Vampire Diaries 1. The Katherine Outtake

**IF YOU HAVE NOT READ "NO GOOD DEED" : these are outtakes which may make absolutely zero sense to you. I'm sorry. If you would like them to make sense, please to be going here:**

**www**** (dot) fanfiction (dot) net (slash) s (slash) 5987407 (slash) 1 (slash) No_Good_Deed**

_Disclaimer: No, I don't own this at all. Of course I don't._

_My holiday was awesome, and a very welcome break. My friend discovered I wrote fanfiction, and she told me the stuff I write is "hot". Thankayou to her. _

_This was inspired by g1rlanachr0n1sm's original idea of "Katherine keeping Tabs on the Salvatore Brothers, so why not her thoughts on Francesca."_

_Enjoy!_

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_**Katherine**_...

She did not, could not understand. There were no two ways about the fact that the boy she had once chosen to be with – even though he had been more than a boy at twenty-five at the time she had changed him – had simply chosen somebody else... and yet Katherine simply refused to understand.

She was a waste. She was human, and small, and petite and naive and everything that a man like Damon – convoluted, manipulative, demanding, _interesting_, should not have wanted.

_She was not even beautiful. He deserved some kind of beauty in his life._

Katherine had pictures of them, she had had them stolen from the photographer's office at some-place-or-another, and they had sickened her, because he was just as beautiful as the day she had left him and she was just... pointless.

"Miss Katherine?" She turned to look at the young girl who was standing in her doorway, looking as though she was about to faint from fear.

"What do you want?" The icy tone that Katherine spat with was almost enough to make the girl collapse.

"I have news..." The girl looked hesitant, because she knew, she _just knew _that the words that were resting on the tip of her tongue were nothing that Katherine, her mistress, her _master_, would want to hear, but she needed to hear them nonetheless, because this was important, and potentially changed everything.

"What is it, girl?" Once again, as she held out her hand and offered the small envelope to Katherine, the girl was shaking. It seemed as though that was all she did.

"T-the man. Damon Salvatore." There was a beat of silence, and Katherine looked at her, waiting for her to continue, "He has a wife."

_A plaything. She could only be his plaything, because he would never take a wife. _

"You are wrong, of course," _Though in her dead, cold heart, she knew that he had married. _

"No, ma'am," The girl was shaking her head, still offering the thick envelope, filled with photographs that would surely get her killed, "There are photographs." She offered the envelope again, and the older vampire snatched the envelope away with more than a little force and tore it open, fury lacing her every movement.

In the first picture, was the girl, her name unimportant because Katherine knew Damon was just biding his time until he could return to her, his sire, his maker, his lover. She was darker than Katherine was, with a pair of green eyes that made her stop and consider whether they were even real. Her hair was twisted up, all over the place in a beautiful style that Katherine knew would look better on her, with her longer hair, and her far superior grace – she was a vampire, it was far easier for her to carry everything off and make it look completely effortless.

Infuriated further by this clear charade, she flicked through another photograph to allow her heart to flutter at the sight of Damon, his smile stunning and his face brighter than she had seen him in a long time. He had one of his hands resting against the girl's waist, and the other pulling at a strand of hair that had clearly fallen from the mass of hair taken away from her face. His eyes were brilliantly blue, sparkling even in the photograph, and Katherine could have killed to be in the tiny woman's place, standing there, waiting to be kissed by the god that was Damon Salvatore.

_But she wasn't. She had left his life and been replaced by __**this. **_

Turning pages over, flicking through more of the photographs, she saw the smile on Damon's face grow wider as he danced with the girl, eyes darkening as he lowered his lips to hers, then the pictures lost colour and she saw it. She saw the truth. She saw the attraction because she saw the darkness in the girl's eyes, the pull that Damon felt to the girl.

When she looked to the left, she was beautiful, because he was standing there. When her lips were bruised by the force of a kiss that was clearly too much for her to take, it was because he had made the kiss whole. He made the girl whole. He completed her.

But Katherine missed the point. Katherine missed the point that _**Damon**_ was a whole man because _he_ had the girl in _his_ arms. He had reconnected with something that Katherine had taken away without a second thought, that his brother had forced him to become, and he had fallen in love with it.

"Get out." Katherine was suddenly overcome with loss and fury, and perhaps a little bit of sickness and irritation. "I don't want to be disturbed-"

"No ma'am," The girl nodded and almost sprinted from the room that her mistress was curled up in. She was scared for her life and knew she had to get far, far away.

What she did not know was that Miss Katherine was thinking of doing exactly the same thing. She had hitched up her jeans, wrapped her arms around herself and sprinted out of a second floor window, determined to escape from a reality that she did not want to accept.

