Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3606996.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean/Original_Female_Character(s), Dean/Metta
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Original_Angel_Character(s), Crowley_(Supernatural),
      Metta_-_Character
  Additional Tags:
      Fluff, Alcohol, Teenagers_in_bars, Kissing, Kelly_Clarkson_-_Freeform,
      Dancing, Crowley_Being_an_Asshole, Awkward_Crush, Guardian_Angels, Smut,
      Choking, Panties, Demon_Dean_Winchester, Dean's_an_asshole
  Series:
      Part 2 of Loving_me_is_the_worst_thing_you'll_ever_do.
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-03-24 Updated: 2015-07-27 Chapters: 3/? Words: 4631
****** The Best Part. ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     The second part in the series. Dean and Metta's relationship wasn't
     all bad, really. Here are all of their best parts.
***** Wrapping Around *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Dean Winchester was quite the physical specimen. Leaning against the bar, all
muscle and a dark aura that made her insides shake. This was the man she was
made to protect, even going as far to be cast out of Heaven. And here he was: a
Knight of Hell road tripping with the King of Hell. To be honest, she didn't
expect it. 
At that moment she hated herself, probably looking like an ugly duckling even
in the same room as Dean Winchester. Metta did have the awkward body of a 15
year old, and she fidgeted with her cap, pulling the bottle of alcohol closer. 
It was in this moment of insecurity that he looked over, eyes a lush green,
holding a malice despite the cheery color. After speaking a few words to
Crowley, Dean grabbed his beer and sauntered over, swagger prominent in his
gait. 
"Well, hello there. Names Dean. What's a pretty little thing like you doing in
a place like this." He flirted, shooting her a cocky grin that made a fan of
lines appear in the outer corners of his brilliant eyes. 
A blush lit her freckled cheeks, a hand going to cover her mouth. The ex-
Archangel had always been very shy, and at the moment all she could do was
blush and stare down at the table with a embarrassed little smile.
"Talking ain't your thing is it, sweetheart?" His drawl practically turned her
into a puddle on the cheap faux leather of the stool. "It's all good, I like
the shy, beautiful types." He said, grinning again, wolfish in intention as the
older man reached across and placed a soft hand on her thigh, which was
bouncing under the table. 
Metta blushed harder, if at all possible, and pushed her glasses up her nose a
bit. She wasn't really accustomed to being hit on by men for whom she had
basically done everything, so her flirting game wasn't even close to par. She
watched as he slid into the stool across the small, circular table, ordering
another round and then turning her way, smirking. 
She could see his demonic face, still relatively noticeable and quite handsome,
even if twisted by the evil of his new knighthood.
"So are gonna tell me your name, or are you gonna keep tryin'a count my
freckles?" Dean smirked, soft pink lips pulling back to reveal white, almost
predatory teeth. 
She debated in her mind for a split second, but she couldn't leave without him
knowing at least one person was there for him to depend on. "Metta...I'm
Metta." 
"Gotta last name?" He asked, raising those perfect eyebrows and sipping his
beer. His lips were now officially pink pillows she decided as she shook her
head, not able to think of one of the many she had had over the millennia. 
                      --------
Crowley knew something wasn't right, could sense it as they walked into the
old, foul smelling dive bar. His new bestie kept looking at this girl in the
corner, not really Dean's  type. Bony and pale, with black-lined cloudy grey
eyes and freckles smattering across her high cheekbones and the visible parts
of her shoulders. Tattoos peaked out from behind clothes, curls of black ink in
stark contrast with her skin and the light colored sweater she was wearing. 
With a gruff murmur of, "Don't wait up." Dean had made his way over to the
strange girl, obviously flirting with her if the blush was any indication. The
girl managed to pull her gaze away from Dean to meet Crowley's. Her large grey
eyes blinked twice before flicking back to the charming man trying to win her
affections. 
As the minutes continued, she began to look more and more familiar, with that
offish feeling growing in his chest. It all clicked when she slid off the
stool, Dean holding her hand and pulling her onto the dance floor, turning to
face away from the King sitting at the table. Two jagged scars paralleled
themselves, separated by the prominent column of her spine. 
