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[Danny Phantom + Kingdom Hearts] Partners
Title: Partners
Fandom: Danny Phantom + Kingdom Hearts crossover (with mentions of Ultimate Spider-Man)
Universe: College AU
Rating: PG (for chaste romance)
Relationship: Danny Fenton / Olette, with implied, past Danny Fenton / Sam Manson
Summary: This semester, Danny just wants to pass - and with a responsible partner with Olette, he gets far, far more than he bargained for.
Notes: I am not a fluent Spanish speaker [in fact, I barely speak it at all], so if anything seems off to you, please let me know! Beyond that, this was written as a late Hanukkah present for my friend Lisa, so I hope she enjoys it!!
On the first day of Spanish class your second semester, each student was assigned a partner. Some (like Valerie's partner the native speaker) were better than others (like the odd couple of Peter Parker and Sam Alexander). As each group was called, you crossed your fingers and desperately hoped for a decent partner. See, this semester, you were determined to pass.
Your parents had taken one look at your dismal GPA, and promptly wondered why you were still attending college. Truthfully, you weren't sure. Everyone went to college, so you figured, you had to too. (Hell, Jazz was going to graduate early! With flying colors! Your parents were scary STEM masters at the University of Wisconsin, so you had a legacy to maintain.) Of course, you hadn't even decided on a major. Tucker had taken to computer science like a fish took to water, and Sam was studying Environmental Conservation and Women's Studies at Smith, but you? You drifted though majors like time wouldn't slip through your fingers.
One week, you were studying Astronomy. The next, you'd opted for Computer Science (and promptly flunked that quiz). What were you going to study? You weren't a ghost hunter like your parents - not professionally. Nor could you cling to your friends anymore, for they had already chosen drastically different paths. Your ex-girlfriend was also halfway across the country, and last you heard, she was "experimenting" with some of her Women's Studies classmates. (Since when was she bi?!)
Still, regardless of your major, a second language was a requirement, and you were one Spanish class away from passing. If you aced this class, your GPA would increase, and well - you needed that extra boost.
Just when you had given up all hope on acquiring someone decent, Señora had fatefully called out, "Olette Alesci and Danny Fenton, you'll be group seven."
A brunette, the one chattering idly (in Spanish, no less!) with the blond beside her, had glanced in your direction. She had pretty green eyes, the kind you could get lost in, and a genuine smile that reached her eyes as she waved at you.
"Danny! Hey, Danny! Come over here!"
You dumbly reached for your stuff and headed to the empty desk beside her. "H-hi," you said, forgetting entirely the No English rule Señora had implemented. "It's nice to meet you."
She gently scooted her desk closer to yours; and for a moment, her cheeks even flushed as she grinned widely at you. "You too."
Somehow, you had the feeling this was going to be a good semester.
That fuzzy feeling promptly ended the next day. Just before you headed to bed, your phone had buzzed with a text from Olette (you had exchanged numbers before class had ended):
There was a worksheet? Scratch that, Olette was working on it already?? You hastily rummaged through your things for the syllabus and--oh. Oh boy, this stupid assignment wasn't even due for another two weeks. Why was she working on it now? Was she one of those super responsible types? God, you hoped not. Having one for an ex was bad enough.
You had to truthfully reply: haven't started yet, sorry. i'll let you know when i do?
Office hours...? On second thought, you suspected you would've been better off with either Sam or Peter as a partner. (Sure, Sam was the Latino singlehandedly failing, while Peter was failing because those two couldn't agree on anything, but they knew how to have fun!) This girl was going to be the death of you if you weren't careful, and you were only starting to realize how much of a chore this semester would become.
Every morning, you scrolled through your texts until you landed on the conversation with Olette. You should tell her you hadn't worked on the assignment. You really should. You weren't exactly acing your classes for a reason. Yet you didn't feel like disappointing her on the first week.
You still had four months with this girl, and you couldn't afford to receive her wrath this early in the semester. You had to give it a couple of months, and then maybe you'd introduce the real Danny Fenton to her. As it was, she had already insisted on weekly study sessions. You didn't know why: she didn't need it.
