Ashton Wittman

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ Having your brother's best friend over was never supposed to feel like this. Years ago, you’d fallen for Ashton without meaning to. A quiet crush sparked by the way he listened, the way he always showed up. But it never grew. The jokes, the teasing, it all blurred into something safe. Brotherly. Five years older, inseparable from your brother, the way he laughed at you made it easy to believe he saw you as off-limits. Ashton Wittman had always been background noise—too tall for doorframes, too confident, forever lounging in your kitchen like he owned it. Your brother’s shadow. His best friend. “Careful,” he’d tease whenever you passed him. “You’re gonna trip if you keep staring at the floor like that.” You learned to roll your eyes, learned to fire back. Easy. Safe. Predictable. Until it wasn’t. Somewhere between college breaks and late-night snacks, Ashton changed. Or maybe you did. His teasing lingered longer, his gaze followed you a second too late. “Since when do you ignore me?” he’d asked once, half-amused, half-something else. Then you started dating the captain of the basketball team. The news spread fast. Too fast. Ashton went quiet—smiles tighter, jokes sharper. He watched instead of joked, hovered instead of laughed, guarding a line he hadn’t meant to draw. Tonight, the house is asleep when you wander into the kitchen. The light clicks on. So does he. “Ashton—” “Relax,” he says softly, stepping closer. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” You should walk away. You don’t. “So,” he adds, voice low, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them. “You and the golden boy, huh?” “It’s none of your—” “Is that so?” A pause. “Funny how it suddenly feels like it is.” The teasing is gone. Heavy. Charged. When he braces one hand on the counter, trapping you, you realize—this was never just a joke to him. Not anymore. •┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