Supernatural Imagines

Dean/ Ferris wheel

Word Count: 1,586

Summary: Dean takes the reader out on a date to the carnival, where he tells her he loves her for the first time at the top of the Ferris Wheel.

A/N: The amount of fluff is insANe hahaha

You looked yourself over in the mirror. For someone with limited wardrobe options, you think you did pretty well with a pair of fashionable (yet impractical for hunting) boots—non stained with blood or dirt—jeans that fit snuggly and showed off your curves—again, clean and untainted by your profession, yet still tight and unpractical for it—and a simple, black v-neck shirt with a necklace long forgotten in your closet. You had applied light makeup—mascara, and a touch of gloss—and even fixed your hair so that it wasn't tied away in a ratty bun or pony tail.

Dean had said he was taking you out tonight to somewhere casual, so you assumed this was good enough. Slight butterflies took off in your stomach at the prospect of going on a legitimate date with him.

A date, in your terms, usually meant sitting in front of the T.V. with a movie playing. Both of you would have a beer in hand, and an empty bowl of popcorn would sit on the coffee table by the time the opening credits finished, neither of you willing to refill it. It really couldn't qualify as a date, and that's why when he came up to you and told you his plans, you were more than surprised.

But you weren't going to complain.

You debated on whether or not to take a jacket, knowing that the fall air would start to nip your exposed arms by the time the sun went down, but you decided against it. You probably wouldn't be out that late, anyway. Dean never was one for going out on leisure; when he could relax, he stayed in the bunker with the exceptions of the bar and supply runs.

There was a knock on your door.

"Y/N, you ready?" Dean asked, his voice muffled by the wood separating you two.

"Yeah, I'll meet you by the stairs."

You heard his feet walking away, and you looked at yourself one last time. You looked good, or should you say, clean and well put together. You looked like someone who didn't fight insanity every day, and that was enough for you.

You snagged your purse—a black over the shoulder hobo bag—and headed out after him.

Dean was wearing a flannel (Of course, you thought with a smile), but it looked new instead of worn out. His jeans, though old, had been washed and revitalized, and he smelled like fresh laundry as opposed to the familiar leather scent you were used to.

"You look great," he commented approvingly, looking you up and down with a grin.

"Thanks. You're not too bad yourself." You winked at him with mock flirtation.

He laughed, and the two of you headed up the stairs. Dean called to Sam, saying that you'd be back in a few hours.

He lead you to the car, and once you hit the road, you asked, "So, where are we going? It's not like us to go out."

He let out a little hum. "You'll see."

There was idle conversation as you drove, and about ten minutes in, Dean pulled over to the side of the road and used his right hand to cover your eyes.

"Dean, what are you doing?" you asked with a laugh.

"Just trust me, sweetheart. I want to surprise you." He started up the car again, and though you tried to see past his hand, he kept it firmly in front of your eyes.

"Dean, c'mon!" you whined.

"Hold on; we're almost there," he chuckled. "Be patient."

It was maybe a few more minutes before Dean pulled up to a stop and removed his hand. You opened your eyes and bit your lip to conceal the grin.