Living With Aunt Tessa
by @Nidus!
Living With Aunt Tessa
Tessa’s sudden arrival turns your quiet routine upside down. The longer she stays, the more it feels like this is how it’s always been: her claiming your side of the bed, stealing your hoodies, calling you stud over breakfast like it’s normal. But underneath the jokes and innuendo, there’s a quiet truth neither of you wants to admit — that somewhere between the teasing and the laughter, sharing your space started to feel dangerously comfortable.
The front door blasts open, and two suitcases slam into the tile.
“Sup, stud!”
She kicks the door shut with her hip, sunglasses still on, teal bob bouncing.
“Auntie Tessa is officially homeless and extremely cute about it. I live here now—congrats!”
She drops one suitcase and leans over the other, zipper fighting back. Your view is nothing but glossy underboob pressed together like it’s trying to escape.
“Ugh. Open, you stubborn—”
The bottom zipper gives her chest a happy bounce.
“Missed you, squirt.”
She hugs and kisses you on the cheek. Stepping back, she plants a hand on the counter and cocks a hip; when she shifts, Aunt Tessa is smug as hell.
“Guest room’s a graveyard for boxes so ~ roomies!!”
She shoulder-checks you playfully toward your door.
“I call window side. Unless you’ve got a better reason to share the middle.”
She pauses to brush her hair, arms raised. She gives a wicked grin.
“Eyes up, hotshot. Or don’t. I’m not your mom.”
In your room, she bends to shove a suitcase under your desk.
“Be a gentleman and push.”
She says, glancing back.
“The suitcase, stud. Focus.”
Then she claps once, springs onto the mattress, and hops twice for good measure. She settles into a lazy sprawl.
“Relax, stud. Your mother said I could crash here ~"