_She would go to Seri. She would find out for herself that this was not real. That he was not in love. He couldn't be, he loved her, they both adored each other... and now he was toying with a human..._

But when she alighted, stopped in the gravel outside of the place she knew to be the Salvatore household, the one that the brothers rented because nobody had ever slept there – until now, apparently, because as Katherine attempted to enter through the unlocked back door, she was beaten back by such an unknown force that she knew somebody human resided there – she could hear him.

She could hear them.

"Francesca?" His voice was supple, soft music to her ears after nearly one-hundred-and-fifty years, "Dolcezza, it's late... and I want-" So very Damon. Katherine turned to leave, but couldn't. She _needed_ to know more, the compelling urge to have the truth kept her in the shadows, listening to the scene of sickening domesticity.

"I know, but just another couple of pages?" She let out a sigh, and then a giggle, and Katherine tensed as she heard a growl she had not heard in a lifetime. _The possessive, fuck me growl. _"Damon!" And a soft groan let her know that he was distracting her from her book.

"Please, Francesca?" Katherine could imagine it perfectly. _His hands on her waist, her body responding as – thunk – the book fell to the floor without a marker or a dog-eared page. She would feel her way in the half-light of the bedside lamp, and he would claim her with slow-moving fingers and a soft hand pulling her slim hips on top of him as she gasped, and he was _there. _Right there. _

Katherine finally could not stand to hear, to think of more. She backed away from the Salvatore household, the place she would never frequent in the night time again, and decided that she would wait until she could see him alone. _Perhaps when the human was dead._

She never considered the possibility that he was really in love.

...

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A/N: The Next outtake will be up on Tuesday, a StefAbelle outtake, and probably smutty.

_**Please to review? Thanka you**_


	2. The StefAbelle Outtake

**IF YOU HAVE NOT READ "NO GOOD DEED" : these are outtakes which may make absolutely zero sense to you. I'm sorry. If you would like them to make sense, please to be going here:**

**www (dot) fanfiction (dot) net (slash) s (slash) 5987407 (slash) 1 (slash) No_Good_Deed**

Disclaimer: No. No-no. No. No. No. Is that enough? I still don't own it. Get over it.

Yes. Stefan is like Damon here. Yes. This is deliberate. Yes. Fine.

He's evil. Well. No. He's just... ugh.

Enjoy your StefAbelle. It's a bit dark. And YES STEFAN IS ACTING LIKE DAMON. If you want an explanation, keep reading.

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**_Italy, 1971_**

She was exactly his type, and that was precisely the damn problem. Her eyes were wide, brown, and staring, and she was petite and skinny and pretty and he was in love.

Just like that.

But that was Stefan all over. Rushing into things, starting things without bothering to consider the consequences. Considering all the women all over the world and finally deciding that, of all people, the young Ms. Annabelle Moretti, with the sister Juliet, was the woman for him.

At least for now.

He never did hang around; usually it was just long enough to learn their names, when he could even be bothered to do that, drink their blood and leave them with a mental block, a considerable chunk of memory that was dead, gone and never coming back. It was strange, as well, that their lower body would ache for a day or so afterward, but none of them understood.

Until Annabelle.

It had been at a small party, friends of friends gathered in one of Milan's up-and-coming restaurants. He had been at the next table. He had been interesting, and brooding, and had stared at her as though he was desperate to take her away, lock her up and slowly, carefully, as though they had days on end to seal the deal, devour her.

He was the hunter, and she was his prey. She had no chance of escape.

She allowed herself to become so, as well. It was easy for him to ingratiate himself because she was lonely, her sister having married, her mother sick and her father semi-absent, on business trips across the world.

She was twenty-one, bored and lonely, as only those with the right amount of money could be. He was nineteen, American, and exciting. She could not have asked for any more in the level of difference and excitement that he could bring.

Both of them wanted difference and excitement – so it was only natural that they ended up in the one place that they could control all of that. Between the sheets of the nearest hotel room. His angular jaw being bitten and kissed; her hips so slim that he could feel her bones beneath her skin. Just how he liked it.

He desired controlling a girl who had barely any control of herself. It was his drug of choice.

She had been... _ill_, before she had met him, barely surviving on meals which were unreal, unable to comprehend the sheer volume others would eat, but when they had come together, almost crashed two worlds into one, she had found a new addiction.

_Him. _

It didn't help that the first time they were together; he had quickly influenced her to believe he was _the_ answer. That he could do no wrong. That she should... well. That was all the fun that he could have, and none of it for her.

