I absolutely love Hetalia, and America's hero complex is constantly coming up, so I decided to stick America and femEngland in a situation that I can completely imagine Alfred losing his cool over. (And this is pretty much an established relationship situation.)

Rating is for a kind of mature situation, but it's nothing beyond implication of naughty times to come and mentions of saucy lingerie.

Italics – thoughts.

Disclaimer – I don't own Hetalia, much to my regret.

Enjoy!

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"I cant believe I'm doing this..."

"Awww c'mon Lizzie! It's my surprise right? I'm dying over here!"

And he was. His lover was torturing him to death as he lay completely nude and ready under the bedcovers, waiting for England to walk into the doorway with a birthday surprise. Alfred had been in suspense all day through the meetings, not paying attention as he desperately tried to guess what surprise his lover could give him once they were alone in his bedroom.

Mouth-watering images of Elizabeth wrapped in saucy lingerie like a present had tortured her all day. But again, that had been last year's gift, the seductive red, white and blue ensemble was still lovingly buried in her draws, having been used frequently since the night England had sashayed over to her, the colours of their flags wrapped tight around her and oh, he was getting more and more excited as his anticipation took him away.

He grinned excitedly, wriggling his toes in anticipation.

"Please Lizzie! I bet you look sooooo hot babe –"

"Fine! Bloody impatient twit of a man..."

America grinned, listening to his love mumble half-heartedly to herself, but his breath, indeed his very mind, was stolen at the sight that rounded the doorway.

Oh, oh god, hot hot hotttt.

It wasn't lingerie like he had kind of hoped, no, it was something much, much, much better. England, in all her feminine glory was decked out in a short sleeved blue shirt (which was deliciously low cut and ended two inches or so down past her breasts, to show off that wonderfully toned stomach), a golden belt, a sinfully short cut blue skirt (that rid up her thighs torturously as she sauntered up to the bed, well aware of America's mouth watering ogling), knee length red boots, with a red cape draped over her shoulders to the back of her knees and, what was probably America's favourite bit, stretched over her chest was Superman's S.

And with the added addition of her hair, which was normally almost always tied up, sashaying like spun gold down to the small of her back, well, America was sure he could satisfy himself quite happily on the image before him alone.

Supergirl, oh my god, oh god, hot, hot, she's so hot ...

England stopped at the foot of the bed, hands on her hips and feet spread as she pushed out her chest 'heroically' and smirked down at the ogling, speechless, drooling mass on the bed.

"Did someone call for a hero?"

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This whole thing made me 'lol' as I wrote it.