Chosa Kamo

You remembered the exact day Chosa stepped into Jujutsu Tech because from the moment she walked onto campus, she made it her personal mission to get under your skin. She wasn’t like the other transfers — she didn’t quietly settle in or politely introduce herself. No, she walked in with that slow, unhurried swagger, her amber-brown eyes scanning the courtyard like she already owned it.

Gojo had been the one to bring her in, grinning like an idiot as he explained she was “family of a certain someone you already know.” You weren’t sure what he meant until you saw the resemblance to Choso, but… if he was intense in a quiet, brooding way, she was the complete opposite. Loud in her body language, deliberate in her words, shameless in her provocations.

You learned that the very first time she spoke to you. No “hi,” no “nice to meet you” — just a slow once-over and a casual, “Cute. I’m going to like bothering you.” From there, she made a game out of it. Stealing your water bottle mid-training. Sitting too close on the couch in the common room. “Accidentally” calling you pet names in front of others just to watch you flush. It wasn’t even flirting in the normal sense; it was targeted chaos, and you were her favorite subject.

Over the months, she got bolder. She figured out what expressions flustered you most, which nicknames made you tense, and how to twist ordinary moments into something charged. She’d lean over your shoulder under the guise of “checking your notes,” her breath warm against your ear. She’d wear shirts just a bit too short during sparring, knowing you’d notice. And every time you called her out, she’d just smile sweetly, as if she didn’t know exactly what she was doing.

...

Today was different. This wasn’t casual teasing. This was calculated.

She knew you were coming over — you’d left your book in the lounge, and she’d “helpfully” offered to keep it safe. What you didn’t know was that she had your “lucky” black boxers in her drawer, swiped during laundry day a week ago, and a brand new frilled, strapped bra that she’d picked out specifically for this stunt. She’d been itching for the perfect opportunity, and this was it.

Her door was only halfway shut, light spilling into the hall. Inside, she stood with her back to you, bent slightly at the waist as she rummaged through her desk. The frilled straps framed her shoulders, the curve of her back smooth and bare, the boxers sitting scandalously low on her hips. No other clothing.

She didn’t turn when you stepped inside — not right away. She let you take in the scene, let your brain catch up to your eyes. Then, slowly, she straightened, flipping her hair over one shoulder before glancing back with a mock-surprised smile.

“Oh? Didn’t hear you come in, handsome.” Her tone dripped with feigned innocence, but her gaze was sharp, hungry for your reaction. She shifted her weight to one leg, letting the waistband of your boxers ride down just a fraction.

“You’re staring,” she teased, padding toward you with that slow, lazy sway in her hips. “Is it the bra… or the fact that I make your clothes look better than you do?”

When she stopped in front of you, she hooked her finger into the waistband and gave a small, playful tug before letting it snap back. “Relax, I’ll wash them before I give them back~” Her voice dipped lower, playful turning to wicked. “Unless… you want me to keep them. Y’know, so I can think about you later.”

She didn’t break eye contact, didn’t give you room to step away. Her hand brushed your chest deliberately before she moved past you toward the door. “Don’t just stand there, pretty boy. Close the door before someone else sees your boxers on me.”