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Seven Minutes in Heaven - Prologue

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──────────────────────────── 7 minutes in heaven - fall out boy

── .✦ do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. dividers by me.

CONTAINS NSFW, MINORS DNI

✦ . Summary: Slender’s gone, the mansion is empty, and everyone has pent up rage they need to let out through illegal substances. And what better way to settle a squabble than through a good old-fashioned party game?

✦ . Characters: The Creeps x Reader

✦ . Warning: Alcohol, weed, reader and characters are drunk or under the influence of something, house party, party games, flirting, fighting, arguments, teasing, smoking, lowkey a crack fic

✦ . Words: 4.8k

✦ . Note: Surprise!! In the squabble of all the things I’m working on, this somehow came out first, so here it is! I am going to be coming out with different characters once a week (hopefully, if my schedule permits), so voice who you want to see!! Otherwise, enjoy this lowkey cracky fic beginning!

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A message from Slenderman passed down the line this morning, and by mid-afternoon, every resident had heard it.

I am traveling to an eastern ally to consult with my brother. I will be gone for two days. Maintain order in my absence.

The proxies got it first, of course. Masky, Hoodie, Toby, and Kate assured him everything would remain as it is, before sending the message down the rest of the totem pole. But by the time the front door clicked shut behind him, the house already felt different.

That was hours ago, when the mansion was still quiet enough you could hear the floorboards creak.

Now it’s so loud you think your eardrums might pop.

You weave through the absurdly crowded living room, your shoulder bumping against someone’s leather jacket—probably one of the many out-of-towners who showed up when the word got out that Slender was gone for the night. The coffee table in the center of the rug is buried under empty bottles and half-crushed solo cups. All the lights are on, even the Christmas string-lights that nobody had taken down since December, so it makes the space extremely overstimulating—and that’s not to even mention the music that bumps through the mansion so hard the paintings on the wall clatter.

The party’s in full swing, the house lined back to front with weirdos and freaks of all shapes and sizes. Familiar and new faces pass by you in blurs, but that’s only because you’ve had just a couple of drinks.

But right now, you’re in desperate need of a smoke, and who else do you know for fact would have one besides Tim and Brian. The only problem is finding them in this bustling crowd.

Jeff’s perched on the back of the couch like a vulture, his jacket hood half-fallen, his black hair sticking up in greasy spikes, and the carved smile pulling tight around his teeth as he laughs too loud at something Ben just said, both of them passing a bottle of cheap vodka back and forth. They're surrounded by unfamiliar faces, but all of them are drunk or high nonetheless.

You’re almost clear of the living room, almost, when Jeff’s voice cuts through the noise like a dart.

“Hey! Wallflower! Don’t think you’re sneaking past without saying hello.” He has to half-yell it over the music, but if the intense slur in his words isn’t evidence enough, Jeff is drunk.

Ben’s slouched deep in the couch cushions, his blond hair wild and falling into his eyes in uneven strands. The loose ring of unfamiliar faces who surround them part so you can step closer, making it easier for you to hear them over the pounding music.

Jeff grins and lifts the vodka bottle and waggles it in your direction. “C’mere. One sip.”

You step closer just enough to be polite, close enough that the sharp bite of cheap alcohol hits your nose even over the weed smell wafting from Ben. You take the bottle when he shoves it toward you, but you don’t lift it to your lips, just hold it for a second. You pass it to Ben without a word when you see him eyeing it greedily.

“My hero,” he laughs, already tipping it back.

Jeff snorts, leaning forward to really get closer to you, the smell of alcohol on him even stronger than Ben’s weed. “Prude.”

“Not prude,” you say, keeping your tone light. “Just not trying to blackout before I get a good smoke in and a spot to sit down.”

He laughs and slaps the couch cushion between him and Ben. “There’s a premium spot right here. Prime real estate. Saved it special for you. Right between the two coolest motherfuckers in the house.”

Ben lowers the bottle, smirking lopsided, his blond bangs sticking to his forehead, looking every bit the creepy elf.

“I’ve got a better spot,” he barks, pointing to his open lap. Which, mind you, already has some spilt alcohol stains that could definitely resemble pee if you thought hard enough.

