#anyways lunch breaks done i gotta go back and clean now boo

[cuz-reasons]

Now, I have ended up with 5 finished works and a bunch of other wips so I do need to post smth soon

This all to say I'm posting smth once I get home from work so look out for that

[regrettablewritings]

The Hairy Situation (Sonny Carisi x Reader)

A/N: *screeches* I … HAVE DONE SOMETHING!!! @mrsrafaelbarba, your hairy chariot (hairiot) awaits … And @xemopeachx and @ohbelieveyoume because everyone has to suffer and remember this costume failure of the follicles. ... This...follicular fashion faux pas. Ahem, anyway, enjoy with much cringe as you recall the two episodes that have gone down in hairy infamy.

Your right eye twitched as you watched Sonny raise his coffee to his lips. It was a habit of yours, appearing whenever you got a little too antsy to properly contain your more invigorated feelings. While Sonny was not necessarily the best with reading the room, he always seemed capable enough whenever it pertained to those in need. Especially when it pertained to you.

You couldn’t tell if he was too lost in his espresso to notice your mood or if he knew exactly what you were feeling and was just trying to play coy and/or annoy you further.  There was a good chance it was the latter, though: You had danced the same routine with him for the past week, and Sonny, in his typical spontaneous nature, had taken to adding his own moves to counter your routine. It was maddening, made even worse by his “Sonnshiny nature,” as you tended to call it.

As he lowered his mug, satisfied with the gulps he’d taken, Sonny glanced up at you just in time to notice your expression changing slightly. Your lips had been midway through a grimace before they rolled into your mouth for your teeth to bite down on. But there was no way for you to hide the expression your eyes held. More specifically, there was no way to pretend as those you hadn’t been intently staring at the area right below his nose.

At that, Sonny’s fingers drew themselves to his upper lip, pulling back to find bits of foam on their tips. He cracked a smile; the one that had given you no choice but to fall in love with him the first time you’d seen it.

“Ha! Lookit that,” he chuckled before pointing to the area above his mouth. “Foam mustache!”

If only either of you were so lucky as for it to still make you swoon.

You’d just barely managed to keep your fist’s collision to the table as soft as it could possibly be without rattling your breakfast plates and cups.

“Foam mustache?” you cried. “Foam friggen mustache!?” Your hands flew into the air as though your frustrations were exiting them like an inflatable tube man at a car dealership. “What the hell about the real one!? What about the – Don’t you give me that look!” You pointed an accusatory finger at the culprit, but it was too late: His blond brows had furrowed over his beautiful, blue eyes, and his mouth turned upward as if to mimic a confused pout.

Regularly, such a gesture would have melted your heart in an instant, causing you to fawn over your puppy-like boyfriend. But that … that abomination above his lip! Its presence practically concealed the cute frown, besmirching it entirely with its obscene presence! It demanded more power to adore than what you were capable of giving.

A groan rippled out of your throat as you flopped back in your seat, defeated.

“Sonny,” you muttered. “Sonny. Baby. Sweetie. Sonnshine. Teddy. Puppy-boo.” Every word was tenser than the last, forming a coil of agitation and desperation. By the time you’d reached the end of your list (and with “Honey-poo,” no less), the coil was fully compressed and your exhausted expression was, once again, planted on him. Or, more specifically, the object of your abhorrence.

“Please,” you whimpered, “please, just shave that thing. I forget what your lips look like!”

At this, the pitiful expression gave way to Sonny rolling his eyes.

“For the last time, (Y/N), I’m not shaving it. This,” he gestured to the facial hair as if it were a work of art, “This is the end result of blood, sweat, tears, and testosterone. This is a wearable symbol of status!”

Your eye lids drooped with aloofness. “ ‘Status’?” you echoed. “The only status having that mustache gives you is looking like Douche Prime.”

“Hey, now,” the man gently admonished. “Firefighters get mustaches like this all the time, and you never say a word about them!”

“Yeah, well, I’m not dating a firefighter wearing a schnauzer tail on his face. Nor am I kissing one, feeling his mustache-induced burn when he kisses me, feeling it scratch against my shoulder in the dead of night, causing me to think that Death’s spooky-ass hand is trying to tickle me – ”

“I get it, I get it.”

“Do you? Really? Then shave it!”

“No!”

“Why not!?”

“We’ve been over this, (Y/N), it makes me look cool!”

“It makes you look like you took the brush off of a vacuum nozzle and glued it to your lip.”

“Whatever,” Sonny scoffed, taking one last swig from his mug. “Gotta go, we won’t finish this later.” He pushed himself out of his chair, pulling his jacket off the back of it and putting his arms through the sleeves.

“But – ” you protested. You were quickly stopped by the prickly goodbye kiss that your boyfriend pressed against your forehead.

“Have a good day, sweetie,” he murmured, offering you one last smile before heading out the door. Loving as he was, he didn’t want to stick around for the fussing he’d likely get for touching you with the object of your burning hatred. Even if it was pretty funny to see you stumble over your words. In the end, however, no such fuss came. You were just too tired.

Instead, you sat at the table alone. Your body, uncertain as to whether a frontwards flop or a backwards flop was the appropriate position for defeat, slouched somewhat to the side. Your mind, however, was abuzz with thought. You loved Sonny’s kisses, they were always just so soft and sweet with the very essence of his affections for you coming through every one he applied. Unfortunately, with the presence of that hairy smear above his top lip, his kisses were less soft. And the feeling of affection didn’t seem as concentrated, apparently having been caught up in the bushy hairs. Not at all unlike how the brushes of a vacuum sweep up and cling to dirt.

You thought that your Sonny was the cutest boyfriend in all of New York, possibly even in all of the country. But then, of course you did: every person with a boyfriend thought that theirs was the absolute cutest. The only difference between you and them was that you were confident that you were the closest to being correct.

And, indeed, Sonny was quite adorable. A Labrador who gained human form and decided to get a job in law enforcement. Sure, he was notorious for being a blunt blabbermouth who wasn’t too good with words, but that was for those who didn’t know him. If the right amount of time was spent around him, warming up in some way would be inevitable – he was just so darn endearing! That being said, it was all too easy for you to become a little overprotective towards him in some regards pertaining to his profession.

You had openly voiced your concerns upon his announcement that he’d offered to go undercover for Brooklyn’s sting operation as a john. He’d only just gotten into the precinct about a week prior and he was already putting his narrow ass in danger? What, did he want to get out this relationship that badly?

