So... Vera and Matt are taking on The Defenders. Lots of things are canon, so you can count on what happened to the other characters (Jess, Luke, Danny..) - you might be a little lost if you haven't seen the Defenders - but there are some changes in the timeline and in the plot as well, obviously. For example, it's happening in December, because I said so.

I mean, Matt has never stopped being Daredevil, he's on speaking terms with Foggy and Karen (who are together and are not treating DD like an addict), Matt has some history with Danny and Vera knows too many people. Also, the season 2 DD mess didn't happen (Elektra, whom Matt last saw when in law school, and Frank, obviously).

The story starts with a little non-defenders action (various types of action), hope you won't mind. Gotta ease you in. I just couldn't help myself… my default setting and all that :D

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1. The perks of dating Daredevil

Walking home alone at night was honestly one of the most stupid things one could do in Hell's Kitchen, especially if they were a woman, Vera was well-aware. She didn't consider herself particularly stupid; but she also wasn't the kind of person who couldn't fight off some back alley mugger if necessary. That didn't mean she was looking for any sort of trouble, she really wasn't that stupid; however, there were things she didn't get to choose and when her shift ended at half past eight, allowing her to leave after nine p.m., she just had to walk home alone at night.

Which was, of course, one of the most stupid ideas a Hell's Kitchen resident could get.

The moment someone grabbed her from behind and tried to tug her to an alleyway, her brain came up with a half dozen of ways of fighting the attacker off. She broke out of the man's grip in a second, scoring a nice elbow to his face, only to be caught by another one and—yeah, and having a gun aimed at her head by a third guy. Well, shit.

"You scream, you're dead. Money. Jewellery. Nice and slowly."

"Shit."

Vera held her hands up. The gunman was too far for her to disarm him. The man she had elbowed, who had a knife on her back under her coat now, was close enough, she would handle him, maybe even with the possibly unarmed one on her side. But the combination of the three of them... She was no daredevil. With neither small nor capital D.

"Oh, such a lovely young lady and such a foul mouth?" the gunman wondered mockingly. It irritated her. His smugness and her fucking bad luck, because seriously? It was the time of month to collect her trouble magnet duty or what?

"Yes. And she also has a piece of advice for you," she mumbled, unsure where that came from. Was she suicidal? A gun and a knife. Three guys. Not a good opportunity for her to have a big mouth. Then again, maybe…

"Does she now?"

"Yes. You don't want to do this." …maybe if she talked long enough…

"Really? And what do we want, tell me."

He beckoned to the guy with the knife. She felt the blade pressing against her back, almost breaking her skin. She gulped when the third man approached her, raising his hand. She tasted bile in her mouth when he touched her chin and she turned her face away.

"I know what I would want other than the money," he murmured slyly, giving a tiny chuckle.

"Don't you fucking dare-"

"Rude. Maybe we should stuff something to the dirty mouth of yours. What do you think, Dylan?" the gunman challenged and Vera shivered against her will.

The knifeman – Dylan, apparently – moved one of his hands to her ass, squeezing. Jesus, shit. That was the last thing she needed.

"You think she would blow me? I bet she would. She has such pretty cock-sucking lips…" he purred to her ear and Vera felt she was actually going to puke any second now. She wouldn't stand a chance against three men, let alone armed.

"Let's start with the money, hm? We can have fun later." His gun beckoned in her direction.

Her mind raced. Was the gun just for show? If it was, she had a chance. On the other hand, if it was a real deal and he was a good shooter, she might end up bleeding to death. Which wasn't her idea of a perfect evening.

Why was she in New York again? For sure, this wouldn't happen in Prague. It definitely wouldn't happen in Trutnov.

The metal on her ring finger hidden under her gloves burned instead of an answer.

Prague and Trutnov were cool cities, but didn't have one thing. One person. Who might come even if she didn't scream, but talked long enough. Also, it was totally on him that she didn't have her brass knuckles with her, so talking was pretty much everything she could do; not that brass knuckles would help her against a gun, but whatever.

"You really don't want to do any of this," she repeated, hint of fake confidence creeping into her voice. "In fact, I think you should go to the police and confess all your crimes. I know a lawyer. Defense attorney. He might take your case."

He probably wouldn't take their case; Matt didn't have a habit of defending scumbags.

The third guy ripped away her purse. Oh. She had one less thing to restrain her. Good.