He had once known an angel like that, an angel thrown from Heaven for no reason
that anyone could decipher, forced to wander around aimlessly. But more
importantly, it was Dean Winchester's guardian angel. Crowley's eyebrows
elevated as he turned to look at the two, hesitant to intervene. Dean hated
whenever the King of Hell would ruin his chances to take a girl home, and even
then wouldn't understand the dangers of their contact at all. 
Sighing gruffly, he took another sip of his beer and shook his head, watching
as Dean grabbed her tentative hands, swaying them to the twangy country pouring
out the of the clunky jukebox in the corner. Hoping that Dean didn't know the
kind of danger he was getting himself into.  
                 --------------
She can't really dance, too bony and awkward to seem graceful, but Dean
suggested it, coercing her onto the makeshift floor, putting her hands in his
much larger ones. 
The music was awful, some cheesy thing about dirt roads and beer, like most
country music, but she enjoyed his presence. Leading her around the tiny dance
floor, no one in particular looking at the two, except some cougars at a back
table, grumbling and glaring at her, envious that she had reeled in such a
catch.
He spun her once, warm hand catching her by the middle of her back, fingers
spread so that his pinkie rested in the dimples of her lower back. He chuckled
a bit, shaking his head. "At this rate we'll be the next Morticia and Gomez." 
She laughed at that too, giving a sarcastic shoulder shake that made him smirk
again.
After a song of endearing shuffling and spinning, a slower song came  on, some
Kelly Clarkson knock off strumming a guitar and complaining about the human
concept of love. 
Dean's hands settled low on her waist, most of his calloused palm rested on her
sharp hips, sending a flood of warm feelings out from her chest to her toes.
She shook her head at her own foolishness, blushing and avoiding his intense
gaze.  The pair swayed across the cheap flooring as she zoned out, thinking of
what exactly she was hoping to achieve with this little venture into Dean
Winchester's life.
Meanwhile, Dean looked down at her, smirking as he watched her work out the
kinks in whatever ideological flaw was gnawing at her. She was very pretty, he
thought to himself. Not in the conventional sense, the tan skin and large
breasts of his usual hook ups. More like someone would look at an endangered
animal, rare and exotic, not meant to be in such a plain situation. She seemed
older than she let on, eyes too worn to belong to someone so young. Her body
was the antithesis of age, frail and young, probably young enough to be his
daughter, a teenager in a world where they don't make it very far. 
The song ended as he guided her over to the rough oak bar, with bottles lining
a mirrored wall. Indulging in vanity, she checked her reflection, tucking a
stray piece of hair behind her ear and adjusting her sleeve to cover the corner
of a tattoo. 
"Poison of choice?" He asked, casting a side glance at her. 
"Whiskey, neat." She said back plainly, sitting on a stool, shoulders relaxed
but pulled in, her anxious nature affecting her posture. 
"'Atta girl," He mumbled, parroting her order to the bartender as well as one
for himself. Turning to her again, she felt his predatory eyes devouring  her
as she leaned against the bar, elbows on the hard wood and head resting on her
fists. Her lithe legs were covered in tight black leggings to protect herself
from the blasting air conditioning and a loose sweater that made her seem
willowy, her small breasts barely visible under the fabric. 
Metta thought he was trying to burn holes in the garment with the intensity he
was staring at it. His train of thought was derailed when the two shots were
set down in front of them. With a practiced efficiency, he downed the small
amount of alcohol, sucking his teeth and sighing a breathe out, turning to her
expectantly. Tipping her head back the bitter liquor burned itself down her
throat, warming her in the artificially chilled room. 
"Didn't even flinch, I knew you were more than just a pretty face." Dean
chuckled, nonchalantly placing his hand on the back seat of her seat, thumb
brushing her back. The motion made the muscles of her back ripple under his
touch, not used to the delicate and sensitive scars being touched. 