Of course he didn’t, he just really liked to help. (Sonny also really liked doing UC work. If his heart weren’t in the legal system, it could have potentially found a home in the performing arts.) He kept insisting in the weeks leading up to the operation that everything would be fine and that he would be safe but nothing he said managed to convince you entirely, and you just weren’t the sort of woman to go overly-invested-high-school-mother and march down to the precinct demanding that he either be guarded 24/7 by an undercover The Rock, or that he be removed from the case entirely and put on desk duty. Therefore, Sonny stayed as an undercover pervert.

And, as he promised, things went pretty alright, so long as “alright” just meant that he came out alive and unflappable. But now, with that problem out of the way, there lay your next biggest concern: The mustache.

Sonny had already been growing some facial stubble by the time he got transferred from Staten Island; a side effect of working long nights and under such a short period of time. He’d simply become too tired to really care about whether or not he was clean-shaven, something that you were completely understanding of. By the time of the Brooklyn operation, however, Sonny had gotten into a better swing of things, and the mustache practically in full-bloom. By then, Sonny had insisted that it would only sell the image of being a john further, having seen facial hair as a common trait amongst the sleazier end of the scale and how, generally speaking, it simply sold a better image than if he looked baby-faced.

You had to admit that he had a bit of a point there. Understanding of his reasoning, you went along with it.

In truth, you couldn’t wait for him to shave that thing off using a lawnmower but, then again, it wasn’t just a regular gross mustache – it was a working ‘stache. A ‘stache with a purpose. You supposed you could tolerate just a bit longer.

But then the sting came and went. And the mustache only stayed. It had been nearly a month.

Apparently, some guys down at the station also had mustaches. Guys who had a decent reputation as highly capable law enforcers. This, added with the uncountable number of other mustachioed officers, gave Sonny new consideration over his newest feature. The consideration being that there was no longer anything to consider: He was keeping the thing. And no amount of jokes, pleads, nags, etc could convince him otherwise.

You knew this because you had tried. In between paperwork and editing at your own job and almost always during your lunch breaks, you could be found at your desk or at the nearby café trying to concoct a plan to exorcize the little hair demon residing on your boyfriend’s face.

But after about a month and a few days of near-constant pestering, you were running out of options. You almost considered asking your coworker for some input, but God forbid you get gossipy Nora involved. You tried not to resort to such juvenile means. Tried very hard to avoid stoop. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and the desire to take a nap without the fear of being woken up by having a mini broom scraped against your face was bending your morals a bit.

Time to make light use of one of the most problematic, overly romanticized concepts known to relationship-kind: jealousy. Sonny was, by his own admission, potentially sensitive. Certainly moody, if anything. He wasn’t necessarily the jealous type, however, trusting you enough to not blink an eye at the mention or presence of your guy friends or celebrity crushes. But if you played certain cards right, then maybe … Just maybe …

Elsewhere, Sonny’s phone vibrated against his desk. It signaled a message from you. And in that elsewhere, he would find that your message contained an image of Ezra Miller, circa 2010, with his clean-shaven pretty boy face gracing the screen. Not even five seconds after having received the picture, Sonny would then have received an actual text:

“He’s cute! 😚” you wrote. Not as cute as your Sonny, of course, but Sonny didn’t need to know that, you decided smugly. Keep it short and simple so that it wasn’t too obvious what your intentions were, and let it all unfold naturally. Placing your phone back down to your desk, you complacently returned back to editing the latest presentation script.

You phone buzzed. The word bubble on the left side of your screen read, “Shouldn’t you be working??” Your smirk deepened. He was avoiding the question.

Your fingers rapidly typed against the appropriate keys, writing out, “I am … But I can’t help but also get distracted by this little guy. Lookithimlookithimlookithim!!” You scrolled through your photo app to find the pre-saved photos of babyface Ezra for this very tactic before adding three of them to your message. You felt a feeling of satisfaction dwell within you as you hit “send.”

Brrrrbbb, your phone hummed, causing you to pick it up and analyze the growing situation.

“Yeah, but you know who else is ‘cute’? That one guy from Daredevil.”

Your brows knitted a centimeter’s worth of perplexity.

“Charlie Cox?” you texted back. A little less than a minute later, your phone hummed.

“Yeah, him! Y’know, he’s actually not that clean-shaven in real life.” What the – ? Where was he going with this? The low woosh of a second text coming in sounded. “He’s actually a hairy guy. Shoulda been called Hairdevil if you ask me :P”

You sat there, staring at the text. Your lips were pressed together, unimpressed. The sly bastard had managed to not only play a proper piece to your game, but he also found a way to throw in a goddang pun while doing so! But, on top of that, damn: He got you there, pointing out Charlie Cox’s regularly hirsute appearance. But only for a moment, at least. Early-2010s Ezra Miller wasn’t the only brand of ammo you had in your magazine.

“Tru,” you admitted. “But dang, if that mouth of his ain’t practically obscene when he’s playing Matt. All noticeable and kissable without any distractions …”

Sonny’s response: “I’d say he looks friendlier with the hair. More lovable and protective.”

You rolled your eyes and fought the urge to send a corresponding emoji in response. Instead, you thought for a moment. You concluded that it was time to switch bullet-types. “Evan Peters is also cute, tho 😗.”

“Fox’s Quicksilver? Idk I think the guy from AoU was a tad cooler.” Translation: The guy who’s actually capable of growing facial hair and has a noted mustache was cooler than the baby-faced guy. But you weren’t giving up yet!

Phantom-Era Ramin Karimloo.

Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

Taron Egerton.

Idris Elba.

Daniel Henney.

Tom Hardy.

Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson!

Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson with facial hair!

It went on like this, and for longer than what you would have liked. Both because you didn’t appreciate your plan for coming so undone, but also because lord, there was an uncomfortable amount of actors who managed to work their mustaches. Worse was that more often than not, the actors you would name or could name were made even sexier with the addition of facial hair combinations. Styles which, more often than not, included a mustache of some breed.

This caused you to have a relatively short list to begin with. You struggled to search through what already few men you had left in your artillery before finding your next best bet.

