In Drunken Matrimony ✔️

Seventeen - Get Creamed

Hi guys - I'm going to London for the next few days to have a detox. I still plan to write on an evening where I have the time, but please bare with if there are fewer updates this week and next. I promise I'll be back on the ball asap (I kinda wanna get this finished for the Watty's lol)

Hᴀʟʟɪᴇ

Slowly, I nudge open the door to Oliver's bedroom. It's completely dark, the curtains drawn to shield the morning sun and allow him another few hours of undisturbed sleep. Or, so he thinks.

Following yesterday's stunts, when Oliver thought it would be funny to put salt in my cup of tea while on a conference call with work, I have decided to get my own back. Perhaps it is childish of me - Oliver is bored and looking for ways to entertain himself, but I had to drink said salty tea, considering I could hardly spit it back in the cup in front of all my dads, and soon to be my, major business partners. He found it absolutely hilarious, naturally, and spent the entire day giggling to himself as if the memory simple could not escape him.

It took a while - pranks have never been my forte and I might have had to rely on the internet to give me some inspiration - but the adrenaline rushing through my veins has suddenly made all that time worth it.

With my phone screen dimmed to the lowest brightness, I cast it across his room, tiptoeing across the floor gingerly. His room, against my every impression, is rather tidy, except for the occasional discarded pair of joggers or socks - clean socks, I hope. The notion of them being used makes me shudder with disgust.

As I approach his side, I take a moment to study how peaceful he looks. Hair cast astray over his forehead, lips pursed to a slight pout while his lashes flutter across his cheeks as his eyes tremble with the dream that floods his reverie. He looks rather beautiful, and after a second longer staring, I realise if he woke now, I'd be the epitome of creepy.

"Oliver," I whisper. He doesn't so much as twitch. He always has been a deep sleeper - even my fruit blender doesn't wake him. Satisfied that he is completely asleep, I take the can of whipped cream in my hand, shaking it vigorously before squirting it generously on his open palm.

It takes a moment, lip bit firmly between my teeth, to contain my laughter. In that time, he moves only slightly, mumbling unintelligible words. With a grin plaguing my face, I begin to blow air on his face, gentle, but obvious enough to disturb his sleep.

He moves, but not enough, so I persist and finally, he swats, slapping the cream across his face with a satisfying squelch. I decide to let my laughter go, exploding in a fit of giggles at the cream which has spread across his skin, tangled with his hair, his brows, and even found home on his pillow.

He wakes groggily, his eyes hazy as he finds me stood beside him, clutching my stomach as I laugh uncontrollably. "Hallie?" He mutters, his voice gravelly as he fights away the lingering ounces of sleep.

"Hey Mr. Whippy." Then I snort, most ungracefully, clasping a hand over my mouth to capture my laughter. To most, this might not even be at all amusing, but to me -

He lifts his hand to his face again, further spreading the cream before he realises. His eyes widen as he finally notices the remnants on his hand before running his tongue over his lips to rid of what is there. My laughter remains unceasing. Then he grins.

"Oh; you got payback huh?" And I squeal as he launches for me, grabbing my wrists and pulling me on to his bed, my hair landing centred in the whipped cream. Oliver grins as he hovers above me. "Where'd you learn this trick?"

"Google." I admit breathlessly, and he laughs at my honesty. He lets one of my wrists loose, and raises a finger beside my head, scooping a blob of cream from the pillow before pushing it slowly into his mouth to clean it.