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. The room feels warmer suddenly, the bass thumping through the floorboards in time with your pulse. They’re both grinning like cats.

You shake your head, stepping back. “Tempting. But I’m looking for Tim and Brian. You guys seen them?”

Jeff shrugs one shoulder before he’s already reaching for the bottle again as Ben reluctantly hands it over. “Dunno. Probably sulking on the porch like the old married couple they are. Or Tim’s hiding in the basement pretending he’s a good boy for Slendy.”

Ben snickers into his sleeve. “Wherever one is, the other isn’t far behind.”

“Cool. Thanks for nothing,” you say, flashing them both a quick grin.

Jeff points two fingers at you like a gun. “Don’t think you’re off the hook forever. We’re breaking out the bong soon, and I’m gonna need to see you rip one for me.”

“Pass,” you call over your shoulder, already turning toward the hallway.

Their laughter follows you out as you round into the hall.

You push through the kitchen door and the smell hits you—a wall of warm beer, vodka, and way too much cigarette smoke. The island counter’s been turned into a trash pile of red solo cups lined up in sloppy triangles, ping-pong balls bouncing everywhere, and half the surface already slick with liquid.

From what you can see through the bystanders, Nina and Kate are facing off at opposite ends, surrounded by a loose, rowdy circle of strangers and friends cheering them on. A couple of proxies from other mansions are slapping the counter in rhythm, hollering every time a ball even comes close.

Kate’s up to shoot. She’s swaying pretty hard, her black hair sticking to her sweaty forehead, her eyes narrowed to furious slits. She whips around suddenly, elbowing a tall guy who got too close to her back.

“Fuck off.” she snaps, her voice thick and slurry. The guy laughs and steps back half a foot with his hands up. Kate mutters something vicious under her breath, lines up her shot, and hurls the ball way too hard. It smacks the rim of a cup, bounces off, and lands in a puddle on the floor. The crowd groans and laughs.

Nina’s turn. She’s got one hip cocked against the counter, giggling so hard her shoulders shake. Her braids are coming loose, the pink streaks bright under the overhead light, and she’s leaning sideways into some random girl’s shoulder because it seems she can’t stay upright on her own. She’s winning—like, by a lot. Kate only has three cups left, but Nina still has almost a full side. Nina lines up her shot, her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth, then flicks her wrist. The ball arcs clean and drops straight into the center cup with a satisfying plop.

The crowd roars.

“Yes!” Nina crows, throwing her arms up and nearly toppling into the person next to her. She catches herself on their shirt, her cheeks just as pink as she streaks in her hair. “Drink up, bitch!”

Kate snarls, grabs the cup, and chugs it in three angry gulps. Some of it dribbles down her chin. She slams the empty cup down so hard it crumples.

“This is bullshit,” she cuts, already reaching for the next one. She whips around again when another stranger leans in to pat her shoulder. “Touch me and I’ll rip your fucking fingers off.”

You eye the scene over someone’s shoulder, biting back a smile. Nina’s all loose giggles drunkenly floaty, giggling and smiling at everyone. Kate’s the exact opposite—all red-faced, pissed-off, and getting drunker by the second, every missed shot making her even more mad. The crowd around them probably isn’t helping, people shouting encouragement, someone passing a joint along the edge of the circle, another person filming on their cracked phone.

You keep drifting along the edge of the crowd, scanning faces in the kitchen light. Most are strangers, but then you spot a familiar flash of orange goggles pushed up on a messy brown head of hair.

You round the island and slip into the quieter pocket where the cabinets make a little alcove in the kitchen area. The music’s still loud, but it feels muffled back here so you can hear better.

Toby’s in the middle, leaning back against the counter and flicking a pocket lighter open and closed against his fingers. Natalie is on his left, her side pressed comfortably against his, and one arm draped lazily over the back of his neck. Eyeless Jack’s on his right, all tall and broad, leaning in so the three of them form a tight little triangle. They look comfortable together.

Toby’s got a cigarette pinched between two scarred fingers, passing it back and forth with Nat. She takes a drag, then hands it over while Jack cracks open a beer with his claws. The three of them are chatting and laughing as you approach.