“Jon Bernthal has a clean-shaven ruggedness to him, I find 😊,” you finally wrote. You had tried to sound innocuous about it but the image you attached of Jon in his role as the bloodied and bruised Frank Castle decently captured how you were really feeling. You had to fight the urge to slam your phone down, knowing that it would’ve been pointless to get so frustrated over something so laughably bizarre. But dammit, you hated how you were losing at the very game you had initiated! And besides, your magazine was running low. As it turns out, facial hair tended to make a lot of men even more attractive than usual. Especially if they had that beard and mustache combo going on. But God forbid Sonny learn this and take it as an “okay” to go and grow a beard …

Two minutes had gone by and still no response. You were beginning to question if an inward celebration was appropriate to plan for. Sonny had replied almost immediately to the previous messages, and right about now should’ve been his lunch break. Maybe . . . you had finally won? Did you finally manage to make a mustachioed disaster-oed man rethink his life decisions that had led up to this point?

It was about three minutes after you had first sent your text that your cellular device began to hum with life.

“You know that? You’re right. I’m sorry, baby: This mustache is a smear upon our otherwise wonderful relationship and I deeply apologize for letting it come between us, both physically and metaphorically. In fact, I will be taking the rest of the day off to not only shave it, but seek out a laser hair removal specialist to assure that no such abomination can ever stand a chance at rebirthing bigger and bushier than ever. I love you so much and plan on returning home with a fresh, clean face, your favorite meal from your favorite takeout place, and a strong desire to watch Lucifer, even though I’m still not entirely sure where I stand with a show where the Devil is portrayed as a gorgeous, well-meaning and emotional pianist. Love you 😘 💛 💙 💜 💚.”

That would have been the ideal message to receive, especially after experiencing a time gap that had lasted longer than all the other ones. But alas, life was not ideal. Even with Sonny. Especially with a stubborn, mustachioed Sonny.

“Weren’t you just drooling over his character in Me & Earl & the Dying Girl the other night?” Sonny reminded.

Shit!

That stupidly hot history teacher with the sweet ink and well-groomed beard-and-mustache look! Jon Bernthal was already an attractive man without facial hair but … there was just something so sexually blissful about that man whenever he grew that beard and mustache. So suave and tough, a style that so few men could properly do with such dangerous class. Like he could kick somebody’s ass with one hand and present you with a cup of your favorite pho in the other. But … but Sonny sure as hell couldn’t pull that kind of thing off! How dare he overstep his boundaries and lowkey threaten to attempt for Mr. McCarthy’s Cool Teacher™ trimmings?

Your fingers flew over the keys of your phone with frustration in every stroke, delivering the message, “No! I was appreciating his character’s, well, character!! He was barely in the thing but still left an impact, okay!?!”

“lol whatever you say babe :P,” Sonny responded.

Boy, did you suddenly long for the days of flip phones, when you could signify your exasperation and/or anger by dramatically slapping your predominate mode of communication shut at the end of your conversations. There was just something so unsatisfactory about angrily pressing the off button on your phone, then gingerly placing it face down at last minute so as to preserve the already chipped glass of the touch screen. After which, the spirit of victory evacuated your body at such a break-neck speed that you nearly slammed your face against your desk in defeat. You were going to have to come up with a new plan …

Speaking of which … You looked at that had been sitting on your screen since earlier. It required further proofing from your end but at this rate, it wasn’t getting anything closer to done. You took that (and your increasing hangry-ness) as an opportunity to clock out for lunch. Better to have that excuse, instead of insisting to your waiting associate that work had been delayed for the sake of trying to remove a facial vandalism that wasn’t even yours.

It had been two weeks since the little hairy competition between Sonny and yourself. Two weeks of recycling old ideas over and over, albeit with waning intensity. But finally, finally did you have a plan! A plan that involved tape, Google searches, and plenty of hours on Photoshop.

The latter requirement was a part of why you had lost so much time on the nagging. You had actually forced yourself to cut back on verbally scolding Sonny about the thing out of the sheer bitterness that you would feel if he finally gave in before your self-assignment was complete, rendering your Photoshop exploits useless. But after so many hours of working when Sonny was out of the house or nights when he was home and sleeping, you had finally finished it! Now, all you needed was Sonny.

Well, that, and the ability to keep a straight face. To be fair, you thought you’d had that part down to a science: You just needed to bite your bottom lip and inhale deeply and any fizzle of a giggle dwelling in your throat would start to dwindle. But the moment you heard Sonny’s key click into the lock of the apartment, you made a break for it, practically sprinting into the bedroom in the back so that he couldn’t witness your dismantling.

You’d just barely made it through to the sound-stifling mattress when you heard Sonny announcing his return home, followed by the door being shut and locked. With the sound of your boyfriend kicking off his shoes, the clock had begun. Every footstep he took further into the apartment was the tick of time going by until he realized that something was amiss. And then – they stopped. Dead in his tracks, likely right by the kitchen if you had to approximate it based on the echoes of his feet as they walked him backwards a few paces.

The oxymoronically quiet but blaring utterance of, “What the …?” proved your approximation to be correct. The next few steps that gently thudded against the hardwood flooring seemed to become increasingly sporadic, if not weighted by the sudden stops every other step. It wasn’t even an entire minute before you heard Sonny calling your name.

“(Y/N)? (Y/N)!” The footfalls moved with purpose towards your poorly-planned hiding place of complete visibility on the bed. You barely had any time to scramble up, grab a book from the nightstand on your side, and create the image of composure by the time Sonny stopped at the threshold.

You could only afford to offer him the briefest of glances, lest you break down into plot-killing laughter, and even that was more than enough! With that brow-furrowed expression on his face and severed chipmunk tail above it lip, it looked as though all the hair on his face was preparing to mug his eyes.

Calm, you told yourself. Bite the lip; inhale deeply …

“Hey, babe,” you greeted, turning a page you hadn’t even read yet. “How was work?” Sonny’s eyes squinted incredulously. Instead of recounting how “the boys” gave him their usual tough love, he pulled a photo into view.

“What is this?” he asked rhetorically. You offered one last glance, this time focusing in the general direction of the picture to give the illusion of looking exactly at it. From your peripheral vision, you could recognize the frame: Thick, black, and simple, it usually sat on the table right by the front door, encasing the image of one lanky, teenaged Sonny standing beside his first car. A rusty, blue jalopy, but he couldn’t have been prouder of owning that jalopy. But now, as the fully-grown Sonny held it, the frame held a different image.

It was still of Sonny, no doubt, but it was an adult Sonny. An adult Sonny with hair whose length teased just above his jean jacket-clad shoulders. Well, somebody’s jean jacket-clad shoulders. The tight, high-waisted jeans literally hugging the lower body area left very little to the imagination and stood out glaringly against the pale yellow of the souped up Ford Maverick his figure was coolly leaning against. Well, stood out the best that it could at least. The grainy filter that the image had been saturated in made everything slightly more sepia but all the more of an eye sore. There were only two things that remained true to the real life Carisi: His face and the goddang mustache. And frankly, the bushy facial hair seemed to fit right in far more than his face.