The taller man let his gaze wander for a couple of seconds, until a motion drew
his eyes over to Crowley, tapping his watch and glaring at them. With a sigh,
he turned back to Metta, giving her one more look, undressing her with his
eyes, he stood. 
This got her attention, causing her to turn in her stool, toes perched on the
foot rest, cloudy eyes looking up at him expectantly. Dean reached in his
pocket before pressing something into her hand, grinning. 
"The motel just down the block, room 6, find me." He said plainly, leaning down
to press an intense, but fleeting kiss onto her lips and saunter out, just like
he did when he first approached her not half an hour ago. 
Opening her manicured fingers revealed a key, but not just any key, a room key.
Dean's room key. She was going to faint...He hadn't just given her his room
key. She internalized her fangirling, walking calmly back to her table and
drinking her beer again, watching as Crowley grumbled, following the Knight out
of the grimy place. 
Maybe she had made the right choice to introduce herself. Anna had told her
first hand how good Dean Winchester could be. Smirking to herself, she gripped
the key tighter, the sharp points and edges digging into her hand. This was
going to be one hell of an adventure. 
Chapter End Notes
     I'm not lying and saying that there is smut, just not in this
     chapter. Be paitent, my pretties, and want you desire shall be what
     you have.
***** Do you believe in Miracles? *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean and Metta's sexy, funny, violent and utterly perfect first
     sexual encounter.
His lips pulled a soft sigh out of her, as she gripped at his shoulder. He was
everywhere, chest pushing her against the wall, hands- large and firm-
massaging the backs of her thighs as he held her up.
Her delicate fingers were tangled in his hair, head tilted back to expose her
ravaged neck which had been previously smooth, creamy white skin. Dean enjoyed
her little whimper as his teeth worried the apex of her neck and shoulder, the
tips of his fingers teasing at the inside seams of her jeans. 
Grey eyes, already dark with arousal, could barely focus on him sent him cloudy
gazes as his talented lips moved to her jutting collarbone. "Dean..." She
managed to whisper, pulling him back and cradling his face. "Y-You know I'm
not..." The angel trailed off, blushing and looking down at the barely there
space between their bodies. 
"Legal, yeah I know, your meatsuit is a little young, but you aren't." He
smirked, planting a hand flat against the wall next to her head, bringing his
knee between her legs to keep her up. "I knew you were an angel from the minute
I saw you...But they don't talk about you in the big book do they?" 
"I don't know...haven't read it yet." She shot back, making it all too obvious
he had hit a soft spot. 
"Name?" Dean asked, pressing closer, their lips almost touching.
"But fair Romeo, what's in a name?" 
He gave a small, dark chuckle, pulling her into an intense kiss, spinning the
smaller teen and tossing her on the bed like a sack of flour. The girl yelped
as the mattress shrieked under the sudden addition of weight.  The older man
loomed over her, arrogant and aroused, all manner of hot, if she was honest
with herself. 
"Did you seek me out or do you believe in miracles?" Dean asked, crossing his
arms over his chest and glaring down at the prone girl, his eyes flicking to
black as an obvious scare tactic. It did make her gulp and rethink her
decision, but she shook her head, ponytail holder finally giving out of
unfurling her Rapunzel-like hair, long and dark and glossy in the light of the
motel sign through the slats of the blinds. 
"Sought you out...been following you for a while now." Metta confirmed,
shrugging her shoulders in a non-committal fashion.  It wasn't a lie, the angel
had been on his tail for about six months, but she survived World War I
relatively unscathed, and it wasn't easy. The members of the garrison not
fighting like animals were tracking her, Micheal figuring in the chaos they
could knock her off without drawing too much attention. She could sneak under
the Winchester radar for a measly 6 months. 
"So you know about the whole 'I'm a dangerous Knight, kill me for a bounty'
thing? 'Cuz I assure you there is going to be a problem." He said almost
sarcastically, pulling the Blade from under his jacket. Her eyes widened,
crawling up a little further on the stained mattress. 
