Prompt: Original Stud Au, Crossover Au
Fandom: Danganronpa x Dispatch
Characters: Makoto Naegi, Courtney/Invisigal
Meme: Love Calculator
Makoto Naegi x Courtney/Invisigal
Love Calculator Result: 98% - Your love burns as hot as the sun, blazing through the vastness of space, and searing itself into your being
X-xx-X
Courtney had only agreed to the stupid love calculator because Makoto wouldn’t stop smiling at her.
“Okay, Lucky Boy,” Invisigal said, leaning over his shoulder. “Let’s see how badly this thing embarrasses you.”
Makoto entered their names.
Makoto Naegi + Courtney/Invisigal
The little meter spun dramatically before stopping.
98%
Your love burns as hot as the sun, blazing through the vastness of space, and searing itself into your being.
Silence.
Makoto blinked. Courtney stared.
“…Ninety-eight?”
Makoto slowly turned toward her, that deceptively innocent smile already becoming unbearably smug. “Wow, Courtney. I knew you liked me, but ninety-eight percent?”
Her eye twitched. “Careful, Hope Boy.”
“Maybe the remaining two percent is just you being shy.”
“I am going to give you exactly three seconds to take that back.”
Makoto, displaying either incredible courage or catastrophically bad judgment, leaned closer. His voice dropped, turning low and teasing. “Does the calculator know about the date too, or—”
Courtney didn't let him finish. She grabbed him by the front of his shirt, yanking him forward until their chests collided. The sudden proximity shifted the air between them, the playfulness sharpening into something heavier, something thick with a sudden, electric tension.
Makoto’s grin vanished, replaced by a sharp intake of breath. “Oh.”
“Oh?” Courtney repeated. Her voice had lost its edge, replaced by a dangerous, honeyed quality. She didn't let go; instead, her grip tightened, her knuckles brushing against the heat of his skin. “Nah, sweetheart. You wanted to brag about our compatibility? Fine.”
She hauled him upright and began steering him down the hallway, her hand sliding from his collar to the small of his back, pressing him firmly against her.
“Courtney—”
“You apparently have ninety-eight-percent compatibility with me,” she whispered against his ear, her breath sending a shiver straight down his spine. “We’re testing that.”
Makoto stumbled after her, the realization of where they were headed hitting him all at once. “Wait, seriously?!”
“Bedroom. Now.”
“I was joking!”
“And now you’re exercising.”
Courtney kicked the bedroom door open and shoved him inside. As the door slammed shut, the click of the lock echoed in the small space.
The banter died instantly, swallowed by a sudden, frantic urgency. There was no more talking—only the sound of heavy breathing and the friction of fabric against skin as they collided. The playfulness of the hallway evaporated, replaced by a desperate need to close every remaining millimeter of distance between them. Clothing became an inconvenience, discarded in a blur of heat and tangled limbs, as they sought to prove exactly how "searing" that ninety-eight percent really was.
Several hours later, the love calculator remained abandoned on the table.
When Makoto eventually staggered back into the hallway, his shirt was rumpled, his hair was a disaster, and he looked thoroughly spent. Courtney followed behind him, adjusting her clothes with a look of immense, predatory satisfaction.
Makoto glanced at the forgotten screen. He paused, a dazed but genuine smile crossing his face. “…Still think ninety-eight percent is pretty impressive.”
Courtney froze.
Makoto immediately started running.
“GET BACK HERE, LUCKY BOY!”
Apparently, two percent remained to be tested.