Your eyes flew back to the pages of your book, focusing on brown imperfections from wood pulp to mute any laughing threat you had.

“It’s a photo, Sonny,” you replied coolly. You needn’t look up to know that he was lightly glaring at you.

“I can see that,” he replied dryly. “But what I mean is what – ? What exactly is going on in this photo?”

“I’m afraid that I don’t know what you mean, hun.”

“You mind lookin’ me in the eye and sayin’ that?” Indeed, you did, but there was no way you could tell him that and win. Though you had a sinking feeling that the slow movements made to lift your head up and zero in on his baby blues told him enough.

Bite your lip. Breathe.

“I am afraid,” you spoke slowly, “that I don’t see what the problem is.”

“Seriously?” Sonny scoffed, pointing a finger at the edited image of himself. “You seriously see nothing wrong with this?”

“I do not,” you stated.

“I look like my father in this!”

“Well, maybe that’s where your mustache belongs: On some guy who lived through the jean-clad 70s!”

“Then why was a cutout of it taped to that thrift shop painting!?”

“Maybe the 70s version of you wanted to show how psychedelic he was leaning against a giant bowl of fruit!” you cried, throwing your hands up into the air. And with your attempt at aloofness went your guard: The laughter followed almost immediately. Well, your laughter; Sonny remained standing at the threshold, just staring at the frame in his hands before looking at your guffawing form curl up against the mattress.

“How long did this take you to even do?” he asked above your laughs. You only managed to whimper breathlessly the amount of time as you squeezed your aching gut but Sonny had heard plenty. You didn’t see him lick his lips and nod along to your answer. But you did hear the click of his phone’s camera as he snapped a picture of the edited image.

“W-what are you doing?” you wheezed, looking up at him. Sonny shrugged.

“Takin’ a photo. My mom would love this, she’d say it looks like my dad, too.” He then turned around, leaving you confused and no longer laughing. The silence was soon filled with yet another click.

“Hey …” you whined, climbing off the bed. When you found Sonny he was only a few paces away, taking a photo of that thrift store painting of a bowl of fruit. Specifically, the cutout of his edited image you’d taped on to an apple in said painting. By the time words had found you, he was already moving on to another picture – one where you’d pasted his mustached mug over a photo of your chubby baby cousin.

“What’re you doing?” you repeated. With a smile present on his features, Sonny, only glanced at you before returning focus back to his camera.

“I told you: Takin’ pictures for my mom. She loves stuff like this!” Click. You blinked rapidly.

“Uh … Sonny?” you began. “This … I mean, I was sorta hoping – ”

“That this’d influence what I’d do with my mustache? No; sorry, princess. But,” his grin widened as he scrolled through his newest photo file additions, “I do have to commend the creativity.” He looked up at you. “I love that this is what you went with!” You were too stunned to deny the scruffy kiss he affectionately pressed to your nose. By the time the feeling registered, your face was curling into one of anguish.

“It wasn’t supposed to be funny, Sonny!” you cried.

“No,” he agreed, “but it is.”

You had to fight internally against the urge to slap your own face off.

“Take this seriously! Don’t you see what that mustache is making you?! You look like somebody’s weird uncle who never let the 70s go and gave them their first sip of beer because ‘they were the cool one’!”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“With a porno stache!”

“Hey …!”

“But am I wrong?! No! Please, please, please get rid of that thing before it compels you to start investing in tie dye ties and jackets with fringe!” You groaned as you pressed your hand against your face.

“Just … please, baby,” you whimpered behind your palms, walking closer toward him. Your hands then found new purchase on his shoulders as you looked up to him, giving him the most pitiful puppy pout you could offer with a twitching eyebrow. “Don’t let my hours on Photoshop go to waste.” From the silence and way that he’d tucked his lips in, you half-heartedly hoped that maybe this had gotten the point across. His poor long-suffering girlfriend, at the end of her rope …

“Okay, okay, it won’t,” he gave in. You gasped quietly.

“Really?” you asked. Your query was dripping with optimism as cocked your head. You could feel your heart practically bubbling with joy as Sonny nodded.

“Yeah …” He placed a hand on one of your own and gave it a gentle squeeze. “… Because the boys down at the station are gonna love this. Can’t wait to show ‘em!” In that moment, everything plummeted with an unceremonious flop: Your glimmer of hope, your heart, and your entire body as you fell to your knees in defeat. You couldn’t even release a dramatic, long, “no” to complement your collapse. Too bad; would’ve been nice to use that to drown out the sound of Sonny enthusiastically ringing his mom to tell her about the interesting welcome home he’d received.

It was amazing how much could change with time, how fleeting it could feel under the right circumstances.

For Sonny, all of it flew by so quickly: In the span of only a few weeks, he’d been transferred from Brooklyn to Queens. And after only a week, Queens had passed him off to Manhattan’s Special Victims Unit. And where Sonny went, so did that mustache, now a few months old. And as much as you wanted to continue openly stewing and scheming about it, time had a way of casting events that could change one’s mindset.

The implications of Sonny’s transfers leave much to be double-guessed and while Sonny seemed to be taking the frequent pass-offs in stride, a part of you couldn’t help but worry for him. Sonny was a bit of an acquired taste and unfortunately, not many in his line of work seemed to have the palate for him. As his loving girl, it sort of became like a duty to assure that when he came home, there was an air of comfort and understanding to greet him. Particularly when his recounting of his first day suggested that he wasn’t exactly candidate for teacher’s pet.

You gave him all that you could, including massages, kisses, cuddles, extra nuzzles as he slept. But, most notably, you cut back on the mustache reproaching to the point of it becoming dormant. Oh, certainly, you inwardly groused about the way corn nibblets would stick to it during dinner, or how it prickled your skin even when you were the one directing the lip to lip kisses. But nary a word was spoken that admitted to such (though you had a feeling that Sonny had an idea of it). You almost could’ve sworn that you had begun to sink into a pit of bitter acceptance as the days went by. After all, there was only so much kissing and cuddling one could do because they just became numb to that face-bristle …

Thank God that turned out to not be the case. The moment Sonny indicated that he might’ve found a home in the Manhattan SVU was the moment the cobweb-covered cogs in your Plotting Department began whirring back to life. Unfortunately, with all the time that had passed (and the schemes used before), there was only so much you could still use.

