Söbriety • Mötley Crüe •

107. Ho Ho Ho

A/N: A little fluff before we get into the heavy. ♥️

Ryan's POV

"It's Christmas, momma!" Two small palms slam against my chest, jolting me awake. "Merry Christmas! Ho ho ho!"

"No, Wylie. Go away." I groan, voice heavy with sleep.

"But, momma, it's Christmas! Wake up, wake up, wake up! Santa came and left me a whole buttload of presents!" She slams her palms against my chest once more, nearly knocking the breath out of me.

She's going to be the death of me one of these days.

She plays too rough with her Uncle Tommy and thinks the whole fucking world is her playground to climb all over, including me.

"Why are you on me? Go terrorize your father for once." I mumble, extending my arm to push her down.

I don't give a fuck what day it is, I'm not getting up before eight AM on a non-school day unless someone is bleeding profusely or dead.

And even then, if they're already dead, what the fuck can I do about it?

"Daddy's already downstairs!" She exclaims, bouncing against my legs painfully.

"Baby, get off of momma, please. You can't do that when I'm preg-" My mind snaps into gear, my eyes opening all the way as the Santa hat placed on the top of her head comes into view. "Your dad's already up?"

"Mmhm!" She hums. "We're all waitin' on you, momma. Grandpa Tom says I can't open my presents until you get your lazy ass up!"

Gee, thanks Tom.

When Nikki brought up the idea of inviting him for the holidays, it didn't take me even a millisecond to agree.

Even if the old man never has a filter, he's the father figure I've been craving since I lost my own, and I would take all the crude remarks in the world if he would just stay here forever.

Besides, he means well and I know he loves me, so I just take it as playful teasing.

"What time is it?" I yawn, kicking her off of me to flip over and look at the clock.

"It says nine two-two." She reads the orange numbers proudly, a wide grin forming over her small mouth.

Well, shit.

I guess I'm late to the party.

"Alright." I huff. "Give me a minute and I'll be right down."

"Okay, momma!" She gives me a hard nod before catapulting herself off the bed, her arms raised in the air as she runs out of the room.

"Merry Christmas! Ho ho ho!"

I shake my head at her endless source of energy as I throw the covers off of me, rubbing my eyes in an attempt to wake myself all the way up.

The scary looking Santa on my chest makes me flinch when I walk by the mirror, a deep laugh bubbling up my throat when I realize it's just my shirt.

I really need to find a way to restore this thing. Santa looks like he's been through a meat grinder or been in the hands of Michael Myers one too many times.

But it's my tradition to keep my dad alive, and I'll wear it even when Santa totally peels off.

I run a brush over my teeth and through my hair, and debate on changing my shirt to something a little less grungy, ultimately deciding against it.

It's just my family, they've seen me in worse.

"Merry Christmas, little lady!" Tom hollers as I pad down the stairs, still half asleep.