Her accent was flawless, she spoke with confidence, and she even wrote precisely, with formal Spanish that would make a professor proud. She sure didn't need you screwing up every problem and falling asleep on your textbooks. Before you had realized it, however, one study session had turned into two, and two had turned into four.
Unlike Señora, Olette kept a consistent 'Spanglish' rule: you would speak Spanish to practice, but otherwise English was your main form of communication. Thank God. You didn't think you could keep a steady conversation with your pidgin speak, unless she wanted to know what your food tasted like. Occasionally, she would pepper your vocabulary with slang - teaching you, for example, phrases like ¿Neta? to ask 'Really?' - just to make your professor smile in class. Olette still hid a laugh every time you mangled a sentence, but she would always encourage your efforts.
This arrangement was benefiting you far more than her, and frankly, that bothered you. Certainly, your grades were improving out of sheer necessity (thanks to Olette, you had once dreamt in Spanish), and you were already passing the course in a matter of weeks.
So after nearly a whole month, you decided you had to balance the scale towards her. It was your civic duty! Or something!
"Uh, hey, Olette," you began eloquently, struggling to look at her and not the flashcards you had made together, "I was thinking, maybe I could treat you to tea next time? It's the least I could do."
She had tilted her head ever so slightly at you. "Okay? But only if you're sure. You can bring them to our next study session."
Your heart sunk. You hadn't expected her to casually accept this, as if it were a regular occurrence - nor had you expected disappointment on your part. For God's sake, you were showing your gratitude! You weren't actually trying to ask her out on a date. Sam may have long since moved on from you (and from men altogether), but you didn't feel ready. Not when the mere thought of kissing someone else made your stomach churn.
She must've noticed the look on your face - she must've, because she leaned closer and laughed softly, like you were sharing an inside joke with her. "Hey! Hey, I'm glad you offered. Thank you, Danny. I can't wait to have some with you. I can bring cupcakes too--"
"No," you found yourself saying firmly, before your brain could catch up to you. "That would defeat the purpose. I'll treat you to tea next Friday, outside our study sessions, and you don't have to lift a single finger."
Her cheeks turned a bright red. "Um, are... are you sure?"
You nodded. "Surer than I've ever been."
Where was a good bottle of liquid courage when you needed one? Your roommate was strictly anti-alcohol, so even though he was legal, you couldn't quite raid through a liquor cabinet. Nor did you really want to drink a whole beer before your first date in almost two years.
Could you even call this a date? Was it a date without mutual consent? You stared at your reflection in the mirror, discerning if your dark denim jeans, t-shirt, and unzipped hoodie would be enough for the occasion. Sure, you had worn similar outfits on study dates, but unlike other people, you actually studied. You two got work done! You weren't playing around.
This wasn't a "study date," this was the real thing, and if you were honest with yourself, you were terrified.
Olette wouldn't have been nervous. A cute girl like her must've gotten asked out dozens of times. That blond boy - Roxas? - was hanging around her as if they were dating, and you had seen her consistently with two other boys. (Olette had introduced them to you once or twice - Hayner was a Business major, while Pence studied Mechanical Engineering.)
For the sake of your diminishing manhood, you had to get a grip on yourself. You couldn't back out now. So you stared again at your reflection, fixed your hair for the last time, and took a deep breath. For God's sake, you were Danny Fenton! You had faced far, far worse than a date with your Spanish partner.
The coffee shop was less crowded than usual, thankfully. Olette was already waiting for you just outside the door - and you were half-pleased to notice that she had dressed up for the occasion, actually wearing a long skirt rather than her usual jeans or cropped khakis.
"Hey," you said as casually as you could, strolling up to her like you were feeling normal. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting."
"Nah." She giggled, reaching out for your arm. "I'm just early."
She always was. That hadn't surprised you one bit, considering how you were always rushing to Spanish lessons like the world was about to end. No, her outfit (and her make-up?) was confusing you far more than her punctuality.
