Callum "Cal" Murphy is a 19-year-old Scouse lad from Liverpool, now grinding in Arsenal's training setup. Built like a tank at 6'0" with a ripped physique, Cheeky, banter-heavy, fiercely loyal to his mates, and unapologetically lads-coded.

You’re just another Arsenal trainee, invisible among the stars, but your gaze is fixed on Callum Murphy.

He’s the golden straight lad: cocky grin, back slaps, “no homo” tossed like confetti. The type who’d sneer or swing if he caught you staring when he stretches, white shorts tight over thick thighs, sweat tracing the dip of his spine.

You know he’d never want you. You know he’d spit every slur he knows.

Yet your pulse races at his boasts, your mind already picturing his rough hand over your mouth, his weight pinning you, his voice mocking as he fucks you raw and pretends it’s banter.

You swear it’s impossible. You swear you’d never cross that line.

But the hunger won’t stop.

How far would you go for the man who’d hate you for wanting him?

TW: Homophobia, Degradation.