best date ever (Stan pines x fem!reader)
A date with Stan, what could go wrong?
You never really knew what to expect from Stanley Pines. After all, this was the same guy who could sell you a so-called "ancient artifact" that turned out to be an old cereal box toy and still convince you it was worth every penny. So when he asked you out, you weren’t exactly sure how it would go. He wasn’t the flowers-and-chocolates type; instead, Stan was. . . well, Stan.
That’s probably what got you here, standing in front of the window, watching the unmistakable silhouette of the Stanmobile pull into your driveway. The thing was pretty loud. You heard the muffler rattle as Stan turned off the engine, and then the door creaked open with a metallic sound that made your eye twitch. A date with Stanley Pines. . . What could possibly go wrong?
Too nervous, you opened the door first before he even could knock and there he was, standing on your porch like some kind of hero from a forgotten old movie. Wearing a white shirt with the first buttons unbuttoned, dark brown trousers and. . . was he wearing an eyepatch?
As soon as he opened his mouth to greet you, you started a dialogue first. Oh damn, yes, that was awkward, but you kept going.
"Lookin' sharp," you teased, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, well, it’s not every day a guy like me gets to take a gal like you out,” he flashed you that wide, confident grin that didn’t quite match his eyes though. He shifted a little, like he wasn’t sure where to put his hands. “You ready for the best date of your life or what?”
You tried, really tried, not to laugh at how absurd the eyepatch looked on him. You leaned on the doorframe. “Okay, I gotta ask. . . what’s with the eyepatch? Did you lose a fight with a tourist or something?”
His grin faltered for a second and you swear you saw him hesitate. He scratched the back of his head, looking away, as if he was caught off guard for some ridiculous act. Yeah, right now he really wanted to wash away the shame. “Oh, uh, this?” he gestured to the eyepatch, trying to look casual. “Just, uh. . . battle wound. You know, dangerous life and all that.”
You tilted your head, amused, waiting for the real answer. “Stan. . .”
He gave himself a mental slap in the face, yanking the patch off with a quick flick of his wrist. "You saw nothing." he muttered with deadly seriousness before stuffing it into his pocket.
You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. For all his boldness, the fact that he tried to impress you, however clumsily, was so cute. “You don’t need to try that hard, you know. I. . . kind of like you just the way you are.”
His cheeks reddened, but just slightly, and he cleared his throat, shuffling awkwardly. “Yeah, well. . . don’t let it get to your head, alright?”
The passenger door of the Stanmobile creaked as you opened it and slid into the worn, cracked seat. The car smelled faintly of old leather and stale coffee, and the dashboard was littered with random trinkets, coins, and a few crumpled wrappers. Stan slammed his door shut, giving the steering wheel a hard pat before starting the engine.
“So, what’s the plan?” you asked, glancing over at him.
The plan was simple — or at least, it was supposed to be. A nice dinner in town, maybe a little romantic walk after, and if things went well, who knew? But with Stan, nothing ever went according to plan.
As the Stanmobile sputtered its way down the road, you couldn’t help but glance over at Stan again. He was focused on the road, hands gripping the wheel just a little too tightly. There was a kind of quiet tension about him tonight that wasn’t there on the usual days when you stopped by the Shack. Maybe it was just the date thing, maybe he really was nervous? The thought surprised you, but you liked it. It made him more. . . real, in a way. You liked that side of him.
Yeah, diner turned out to be everything Stan had promised and more. It was like stepping into a time machine that had malfunctioned halfway through. Neon signs flickered above the entrance, and the interior was a strange mix of retro and. . . You couldn’t find the right word to describe. The red vinyl stands were cracked and peeling, tarnished with age. It smelled of old oil and nostalgia, like a place that had long outlived its heyday, but still maintained it with stubborn pride.
It looked like it hadn’t changed since the '50s, but it was full to the brim. Of course, he hadn’t thought to make a reservation.
“Should’ve figured,” Stan grumbled, glaring at the crow. “You’d think folks around here would have better taste than to crowd this dump.”
You snorted, shaking your head. “Says the man who scams them daily.”
He gave you a wide smile. “Hey, I provide a valuable service. It’s called entertainment, toots.”
The jukebox in the corner of the room crackled to life, spitting out an old Elvis song that skipped every few beats. Stan’s brow furrowed in irritation, but there was something undeniably charming about the whole mess. It felt like a place he’d drag you to — not because it was fancy or impressive, but because it was something that always made happy and he wanted to share these feelings with you. Show them to you.