"So she has fancy friends too. Lawyers…. Friends with benefits?"

Really? That was their concern? And what on Earth gave them the impression of her— that she would… blow them, or that she had several friends with benefits? Well, it wasn't like they were completely wrong, there was number of things Vera was doing with her favourite lawyer as if they were friends with benefits indeed, but hey, she was engaged to him, she would say she was entitled.

Talk, Veronika.

"Well, I guess he wouldn't take it then since you're being-" pigs "-vulgar. But you still should go to the police."

"And why would we do that, doll?" the gunman smiled sweetly.

Vera closed her eyes and prayed Matt was on his way at least. "Because the police would be gentle. Or at least less brutal. Daredevil? Not so much."

"Ohhhh, right. The weirdo in spandex. I don't see him around here now. Do you?" the gunman cackled in response.

Vera managed a shaky laugh too. "You won't see him coming, you idiot. He'll have you lying unconscious on the ground before you get even a glimpse of red."

The guy on her side shifted uncomfortably as he was coming through her purse, finding her wallet. Scared?

"Jesus, Marc, don't be a pussy!"

"Oh, he's the only one who's smart enough. Maybe he will be blissfully unconscious by the time you'll be whining, cowered on the ground, begging for the Devil to stop. He can get quite violent. He doesn't like bullies. Especially the ones with guns." Aiming at me.

The gunman took few steps closer, aiming at her head, the gun making an unmistakable click.

Doprdele.

That wasn't a smart move, it really wasn't. But maybe now when the gun was closer… screw the knife, she could survive a cut, just get rid of the freaking gun.

"How would you know, princess? You suck his dick too?" he sneered, sly, confident smile. And wow, he would make her feel like a whore. Which was frankly the last thing she cared about now.

Vera could see him peripherally, a glimpse of red, just a shadow moving on the fire escape. She knew it wasn't a victory yet, but the wave of relief washing over her was overwhelming.

"What if I told you I do?"

The gun was knocked out of his hand with a billy club, going off. Dylan winced, the knife cutting through her skin before losing contact with her. Vera hissed at the sudden pain, spinning around and punching the man to his face.

She felt a grasp on her hair, but it disappeared quickly with muffled crack and scream. Vera didn't waste time with thinking about what exactly that was – as the knifeman's hands shot up to his face, she knocked the weapon out of his hand and dirtily kneed his crotch. That was the only attention she would be paying to that part of his body, unlike he had implied.

"Jesus, bitch!" he cursed, getting ready to attack – she simply took his hand, twisting it behind his back. She hated that move because she once had seen the way out of it and it was next to impossible. But it worked well with her being the superior one.

He whined; a very miserable sound. Vera's ears were overwhelmed by miserable sounds – Matt was working the other two thugs and he was not gentle indeed. She could tell he was pissed off. She hadn't lied before; he didn't like bullies. Especially the ones with guns. The fact they had targeted her though, that had probably sealed their death sentence. Figuratively speaking.

She tripped the knifeman and he fell to the ground.

Vera quickly eyed Matt – he wasn't done. He was throwing punches to the gunman's face, right, left, right, right, brutal and quick and she winced at the picture of his violent side. Not as much as she did when she felt sharp pain above her left ankle.

"Shit."

That bastard had found his knife and cut her again, even when lying face down and barely moving.

Vera had no time to think or feel guilty – she stamped on his wrist with a sickening crack and a clank of the knife on the pavement. Dylan let out a deafening scream, but was cut off by a billy club hitting his face, knocking him out.

Vera's head snapped to Matt, who was no longer paying attention to the – now unconscious – gunman. Instead, he was on her side in a fraction of second.

"I'm sorry," he growled, not really sounding like he was sorry (what for?), reaching for her purse. "Here, call 911."

His lips were a thin line as he squatted to her ankle, taking his gloves off, rolling up her jeans, examining the wound carefully. Adrenalin was still pumping through her body, but the stark contrast of the gentle touch on her and the previous violence and tone of his voice was… dizzying, making her heart flutter.

She dialled.

"You'll need stitches for this. Can I see your back?"

He was fighting to keep his voice from sounding angry, she could tell. He was trying to get it together, be considerate of her. Tender. Oh, Matt. She just nodded and he moved to her back.

"What's your emergency?" sounded the voice on the other end of line and Vera told them about three men who had tried to mug her, all of them injured, unconscious. She asked an ambulance for them. When the woman asked her if she was hurt too, she simply said no and the woman hung up.

