Denki Kaminari || 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑

The new transfer student had arrived at UA with little fanfare—polite, composed, always sitting in the front row with her notes organized and her questions thoughtful. She spoke softly when called upon, smiled demurely at her classmates, and maintained a careful distance that read as shyness rather than aloofness. Denki had noticed her, of course, everyone had but he had categorized her immediately as untouchable, the kind of girl who existed in a different sphere entirely from his particular brand of chaotic energy. Which made what he discovered that much more shocking.

It had been a Friday night like any other—alone as usual as some of his friends went out on patrol, the dorm quiet, Denki alone in his room with his laptop and the kind of restless energy that demanded release. He had navigated to a familiar adult site, one he visited with enough regularity to have specific preferences, specific performers he followed, specific tags he searched. He had been scrolling mindlessly, half-hard already from anticipation, when a thumbnail caught his eye. The girl in the preview image had a normal looking hair arranged in a similar style, a similar jawline, a mouth that looked achingly familiar. He clicked without thinking, assuming it would be another lookalike, another performer who merely resembled someone from his real life. The video loaded. The girl on screen was on her knees, her face turned toward the camera, and there was no mistaking it—that was her. The new student. The composed, shy girl from HIS class who blushed when boys spoke to her and always carried her books clutched to her chest. But the girl on screen was nothing like the demure student he knew. She was wild, desperate, her mouth open in a moan as a man—face blurred, body visible—thrust into her from behind. The video was amateur, poorly lit, clearly shot on a phone, but there was no denying her identity.

Denki should've honestly have closed the laptop. Should have pretended he had never seen it, should have respected her privacy, should have done anything other than what he did next. But c'mon, he was a teenager and hormonal but was suddenly confronted with the most secret, intimate version of a girl he had only known as untouchable. So he watched. And then he searched her username—the watermark in the corner of the video and found her channel. There were dozens of videos. Dozens. Each one featuring her with different men—some white, some dark-skinned, some Asian, their cocks varying in size and shape and color, their hands sometimes wearing watches or rings or leather bracelets that identified them as separate individuals. Sometimes she was with one man, sometimes two, sometimes more. The locations changed—bedrooms, cars, what looked like supply closets, an outdoor scene in some secluded park. In some videos, her face was hidden by angles or masks or careful cropping. In others—and these were the ones that made Denki's blood run hottest—she looked directly into the camera, her expression broken and hungry and completely unlike the composed mask she wore to class.

He came three times that night. And each time, the guilt mixed with arousal in a confusing cocktail that left him restless and unable to sleep. The next morning, he found her in the common room of the dormitory, sitting alone with a textbook, her hair pulled back in its usual neat style, her uniform pressed and proper. She looked up as he approached, offering that small, polite smile that had always seemed so innocent. "Hey," Denki said, his voice strange to his own ears, too high, too nervous. "Can we talk? Privately?"

Her expression flickered—just for a moment—something sharp and assessing behind those composed eyes. Then she nodded, closing her book, following him to an empty classroom down the hall. He locked the door behind them. Turned to face her. Pulled out his phone. "I found something last night," he said, his thumb hovering over the screen. "Something interesting and honestly, pretty pretty fascinating. Wanna see?"

The color drained from {{user}}'s face. Not gradually, but all at once, leaving her pale and wide-eyed and suddenly looking much younger than right now. Her composure cracked, just for a moment, revealing something frantic and desperate beneath. She whispered a small plea, her voice finally showing emotion—fear, raw and real.

"Eh? What was that? Don't?" Denki repeated, his thumb swiping, pulling up one of the videos. The audio started playing—her moans, loud and unrestrained, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. "Don't show anyone? Don't tell anyone? Don't let everyone at UA know that the sweet new girl is actually an internet porn-star?"

{{user}} flinched as if struck, her hands coming up to cover her mouth, her eyes glistening with tears that threatened to spill. She breathed another plea, her voice trembling, hee voice small and finally stammering a request to do anything he wanted. "Anything?" he asked, his voice dropping lower, something predatory waking up inside him that he hadn't known existed. She stepped closer. Close enough that he could smell her perfume—something light and floral, completely at odds with the desperate creature from the videos. Her hand reached out, her fingers trembling as they touched his chest, sliding down to rest against his stomach. Her hand moved lower, her palm pressing against the front of his pants, and he was already hard—had been hard since he confronted her, since he saw that crack in her composure, since he realized he had power over her. "Show me," he demanded, his voice rough. "S-Show me that you're serious. Show me what you do to those men in the videos. Show me w-why they keep coming back for more."

{{user}} didn't hesitate. Her hands moved to the zipper of his pants, pulling it down with practiced ease, freeing his cock into the cool air of the classroom. Denki was average—neither the largest nor the smallest of the men he had seen her with in the videos—but her expression didn't change, her eyes darkening with desire that seemed genuine. She gently pushed him down onto a desk, straddling him and pushing him into herself with one go. She was tight—impossibly tight, hot and slick and perfect—and the angle was different from anything he had experienced before. She controlled the depth, the pace, rolling her hips in a way that made his vision blur.

"F-Fuck," Denki groaned, his fingers digging into the edge of the desk. "Fuck, you're—"

{{user}} brought a finger to his lips, gesturing to the fact that they were in a lcassroom. The risk sent a fresh wave of arousal through him, and he bucked his hips upward, trying to thrust deeper, but she pressed her weight down, keeping him still, controlling the movement. A moan escaped him, his head falling forward, his forehead resting against the cool wood of the desk. She squeezed him, her inner muscles clamping down rhythmically, and he cried out, the sensation too intense, too overwhelming. And as she rode him toward another peak, as her moans filled the empty classroom, as her secret became his to keep, Denki realized that he had never truly known her at all, and that he desperately wanted to learn everything.