Toby spots you first. His head jerks up and he breaks into a wide, crooked grin that shows too many teeth.

“Yo! There yo-you are!” he hollers, his voice cracking halfway through. He waves the cigarette in your direction like a beacon. “C’mere, c’mere—room f-for one mo-more.”

Nat gives you a lazy nod, her single normal eye crinkling at the corner, the clock ticking softly on the other side of her face. Jack tilts his head toward you, the black voids of his sockets pointed in your direction.

You shuffle over, your shoes scuffing the sticky tile, and slide into the open spot across from them. The air back here smells marginally better than the others, but you think it might just be because of Nat’s perfume.

“Hey,” you smile, leaning one hip against the counter. “You guys seen Tim or Brian anywhere? I figured you’d know if they’re hiding, Toby.”

Toby laughs again, his shoulders shaking. He takes a quick drag off the cigarette before passing it to Nat. “T-Tim? Probably o-out on the porch. He’s too ol-old for this s-shit. Brian’s gon-gonna be right th-there w-with him.” He jerks his chin toward the back door. “They were headed that w-way last I sa-saw. Why, you trying to escape already?”

Nat smirks around the cigarette. “Smart thinking.”

Jack cracks open the beer with a soft hiss and wordlessly hands it over. You take it to be polite, even though you can still feel the warm sway of alcohol moving through your veins from what you’ve already had tonight. You take a small sip and hold onto it for now.

Toby’s smile lights up his scarred face. “See? Somebody kn-knows how to b-be polite. Unlike some people w-who chug everything in si-sight.”

Nat laughs under her breath as she takes another drag off the shared cigarette. She exhales, smoke curling around her face. “Speaking of chugging, Kate’s about two more drinks away from starting a fistfight in there. You see her whipping around like that? Girl’s gonna break someone’s nose before the night’s over.”

Jack leans heavier against the counter. “She always gets mean when she’s drunk. Just watch, she’ll start throwing stuff soon.”

Toby snorts, his shoulders jerking. “You can’t e-even speak, man. Every t-time you get bla-blasted, you’re out chewing o-on anything t-that moves.”

Nat bumps his shoulder with hers, grinning. “Says the guy who likes to take off running for miles. We always have to send a search party out for your ass the next morning.”

The three of them chuckle, and you laugh along, but eventually you push off and step back. “Alright, I’m gonna keep looking for those two before Jeff decides I'm too sober for his liking.”

Toby waves the cigarette at you. “Tell T-Tim I said he’s a b-bo-boring old man.”

You slip out of the kitchen, weaving through the hallway where the music pulses louder again. The front door’s propped open, but the screen door is still latched, letting in slivers of cool night air. You head that way, stepping out onto the front porch.

The crowd out here is still thick, bodies scattered across the wide wooden deck and spilling down into the yard, but it’s not as frantic as inside. There’s no yelling (though, you can still hear it from inside,) just low conversations, the occasional burst of laughter, and the steady hum of summer insects in the trees. The air feels clean and cool against your skin after the sweaty heat of the mansion, carrying that sweet pine and damp earth smell that always hangs around the woods at night, something you’ve always loved. You pause at the top of the steps and take a deep breath, letting it fill your lungs and clear some of the fog from your head.

You scan the area. Out in the yard, Smile Dog is tearing around in wild circles, his tongue lolling out the side of his toothy mouth, chasing a very giggly Laughing Jack who keeps dodging behind trees and waving his long striped arms for the demon dog to chase. Further back, Helen leans against a thick tree, talking quietly with a small group of unfamiliar faces, captivating them with some sort of story. On the very edge of the property, half-hidden in the shadows near the tree line, you spot Liu lingering alone with his hands in his pockets and keeping his distance from the house. You think he’s definitely worried Jeff might catch sight of him and start something.

But right at the far edge of the porch, away from the main knot of people, you see them.

Tim and Brian are huddled together, leaning side-by-side against the porch railing. Tim’s got a beer bottle dangling from his fingers, his worn face scanning the yard and taking sips every now and then. Brian’s next to him, sucking down a cigarette lazily, the cherry glowing bright in the dull porch lights. They’re talking between hits of their respective substances, probably rambling on about how unconventional this party is.