She didn't notice the memory lapses, the twists in time where she didn't exist, and everybody else told her she was doing something, anything – kissing him in public, pulling him into a broom closet and having her way with him, putting on weight so that she looked healthy again.

Juliet Luch, nee Moretti was so thankful for Stefan Salvatore, because to her, it looked as though her sister had been brought back to life. Rescued.

.

.

"Anna-" Stefan lifted her hips up as he slipped into her, filling her, stretching her and making her feel complete as she gasped and felt her nails rake across his skin, "You're so... so tight-"

"Please," She whispered as he lowered his lips to hers, "Harder..." And he complied, their hands intertwined as he pounded into her at some kind of superhuman speed, and her head began to hurt.

"Are you alright?" He'd seen her squeeze her eyes tight shut, but did not begin to pull back, his hips still grinding into hers. She loved the feeling of him pressed into her, wetness and hardness and friction and _ohgodrightthere._

"My head hurts." She whispered, "Can I drink?" He nodded and pressed his lips to his own wrist, unthinking, before offering her the blood on his skin. Eyes wide, she accepted, feeling the rejuvenation, and loving it.

Until he pulled her lips away and asked if she would return the favour. She had not noticed the clouded eyes, dilated pupils commanding her to obey him as the veins popped, protruded from his skull.

"Yes." At the squeak of her acquiescence, he lowered his lips to the pulse point on her neck and simply devoured her, razor sharp fangs breaking the skin and meaning that the perfection that was the taste of human blood went sliding down Stefan's throat and he _had _to drink her dry.

Bloodlust and lust and arousal and sex and heat and friction and _god. He wanted to take her until she couldn't breathe. _

"You taste-" But her eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow. "Annabelle?" He did not pull away from her, but forced his lips from her neck to bring his eyes to look at hers, "Anna, Anna, look at me!" He was actually worried about her. That had never happened before.

She would not stir, and the feelings of self-hatred and sheer regret pounded through him. _He had not intended to kill her._ He ran a hand down her cheek and gently offered a thrust of his hips.

The constant sensation of the past ten minutes, coupled with the high of Stefan's blood in her system and the sheer arousal of being bitten and sucked on, and combined with that final offer of friction, sent her spiralling into a climax Stefan was not even sure she could feel.

He could feel it, though, and it was... _god. _He needed to get out. All he could smell was blood, but he hadn't intended... he didn't mean for this to happen. _He needed to drink again._ He couldn't drink again.

He was desperate to destroy her, he could barely breathe and that was all he wanted. He wanted to bury himself into her again, her body angular against his as she screamed but did not fight, because he had told her not to.

But he couldn't.

Almost killing her had switched his humanity back on.

He had to leave.

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_A/N: Rant? Alright. _

_**Review? Thanka you. **_

_Next one will be up on Friday. I like this one. _


	3. The Damon Outtake

**IF YOU HAVE NOT READ "NO GOOD DEED" : these are outtakes which may make absolutely zero sense to you. I'm sorry. If you would like them to make sense, please to be going here:**

**www (dot) fanfiction (dot) net (slash) s (slash) 5987407 (slash) 1 (slash) No_Good_Deed**

_Disclaimer: No, I don't own this at all. Of course I don't._

_The last chapter was posted a couple of days ago, due to the site being a bit weird, I had to repost the chapter, because it was coming up as weird or strange. If you didn't catch it, do take a look – it was Stefan-Annabelle. Let me know what you thought!_

_This is Damon's outtake. Please tell me what you think_

_And Enjoy. _

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_**Italy, January, 1991. **_

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I raised my hand to knock on the door, fear making my hands shake and my head spin. _I had not felt like this in so long. _Nothing felt like this. Fear, panic and sheer trepidation coursing through me as I waited for Francesca to open the door.

"Come in," She whispered as she pulled the door open, looking incredible, stunning, stealing my words as I tasted her scent in the air. She had caught her leg at the calf, shaving it; I could smell her blood, as well.

I smiled and took her hand, looking at the bright blue sundress and feeling my desire for something _else _grow as I bit my bottom lip and looked at her. My hands caught around her hips and I could not help but pull her against me, leaning down to kiss her lips, but feeling her hand lift to push me away.

I was disheartened, but only for a second.

"My parents are coming," She said finally, as I went to lean in again, and damn if I just _couldn't _do this. I couldn't stand there and be normal when I knew. I knew what my brother had done, and I just wanted to do this right, to make everything right, and make it perfect for her. For my pretty girl. As she tugged me into the hallway, impatient as usual, and rested her hand against my arm, she voiced aloud exactly what was obvious to the rest of the world. "You're shaking."

"I can't stop." And even my voice was trembling. I could not be afraid here. I could not let the fear of losing this – of losing _her _get in the way of this. "All I've done all morning is shake..."

