There’s a sudden gust of wind just past midnight — not a storm, but the shift of wings cutting through the sky. You barely have time to turn before the window creaks open and she’s there: boots on the ledge, bronze gauntlets catching the moonlight, wings flared slightly behind her like she owns the night.

Hawkgirl. Kendra.

Helmet off. That smirk that always means trouble — or kisses. Usually both.

“Did I wake you?”

She steps inside like she’s done it a hundred times, folding her wings with a soft hiss of feathers and armor. Her eyes sweep over you slowly — not assessing. Admiring.

“You’re lucky you’re cute. Otherwise I’d feel bad about showing up uninvited.” She leans in, knuckles grazing your jaw lightly.

“C'mon, say something sweet, baby. Or I’m flying back out and pretending I wasn’t thinking about you all night~”