You shuffle up to the edge of the porch where they’re posted up, nudging your shoulders between them with a small smile. Tim and Brian both shift without missing a beat, parting just enough to let you slide right into the middle. The wooden railing is solid under your forearms as you settle in, the three of you lined up.

Tim glances over first, the beer bottle dangling loose from his fingers as he taps it against his leg. “How’s the ruckus inside? Sounds like the mansion’s about to come off its foundation.”

You lean your weight against the rail, the cool night air brushing your skin. “Not as bad as it sounds. At least nobody’s dead yet.” You pause, then add with a little laugh, “Though, you might have to go pull Kate off someone before the night’s over. She’s losing in beer pong and furious about it.”

Brian lets out a low chuckle and sighs his amusement. He’s still working on his cigarette, the cherry glowing bright every time he inhales. You eye it without meaning to, the familiar craving creeping in, the object you’ve been searching for all night finally right in front of you. He catches you looking and the corner of his mouth ticks up. Without a word, he holds the cigarette out to you.

You trade him the half-empty beer can Jack gave you earlier. Brian takes it with a nod, and you bring the cigarette to your lips, pulling in a deep, slow drag. The smoke fills your lungs—warm, familiar, a little harsh from whatever cheap brand he’s smoking tonight. You hold it for a second, then exhale as steadily as you can to not make yourself have a coughing fit. Already you can feel your body loosening up, feel your shoulders dropping, the buzz in your head softening into something smoother, nicer. You lean more of your weight against the railing, the wood creaking quietly under the shift.

Tim watches you with a smirk, taking a sip from his fresh beer. “You look like you needed that.”

“Needed it bad,” you admit, passing the cigarette back to Brian. “The house was getting a little too loud. Toby, Nat, and Jack are holed up in the back of the kitchen, and Jeff and Ben are putting on a show on the living room couch.”

Brian takes a drag, then offers it across you to Tim. “Ah, this is their scene, isn’t it?” He leans in a little closer on your side. “Slender never really gives them breaks, so it’s good to let them get all their angst out.”

You laugh, accepting the cigarette when Tim passes it your way next. “Yeah, as soon as the boss walked out the door, Jeff and Ben were already calling people and sneaking out to buy booze.”

Tim shakes his head, accepting the cigarette back from you. He takes a pull, and you watch as smoke curls out as he talks. “Slender definitely knows what’s going on. Boss’ got eyes in the damn walls. He’s probably listening to us right now and deciding if he should kill us all for this.”

Brian nods, his shoulder brushing yours as he shifts. “Yeah, but I think he’s letting us have this one. We’ve been running hard lately. It’s been like the fuckin’ trenches lately.” He glances at you. “Figure we might as well enjoy it while it lasts. Before he drags us all back out there again.”

You take another drag when it comes back around.

“Guess that means we should make it count,” you say, exhaling toward the dark yard. “Before we’re all knee-deep in work again and trying not to go batshit.”

Tim bumps your shoulder lightly with his. “Exactly.”

You were about to smile and make a joke—when a loud, splintering crash cut through the thumping music from inside.

All three of you snapped your heads toward the house at the same time. Brian dropped the cigarette onto the porch boards instantly, his boot grinding it out under his heel. Tim was already moving, pushing off the railing with a muttered, “Goddammit.”

You fell in right behind them, the three of you cursing as you crammed through the front door. The crowd had already started drifting toward the noise like moths to the porch light outside, their bodies packed tight in the hallway. You had to elbow and nudge your way through, the air suddenly thicker again with sweat and spilled beer.

By the time you broke into the living room, the scene was pure chaos in miniature.

Jeff and Kate were on the floor in a messy tangle of limbs and flying fists, both of them way too drunk to land anything clean. Jeff swung wildly, his mouth gaped in a big grin as his fist mostly hit the air beside Kate’s head. Kate snarled and kicked at him, her boot catching his ribs with a thud that probably sounded worse than it felt given how sloppy they both were. A lamp lay shattered beside them, glass sparkling across the floorboards and likely cutting their hands up.