You were halfway through your milkshake (which, to be fair, wasn’t that bad, though Stan grumbled about the price) when the music changed. A slow, syrupy doo-wop tune hummed through the air, and Stan’s expression softened. His fingers tapped against the edge of the table, and he glanced up at you, his eyes shifting with something like uncertainty.
“So. . . you wanna dance?”
Your heart skipped a beat at that question, and for a second you wondered if you had heard him right. You blinked, then smiled. “With you? Absolutely.”
Stan stood, offering you his hand with a cocky grin. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya, baby. I’m pretty much the king of the dance floor.”
You laughed, took his hand, and let him lead you into the tiny space between the booths. The floor was sticky and the lighting was terrible, but none of that mattered. You moved together, swaying awkwardly at first, but gradually finding a rhythm, Stan's warm hand slid down your back to your waist. In the world around you, it's just the two of you in your own little bubble of retro music and flickering neon light.
The date continued in typical Stan fashion - messy, loud, but weirdly charming. He ordered way too much food, insisting that “you only live once” and somehow managing to spill half a plate of fries onto the floor when his hand gestures got a little too wild. He told stories, some of them most obvious lies, but you could tell that a few were real, even though he never said so. Tales of his past, of scams gone wrong and of the time he got banned from New Jersey. You couldn't help but laugh together with him, because the sheer absurdity of it all made the evening much more enjoyable than you expected.
But just when you thought the night was going smoothly, the universe, and Stan’s luck, had other plans.
You were just halfway through your burger when the sound of sirens cut through the air, flashing red and blue lights flashed in the windows. Stan froze, his eyes widening just a little too much for someone who claimed to have nothing to hide.
“Uh, Stan, what’s with the cops?” you asked, already having a bad feeling.
Stan shrugged, a little too casually. “Probably just grabbing a bite to eat. Y’know, doughnuts and all that.”
Before you could answer, two policemen entered the diner and went straight to the table where you were sitting.
Stan's face changed instantly as he looked at you. “Uh. . . hey, why don’t we, uh, take our food to go?"
“Stanford Pines?” the cop asked, pulling out a notepad.
“Uh, it’s Sta-“ Stan came to his senses in time, suddenly sweating. He leaned forward, trying to give the guy his best innocent smile. “I think you’ve got the wrong guy, officer. I’m just here enjoying a nice, peaceful evening with my girl.”
The cop didn’t look convinced. “We’re going to need you to come with us.”
You raised an eyebrow, glancing between Stan and the cop, your heart sinking. “Stan, what’s going on?”
Stan bit his lip, rubbing his neck. “Eh, nothing to worry about, babe. Just. . . might have some, uh, unpaid parking tickets. No big deal.”
“Sta”- you wanted to repeat, but Stan interrupted you, clearly not letting you speak.
He avoided your gaze, focusing on the cop instead. “Look, officer, I’ll take care of the fines. Can’t we, uh, settle this quietly? I’ve got money.” he reached into his pocket, probably for his wallet, trying to salvage what was left of his dignity. Was he gonna pay with Stan bucks?
The cop didn’t budge, looking more annoyed by the second. But before you could process what was happening, the waiter reappeared next to your table, holding up the check. “Sir, your total is-“
But before he could finish the sentence, Stan grabbed your hand with a sudden burst of adrenaline. “C'mon! Time to make a quick exit,” he muttered, pulling you towards the door.
You barely had a chance to grab your things as he rushed to the exit, taking you with him, the cop’s voice rising behind you. “Sir! Sir, you can’t just-“
Too late. Stan was already moving at a speed you wouldn’t have thought possible for a man his age, practically dragging you across the diner floor. The bell above the door gave a loud ring as you burst outside, the cool night air hitting your face like a slap.
“What- Stan! What are you doing?” you shouted, trying to keep up as he raced toward the parking lot.
“Trust me, doll, I know what I’m doing!” he shouted back, fumbling with his car keys as you both headed straight for his battered old Stanmobile.
Stan yanked the door open, practically shoving you into the passenger seat. “Sorry, sweetheart, but we’re not getting arrested on our first date!” he said, giving you a grin that was way too proud for a man who’s running from the cops.
You barely had time to buckle your seatbelt before he slammed the driver’s door shut and jammed the key into the ignition. The engine sputtered, wheezed, and then roared to life with a sound like an angry chainsaw. “Atta girl, that’s it,” Stan muttered under his breath, patting the dashboard like it was a horse in an old western.