It was as you left work one evening and decided to stop by a McDonald’s for a drink that an idea dawned upon you …

Sonny was hungry more than he was tired that day. All the running around and sudden calls for leads on the current investigation ultimately left little time for him to truly relish his lunch break and only burn off more energy. By the end of his shift, all he wanted to do was go home and relax. Besides, today was your day to cook and he couldn’t wait to see what you had in store.

But as he walked through the door and called out to say that he was home, he realized something: No smells, no sounds. Not of the timer ticking as the oven warmed a casserole, not of the stove sizzling a greased skillet, and not even the humming of the microwave. There wasn’t even the smell of hot takeout wafting in the air.

He glanced back down at the tile flooring of the walk-in area. Your shoes were there, so there was no chance that you were running behind. And the entire point of the whole “I cook this day, you cook that day” compromise was exactly that: a compromise, something to be upheld on both ends! Something was amiss.

With cautious steps, Sonny walked further into the apartment.

“Honey?” he called out. He glanced in every direction until – His eyes narrowed as his brows creased. Did … Did he just see movement from the kitchen? He ventured closer. And sure enough, there you were, elbows on the table, fingers laced, expression completely nonchalant as if there weren’t a bunch of McDonald’s cups taking up a good portion of the little nook.

You didn’t even give him a chance to ask what the hell was going on before you greeted him with a calm, “Hello, Sonnford. I’ve been expecting you.”

Sonny pursed his lips as his eyes flickered from McDonald’s cup to McDonald’s cup. He counted eight.

“Uuuhhh …” he managed. He waved a finger to point at the general group of cups. “What … is all this exactly?” He almost wanted to regret asking you that, given the smirk you now wore.

“I’m so glad you asked,” you purred. Slamming your hands on the table, you nearly knocked your chair over as you jumped out of your seat to cry out, “Dominick Nathaniel Carisi!” Now it was your turn to point a finger at him.

“That’s not my middle name and you know it – ”

“I challenge you to a . . . to a wager!” If he weren’t so hungry, Sonny would’ve found the evil grin you were attempting to be cute… . Ah, hell: It was still a bit cute, if not worrisome. He inhaled deeply as he began to rub his eyes with.

“Okay, okay … So I’m guessin’ that the wager has something to do with these …?”

“Milkshakes,” you finished wickedly. “Courtesy of our good friend, Ronald D. McDonald.” This prompted a piteous groan from your would-be opponent as he lulled his head back and squeezed his eyes shut.

“You couldn’t have just gotten some burgers while you were there? Not even some fries!?” he whined.

“Hush, take this seriously,” you glowered. “Anyway!” (You regained composure) “Here’s the deal: We have, as you can see, eight milkshakes – four for you, four for me. Whoever drinks the most or all of them in the shortest amount of time wins. So! If you win, I’ll accept our pet gorilla thumb as a part of our imploding family. But if I win …” You made a grin that would make any mustache-twirling villain proud. “If I win, that keratin hellspace taking residency on that mug of yours has to go.” You paused for thought. “And you can never grow another one. Capiche?”

The pitiful look on Sonny’s face was still quite present as he pouted at you. But, as always, the usual attempt for sympathy was ruined by that hairy food trap that led you down this road of insanity. You would not be swayed any longer. And judging by the heavy sigh of defeat, Sonny knew this.

“I don’t suppose there’s any dinner to eat before this, huh?” he asked, daring to hope.

“Nope,” you confirmed, popping the ‘p.’ “Just you, me, and these milkshakes: The thick, mortal enemy of mustaches.”

“If I agree to this, can I order a pizza or something?”

“Do whatever you like, you’re still gonna do this.”

“…” The things people do for love. That, and at this point it became evident that there was no way out of your little harebrained scheme. Besides, he supposed, something in the stomach was better than nothing. Or waiting nearly an hour for anything. Might as well. Dropping his briefcase to the floor, he trudged up to the seat across from you, prompting your smile of victory.

“Glad you could join us, Sonnspot,” you teased. Sonny rolled his eyes. When he became adjusted enough, you straightened your posture. “Ready?”

Sonny grunted. Good enough.

“Good!” you chirped. “On your mark!” You leaned yourself in closer to the table. “Get set!” Sonny readied his hand to grab the milkshake cup closest to him. You inhaled. “G – ”

“ – ooooohhh …” you whimpered against the table. As you rubbed a hand over your aching stomach, a hiccup rattled your body. Not enough to cause nausea, but just enough for you to cringe from the additional discomfort it had created. Needless to say, the wager was a bust. A huge bust. Part of you wished you had the ability to go back in time and throw a milkshake at your past self for even coming up with the idea. Of course, this was an impossibility: Not only because of the issues arising from quantum mechanics and theories, but also because there were no milkshakes to spare.

You could hear the sound of a straw slurping up the last of its cup’s contents, creating a death rattle. This was then followed by the sound of its producer expelling a sigh of relieved refreshment. This was the sound of a happy Sonny Carisi. One who, while maybe not fed a proper meal, was just glad to have something in his system after a long day of work. Well, five and a half somethings.

You’d only made it through two and a half milkshakes before your body betrayed you and made you throw in the towel. Sonny was all too happy to take the remaining treats off of your hands. Apparently, milkshakes stood a chance with this barber-dodging buffoon. You maneuvered your head just enough to glare at him. How could you be so foolish as to challenge a man from an Italian family to an eating competition? He’d grown up eating copious amounts of food – heavier, in fact! It was that damn, skinny physique of his that threw you for so many curveballs. You meant to glare even harder at him but then failed when another pang of pain bubbled in your gut.

The grunt of discomfort managed to take Sonny out of his state of satisfactory and shoot you a worried look.

“Oh, you really don’t look so good,” he stated bluntly. You narrowed your eyes weakly and huffed as hard as you could without making your stomach quiver.

“No shit,” you said through clenched teeth.

“You oughta go lie down,” he instructed.

“Ugh,” you groaned, but found yourself too uncomfortable to be difficult. You’d barely managed to push your body upwards when you felt your boyfriend already by your side.

As he gingerly took your hands and tried to hold you up, he uttered, “Why don’t you go lay down in bed, huh? I’ll get you some Pepto or something and a heating pad.” To his surprise, you still didn’t offer a fight. Instead, you sighed, hanging your head as you barely nodded it. You were in no state to make an argument of any kind.

After all, you’d lost the wager.

