said in response.

Fantasy (May have stolen this idea from MeruPuri.)

Roselle stared at the man in shock. Had he just come through the mirror? But… that wasn't possible, was it? And just who exactly was he? He had red hair and brilliant green eyes and he seemed to be wearing some sort of skirt with a little bag dangling off his front.

"W-Who are you?!" she exclaimed.

"Ah, I'm Donald, lass. Sorry. Just passing through."

Horror

The thing launched itself at her and she screamed, stepping backwards and putting her hands up defensively. As she stepped backwards, she missed her footing and began to fall backwards. She landed heavily and stared up at the thing, its teeth gnashing, trying to bite her as she held it back as much as she could.

"Roselle!" she heard Donald cry out. There was a swishing sound and then a thump as the thing's head hit the floor beside her. She gasped as the body slumped forward. Then it was lifted clear and Donald was there, holding a hand out for her to grab hold of.

Adventure

Roselle gazed across the table at the red-head opposite. She smiled at him and threw some more chips on the table. The man grinned back. "So, Mr Kirkland," said Roselle. "What has brought you to zis 'umble corner of the world?"

"Ach, well, the poker an' that," he said, dismissively. "What d'ye expect me t'say? That I came fer somethin' else?"

"Hm," said Roselle, watching him throw down a few more chips. "Per'aps a vague comment about how you are a spy, non?"

The man laughed. "Och, aye. The name's Kirkland. Donald Kirkland. If I did that, I'd be an awfu spy!"

UST（Unresolved Sexual Tension）

For the hundredth time, Roselle found herself staring at the kilt which hung between his legs. She wondered what it covered up and if he was doing that "true Scotsman" thing she had heard about. Catching herself running her eyes up his legs, mentally undressing him as she reached his kilt again, she blushed and raised her eyes to his face.

He was watching her, a cheeky grin on his face. "D'ye see somethin' ye like?" he asked as the blush on her face deepened.

Future

Roselle opened the door to find Donald on her doorstep. He had his hand behind his head, rubbing at his neck sheepishly. "Eh, hi," he said as she stared at him in puzzlement. "Ah've finally decided t'get me independence. That brother o' mine chucked me out fer sayin' so. So Ah'm needin' somewhere t'stay. You… er… don't mind, d'ye?"

Roselle stared for a moment before moving aside for him. "I zought you would be moving in with the Nordics?"

"Aye, well. See, as much as Ah'd like that, their hoose was, er… how shall I put this… Rather busy, if ye ken whit Ah mean?"

Suspense

Roselle's eyes widened as she heard the door open. Merde! He's home early! I'm not supposed to be here! I'll have to hide. Looking round, she decided to try to hide in a place which would make it easier to leave. However, she could hear the footsteps getting closer so, looking round, she hurried into the cupboard, pulling the thin dressing gown around herself.

The door to the room opened just as she swung one of the wardrobe doors shut, leaving herself with a crack to watch through. She hoped he wouldn't discover her things she had left lying around. This whole idea had been stupid. She watched as he entered his room, yawning and stretching before dropping heavily onto the bed, flat on his face. He didn't move for a few seconds before he started to snore…

Death

"Monetary difficulties, cher," said Roselle with a small smile. "Désolé." She glanced at the grandfather clock and flashed him another smile. "I have to go. Just remember… Je t'aime." Sadly she rose from her chair only to find herself stopped by a hand clutching her wrist. Looking down, she found Donald, his eyes hard, staring at the wall, avoiding her gaze, his teeth gritted.

"Tha gràdh agam dhut," he said. She gaped at him. She knew what this meant and was shocked to hear it come from him. He had never said this before. He had only ever said the more formal "Tha gaol agam oirbh". She felt tears prick her eyes but she held them back. It would not do to upset anyone more than necessary today…