And almost immediately, I was pacing. Everything was taking too long, and her parents weren't here, and I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and take her away and just... just _be. _

"Slow down," Her hands were caressing mine so lightly, so gently, "Calm down, Damon, please..." She ran her fingertips across my cheeks, and I could almost _feel _the veins sinking away, my stress no longer manifesting in the vampire-mask I wore when I could not keep control. She rescued me. She could _always _rescue me. "It'll all be alright, okay?"

I was nodding, trying to convince both myself and my body that her words were the truth. Nervousness and panic were still coursing through me as voices sounded from the kitchen area, and I heard the soft sounds of a screen door closing.

Then Juliet Luch appeared, beside Francesca's father, and I could _really _see where Francesca got her looks from.

"Madre, papa, this is Damon," Francesca, my epitome of calm, was almost shaking as hard as I was. I couldn't take my hands away from her – even though her parents thought it was probably inappropriate – she was keeping me grounded when I thought I was about to be sick. Juliet looked at me, smiling, and then back at her daughter, my girl, who looked ridiculously hopeful. "Damon Salvatore."

"Salvatore?" I winced as Juliet almost flew up from the floor. Her gaze appraised me and I wondered whether she was trying to recognise me, trying to see a familiar face when she had never, ever seen me before. Eventually, after possibly the longest pause ever to exist, she held out her hand, "Do you hail from Milan?"

I breathed a sigh of relief and took her fingers in my own. For an ill woman, she was definitely strong. She smiled at me again, waiting patiently.

"No, Mrs. Luch," And for a second I wondered where I should say I _was _from, "Personally, I don't. My brother Stefan, on the other hand, he definitely spent some time in Milan a few years ago."

_Probably_ not the right thing to say. Juliet Luch's face tightened and she frowned just a little.

"How old are you?" What am I supposed to say? _Oh, I'm one hundred and fifty soon, but don't worry, your daughter's safe with me. Did I mention I'm a vampire?_ Hmm, maybe _not._

"Twenty-one." In reverse dog years. I had to say it, though, because if I was going to hang around longer than a few months – which I definitely intended to, I needed to start small. Francesca would thank me when I got to twenty five.

"I see." She nodded, but I knew that she could see through me. "Where are you going tonight?"

"I thought I would take Francesca out to a restaurant I know," And as Francesca's blush intensified beside me, I bit my bottom lip, and looked her up and down._ She was so very beautiful. _"I've made reservations for half past seven," I stopped and watched her parents' reactions, and, at the nod of her father, subtle in the background, I carried on, "I thought we might go walking by the river afterwards," The touch of my hand, brushing down her bare arm, ensured that she knew _walking _would mean an entirely different activity. Francesca leaned into me and rested her head against my shoulder.

"Of course," Francesca's mother nodded, her father following on behind, and we readied ourselves to leave for the night. "Be back by midnight, and Francesca?" We both turned at the heightened tone and surely quirked eyebrows, "Be careful."

"Of course, Madre." My girl nodded, still clinging onto my hand and swinging our arms between us, and I couldn't help but turn around, flashing my biggest grin at her as we started to walk away.

"I'll make sure she doesn't come to any harm." She must have thought I was a demon.

.

.

.

I felt as though I was seventeen again. My hands were constantly glued to at least one part of Francesca, all the way through the drive up to the restaurant, with our fingers entwined, my lips on the back of her knuckles, my hand running across her shoulders...

"I can't let go of you." And I'm sure she thought I meant that I wouldn't take my hands from her. Of course not. My words were all about the way she was starting to become more than just a girl. She was starting to become... everything.

Everything I thought about, from morning to night – well, unless I was thinking about blood, whiskey or sex.

Of course, _**She**_ took over at least a third of that, the whiskey had taken a backseat because I had another addiction – _her –_ and blood was easy access when she would share with me. _Symbiosis._ I'd even looked it up. We functioned because we had each other. And I was alright with that.

"Stop trying to charm me," She laughed, as I practically sprinted around the Ferrari and held the door open for her, bowing forward as she stepped out. My lips flew to her neck as she let me wrap my arms around her, and she let out a soft giggle as I pressed soft kisses to her skin.

"Is it working?" And her soft _hmm_ was more than enough to make me smile. "Come on, pretty girl, you're making us late."

And I pulled away with a wink, never expecting her to smack my arm and refuse to move.

"Me? Me?" She threw her hands to her hips, pouting in a poor attempt not to laugh, "You mauled _me _in the parking lot, Damon."