You’d been stuck in the fetal position for what felt like hours. Not only to further press the heating pad against your throbbing tummy, but also because it was the best position to deliver the notion that you were hanging your head in shame. Not that Sonny seemed to notice, of course. But then, did you really want him to?

Truth be told, you weren’t sure. All that you did know was that you felt awful and in more than just a physical way. It wasn’t even really about the fact that you’d lost. It was more so about the fact that you’d lost a competition that was meant to boss your loved one around, make him change something, and that he still treated you fine anyway. For God’s sake, the man came home tired and hungry, the last thing he probably wanted was to have his seemingly loving girlfriend demand that he chug four milkshakes for the right to keep a mustache of all things! And yet, he cooperated anyway. Not only that, but he didn’t brag or anything; he just took one look at you and immediately went to work taking care of you. Basically, Sonny was just being a good boyfriend.

But if that was the case, then what the heck were you? You’d been spending the last two hours wondering this as you lay in bed, trying to soothe away the pain that you’d caused yourself. And so far, the only conclusions you could come up with were bad ones: You were the type of girlfriend who’d try to flood her boyfriend with facial hairless actors to invoke jealousy; edited images of her boyfriend as a 70s porno stache-wearing uncle then plastered them everywhere; and then went out to buy a bunch of milkshakes for a wager that she couldn’t even win when she could’ve been spending that time or money holding up her end of the every-other-day compromise. And all over some mustache!

You couldn’t even hold back your criticisms of it unless it was out of pity. You were just so wrapped up in the superficial looks of your beau that you barely acknowledged his consistent kindness and humor towards you as anything other than a nuisance whenever they foiled your plans.

What a horrid girlfriend!

You would have curled further into yourself if it was possible. Maybe … Maybe you really were the one in the wrong for not accepting that unshaven bushy blunder. It was at this moment that the bedroom door creaked open quietly before closing just as gently, alerting you of the man of the hour’s arrival. By now, it was probably time for him to turn in. You felt bad; he was going to bed filled with milkshakes instead of a nice, healthy meal. You didn’t dare look at him, ashamed. He said nothing as he walked over to his side of the bed, nor as he caused the mattress to dip. He was probably unsure of what to say; maybe didn’t even feel that it was his job to say anything. Fair enough.

But you just couldn’t think of the right words to say. And so you remained quiet, even as he leaned over to you and placed a kiss against your cheek.

…

Wait.

Your eyes nearly bulged in their sockets as the sensation of the kiss dwelled and burrowed into your skin. It was soft. It was smooth. It was … hairless?

Your brain wasn’t fast enough in its efforts to stop your body from making the sudden movements of unfurling and flipping to your side to face him. But for the split second that you could observe him before the milkshakes inside hit the walls of your stomach, your suspicions were proven correct.

There he was. Your Sonny: Freshly showered and, most importantly, freshly shaven. And now, due to your jolting, newly startled.

“Whoa,” he said, placing a hand on your waist. “Easy there! I’m glad you’re finally moving after all this time but remember to take it ea – ”

“Your upper lip!” you exclaimed. “It’s still there!” Your fingers flew up to press against the hairless flesh. Smooth as a baby.

Sonny offered a gentle chuckle. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Man alive, you never knew it’d be possible to be in love with such a physical feature. But you supposed that absence made the heart grow fonder in some respects. And yet, in your enthusiasm, you had to ask …

“But … why?” you inquired. Sonny raised his brows in question. “Why’d you shave it? Why now, after all that time I spent pestering you about it?”

“Oh,” he hummed. He sighed through his nose, the hot air hitting your fingertips. “Well … If I may say so, I was honestly getting a bit worried about you.” Now came your turn to expression confusion.

“Worried? Why? I was the one making a jackass out of herself over an upper lip toupee. If anything, I should be apologizing to you: I was over here, doing all kinds of things to make you change something you liked and all you ever did was go along with it like it was nothing.”

Sonny winced. “Yeah, but that’s because they were all nothing. I mean, until now. At first, it was cute stuff. Simple stuff,” he elaborated. “Things like trying to make me jealous or pointing out funny stuff – like kinda thing doesn’t really bother me. But milkshake-drinking competitions? You were making yourself sick. I know it was a small start but I didn’t want it to progress, so …” He shrugged.

“So…you got rid of it so I wouldn’t hurt myself?” you finished.

“Yup.”

“… That was all I had to do!?”

“Don’t take this lightly, (Y/N), you had me worried that you were gonna hurl!”

“ ‘Gonna’? I’m still very much at risk for that, thank you very much.”

“Awwww,” he cooed, offering you that pout of his. It was the first time in ages that it had some sort of hold on you. “You want a tummy rub?” At this offer, you lit up. Well, as much as your sickly state would allow.

“Yes, please,” you cheered. As you felt a familiar hand replace the heating pad and gently rub the pain away in circles, you decided to use one last act of selfishness in regards to this whole mustache fiasco. Something to indulge un after having been so long without them.

“Um, Sonny?” you whispered.

“Yes, doll?” Sonny whispered back.

You pressed your fingertips together as you stumbled over your already sheepish words. “Would you … I mean, if it’s not too much to ask – ”

“Tummy kisses?”

“… Yes, please.”

“Will do.”

Epilogue:

For the way that the evening had started off, you were quite pleased with how it was winding down: With your boyfriend, baby-faced once more, rubbing and kissing the pain away from your upset stomach, the bristles of his untamed shrew of a mustache no longer there to keep you from requesting such. At this point, you were practically purring like a kitten. What a great way to end the day … Speaking of which:

“Before I forget: how was work, babe?” you yawned.

“Hm? Oh …” Sonny thought. “Well … Rollins – that tough blonde? – she went and suggested I do all the UC work whenever they need a john. She said that – ” He stopped. “I mean, she said that I do a good job at it.” As much as you were enjoying the tummy rubs and kisses that he was so artfully applying, that sudden pause had you hooked.

“Mmmm. I doubt that, Sonny. You never know when to stop talking, so what was with that pause?”

“Nothing,” he insisted.

“Sonny,” you said, pushing yourself up just enough to peer down at him. “Are you really going to lie to your sickly girlfriend?” Honestly, with how long he remained quiet for, there was a possibility that he intended to. But the defeated exhale eventually told you otherwise.

“Okay, okay,” he gave in. “The reality was … Rollins was tellin’ me I should always be the john for UC work because my mustache really sold the image of ‘sleaze bag.’”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. You didn’t want to make fun of him, judging from the tone he’d delivered that sentence in, but also you just plain didn’t want to further provoke the stomachache that was ebbing away at his touch.

