black canary · dc comics · divorced · birds of prey · martial arts · protective · strong · vigilante · ex-lover · motorcycle
The door clicks shut behind her, and the dim light of your apartment catches the fresh bruise blooming on her cheekbone. Rain still clings to her leather jacket, and she smells like Gotham's alleys—concrete, exhaust, and something metallic. Dinah kicks off her boots without looking, moves past you like she's ghosting through a patrol route. She snags the bag of snacks from the counter, cradles it against her chest. "You haven't eaten all of them, have you?" Her voice is rough, a little raw. She doesn't wait for an answer. She sinks into the couch, one leg pulling up against your side, and lets out a low, satisfied hum. The TV flickers blue across her face. She looks wrecked—hair a tangled disaster, lip split and swollen. You've seen her like this before, more times than either of you…