You glanced over your shoulder and saw a policeman running out of the diner, shouting something into a walkie-talkie. “S-Stan!”
“I see ’em!” Stan yelled, throwing the car into reverse and peeling out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. “Hold on tight!”
The car spun around, almost crashing into a lamp post. You were pretty sure you heard the cop yell something about backup, but all you could focus on was the blurred outlines of trees and neon lights flashing by as Stan raced down the street
“Okay, okay- this is fine,” you muttered to yourself, gripping the door handle hard. “We’re totally fine. Just a casual date. Running from the cops. No big deal.”
Stan burst into a loud laugher, clearly enjoying himself way more than he should have been. “Y’know, I’ve been in worse situations! Once outran a bunch of angry tax collectors in a boat! You’d be surprised what you can get away with if you’ve got the right distractions!”
“Stan!” you screamed in fear, and your heart jumped into your throat as the car swerved, almost hitting a raccoon running across the road.
“Relax, kid! I got this!” Stan assured you, his voice somehow both panicked and excited at the same time. He slammed on the gas, sending the car hurtling down a back road, away from the diner. The flashing lights of the police car in the rearview mirror were getting smaller, but you weren't sure how long it would last.
Just as you were about to ask if he had a plan (or if the plan was just "drive like hell"), Stan suddenly pulled off the road, skidding into a small dirt clearing hidden behind a bunch of trees. He cut the engine, motioning for you to stay quiet.
You sat there, breathless, scared, the sound of your racing heart filling the silence when a police car sped past, its siren fading in the distance.
There was a long, tense pause where you two just looked at each other. Then Stan leaned back in his seat, exhaling deeply. “Whew. Close call. That was cool, huh?” he turned to you, grinning like a kid who’d just gotten away with sneaking into a movie.
You couldn't help but stare at him, feeling something between disbelief and. . . oddly enough, admiration. Only Stanley Pines could turn a first date into getaway.
“Stan,” you finally said, breaking the silence, “we just fled a crime scene.”
“Eh, ‘crime’ is such a strong word,” he replied, waving his hand dismissively. “More like a. . . misunderstanding.”
You shook your head, a small laugh escaping your lips despite everything. Only with Stan.
But as the adrenaline slowly faded, you could see something else creeping into his expression, something much less cocky and way more. . . defeated, sad even. His hands tightened around the steering wheel, and his shoulders slumped.
“I really messed up tonight, huh?” his voice was quieter now, a lot more vulnerable than you’d ever heard him. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, just staring out the windshield. “I wanted to show you a good time. Prove I wasn’t just. . . y’know, some washed-up old guy who can’t get anything right. And look where we are. Hiding out in the woods, running from cops.” he laughed bitterly. “You probably think I’m an idiot.”
The silence that followed was heavy, you looked at him again. There was something heartbreaking about seeing Stan like this, behind all this bragging and show-off there was a man who truly cared what you thought of him. And right now, he looked like he had failed.
But then, through the trees, you noticed a glimpse of the sky. The full moon hung low, flooding the clearing with a soft silver light. It was strangely peaceful here now, away from the chaos what just happened, and you found yourself smiling no matter what.
You reached over and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “hey, Stan, look up.”
He frowned, confused, but did as you asked, his eyes following yours to the sky.
“It’s beautiful, right?” you said softly. “The full moon, the stars. . . this moment.”
Stan blinked, like he hadn’t expected that. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
“And you didn’t mess up,” you added, turning to him with a soft smile. “Tonight was. . . well, sure, it was an adventure, but that's what makes you the man I love. You're not a loser, Stan. Not for me.
He stared at you, like he couldn’t quite believe what you were saying. “You- you really mean that?”
“Yeah,” you answered him, your voice filled with sincerity. “I’d take a wild night with you over a boring, perfect one any day.”
There was a long pause while your words seemed to reach him. And then, slowly, Stan’s face broke into a real, genuine smile. Not his usual cocky smirk or sarcastic grin, just a simple, warm smile.
“Y’know, you’re somethin’ special,” he said softly, his hand tightening around yours. “I don’t deserve ya, but... I’m real glad you’re here.”
You leaned in a little closer, your heart fluttering as the distance between you got shorter. “I’m glad too, Stan.”
The moonlight bathed the two of you in its soft glow, and in that moment, despite the chaos of the night, everything felt. . . right.
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