After you had paid for your order and received your teas, you grabbed a corner booth and stared down at your piping hot mug.
"So uh--"
"--I was thinking..."
You glanced at each other, and before you could control yourself, you were both laughing
Olette began again, "Thanks. Really."
"It's the least I could do," you said honestly, struggling to keep that grin off your face, "You've helped me so much in Spanish that I wanted to return the favor somehow. Sorry I'm the incompetent one this semester."
"You? Incompetent?" Olette shook her head fondly. "You haven't met Sam Alexander, have you?"
You had to laugh. "Lette, he's Latino. He can't outright fail the class."
"Doesn't explain his essays," Olette pointed out. "How do you misspell Hola?"
"Hey, even I got that right!"
Olette grinned, in-between sips of her tea. "I know you did. I proofed that essay."
She certainly did. With each second, you could feel your muscles relaxing as you listened to her chatter away about her friends, your fellow classmates, and even about the kids she sometimes played poker with. You didn't even know she played Poker (and that, more importantly, she had won every single game). Your worries were disappearing just as quickly as your tea - and you really weren't a tea person. You had to have Olette pick yours out for you, and it was pretty darn good.
Then your phone alarm buzzed.
You inwardly cursed, because it couldn't be that late, could it? You really didn't want to run off to dinner, even though you had promised your roommate a Guys' Night In. Not when you had great company sitting right in front of you.
As if she were reading your mind, Olette furrowed her brow, "You have to go already?"
"Unfortunately." You sighed, rising to your feet and heading towards the door. "But hey, this was really nice. Think you'd let me treat you to tea next time?"
Olette mulled this over for about a millisecond. "How about you take me out to dinner?"
"D-dinner?" You had to stare at her. She... she really wanted to go through with this? (Why?)
She nodded, leaning forward and lightly kissing you on the cheek. "Yeah. Dinner. It's the least you could do for your partner, right?"
"Y-yeah." You found your voice, just as your hand effortlessly slipped into hers. "It definitely is."
Fandom: Danny Phantom + Kingdom Hearts crossover (with mentions of Ultimate Spider-Man)
Universe: College AU
Rating: PG (for chaste romance)
Relationship: Danny Fenton / Olette, with implied, past Danny Fenton / Sam Manson
Summary: This semester, Danny just wants to pass - and with a responsible partner with Olette, he gets far, far more than he bargained for.
Notes: I am not a fluent Spanish speaker [in fact, I barely speak it at all], so if anything seems off to you, please let me know! Beyond that, this was written as a late Hanukkah present for my friend Lisa, so I hope she enjoys it!!
On the first day of Spanish class your second semester, each student was assigned a partner. Some (like Valerie's partner the native speaker) were better than others (like the odd couple of Peter Parker and Sam Alexander). As each group was called, you crossed your fingers and desperately hoped for a decent partner. See, this semester, you were determined to pass.
Your parents had taken one look at your dismal GPA, and promptly wondered why you were still attending college. Truthfully, you weren't sure. Everyone went to college, so you figured, you had to too. (Hell, Jazz was going to graduate early! With flying colors! Your parents were scary STEM masters at the University of Wisconsin, so you had a legacy to maintain.) Of course, you hadn't even decided on a major. Tucker had taken to computer science like a fish took to water, and Sam was studying Environmental Conservation and Women's Studies at Smith, but you? You drifted though majors like time wouldn't slip through your fingers.
One week, you were studying Astronomy. The next, you'd opted for Computer Science (and promptly flunked that quiz). What were you going to study? You weren't a ghost hunter like your parents - not professionally. Nor could you cling to your friends anymore, for they had already chosen drastically different paths. Your ex-girlfriend was also halfway across the country, and last you heard, she was "experimenting" with some of her Women's Studies classmates. (Since when was she bi?!)
Still, regardless of your major, a second language was a requirement, and you were one Spanish class away from passing. If you aced this class, your GPA would increase, and well - you needed that extra boost.
Just when you had given up all hope on acquiring someone decent, Señora had fatefully called out, "Olette Alesci and Danny Fenton, you'll be group seven."