Matt's fingers froze.

"Why didn't you tell her you were hurt?" he asked, traces of anger soaking through.

Vera turned to him, surprised. "I thought you could stich it up…?"

He wore a mask, but she could tell his eyebrows shot up so high it probably reached his hairline.

"Uhm… couldn't you?"

"I could, but there is no single reason for me to do it when you can go to the hospital, where they can give you painkillers and take care of you professionally. Not to mention you'll be giving a statement before coming home."

"You never go to hospitals," she protested, tugging her coat down when his warm fingers left the wound, only cold air remaining. "And I trust you."

She kinda didn't know how to disprove his other argument.

"You— this isn't about trust!" he hissed back heatedly.

One of the men – Marc, was it? – stirred. Matt paced to him and sent him back to the land of non-dreams with one well-aimed blow, gloves on or not. When he approached her again, his expression (his mouth, because that was the only visible part, she could only imagine the rest) was troubled.

"It's about you being in pain when you don't have to," he added softly.

Vera gulped. Yeah, she knew it would hurt like a bitch, okay? It already hurt. But— duh. She couldn't explain it.

"I heard having a personal experience helps with being empathic," she joked.

He set his jaw tight. "Jesus, Vera. This isn't a joke!"

"No, it's not – it's legit."

She heard sirens in the distance and winced.

His fingers touched her jaw lightly. "Let them take care of, okay? Please? I… I don't want you to associate pain with me more than you already do," he pleaded, barely audible.

Her eyes went wide. What? Why would she-

Oh, Matt, you loveable idiot. "I don't-"

He silenced her with a chaste tender kiss, his hands on her face and in her hair, light as a touch of butterfly wings, delicate as if she could break under his touch, yet... needy. And there was nothing romantic about kissing with three unconscious men around them, dark alley and her bleeding – except it kinda was. Vera found herself deeply regretting the loss of his lips when he withdrew.

"See you at home, love."

His breath tickled her cheek, he placed a light kiss there too and he was gone before she could snap from her dazed state. It was the blood loss making her reactions slow, she was sure. She looked around, red and blue illuminating the scary scene she was standing in the middle of.

The doors of the police cars flew open, three guns aiming at her, so she quickly raised her hands up.

Seriously?!

"Hey, put the guns down! She's the victim," sounded too familiar voice and Vera let her arms fall down with a tiny smile. "For real, Machackova?"

"You know me. Troubles just keep following me around."

Sergeant Brett Mahoney gave her an unimpressed look. Her smile widened.

Vera let the paramedics take her to the hospital. One of them looked at her like she was crazy, reminding her she had said she wasn't hurt. Vera had no explanation.

And Matt had been right of course – she needed stitches. Claire did them, while Brett sat by her bedside, asking questions. Claire was a miracle worker, but the cop was still faster, disappearing before Claire was done.

"Can't say this is a pleasant change," Claire murmured, finishing her work. "Sewing up Machackova instead of Murdock? Not exactly what I was hoping to do tonight."

"Well, soon you'll be stitching up Murdock or Murdock, so there's that," Vera offered with a grin and shrugged. She was probably high on the meds.

"Because that's what makes it better," Claire snorted, patting her shoulder. "You're good to go."

"Thanks, Claire."

"Well, this is my job…"

"Good point," Vera noted as she hopped off the bed. She was surprised by the world swaying a little. She quickly searched for support again.

"Whoa, take it easy, madwoman. No rapid movements – pain meds in your system. Plus, you are stitched up. Try not to pop any of those, would you?"

"Sorry. I guess I wouldn't want a blind man to redo them, huh?"

Taking a cab was expensive as hell, but it seemed inevitable. Her ankle was somewhere between stiff and numb and her head was spinning just a little when she moved it too fast, so the cab it was.

Matt waited for her on the second floor – avoiding Mrs. Ginger Vera had met at the first one – ready to support her weight as expected. She was grateful, because the stairs were a bitch. She hadn't quite counted on Matt to actually take her to his arms, bridal style, and carry her. She probably should have.

Vera didn't protest. If she fidgeted, she would make it harder and he was stubborn enough not to let go of her if she would, so she just sighed and thanked him quietly. He hummed instead of an answer, his expression unreadable as they reached their apartment.

