(Prompt, crossover au)
Ben 10 x Danny Phantom
Worst Date vs Best Date: Ben Tennyson x Jazz Fenton
Best Date — Quiet Moments Between Heroes
Ben Tennyson wasn’t saving the world.
For once.
No aliens. No explosions. No “it followed me here, I swear.”
Just a hoodie, a quiet park, and Jazz Fenton sitting beside him with two melting ice cream cones.
“Wow,” Jazz said, amused, “you’re actually on time.”
“Hey, I can be responsible,” Ben replied, leaning back. “Sometimes.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘sometimes.’”
Ben grinned. “You’re looking at it.”
The sun dipped low, painting everything gold. Kids laughed in the distance, a dog barked, and for a rare moment, the world didn’t need saving.
Jazz nudged him lightly. “You’re… different when you’re not fighting something.”
“Yeah,” Ben said, softer now. “Kinda nice not having to transform every five minutes.”
They walked along the path, shoulders brushing. No pressure. No chaos. Just easy conversation—college, weird ghost stories (Jazz’s favorite topic), and Ben’s exaggerated “totally real” alien mishaps.
She laughed—really laughed—and Ben found himself staring for a second too long.
“What?” she asked.
“…Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just—this is nice.”
Jazz smiled, warm and steady. “Yeah. It is.”
And for once, being Ben Tennyson didn’t mean being a hero.
It just meant being a guy on a really good date.
X-xx-X
Worst Date
The date started fine.
That should’ve been the warning sign.
Ben and Jazz had just sat down at a small diner—quiet, cozy, perfect.
“So,” Jazz began, smiling, “no interruptions tonight?”
Ben opened his mouth to answer—
—and the wall exploded.
“BEN TENNYSON!” a voice roared as debris scattered across the floor.
Ben groaned. “Oh, come on.”
A hulking figure stepped through the smoke—one of Ben’s many enemies, eyes locked on him.
Jazz blinked once, then calmly set down her drink. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Give me one second,” Ben said, already slamming down the Omnitrix.
Green light flashed.
Meanwhile, Jazz turned—
—and froze.
Floating near the shattered counter was a dramatic, overly theatrical ghost.
“I AM THE BOX GHOST!” he declared. “TREMBLE BEFORE—”
A cardboard box bounced off his head.
Jazz didn’t even flinch. “No.”
The Box Ghost gasped. “You dare—?!”
“I deal with ghosts,” Jazz said flatly. “You’re not even in the top ten.”
Behind her, Ben—now transformed—was mid-fight, crashing through tables as customers fled.
“Sorry!” he shouted while punching his enemy through a jukebox.
Jazz grabbed another box and smacked the ghost again. “Stop monologuing and leave!”
“I WILL NOT—ow!”
The diner was chaos. Smoke, ectoplasm, alien energy blasts—
—and in the middle of it, Jazz stood, unimpressed.
Eventually, the villain was defeated, the Box Ghost fled (dramatically), and silence returned.
The diner was destroyed.
Ben reverted back, rubbing the back of his neck. “So… uh…”
Jazz looked around at the wreckage.
Then at him.
“…Next time,” she said, “we’re getting coffee. Somewhere with fewer walls to explode.”
Ben winced. “That’s fair.”
She sighed—but smiled just a little.
Because honestly?
At this point, she expected nothing less.
