25 Days of 5SOS - 5SOS Christmas Writings

Day 14: Ashton Blurb - Little Saint Fletcher with Daddy!Ashton

Ashton hums softly in your master bathroom, slathering some shaving cream on before grabbing his razor.

"Daddy!" Your five year old son, Fletcher, exclaims, wrapping his tiny arms around Ashton's legs.

"Good morning, buddy!" Ashton beams, scooping him up and sitting him on his hip as he quietly closes the bathroom door. "You didn't wake your mommy did you?" He asks in a hushed tone.

Fletcher shakes his head wildly. "No, I remembered what you told me about letting mommy rest on Saturdays!"

"Good job, buddy!" Ashton praises, setting his son down gently to sit on the counter as he picks his razor back up.

"What are you doing, daddy?" Fletcher asks, gently swinging his legs as he watches Ashton carefully.

"I'm about to shave, buddy. Would you like me to teach you?"

"Would you?!" Fletcher asks with wide, hopeful eyes.

"Of course! Come here!" Ashton picks him up, placing him on the floor gently. "Alright, first let's put the shaving cream on, okay? Would you like to do it yourself, bud?"

He nods his head excitedly before Ashton sprays a small amount into his tiny palm.

"Now just put it on your face where I have mine, okay?"

"Okay!" He exclaims, smearing the shaving cream all over his face, giggling when he looks in the mirror.

"What's so funny, buddy?" Ashton asks, raising a brow.

"I look like Santa!" He giggles, holding his palm out for more shaving cream. Ashton chuckles, squeezing a bit more into the small boy's palm. Fletcher spreads the extra cream along his chin, laughing even more when he looks in the mirror. "Daddy, look! I'm Santa! Ho ho ho!"

Ashton laughs, smiling proudly down at the boy. "You look exactly like Santa!"

"Can I go and wake mommy up and tell her I'm Santa?" He asks, rocking back and forth on his heels excitedly.

Ashton thinks about it for a moment, smiling before ruffling his son's hair. "Sure, but be careful not to get shaving cream on the bed, okay bud?"

"Got it, daddy!"

Fletcher quickly opens the door, running to your bedside before shaking you awake. Ashton watches from the bathroom, recording the unfolding events.

"Mommy!" He cheers, continuing to shake your body as a soft groan slips past your lips.

"Hmm?"

"I'm Santa Claus! Ho ho ho!"

You squint open your eyes, a large smile forming on your face when you see your son standing in front of you with shaving cream lathered across his face, your husband chucking softly to himself from the bathroom doorway.

"Look at you, Fletcher!" You giggle, sitting up and pulling him onto your lap.

"No, I'm Santa Claus! Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!" He places his hand on his small stomach, exaggeratedly shaking his tiny body with each "ho."

"I'm so sorry, Santa! You just remind me so much of my beautiful baby boy." You tease, pinching his sides jokingly.

"He's been a wonderful boy! You should get him everything he wants for Christmas!" Fletcher exclaims in his best imitation of Santa's deep voice.

You bite your lip to stifle a laugh, raising a brow. "Is that so?"

"Mhm! He really wants a drum set like his daddy's!" He explains proudly.

"I'll be sure to talk that over with his daddy then, and we'll see what we can do." You giggle.

"You've been a good mommy this year, so Santa will bring you what you want too!"

"I already have all that I want right here." You smile, kissing the top of his head softly, shooting a quick wink Ashton's way.

A quiet giggle leaves his mouth as he scrambles to get off your lap. He quickly runs over to Ashton, tapping his thigh to get his attention. Ashton leans down so Fletcher can whisper into his ear. "She thinks I'm really Santa, daddy!" A proud smile on his face.

Ashton laughs, glancing at you watching him with adoration.

"Good job, buddy! Now go wash up and we can go get mommy that necklace she's secretly been wanting, okay?" He whispers into Fletcher's ear.

"Alright, daddy!" He whispers excitedly, running into the bathroom to wash up, Ashton smiling fondly at you before joining his son in the bathroom.