A brunette, the one chattering idly (in Spanish, no less!) with the blond beside her, had glanced in your direction. She had pretty green eyes, the kind you could get lost in, and a genuine smile that reached her eyes as she waved at you.
"Danny! Hey, Danny! Come over here!"
You dumbly reached for your stuff and headed to the empty desk beside her. "H-hi," you said, forgetting entirely the No English rule Señora had implemented. "It's nice to meet you."
She gently scooted her desk closer to yours; and for a moment, her cheeks even flushed as she grinned widely at you. "You too."
Somehow, you had the feeling this was going to be a good semester.
That fuzzy feeling promptly ended the next day. Just before you headed to bed, your phone had buzzed with a text from Olette (you had exchanged numbers before class had ended):
Hey, have you finished the worksheet yet? :) I was having trouble with #7.
There was a worksheet? Scratch that, Olette was working on it already?? You hastily rummaged through your things for the syllabus and--oh. Oh boy, this stupid assignment wasn't even due for another two weeks. Why was she working on it now? Was she one of those super responsible types? God, you hoped not. Having one for an ex was bad enough.
You had to truthfully reply: haven't started yet, sorry. i'll let you know when i do?
Sure!! Just let me know if it'll take you a while. I can go to office hours, nbd. ♥
Office hours...? On second thought, you suspected you would've been better off with either Sam or Peter as a partner. (Sure, Sam was the Latino singlehandedly failing, while Peter was failing because those two couldn't agree on anything, but they knew how to have fun!) This girl was going to be the death of you if you weren't careful, and you were only starting to realize how much of a chore this semester would become.
Every morning, you scrolled through your texts until you landed on the conversation with Olette. You should tell her you hadn't worked on the assignment. You really should. You weren't exactly acing your classes for a reason. Yet you didn't feel like disappointing her on the first week.
You still had four months with this girl, and you couldn't afford to receive her wrath this early in the semester. You had to give it a couple of months, and then maybe you'd introduce the real Danny Fenton to her. As it was, she had already insisted on weekly study sessions. You didn't know why: she didn't need it.
Her accent was flawless, she spoke with confidence, and she even wrote precisely, with formal Spanish that would make a professor proud. She sure didn't need you screwing up every problem and falling asleep on your textbooks. Before you had realized it, however, one study session had turned into two, and two had turned into four.
Unlike Señora, Olette kept a consistent 'Spanglish' rule: you would speak Spanish to practice, but otherwise English was your main form of communication. Thank God. You didn't think you could keep a steady conversation with your pidgin speak, unless she wanted to know what your food tasted like. Occasionally, she would pepper your vocabulary with slang - teaching you, for example, phrases like ¿Neta? to ask 'Really?' - just to make your professor smile in class. Olette still hid a laugh every time you mangled a sentence, but she would always encourage your efforts.
This arrangement was benefiting you far more than her, and frankly, that bothered you. Certainly, your grades were improving out of sheer necessity (thanks to Olette, you had once dreamt in Spanish), and you were already passing the course in a matter of weeks.
So after nearly a whole month, you decided you had to balance the scale towards her. It was your civic duty! Or something!
"Uh, hey, Olette," you began eloquently, struggling to look at her and not the flashcards you had made together, "I was thinking, maybe I could treat you to tea next time? It's the least I could do."
She had tilted her head ever so slightly at you. "Okay? But only if you're sure. You can bring them to our next study session."
Your heart sunk. You hadn't expected her to casually accept this, as if it were a regular occurrence - nor had you expected disappointment on your part. For God's sake, you were showing your gratitude! You weren't actually trying to ask her out on a date. Sam may have long since moved on from you (and from men altogether), but you didn't feel ready. Not when the mere thought of kissing someone else made your stomach churn.
She must've noticed the look on your face - she must've, because she leaned closer and laughed softly, like you were sharing an inside joke with her. "Hey! Hey, I'm glad you offered. Thank you, Danny. I can't wait to have some with you. I can bring cupcakes too--"
"No," you found yourself saying firmly, before your brain could catch up to you. "That would defeat the purpose. I'll treat you to tea next Friday, outside our study sessions, and you don't have to lift a single finger."