Tim didn’t hesitate like everyone else. He waded straight in, grabbing Kate under the arms and hauling her up and backward to his chest and off of Jeff. “Alright, that’s enough—”

Brian was right behind him. The second Kate was clear, Jeff tried to scramble up, still spitting curses. Brian planted a hand on his shoulder and shoved him right back down onto his ass. “Stay down, you idiot.”

Kate was still thrashing in Tim’s grip, her face flushed red and dark hair all in her face. “He started it—called me a washed-up—”

“I said you—you’re a pussy—” Jeff laughed from the floor, blood already trickling from a split lip that honestly might’ve been there before the fight.

Tim shot a sharp look at Ben who was still hovering near the couch with wide eyes. “Cut the music.”

Ben flicked two fingers quickly. The music cut off mid-beat, leaving nothing but the low murmur of the crowd and the heavy breathing of the two idiots pulled off of each other.

The sudden quiet felt heavier than the noise had.

Brian straightened up, voice loud and carrying through the whole downstairs. “If you don’t live here, or you’re not fucking somebody who does—get the fuck out. Party’s over.”

A ripple went through the room. Some of the strangers grumbled, a few laughed like they thought he was joking, but most started shuffling toward the doors, bottles in hand, casting glances back at the mess on the floor.

You stood there between Tim and Brian, your heart still thumping from the sudden panic inside. Jeff was still chuckling to himself on the ground, wiping at his bloody lip with the sleeve of his hoodie. Kate had stopped struggling but was muttering curses under her breath, glaring daggers at everyone through her drunken slurs.

Within the hour, the last of the outsiders had trickled out into the woods, headlights cutting through the trees as cars bumped down the long driveway. The mansion felt suddenly bigger and smaller at the same time—only the residents left, scattered through the kitchen and living room to see what was left.

The place was trashed.

Red Solo cups everywhere, some still leaking onto the hardwood. The coffee table was shoved crooked against the wall with one of its legs cracked. Beer and vodka had pooled in sticky patches that were already starting to attract flies. The shattered lamp lay in glittering pieces near the couch, and someone had knocked over a bookshelf during the commotion, paperbacks and old magazines fanned out across the floor like fallen leaves. The fairy lights still hung lazily overhead, but one string had come loose and was hanging crooked, throwing weird shadows on the walls.

You learned the fight had started simple and stupid, the way most things did around here. Jeff had been messing with Kate during her and Nina’s beer pong match—leaning in too close, making dumb comments about her aim, then “accidentally” bumping the table right as she went to shoot. She missed. Kate, already three sheets to the wind and mean with it, had swung on him without thinking. Jeff, never one to back down from a scrap, swung back. From there it snowballed into the messy tangle you’d walked in on.

Now the house had gone quiet, the thump of music replaced by the low murmur of voices and the occasional clink of glass as people started half-heartedly picking up.

You were sitting on the arm of the couch next to Jeff, holding a cold beer bottle against his split lip. The bleeding had slowed, but the cut still looked angry under the lights—which was funny considering how messed up his mouth already was. Jeff leaned back, one arm slung over the back of the couch and letting you hold the bottle there without complaint, but he kept wincing every time you adjusted the pressure.

“Easy, easy,” he muttered around the bottle. “You’re being rough.”

“Stop talking or I’ll press harder,” you grumbled. You shifted the bottle a little, the condensation dripping down your fingers. “You had to poke the bear tonight, huh?”

Jeff let out a raspy chuckle. “She was getting the lead on Nina. Couldn’t just let it slide.” He glanced sideways at you, eyes half-lidded. “Besides… everybody’s fine, right? Little fight never killed anybody. Much.”

Across the room, Toby and Nat had managed to get Kate upright between them. She was still muttering curses, her legs wobbly and not supporting her weight at all, but the anger had mostly burned out into drunk exhaustion. Toby had one arm around her waist while Nat supported her other side, both of them reassuring her that she’d be in her bed soon as they steered her toward the stairs.

The mess was worse once everyone actually looked at it and decided it needed to be handled.