"N-No! The exact opposite, actually. I'm kinda in charge of your personal
health and spiritual well being..." She trailed off, looking ashamed and
guilty. 
"What? What the fuck does that mean?" He asked angrily and he had a right to
be, nostrils flaring as his gaze flicked to a molten black. 
"I'm your guardian angel! Hi, I've done the shittest job ever in the history of
the universe but please don't kill me! I want to tag along." She said quickly,
holding her hands out, skinny fingers spread wide to stop him if he came
forward. 
"I don't have a guardian angel...and if I did it would be Cas, not some
scrawny, punk ass looking bitch. Seriously sweetheart, get a better vessel if
you want to protect anyone." Dean snarled, hackles raised and looking
threatened. 
"Cas...Castiel? He...Oh yeah, I made him promise me to take care of you and
your brother, you know, I posed as my ass of a father to convince the garrison
to save you in the first place! I've done everything I can to protect you. And
this isn't a vessel you dildo, I'm stuck in this body, had since big bro sliced
off my wings and threw me down to this shitty rock!" Metta's voice increased as
she rose, standing with about a yard between them, face flushed in shame and
guilt and regret, but anger breached the mask, her cloud grey eyes darkening to
thunderheads as she stared at the hideous demonic face underneath Dean's
beautiful human one. 
"Well boo hoo, Princess! None of that is my fault." He growled, stepping
forward with the Blade. 
Her own blade slid from out of her sleeve and she held it tentatively towards
him. "I never said it was your fault, I just want to tag along. I couldn't care
less if you were demon, as long as you're safe." The angel said calmly, one
hand holding the cool metal, the other reached out to him, palm flat, almost
touching his chest. 
His eyes, now back to green, scanned over her face, eyebrows furrowing in
concentration and glaring her down. The next thing Dean did was too quick,
sheathing his blade back in his jacket, and forcing her own blade out of her
hand by practically crushing her bony wrist, Metta unable to react in time.
Next he pulled her into a bruising kiss, the angel blade thumping dully onto
the oddly stained motel carpet. 
Their teeth clacked as she pulled him down, mattress making an even more shrill
noise and the air pushed out of her lungs. He bit her lip, pulling back and
making her growl lightly, nipping back and pushing him off, straddling his
hips. 
"Come on, what are you gonna do? Let me down to death?" He mocked, pulling her
back on his obviously tented pants.  
Metta was about to scream in frustration and guilt, her eyes watering as she
clawed him out of his shirt and jacket, growling like a wild animal. The demon
smirked egging her on with muttered petnames and insults mixed into one, prying
her own of her shirt and bra and flipping her onto her back. 
Dean settled his hips between her legs, hissing at the sting of her nails
raking down his forearms. "Come on Princess...I know you can do more..." He
whispered gruffly, pressing his hips closer and roughly palming her breasts. 
Baring her pearly white teeth she placed an open palm on the right side of his
ribs, just below his nipple. Her grace flashed quickly, placing a topical burn
that had him groaning in pain and a sick pleasure. "That what you want? Huh?
Punishment for everything you've done as a demon? A monster?" She emphasized
with a grind of her hips against him, gritting her teeth. 
He seethed and flipped them yet again, the constant movement making them dizzy.
The air pushed out of the angel's lungs as Dean ravaged her already marred neck
with bites that drew blood to the surface he wouldn't even bother lapping up.
"Fuck! Ah..." The angel cussed through barred teeth, using brute force to rip
off his belt buckle, growling. "You have no idea...What I've done for you...You
selfish prick..." She panted as he palmed her breasts, squeezing too hard and
bruising the inked flesh. 
"My life has been nothing but shit so far, and I don't see how you in close
quarters is going to change that." Dean replied before closing his mouth around
a nipple, trying to break her now heightened defenses. Metta squeezed her eyes
shut, trying to push out the sensation she would be more than happy to welcome
under any other circumstance. 
"Just let me stay dammit!" The angel seethed, scratching at his scalp as he bit
down on her nipple, almost making her scream as she tugged too hard on his
hair, her lithe body arching unnaturally as a groan rumbled her throat.