"You want to be mauled?" I let rip with the biggest smirk I could have mustered, dropped my voice and let it drip with sheer desire. "_Get in the car_." What she would never know was that I reserved that tone for her.

_Only her._

"_Scusi?" _Her eyes went wide and I could smell what I was doing to her. She wanted to jump straight back into the Ferrari and go, and I could see it in her eyes as well, but I would _not _be giving her the satisfaction. "I _thought_ we were going for dinner."

_Two could clearly play this game._

"We're going to be late," I said, offering my hand to her. She took it, and I yanked her toward me, wrapping my arm around her waist and letting my hand rest on her backside. I don't think she'd ever seen me like this – determined, aroused and feeling just a little bit dangerous, and I think she was enjoying it. "Come on."

We strode up the steps to the restaurant, and, ever uncomfortable in front of crowds, Francesca tightened her grip on me. If I had been human, it probably would have hurt.

"Avete una prenotazione, signore?" The girl was tiny, and staring at Francesca as though she wanted to attack her. Frankly, it was quite irritating, because if this bleached-blonde-wannabe-bunny thought she was going to get her claws into _this_ asshole, she had another think coming. I was Francesca's, to do with as she desired.

"Sì, per due persone, il nome è Salvatore." _I think I killed my girl._ She didn't move for a good thirty seconds, staring at me as though I was carved from diamonds.

"I didn't know you spoke... well, _sortofgood_ Italian."

For the record, we conversed in seventy-percent English. It was easier, mainly because Francesca's geographical interests were based in mainly English-speaking countries, and she needed all of the help she could get in nailing it fluently, and I might have been alive for nearly a century and a half – but that just meant that my capacity to absorb languages was getting a little bit useless.

At least, that's what we told each other.

_I'd simply been waiting to wow her. _

"You never asked."

"You're... Tu sei pazzo!" But she was smiling as I took both my hands, placed them on her hips and followed her through the restaurant. We sat off to the side, finding ourselves wrapped in our own little bubble and simply talking through the meal, our hands constantly interlinked, my thumb running across the back of her hand, her eyes and blush betraying how much she was enjoying just _being._

That was what I had wanted. What I had always wanted. _To be. _

_._

_._

.

We drank wine. We drank wine, and I asked for the bottle. Francesca stopped at two glasses, then asked me for a third, and when we had finished, we got up, had a small disagreement over who would be paying for who – _I won, of course, and paid for the entire meal –_ and simply sat in the Ferrari for a little bit.

Well, I say sat... she wrapped herself up in my jacket, curled up against my chest and refused to stop kissing me. Thirty-nine minutes, seventeen and a half seconds well spent, to be honest.

"Shall we go?" I managed, as she forced herself to move to the passenger seat, lips bruised and swollen from my kisses and smile wider than the Atlantic Ocean. She pouted at my suggestion, running her hands over her dress and smoothing it to her knees.

"I'm not ready for tonight to end," She whispered, and she looked so sad.

"Did I say I was taking you home?" I smiled at her, and I'm sure I heard her breath catch in her throat. "I believe I mentioned a walk by the river."

"Oh." And when I gunned the engine on the Ferrari and took off from the parking lot, she let out a low growl and took possession of what I think were the remnants of my soul. "_Damon_."

She was still tipsy, quite clearly, as she stumbled walking on what was a completely flat pavement, though that just gave me an excuse to let her cling onto me, and that let me hold onto my humanity, just that little bit longer. Tonight, I wasn't a vampire; I wasn't one hundred and forty-odd years old. Tonight, I was Francesca's boyfriend, and we could be perfect.

The water was cool, soft sounds and barely any current to swirl the late night paddlers away, and as we sat down on the edge of a jetty on the riverside, I pulled my shoes off, took off my socks and rolled my trousers up, just so I could put my feet in the water and feel a little bit more alive.

"Can you help me?" Her small voice sounded from beside me, and her lips curved into a frown as she struggled to unbuckle one of the straps on her sandals, "Damn thing's stuck."

Without a word, I pulled her feet into my lap and in a half-second, I had her shoes beside mine, my arm around her waist as she slipped her feet into the cool, still water lapping at the bank and under her feet. Her head dropped onto my shoulder a moment later, and she whispered something to me that I barely caught on the breeze.

"What does it feel like?" And I didn't really know what she meant. "To be like... you _are_?"

"Like I was made to be?" She nodded, and I frowned, because that would taint everything that this evening was about. "That's not important when I'm with you." And when I spoke, there was an entirely different burn in the back of my throat – nothing like a desire for blood. It made me blink, vigorously, violently, just to be rid of the pain of elation.