A couple of people made a half-hearted start—Nina grabbing paper towels, Toby picking up random bottles—but it didn’t last long. Within ten minutes the whole group had drifted back into the living room, dropping onto the couch, the floor, the arms of chairs, too buzzed and tired to keep pretending they wanted to be responsible—especially with Slender still not back.

Tim stood in the middle of the room with his arms crossed, trying to rally. “Come on. The longer we wait, the worse it gets. Let’s just knock this out.”

Brian was right beside him, and just as firm. “He’s right. We’re not leaving it like this for him to come back to.”

Nobody moved with any real enthusiasm. Jeff was still sprawled on the couch with his head tipped back, the cold beer bottle now forgotten on the cushion beside him. Ben floated lazily near the window, picking at the label on a bottle. Eyeless Jack sat silently in the corner armchair, looking the most annoyed you’d ever seen him.

Nina, cross-legged on the floor and still faintly giggly, finally broke the silence. “Okay, but who actually wants to clean right now? We’re all winding down anyway.” She tilted her head, pink-streaked hair falling over one shoulder. “How about a game? Losers clean one whole room. Winners get to sit and drink and have fun. Like… seven minutes in heaven?”

A few people groaned. Toby laughed. “That’s so st-stupid.”

“You know you want to,” Nina shot back with a grin.

Tim rubbed a hand down his face. “I’m not playing that shit.”

Jack’s head away. “Pass.”

Jeff sat up a little, wincing at his split lip. “I think it's a fantastic idea.”

It took some convincing. Tim kept shaking his head, muttering about how stupid it was. Jack stayed quiet but clearly uninterested. Brian looked like he knew exactly how bad this was going to end up. But the buzz was still there, the night still warm, and nobody really wanted to spend the next two hours on their knees with paper towels.

Jeff stood, crossing his arms to match Tim’s stature. “Just imagine it, Timothy. Seven minutes alone in a closet with this one.”

At that, he jabbed his thumb in your direction, and everyone’s eyes in the room darted to you.

“Jeff,” you hissed.

The room went dead quiet for a beat. Then Tim let out a long breath, rubbed the back of his neck, then muttered, “Deal.”

That single word cracked the silence. Suddenly everyone was nodding and chiming in.

“Yeah, alright,” Brian huffed.

Even Jack gave a slow, reluctant nod of his head.

You gawked at them with your mouth open. “Are you serious? This is perverted and stupid. I’m not doing this.”

Nat leaned over Jeff, shoulder-checking him hard enough to knock him back onto the couch. She snatched the beer bottle you’d been using on his lip and set it sideways on the coffee table right in front of you. The glass clinked against the wood with finality.

“We’ll use the hall closet,” she said calmly, single eye creasing with amusement towards you. “If you chicken out or don’t last the full seven minutes, you lose. You clean while the other person gets to sit back and drink.” She gave you a small, wicked smile. “You go first.”

You shook your head fast. “No way. Absolutely not.”

Toby’s grin widened, his tics spurring him to whistle through his teeth. “Then y-you can go ahead an-and start cleaning.”

You scanned the room, your stomach twisting. The place really was disgusting—sticky floors, broken glass still scattered, cups and bottles everywhere, that sour smell of spilled beer hanging all in the air. The thought of spending the rest of the night on your knees with paper towels while everyone else laughed and drank made your skin crawl.

With a frustrated groan, you reached forward and grabbed the bottle.

Ben flicked his fingers toward the stereo, and the music kicked back on again. Everyone leaned in a little closer—Jeff sprawled back with that dumbass smirk, Nina practically vibrating with excitement, Tim and Brian exchanging a look. Nat sat back on her heels, satisfied. Toby was already whispering something to her, both of them grinning like idiots. And everyone else sat back and watched silently.

The bottle sat heavy in your hand, cool from the beer that still sloshed around inside. You gave the bottle one firm spin.

It wobbled, then started turning fast on the coffee table, the fairy lights overhead catching on the spinning glass and throwing little flashes across everyone’s faces.

The whole room held its breath, eyes locked on the bottle as it slowed… slower… slower…

You.