“Oh?” you coughed gently. “I thought that that was why you’d grown that thing in the first place.”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugged one shoulder. “But after a while, I just thought it made me look cool; like one of the boys.”

“Uh-uh,” you said. “So basically, what I’m getting at is that you didn’t just shave your mustache for me, but initially because some big kid at the playground bullied you.” The tummy rubs stopped. You glanced down once more to see Sonny pursing his lips as his eyes looked elsewhere.

“I … wouldn’t put it that way, but – ”

“Save it,” you sighed before flopping back against the pillows. “You now owe me a tummy kiss and rub for every darn, dirty kiss you ever gave me while you had that food trap hanging over your mouth.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

[fmlfpl]

Lineup Lamentations - GW7

Our Transfers, Captains, and Starting 11s for the week!

—

WALSH

TRANSFERS:

OUT: McGinn

IN: Mount

Okay fam, I fucked up this week.

Hands in the air this one is on me but I fucked myself by not moving on Wednesday before price changes where both Tammy and Mount went up so I am 0.1 away now from doing the double swap.

Was waiting for all the cup games to end and then was planning on getting Tammy in before his rise...totally forgot... Mount rose as well and so fuck me. Vacation mode throwing me properly off over here so what can I do? I am but a flawed human and I will live with the consequences of my dumbassedry.

Ultimately I am feeling that removing McGinn is better than removing Haller especially with this news that Lanzini has been training and is back. I just don't think Villa look very good in general and will continue to seriously struggle for goals even though McGinn has good underlying numbers and shit I think he's just a bit meh.

Haller has been bad but looks incredible irl eye test and so who knows the fixture is pretty good from an attacking sense maybe I get really lucky here but I will not tell you all any lies... it feels fucking bad to not have Tamela in this moment. I did contemplate a hit to get Tam in but ultimately felt like it had more of a chance to blow up in my face than work out gangbusters so I'm going to just do the one move...float...and check out what is what next gameweek with two frees after UCL and shit. Seems okay...

Who am I kidding? complete nightmare disaster I'm dumb and I hate myself.

GK:

Pope (avl)

Pope remains from GW1 after popping back into the good graces with a clean last week. Still great fixtures and he's great so an easy hold set and forget type of lad. Good boy Pope.

DEF:

Three at the back for me this gameweek in an unusual turn of events for my squadron.

Alexander-Arnold & Robertson (shu)

Trent and R0bbo go to Sheffield United in what should be a clean banker. If Sheffu can only muster two shots against Everton then not expecting fireworks here against Livp. Granted they are home...but still..come on. Get it done here boys...time for another clean.

Otamendi (eve)

Third guy is NicoOta who somehow just threw up a ridiculous haul last game. Maybe the answer is just Dinho in and they'll keep cleaning like we thought they would. Who knows. I don't and I still think (read: know) Ota is a nightmare but at the moment the price is right and the nail is on.

At Everton suddenly seems like a dreamland fixture as they drag their feet until their manager gets the sack lunch. Get in.

MID:

Salah (shu) & Sterling & De Bruyne (eve)

Still on the three big boppers Mo, Raz, and Kevin.

All three great guys, I’m happy to see people selling Raz hope he drops 1m in price he is going nowhere from my team little razzy baby will come back with a vengeance to punish the non believing heathens.

Mo looked really bad and off it last game so hopefully his touch is back and he can do something this weekend.

Mount (BHA)

New boy Mount goes for me and it feels nice to be part of the mounted cavalry division. Nice little fixture run and still a good price. I really want to get in Maddo soon but Mount seems basically the same thing with a bit lower price no knock and better fixtures at least for right now.

Not sure why I'm talking about Maddo here but I am so that's cool.

Cantwell (cry)

Finally, Todd goes to Selhurst in what should be a who knows what the fuck it will be kind of a game. I could see anything from 0-0 snoozefest worst thing of life to a 4-2 barn burner. Either way, I believe in Todd and I love Todd so I'm going to throw him out in the XI for the near term and see how he rolls.

FWD:

Pukki (cry)

Pukki still in of course..good guy still is good.

Haller (bou)

Haller still in as well...yikes. Pretty massively and utterly terrified of not owning Tammy even more so typing this out now so just gotta hope I get away with it. Eek.

CAP:

Sterling (eve)

Raz gets the armband again.

Was chatting about it in Slack just before typing up lambs and the honest truth of the matter is if I twist off Raz cap after all these weeks of mental anguish to see him spike this game at Goodison I would just be completely beside myself with grief.

I don't want that, so I'm going to just stay with the boy and hope he wakes up on the right side of the bed tomorrow and destroys Everton.

—

ALON

TRANSFERS:

OUT: Diop

IN: Tomori

I wavered back and forth on this one because Diop and West Ham have kept three cleans in a row and have really good home bankers coming up and all that good shit.... BUTTTTTTTT... they’re still bad at defending. They really are. The cleans have been nice but felt pretty lucky. They had Manchester United which is arguably best cleansheet fixture in the league and I got my points and so now I’m bailing.

Tomori has almost identical home fixtures to Diop coming up and I’m taking a swing that with Kante back (and Rudiger soon) they are a better team and better defense then West Ham... So in the equal home fixtures I prefer Tomori and then in the aways I feel like West Ham have relatively no chance at a clean (for example this week away to Bournemouth I see them conceding two or three) whereas Tomori and Chelsea away Southampton and away Burnley and away Watford coming up I���m like yeah I could see it, maybe clean one of those if I’m lucky clean two of those? That seems not farfetched to me.

It’s fucking weird buying a defender for a team with no cleans but comparatively to West Ham I think I’m getting in a step ahead here and hopefully it pays me back :)... Come on you Fikayo.

GK:

Gunn (tot)

Spurs are kind of shit but also this is like a 1% chance of a clean for Gunn.

My biggest mistake on Wildcard was not finding the 0.1 somewhere (SEE: MARTIN KELLY) and going Pope over Gunn but honestly I’m just gonna stick by Angus “Gunn to my head” Gunn through these difficult fixtures and just hope he racks up some saves and bones and the odd clean here and there and then their fixtures turn in GW12 and maybe it’ll all be fine.

Maybe.

DEF:

Tomori (BHA)

Good cleanable fixture. Not AMAZING but a solidly good clean shout at home. Come on lad.

Lowton (avl)

Another solid clean shout here.