"What does it feel like when you're with me, then?" She whispered a second later, as though she had processed my words and understood me. _The way she always did. _

"Not to feel pressured into darkness, or the bad things, but to just be happy." I wanted that chance. I wanted her to give it to me. "I'm always happy when I'm with you."

Because I was, and nothing would change that for even a second.

.

.

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_A/N: This is posted Early. Mainly because yes. I loved this one. Damon being goofy, sexy, dangerous... and cute._

_**Please to review?**_

Translations:

"Avete una prenotazione, signore?" – Do you have a reservation, sir?

"Sì, per due persone, il nome è Salvatore." – Yes, for two people, the name is Salvatore

"Tu sei pazzo" – You're delusional!


	4. The FirstTime Outtake

**IF YOU HAVE NOT READ "NO GOOD DEED" : these are outtakes which may make absolutely zero sense to you. I'm sorry. If you would like them to make sense, please to be going here:**

**www (dot) fanfiction (dot) net (slash) s (slash) 5987407 (slash) 1 (slash) No_Good_Deed**

_Disclaimer: Phleh. No, I don't own it. But blimey, did you see Sherlock on BBC1 last night? I kinda wanna bang Benedict Cumberbatch. But not as much as __**the Ian**__. _

_Enjoy this one – and review?_

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_**Francesca and Damon's First Time Together (Wahey!)**_

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"Have you had sex before?" The question was awkward, as she laid spread-eagled on the bed before him, feeling him run his hands up and down her thighs as he sat between her legs, just touching her – teasing her.

"When I was eighteen," She said, "Just once. He was an ass, and I had to..." She stopped as she realised that he would probably laugh at her for this, "_take care of myself, _in his bathroom afterwards." Very quickly, Damon's hands had reached up to her stomach; toying with the soft skin there instead of the one place she wanted his fingers.

"He didn't get you off?" And Francesca was sure she heard him growl aloud. He was furious, she could tell, just by looking at his face.

"No, he was a... _sonofabitch," _She whispered, and he grinned at her use of such foul language. He liked it when she talked dirty.

"You know what he should have done?"

"What?"

"What I'm about to do." She let out a gasp as she felt his hands at her breasts, feeling her through the fabric of her bra, touching her, tasting the skin between them with his tongue.

"You want to do... _it_ now?" Through her lust induced haze, the mere mention of sex was incredibly enticing.

"You don't?" He quirked his eyebrow, and in the simple, desperate way that they always reacted to physical intimacy, she kicked him in the ribs and he, very gently, very carefully, bit her.

She gasped and her back arched as she realised that he was tonguing the bite marks as though she were his instrument, and they were about to play a concerto. _Jesus, was it ever good. _

His hands were all over her, touching, feeling, unable to pull away.

She was used to it – and besides, it was not as though she acted any differently. Her hands were currently nestled in their second home – twisted into the unruly, dark messiness that was his hair, and feeling so very good when he kissed her collarbone and she liked it so much that she tugged on his roots.

"Do that again," He growled as her head dropped back, and his lips found a better purchase at the base of her throat. She complied, and he let out a soft groan. She tasted so good to him, the beat of her pulse in her neck setting the tempo of his kisses and the gentle movements of his tongue against her skin. "God, Francesca..." He stopped and pulled away from her, "You do that, and you don't know the things I want to do to you."

"Then do them." Her eyes were wide open, staring straight back at him as her fingertips massaged over his shoulders and the relaxing motion, so gently and kind, made him grin wider than he had done all night.

Slowly, and ever so carefully, Damon lowered her back against his pillows and pressed his lips gently to her forehead, her cheeks and then to her lips, parting them gently with his tongue and tasting her as she did the same to him.

"I don't... want to hurt you." In reality, he did not want his natural instinct – to fuck and run, to kick in as soon as he had done it with her. She was too... good for that. And he did not want to let her go.

"You won't." He could hear the strength in her voice, the conviction in her thoughts clearly showing through in her speech.

"How can you be so... so _sure_?"

"You don't want to hurt me." She murmured, her hands brushing gently up and down his forearms as he held himself over her. "I can see it in your eyes... even when you have your mask up, when everything else takes over."

He was momentarily frozen in place, his eyes wide and his lips parted slightly. Then the smirk returned to his face and he flipped them over so that Francesca was straddling his hips and his hands could wander without the threat of impressing his weight upon her.

It wasn't as though this was the first time they had been in such a position, more than once, he had found his hands brushing gently across her tautening nipples, his lips finding purchase on her skin, gently breaking through it and tasting her blood as she did the same, tasting everything he had to offer.

"Damon," Her hands were running lightly over his sculpted chest, and he loved when she used her nails. "Please..."

