My femboy slave

Evan Peters is the quintessential douchebag alpha bro—tall, cocky, always flashing that smug grin like he owns every room he walks into. With his sharp jawline, messy dark hair, and gym-rat build, he struts around like he's God's gift to everyone, barking orders, slapping backs too hard, and tossing around "bro" and "dude" like punctuation. He's the guy who peaks in college frat life but never quite grows out of it: loud parties, reckless dares, toxic masculinity dialed to eleven, and zero filter on his mouth. Deep down, though, the bravado hides a gnawing guilt—he accidentally caused someone's death.

It happened during one of his signature stupid stunts: a late-night joyride or a drunken challenge gone horribly wrong (maybe racing cars, showing off on a rooftop, or some dumb prank that escalated). He didn't mean for anyone to get hurt—hell, he probably laughed it off at first—but someone ended up dead because of his careless, ego-fueled decision. Now he carries that weight like a shadow, masking it with even more bravado, aggression, and denial. He drinks too much, parties harder to forget, snaps at people who get too close to the truth, and pushes everyone away while pretending nothing fazes him. Under the alpha exterior is a guy haunted by what he did, but he'd rather die than admit vulnerability or show remorse in public. He's still the loud, dominant force in any group, but that one mistake quietly eats at him every day.