Their apartment. It never got less incredible. Vera couldn't help smiling, actually chuckling when they entered it.

"You know you should carry me over the doorstep after the wedding, right?" she noted lightly and she saw an inconspicuous crack of a smile on his face.

"Couch or bed?" he breathed, tone guarded as he kicked the doors close. Vera gulped.

"Shower?"

"You shouldn't be showering with fresh stitches, not if you can't keep it dry."

She huffed. "Okay. The couch it is. I'm not sleeping in silk sheets like this."

Matt obediently seated her on the couch. She pulled him down with her, snuggling to his side. He was breathing heavily – she might not be overweight by distance, but she wasn't hundred pounds either.

"Are you hurt?" she blurted out, straightening again, watching his expression grow surprised.

"No. I'm not hurt, Vera," he noted dryly. She rolled her eyes. Okay, point taken.

"Just because I'm hurt, it doesn't mean you aren't or that I can't take care of you," she explained in low voice, licking her lips before she hesitantly brought her hand to his jaw, temple, fingers running through his hair. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch slightly.

"I— I know. And… I'm sorry."

She kissed his forehead. "I get it. You worry. I worry too. I would expect nothing less." She heard him swallow. "Thank you for the save, Mr. Daredevil."

His body went rigid. "I meant sorry for... for-"

Vera withdrew, frowning in confusion. "For what?"

"I should have come faster. Be more careful with the approach-"

"Matt, I've got two small cuts, both my fault." Mostly. 'Not his fault' to be more precise. "You knocked the gun out of his hand – I could have been shot dead if it wasn't for you," she reminded him not exactly gently. But she had learnt that sometimes shock therapy was the best way of dealing with his emotions. Apart from punching. As expected, he winced. "Honestly, I thought you would break their bones one by one or something for aiming a gun at my head."

"I wanted to," he grumbled, deep dangerous sound. "You were bleeding. And then you were bleeding more, because I couldn't keep my shit together. You hurting, still fighting a man, that should have been the priority, but he—Jesus, I wanted to-"

Wow, this was a whole new level of bullshit. "Are you beating yourself over beating them too much or not enough?" she asked, bewildered, letting the sarcasm in.

"Both. If I wasn't… losing my time with the gunman, you wouldn't have been cut twice."

"Wow. Really, Matt?!" Matt jumped at the incredulous comment, his eyebrows up. "Matt, you— I give up. I'm okay. You're okay. Let's leave it there."

Matt frowned, his lips creating sad reversed flat U.

'You hurting, that should have been the priority.'

Vera hadn't had time to think about his inner struggle when fighting earlier. He probably had wanted to break them, but he had worried for her. It wasn't so hard to understand. Matt was a complicated guy, she knew, okay, but despite the popular opinion, he was just a human too. This part wasn't exactly a rocket science; humans loved, humans worried, humans got angry…

She brought her other hand to his face too, stroking his cheek with her thumb. His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes did, melting. Focusing more; leaving the past, returning to present. When she met his lips, he answered her kiss softly, his hand wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer.

The thought hit her when he nibbled at her lower lip gingerly, making her pulse jump for a different reason than usual. He detected the change, uncharacteristic. He stopped, tracing her suddenly burning cheeks; Vera wasn't sure if it was from embarrassment or anger.

"Vera, sweetheart?"

She gulped and shook her head. Don't think about it. The intrusive voice was crystal clear in her ears though. Jesus, she should have kicked the knifeman to his groin multiple times. She licked her suddenly dry lips and it made it even worse, because she wondered about the shape, tempted to run her tongue over it again to check.

Kick. His. Balls. Again. And again.

"Do I have cock-sucking lips?" she blurted out, half curious, half outraged. A second later, she was horrified she had actually let the words leave her mouth. Matt choked on his own spit, coughing violently, his hands falling. She hid her face in her palms. "Oh god, forget it, please, forget it."

"Jesus Christ, Vera," he rasped, "warn me before saying something like this."

She peeked at him between her fingers. His expression was hard, possibly at the memory – she had no doubt he heard the man's comment –, but there was also a pure shock.

"Uhm, so that's a no, I guess…" she mumbled to her palms, surprised by the sting of disappointment.

Disappointment. Are you insane, Veronika? Some lowlife scumbag tells you something like this and now you're taking it as a compliment, regretting it's not true? You need a psych eval.