"Maybe if you behave..." He tried before getting slapped clear across the face,
looking up at her in angry shock. 
"You finish that sentence I will have Sam Winchester and half of Heaven on your
ass do you understand me?"
She seethed, all arousal fleeing her body. "I'm not going to be your little
bitch in the bedroom. Whatever we do will be fair and so unhealthy it could rot
your pearl whites unless I tell you otherwise."  The angel said, flipping them
so she could scrape her ragged, bitten nails down his sculpted chest. 
"Whatever to get in your pants sweetheart." Dean chuckled breathy, thick
fingers deftly undoing her jeans and letting her lift her hips to shimmy them
down her thighs. He chuckled again when he saw her panties, that matched the
bra he hadn't paid much attention to earlier. There was thick black lace at her
hips, the two strips of fabric going down her thighs accenting the dark grey
cotton with the small black bow in the middle of the top hem. 
"You like 'em?" She purred, shimmying again to get out of her pants, smirking
down at the Knight beneath her. Metta knew what she was doing, so practiced in
the art of sex, and did a graceful kick and roll, ending up pants less and
hovering over his tented jeans. It took few seconds to pop the fly and lower
the zip, Dean's hands going to press her down before she batted him away.
"If I had known you were this bossy I would've bought you the drink before
taking you dancing." Dean smirked cockily, folding his arms  behind his head
and lifting his hips to entice her as she slid his pants all the way off. 
The angel pointedly ignored the comment as her tongue came out to trace the
seam of his hard cock while pushing his hips back to the bed. Dean groaned
softly under his breathe, trying to buck up, but her surprising firm grip kept
him down. She repeated the action over and over until the front of his green
boxer briefs were soaked in precum and spit. 
With a suck, she pulled away, petal pink lips pulled into a smirk as she helped
him out of the garment. Metta's eyes followed as his cock slapped back against
his stomach, looking an angry shade of red. Of course Dean tried to persuade
her, pushing his hips up without her hands on him anymore. Then he tangled his
fingers into her exorbitant amount of hair, tugging the teenager forward. That
worked, drawing a pleased whimper and springing her into action. 
His eyes fluttered shut as she bobbed her head, sucking expertly.
"Shit...You're such a slut...how many other people have you done this to? Huh
angel?" Dean gritted out, slowly starting to guide her movements. 
The angel in question rubbed her thighs together, moaning at the friction and
his words. She showed even more appreciation by getting more enthusiastic in
her sucking, choking Dean off from his stream of absolutely filthy dirty talk. 
Metta whined as she was pulled off by her hair, tossed up to the place her
demonic lover was previously. He seemed desperate, tearing her panties as he
yanked them down her tattooed legs. "Holy shit baby...I like your ink." Dean
rasped, laving his tongue and teeth over the crisscrossing patterns and obscure
things painted across her scarred flesh. 
She knew he felt the scars under his tongue, kicking him away. "Leave 'em...I
have them for a reason. Tell me, why do you have that douchy tribal on your
arm?" Metta asked defensively, crossing her arms over her small chest. He
chuckled, crawling up her body. 
"Do I need a condom, or would you rather me cum inside you so you'll at least
have something to remember me by after I slit your throat?" He growled,
calloused hand pressing across her slender and battered neck, drawing a gasping
and a groan as his increasing weight on her chest pushed the air out of her
body. Before she lost all of her air she wheezed a soft 'inside', regretting
the wasted air immediately. Dean's eyes were a poisonous green as they glares
down at her. His free hand ran gently over the rest of her, causing conflicting
senses to clench in her rapidly tightening chest. 
Metta's lungs began to burn faintly, increasing as the intensely sweet seconds
passed. After the two minute mark she grew somewhat frantic, thrashing against
him and clawing at his wrist, trying to make some sort of noise. As she felt
consciousness slip he removed his hand, letting her gulp air as if it were the
last thing on earth. 
