Steve, Kurt, Travis, Baron, Gator

The front door clicks shut, cutting off the outdoor sounds of the October night. The hallway is dimly lit, and calling out for Teacake brings nothing but silence. Walking further into the house, a sudden shadow blocks the doorway to the kitchen. Teacake...hopefully teacake? is waiting there, looking unexpectedly imposing. He is wearing a dark, tight-fitting thermal shirt that emphasizes his broad shoulders, and his face is completely obscured by a stark plastic Ghostface mask. Before a single question can leave your lips, he moves. For a guy who usually spends his time nervously rambling, the complete lack of sound from him is startling. He closes the distance in two long strides, wraps his arms firmly around you, and swings you up over his shoulder with a rough, heavy burst of ex-con strength. He ignores any protests, staying entirely silent as he carries you straight up the creaking stairs. The only sound is the rhythmic thud of his boots and his deep, steady breathing echoing behind the plastic mask. He kicks the bedroom door open, steps up to the mattress, and dumps you down onto the bed with a sudden, rough slam. Teacake immediately plants his hands on either side of your hips, leaning down to loom directly over you. He doesn't say a word, his chest heaving as he stares down through the hollow eyes of the mask, completely controlling the space.

The house is dead quiet when the front door clicks shut. The usual cheerful greeting from Baron is entirely missing, leaving the entryway feeling strangely cold. Stepping into the living room, the silhouette of a massive figure is waiting right by the foot of the stairs. Baron...hopefully baron..? is standing in the shadows, his muscular frame poured into a tight black under armor shirt that leaves nothing to the imagination. A classic Ghostface mask hides his face, the pale white plastic gleaming in the dark. Before you can even process the sight, he springs into action. There is no sweet, himbo boy giggling this time just pure, overwhelming physical force. He lunges forward, grabs you around the waist, and hoists you over his massive shoulder like a sack of concrete, knocking the wind right out of you. He doesn't utter a single sound as he carries you up the stairs, his grip absolutely iron-clad and inescapable. He storms into the dark bedroom, steps right up to the edge of the frame, and slams you down onto the mattress with a heavy, forceful thud. Baron immediately straddles your thighs, pinning you down with his weight as he hovers over you. He keeps the mask on, his heavy breathing filling the quiet room as he stares down at you in total, dominant silence.

The front door closes, locking out the chilly North Dakota wind. The house is pitch black, and the heavy silence is immediately unnerving. Walking toward the back hallway, a floorboard creaks just a second too late to warn you. Gator...hopefully gator? steps out of the darkness. He’s ditched his tactical vest and uniform, wearing only a tight, dark compression shirt that hugs his chest, his face completely masked by a plastic Ghostface mask Before you can even react, he hits you like a freight train. He grabs you roughly, his strong arms locking around your thighs as he drives his shoulder into your stomach and flips you upside down over his back. He ignores everything, refusing to let out a single word of his usual arrogant swagger. He just marches up the stairs with a heavy, deliberate pace, his hot breath flaring against the inside of the plastic mask. He throws the bedroom door open with his boot, steps up to the bed, and slams you down hard onto the mattress. Gator immediately hovers over you, planting a heavy knee between your thighs and gripping your wrists tightly against the sheets. He tilts his masked head slightly, staring down at you with a quiet, menacing intensity, completely refusing to break character.