Matt regained control over his facial expressions, tilting his head, trying to figure her out. Good luck with that. "I… feel like I should plead the fifth."

Vera frowned, putting her hands away. He looked… sheepish? His ears were red, but then again his whole face was red, because he had almost choked when she had asked. She didn't understand.

"Why?"

Because he thought any possible answer was right? Well, he wasn't wrong, probably. She didn't know what she wanted to hear anymore.

Matt licked his lips, lowering his gaze. Her heart jumped. Was that a yes? She felt her mouth falling agape, while his own uselessly opened and closed several times.

"A— a little. It's beautiful. … Actually more than a little. But that's not a bad thing!" he hurried as he heard her heartbeat increasing with each word. Her mind got caught in a loop.

"You… you think?" she asked hesitantly, slightly leaning in, the idea ridiculously appealing. When that happened?

"Y— yeah," he stuttered and that was definitely blush on his cheeks now, ears burning.

He raised his chin in combative gesture, trying to be the chill Matt he usually was, at least in public. He would try to turn it against her. But nope. This confession got hilarious very quickly. She really hoped he hadn't gotten hurt.

"Hm… that's… good to know, I guess."

She gently rubbed his thigh, pure innocence, leaving her hand there.

"Good."

Vera raised one corner of her mouth, letting her hand wander up. She lowered her eyes, unable to look at his face, no matter how much mental bravado she imagined she had.

"So it's… for you, it feels good?"

"What does?" Matt blurted out, shifting inconspicuously under her touch. Or was it her words?

"My mouth. On your—… you?"

His fingers twitched deliberately. She couldn't make herself check his expression. Were his eyes wide?When he didn't seem to be about to react, her gaze flickered to his face anyway. Yes, they were wide. And he gave a barely noticeable nod. The other corner of her lips rose too.

"So it's… it's not just the heat, softness and wetness or the… way I lick and move in general?" she continued, cocking her head to side, watching him gulp. Okay, she would never think she would be able to say something like this, but this was fun. Even without super-senses, she could feel the air changing. "It's more? Because you're so sensitive? You can feel every breath, but you can feel the structure and shape too?"

He caught her hand in a firm grip when she ran her fingers over the hem of his sweatpants near the forming bulge. She giggled like a teenage girl, she couldn't help it. His eyes were squeezed shut.

"Stop it, please," he pleaded hoarsely, his grab on her not loosening in the slightest. It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a solid no either.

"Why?" she asked innocently, surprised by the amount of strength he was willing to use to prevent her from touching him. Her hand couldn't move an inch. And she kinda wanted to move it.

"Because you're hurt right now and-"

"And you want."

Vera didn't wait for his permission. She slid down from the couch before he could stop her. To her utter relief, kneeling didn't hurt; not more than usually. His fingers dug into her wrist.

"Vera-"

"Hm?"

He didn't try to stop her when her free hand appeared on his hip, reaching for his sweatpants again. She looked up as he licked his own lips, expression somewhat torn. Then he reluctantly lost his grip and she used the opportunity to touch him lightly over the fabric.

Whatever he was about to say, it got lost as he pressed his lips together, inconspicuously leaning to the touch. It felt good to know she wasn't the only one who was too easy sometimes.

"Sometimes I wonder who from the two of us is the Devil," he breathed out shakily as she slowly stripped his pants to his knees.

She fought a chuckle bravely and won. "I think we both have our moments."

Vera drew small circles on his thighs until he somewhat melted to the couch, giving her a better access. She kissed him over the silk boxers, enjoying the way his muscles tensed as she did so. A fraction of second later, she felt his fingers in her hair, making her look up.

His gaze was incredibly focused, eyes narrowed, yet dazed. He slowly traced her lower lip with his thumb, his own lips parting. When he did it for the fourth time, drawing it down just a little, fascinated, she kissed his finger and sucked teasingly. His face was priceless.

"Succubus," he choked out and she sucked again, then leaving the finger so she could get to more important matters. She had a reputation to live up after all.

She kissed his lower abdomen while getting rid of the last piece of clothing in her way. She wavered, just breathing in and out through her mouth few times. And god, the way his fingers clasped her hair in silent plea…

"I'll take that as a compliment," she whispered and got to work.

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When I figure out what is wrong with me to write chapters like this, I'll let you know…

Glad you stumbled over this fic and I promise it will get less dirty and more 'plotty'.