Dean snickered and kissed the rapidly bruising marks on her neck, loving the
little pained whine the teenager made. Her nails, coated in a layer of chipped
black polish, dug into the flesh of his muscular shoulders. "Stop dicking
around and fuck me already." Metta panted ribcage jutting out and expanding and
contracting to the point where it was a bit grotesque for the demon to handle.
Instead he focused on lining himself up, teasing her swollen clit by circling
with the head of his impressive member, also slicking himself in her juices.
Her only warning was is eyes seeping into black before he shoved all of himself
into her, causing the smaller angel to yelp in discomfort and surprise. Dean
wasted no time, thrusting immediately and giving her no time to recover. Metta
was caught between shame and lust, the latter winning as she just handed
herself over, finally giving up and submitting to his punishing pace.
Heat coiled within Metta, growing and pushing, making her feel like she was
about to explode. Dean leaned over her, stubble chaffing one side of her face
as his lips nipped and sucked and whispered truly filthy things into her ear.
'Bet you love it huh, angel? Love how you're letting a demon fuck you? Make you
feel so damn good...Bet your Father would be ashamed.' He continued, ignoring
the tears in her eyes as she cried and begged for more like a two dollar
whore. 
Metta snapped like a rubber band when he swiveled his hips slightly, writhing
like she was possessed and going almost silent, eyes rolled back and spine
arched unnaturally. Dean came with her clenching around him with a grunt,
biting into her neck to draw even more blood, which was leaving rusty red
stains on her hair and the dirty off white pillow beneath her head. She felt
his hot cum splatter inside of her, causing her an oversensitive groan and a
twitch to get away from the discomfort of his girth straining her too wide.
He pulled out and grabbed the First Blade as she tried to regain her breathing.
She didn't even bat an eyelash as Dean raised it over his head, about to bring
in down in the center of her chest, which was heaving in the aftermath of the
intense orgasm he had given her. The angel was looking up at him curiously, sex
and tears hazing her grey eyes, like thunderhead in her skull, looking so young
and yet so ancient and wise and naive simultaneously.
The Knight couldn't do it, the last dregs of humanity clawing at the back of
his mind that he would regret killing her. Dean threw the blade down and pushed
her over onto the other side of the queen mattress, pulling the covers over her
and facing away as Metta's beautiful gaze leaded on the red welted lines she
had left down his back. With a final huff of air, her wrecked voice managed a
single, rasping whisper.
                                 "Thank you."
***** Mine *****
Chapter Summary
     Why?
Chapter Notes
     SO SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONG.
She was all over him, panting and kissing with her mouth open and wet against
Dean's.
"Mine." She would whisper in moments like these, whether he was a demon or
other wise. Her nails would rake across his scalp, curling into a fist in the
short hair on the back of his head and giving it a tug and letting his moans
fuel her.
"You are my Righteous Man, mine alone. They won't get to you. Never, ever will
they touch you or Sammy. Ever." The angel wasn't making sense, babbling mostly
in enochian, pressing desperate kisses across his swollen lips and stubbled
jaw.
He wouldn't do much in kind, sometimes managing to purse his lips to repreciate
her frenzied kisses and wandering grip. Dean has a hard time sometimes with
excepting the compliments, so he mostly just lets her do what she pleases.
It frustrated her, how desperate she was, it wasn't like Dean was loved her
back. Metta wanted to scream into his skin, bit and rip and make him as ugly as
she was with all of her scars and flaws. 'Not fair' She seethes to herself as
her thighs frame his narrower hips. 'I am an angel and a man no better than a
demon will take a place in heaven before me.'
She was selfish and arrogant, fighting in her mind between her pre-programmed
mission and the centuries of learned human tendencies and drive pulling her
away from him. The Righteous Man, the disgrace.
Who was God to decide this man's worth? Why was she still here? Not a million
miles away, alone and content, not having to babysit a human who was going to
give in to her brother anyway. To leave her, grieve her, and eventually forget
about her, except in fleeting moments in the quiet of a motel room.
She needed a cigarette.
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