This time she sounded more than entirely desperate. He could not breathe for the scent of her arousal, for the desire for her desire. She brushed her hands through his hair, earning another pleasant groan and suddenly her underwear was absolutely in tatters. _Again._

"You're terrible." She whispered, her lips parted as his hips bucked up and her hands caught up against his pillows. "Every time, worse than the last, and teasing," Two fingers slipped into the remnants of her underwear and brushed the silky wetness of her. He pushed harder, knowing she was not ready, knowing that no matter how many times they had done this, if they were going _that _far, if he was making her, making all of this **real**, he would need her ready and prepared.

She gasped as he thumbed her clit gently, arched her back and let out a gentle keening moan as her muscles relaxed, then wound tight and she ground down on him, her weight pleasant, damning and utterly beautiful, delicious against him.

"You're sinful," He murmured, and she frowned, shaking her head as he pulled her against his chest and slowly ran his fingers across her cheeks. "Every time-"

"Shut up," She whispered again, laughing as she pressed butterfly kisses to his lips as she tried to force her strength to recoup.

In a few, precious minutes, they were all over one another again, Damon's hands bending and shaping a pliable, flexible Francesca as he laid her back down on her back and her legs swung around his hips, almost immediately sending him into growls and groans to rival the... _sexiest _wolf.

"Are you ready?" He whispered, slowly shimmying himself out of his boxers and kicking them sideways to hang from the silk sheets in a most awkward fashion. She nodded, her hands on his shoulders and holding on for dear life, just because this was it, this _could _be the moment to define them. "Say it out loud, so I know. So we're sure."

"Yes, Damon. Please..." And in the slowest and most deliciously addictive motion, he pushed forward, angling himself to fill her so completely that she could feel him everywhere.

He stretched her anyway, he was bigger than anything she had ever had before, and she adored the feeling, because her eyes were barely open, and yet she was staring at a Damon who was so on the edge of losing control, that his eyes were screwed tight, face set in a concentration she had never been privileged to see before.

"Are you alright?" He ground the words out through gritted teeth when he realised he could not hear her even breathing, she was so hypnotised by the sensations, and the feeling. "Francesca, talk to me... breathe..."

"You feel..." She experimentally lifted her hips and tightened her legs around him as she went. His arms shook over her and he let out a gasp at the same time as she clenched her walls around him. "_Incredible_."

"Sinful." He retorted, waiting for her to breathe again so that he could thrust into her slowly, taking his time with the girl he wanted forever with.

_Forever? _His thoughts selected the single word from the jumble and he found himself staring down into Francesca's eyes with a little more than panic in his eyes. _You see her as forever?_

"_Yes_. Oh, god, _yes..._" The words were out of his mouth before he could even process their implications. She had not moved around him, her hands simply clinging to him in his moment of curious stasis. At no point had she been able to tell what was running through his head, until he had opened his mouth.

_She thought he agreed with their perfection._

_He realised that his subconscious was growing attached to her, and in just the right way._

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**_A/N: I have a massively busy week ahead, but the fifth (and potentially not final outtake) will be up on Thursday!_**

**_Review? xx_**


	5. The Endings Outtake

_**Disclaimer: This is the fifth outtake. If it was my series to begin with, I wouldn't need outtakes. I'd have "bonus chapters"**_

_To all of my readers, from the beginning and to the end. You have been incredible, as you have given me nearly 20,000 hits on No Good Deed itself, and nearly 1,000 on the outtakes. Thank you._

_To All of my Reviewers, from just one chapter, to them all. You make me smile, you make me laugh, you understand what I'm saying, and you get it. You get Damon. You got Francesca. You gave me a portmanteau. Thank you._

_This is the end, as far as Damon and Stefan are concerned. There may or may not be a sixth outtake, which is floating at the moment. I will let you know, because I'll either post it, or I won't. Simple as._

_Please, enjoy this._

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_**Italy, 1994**_

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She was gone. Francesca was gone, and he had dared to let her go. The breaths he took were sheer agony, and he felt as though he would go blind from the sensation. His hands clenched into fists and he could feel the indentations that the ring... Her ring had left on his skin.

_Everything hurt._

The roaring growl which exploded from his lips would have shaken the largest lion to the core. With every breath, his whole body shook, every tendon, every ligament and muscle feeling the separation from his girl, and hating it, loathing it, begging for a hand to hold and warmth to spread through him, the kind of warmth he associated only with her.

He lifted his hands above his head, clutching the glass lamp so tight that it was cracking in his grip, and without a second thought, unleashed it. The movement of his arms, muscles shifting as he threw the thing to the floor, watched the coloured glass shatter into pieces and let out a loud crash as the metal stand hit the carpet. It was satisfactory, yes, but it was in no way enough.