Away is obviously tougher but Aston Villa struggle to create big chances and with how deep Burnley set up it will be tough to get behind them and counter them... I feel like a defensive howler from Mee or Tarko will be Villa’s best chance of the game. Hopefully it comes clean for me.

Söyüncü (NEW)

The fucking kid. I love Soy so much.

This should be a very straight forward clean. Hopefully Soy doesn’t do something absolutely insane and concede a penno for no reason and it’s just an easy job with bones and shit. Come on SoyyyyyBoyyyyyLadddddd.

MID:

Salah (shu), Sterling & De Bruyne (eve)

Lottttt of aways this week for me which does not feel terrific at all.

Salah is easiest hold ever despite a bit of a slow start underlying numbers.

Raz had his 0 minutes played early doors and should be back in there firing on all cylinders and Kevin requires no words. If ya didn’t jump immediately on Kevin after GW1 or GW2 then we haven’t been watching the same shit and you clearly don’t listen to a word that Walsh and I say so fuck you anyways.

Cantwell (cry)

The aways just keep coming and I don’t like it...

Palace are tough to break down but they’re also WAY worse at home and love nothing more but conceding possession... This will be a really really interesting game to see how Norwich do when they have ~65% of the ball and have to break down the Woy bus factory.

I expect good things but I’m a little nervous.

FWD:

Agüero (eve)

Kun is real good.

Pukki (cry)

Check what I said above about Todd and apply the same down here to Teemu.

Abraham (BHA)

Tammy is putting up gigantic elite numbers and I see no reason why that won’t continue. Outside of Man City Tammy has the best non-penalty expected goals per 90 in the entire league. Ya love to see it.

The one caveat that I have is that Brighton are pretty good.

BHA have middle of the pack defensive numbers despite facing Man City already this season and they just seem solidly like a mid-table maybe top 10 team.

Potter is great and has completely transformed how they set up and play and they’re just good. People thinking that this will be a Chelsea easy walk in the park 4-0 ass fucking I think are very misguided and relying too much on the color of the fixture on the FPL site and not using data, team stats, brains, etc...

CAP:

Agüero (eve)

This did not take me long to sort out. Kun is on fire, City are the best attacking team in the world as usual, and Everton aren’t great. Hopefully Kun hauls in a loss then I’m in dreamland ;)...

It’s a bummer that it’s away but he’s still Kun and can score a hat trick vs. any non-Liverpool opponent away from home. You might call me not a home/away splits believer.

Come on Kun do it baby boy, Everton are ripe for a destruction... And if City score early the fucking pitchforks will be out at Goodison and Silva and the Everton players should crumble under the immense negativity and booing and horribleness.

—

NOT RANDOM SLACKER: DEREK

Fresh off of IRL pod we assigned Lambs this week to the one and only Derek.

TRANSFERS:

OUT: Coleman

IN: Otamendi

Mentioned on the pod, easy transfer: defender on terrible looking Everton team for an attacking City defender with a great fixture run for the same price.

Seamus got me a couple cleans early and had some great chances for a dong but at this moment cannot be more thrilled to take him out of my team.

This was my plan since before last GW.. sucks I missed Ota's absurd game vs. Twatford but regardless, I'm very happy with this pick.

GK:

Pope (avl)

New friend to the team last week brought me a clean sheet. Hoping for the same this week with Villa away.

Burnley has a nice run coming so expecting some cleans from him.

DEF:

Otamendi (eve)

New transfer in.

I don't love him as a defender and we all know he's struggled at times this year but with Dinho seemingly slotted to the LCB position I’m hoping City can stay relatively tight and keep some cleans on this run.

And with Kevin's super precise set piece deliveries so far this year (and all the time when he is healthy and right), I'm expecting Ota to continue to find his head on some of these balls for some more dongs.

Robertson and van Dijk (shu)

Two lads who have been on my team since GW1.

At this point, cleans haven't been plentiful like how I imagined but a goal and two assists from them is still solid and I expect Liverpool to improve on the defensive front. Sheffield should be staying pretty tight in the back at home so this fixture feels very cleanable.

MID:

Sterling and De Bruyne (eve)

Just two guys on the most potent, explosive attacking team in the league. It's time tor Raz to get some returns for the first time since GW3. Yikes.

Salah (shu)

Mo will be Mo and continue to do Mo things AKA return return return. Even having a shitty ass game like last week, he still got me an assist.

Mount (BHA)

I've had the Fat Frank loving youngster since GW3 and he's price risen 6 times since then which is wild but still think he's a great value pick for those who do not have him.

On the year he has 3 goals in 6, constantly finds himself in the box with good chances, and with this great fixture run coming up, I expect him to continue to tick.

FWD:

Pukki (cry)

Palace away doesn't feel great, but Pukki has proven he can score in any fixture so hoping he delivers me one here.

Abraham (BHA)

Coming off a late push at Stamford Bridge last week versus the league leaders, Chelsea should continue with their offensive prowess vs Brighton back at home.  Although I don't expect Tammy's absurd finishing efficiency to continue at this rate, his physicality and quickness in the box is here to stay which will continue to yield him good opportunities and big chances.

Plus with up-and-down-the-wing god Marcos A. slotted in at left back with Emerson out, Tammy should be getting some great service in the air.  Love having two offensive players from the same team cause the dreams and realization of an assist-dong combo is just the best actual feeling in all of FPL.

Greenwood (ARS)

Taking a chance here going with my other Mason: the 17 year old United striker..feels especially risky with him playing 90' midweek in the cup match.

He has yet to start in a league game this year, but has started in both games outside of the league and has a goal in each of them. With Rashford's groin injury and Martial seemingly dead for eternity (I won't believe he's healthy til I see him on the team sheet), OGS has limited options up top so realllly hoping he gives the kid a chance this week at Old Trafford for his first league start.

From the little I've seen from Greenwood, seems like he is not shy to shoot and with Paul hopefully back maybe the team can progress the ball better and develop some offensive threat again..we shall see.

CAP:

Sterling (eve)

I'm going with Raz for the fifth GW in a row.

We all know what he's capable of..sitting the whole 90' on the bench or scoring a hatty. Hoping for the latter in the away fixture at Goodison cause I think City are gonna have their way with the Toffees. I'd be lying if I said I'm not scared captaining Raz considering he played 70+ minutes midweek in the cup and UCL coming up next week but fuck it.

Weird to see him drop in price two times in a week and seeing some captain polls, kinda feels like a slight differential captain.  Vice will be on Mo.