Her cheeks turned a bright red. "Um, are... are you sure?"
You nodded. "Surer than I've ever been."
Where was a good bottle of liquid courage when you needed one? Your roommate was strictly anti-alcohol, so even though he was legal, you couldn't quite raid through a liquor cabinet. Nor did you really want to drink a whole beer before your first date in almost two years.
Could you even call this a date? Was it a date without mutual consent? You stared at your reflection in the mirror, discerning if your dark denim jeans, t-shirt, and unzipped hoodie would be enough for the occasion. Sure, you had worn similar outfits on study dates, but unlike other people, you actually studied. You two got work done! You weren't playing around.
This wasn't a "study date," this was the real thing, and if you were honest with yourself, you were terrified.
Olette wouldn't have been nervous. A cute girl like her must've gotten asked out dozens of times. That blond boy - Roxas? - was hanging around her as if they were dating, and you had seen her consistently with two other boys. (Olette had introduced them to you once or twice - Hayner was a Business major, while Pence studied Mechanical Engineering.)
For the sake of your diminishing manhood, you had to get a grip on yourself. You couldn't back out now. So you stared again at your reflection, fixed your hair for the last time, and took a deep breath. For God's sake, you were Danny Fenton! You had faced far, far worse than a date with your Spanish partner.
The coffee shop was less crowded than usual, thankfully. Olette was already waiting for you just outside the door - and you were half-pleased to notice that she had dressed up for the occasion, actually wearing a long skirt rather than her usual jeans or cropped khakis.
"Hey," you said as casually as you could, strolling up to her like you were feeling normal. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting."
"Nah." She giggled, reaching out for your arm. "I'm just early."
She always was. That hadn't surprised you one bit, considering how you were always rushing to Spanish lessons like the world was about to end. No, her outfit (and her make-up?) was confusing you far more than her punctuality.
After you had paid for your order and received your teas, you grabbed a corner booth and stared down at your piping hot mug.
"So uh--"
"--I was thinking..."
You glanced at each other, and before you could control yourself, you were both laughing
Olette began again, "Thanks. Really."
"It's the least I could do," you said honestly, struggling to keep that grin off your face, "You've helped me so much in Spanish that I wanted to return the favor somehow. Sorry I'm the incompetent one this semester."
"You? Incompetent?" Olette shook her head fondly. "You haven't met Sam Alexander, have you?"
You had to laugh. "Lette, he's Latino. He can't outright fail the class."
"Doesn't explain his essays," Olette pointed out. "How do you misspell Hola?"
"Hey, even I got that right!"
Olette grinned, in-between sips of her tea. "I know you did. I proofed that essay."
She certainly did. With each second, you could feel your muscles relaxing as you listened to her chatter away about her friends, your fellow classmates, and even about the kids she sometimes played poker with. You didn't even know she played Poker (and that, more importantly, she had won every single game). Your worries were disappearing just as quickly as your tea - and you really weren't a tea person. You had to have Olette pick yours out for you, and it was pretty darn good.
Then your phone alarm buzzed.
You inwardly cursed, because it couldn't be that late, could it? You really didn't want to run off to dinner, even though you had promised your roommate a Guys' Night In. Not when you had great company sitting right in front of you.
As if she were reading your mind, Olette furrowed her brow, "You have to go already?"
"Unfortunately." You sighed, rising to your feet and heading towards the door. "But hey, this was really nice. Think you'd let me treat you to tea next time?"
Olette mulled this over for about a millisecond. "How about you take me out to dinner?"
"D-dinner?" You had to stare at her. She... she really wanted to go through with this? (Why?)
She nodded, leaning forward and lightly kissing you on the cheek. "Yeah. Dinner. It's the least you could do for your partner, right?"
"Y-yeah." You found your voice, just as your hand effortlessly slipped into hers. "It definitely is."