_Nothing_ would be enough. Nothing could take the pain away, could bring her back or let him hear her voice speak his name. Everything was broken. He was broken, she was broken, every tangible connection was severed.

_So everything had to go._

Decimated, smashed, shattered, and broken. Just four words to describe both the state of the room, and the state of Damon's heart. He was breathing, every movement pure fire and brimstone coursing through his veins, and he was crying, every tear a pure, shimmering drop of ice.

He was born for trouble, always destined to be conflicted. He had never, ever dreamed that he was also destined to be alone. Forever.

_You were a part of this from the beginning. You will never have a heart, because you will never know what it is to have a heart. You changed her. You broke her. You lost her. _

"What the hell-" The door was wide open, because in his serious fit of rage at some point after dawn, Damon had flung a chair at it, throwing it entirely from its hinges. Stefan was stood on the threshold to what had, only hours ago, been Damon and Francesca's bedroom, his mouth hanging open and his eyes almost rolling from his head. "What happened?"

And, turning so swiftly at the sound of his voice, Damon could see an outlet. Somewhere he could throw his rage, with no threat of injuring or damaging anything further. He just needed to make somebody else hurt – and the appearance of his so-called-brother – _for what brother would call his sister-in-law a monster? –_ gave Damon exactly the person.

"You!" In half a second, he was on top of Stefan. Hands reaching out to choke him, fingertips twisting at his hair and pulling it. If it had not hurt so much to witness the sheer agony of a breakdown, it would have almost been amusing.

_Two vampires locked in a cat-fight. _

"What about me?" He was panting from the sheer force of Damon's body landing on top of him, the weight of a vampire being one which was just slightly less comfortable than a small bear.

"You killed her!" And Damon's voice was constricted by fear, his eyes blinded by tears. Every jab, every scratch, every attempt to maim was accurate, however, and Stefan _knew_ he would not stop, "This is all _your_ fault!"

"How is it my fault? It's not my fault she took my words to heart!" Another blow to the side of the head, another injury that he hoped would heal faster than the rest. "She was dangerous!"

"She didn't need to die."

_But what he was really saying was that Stefan had no right to interfere._

Defeated, knowing that no matter how hard he fought with the creature – for this was not his brother – who had eventually brought down his soul mate's sanity, she could never be regained; Damon fell away from Stefan and rose to his feet.

"I don't want to see you right now." He spoke quietly, dangerously, and for once, Stefan decided to heed the sound of his brother's voice. He closed his eyes, nodded, turned, and walked away.

He would never utter an apology.

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_**Mystic Falls, 2011**_

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Stefan sat at his writing desk, head in his hands. He had been near-silent for almost a month now, only answering in guttural growls or monosyllabic grunts as Elena and Bonnie tried to make conversation.

He had found the black book on New Year's Eve, and slowly made his way through it, finding each picture of the girl his brother had fallen for, and each picture of the brother he had lost because of her, more painful and more wounding than the last. At the back of the book was a picture from Francesca and Damon's wedding day, of the bride, the groom, and Stefan.

Damon's best man.

He had stared at it for a long time, realising that even then, Damon had wanted him around. Damon had wanted him as a part of his life. He had pushed that away when he had pushed Francesca away.

_Then he'd turned the picture over. _Of course there was a caption, and of course, every word was like a knife. It was obviously Francesca's writing, the small script so elegant and feminine, yet somewhat dangerous – a side-effect of life with Damon, even your handwriting began to change.

_**Love: It's holding onto something so tight that you fear you'll hurt it, strangle it. But at the same time, you cannot move a muscle... you **__**won't **__**move a muscle, just in case you accidentally let go. It is the same for family, as it is for a couple. **_

_**L-R: Stefan, Me, Damon**_

Stefan would never have a brother to hold his hand through what laid ahead of him – through the potential trials as he and Elena grew older and grew up – because he himself had destroyed the precedent.

It was his fault. If he had the choice, if he had any semblance of the Power he needed to make it happen, he would throw himself back into the winds of time, and when he heard Francesca call his name, screaming for help, he would run to her, stop her from making the biggest mistake of her un-life, and give Damon his reason to live.

He wished he could apologise._**No**__, he wished he didn't have __**anything**__ to be sorry for. _

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_**A/N: Any chance of a review?**_

_**I have nothing more to say, other than: This is my first completed fic. I had a half-timeline, a lot of time, and a million ideas. I had the backing of a friend, and made several more over the course of the 24 chapters of the story. **_

_**You're all frecking awesome (and by You, I think y'all know who you are)**_


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Vampire Diaries, Hurt-Comfort, Romance