#psych fic

[pineapplepluto]

Iris's Butterfly

“Bu-fly!” Iris reaching for it with her tiny hand Pointing then grabbing Karen gently tells her look don’t touch Remembers butterfly collecting in high school She keeps her collection locked away in a drawer She knows Iris would love the pretty colours and patterns But she’s not ready to answer the question of why the butterflies at home don’t move When the ones at the park do So she keeps her collection locked away In a drawer in the closet where she keeps her gun safe Another thing she’s not ready to explain

(Based on the prompt of Karen taking Iris to the park from @arrowheadedbitch)

[limeskittlesaredecent]

i wish Psych made Shawn suffer more. sorry but i like it when my favorite characters are subject to massive amounts of whump :(

like i really enjoy 4x09 (Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark) and 7x01 (Santabarbaratown 2) in particular bc they’ve got the physical and emotional pain. The Yin/Yang saga is excellent ofc.

that being said. this is why fan fiction exists 😄

if anyone has any h/c psych fic recs… i would love to see them :)

[afewproblems]

Difficult Days - Part 8

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six , Part Seven or Read on AO3

“I told you so,” Gus says as Shawn straightens his shirt collar and fixes his hair in the precinct bathroom. 

Shawn sighs through his nose and turns on the tap to run the tips of his fingers under a short burst of water.

It's been two weeks since the incident with Lassie and Henry and it has not blown over.

If anything, Lassiter is…weird around him. 

Sure he's still surly and quick to yell and argue about their presence in the field and at the station, but every now and again Shawn catches the Detective staring at him.

And not some passing glance or vacant unassuming look, no.

This is the full-on, piercing, cop stare down, complete with a terminator scan and infrared analysis.

Needless to say, it's starting to freak him out.

Shawn has brought it up to Juliet and Gus separately, with Juliet's response being a single raised eyebrow and the question, “since when is Lassiter not monitoring you? I'm pretty sure he only just started trusting Buzz and he's been stationed here since before my transfer, Carlton can be a bit of an intense guy Shawn”.

And Gus's response--

“I told you so”. 

Shawn rolls his eyes and runs his wet fingers through his hair, twisting them up to ruffle the ends just right.

“You did not--”

“Uh no,” Gus speaks over him, “did I not say that Lassiter was pissed?”

Shawn looks at Gus through the reflection in the mirror, “Gus--”

“Did I not say that calling him a dog would end in him shooting you?” 

Gus raises a single challenging eyebrow as Shawn turns the tap on again to run his whole hand under the stream before flicking cold water at his friend.

“Shawn!” Gus yelps, darting out of the line of fire, “this is a new shirt!” 

“I don't think those were the words you used and come on, it's just a little staring right? It's only…a little weird, right?”

Gus raises his eyebrows and tilts his head, looking at Shawn through the mirror.

And yeah, okay, it might be a little more than just a little weird.

“Whatever,” Gus grumbles, "I do eventually have to get back to my real job so can you stop primping so we can talk to Vick?”

Shawn reaches out for the paper towel dispenser and grabs a sheet to dry his fingers before crumpling it up and raising his arm high above his head to throw the makeshift ball into the garbage can. Shawn groans as the tiny ball of slightly damp paper barely hits the rim before it tumbles to the tiled floor of the SBPD bathroom.

“Gus,” Shawn huffs as he reaches down to pick up the paper, “you know as well as I do that people are much more likely to give you what you want if you present yourself well and take pride in your appearance”.

“You literally have a queso stain on your shirt Shawn”. 

Tossing the paper directly into the trash, Shawn side steps the comment and Gus as he turns on his heel and makes his way to the doors.

Their caseload has slowed down to a crawl recently. Shawn blames the weather, scorching heat and enough humidity to make a seal sweat. All the potential clients, and criminals, are either holed up at home with AC or busy at the beach --not that Shawn wants crime to happen necessarily, but the lack of cases does present a problem when it comes to their financials, which Gus maintains he should pay more attention to.

Thus the visit to their favourite interim Chief, Vick.

Maybe there's a brand new case that they could assist with, or stowaway on long enough to earn a paycheck.

Either way works for Shawn.

Shawn rounds the corner of the next hallway --Jesus, the precinct is either way bigger than he remembers or they've actually managed to fall into the Labyrinth from Labyrinth. 

Not that Shawn would mind running into Bowie at this moment, especially in those pants. 

He halts suddenly as he sees, who fucking else, but Lassiter and Henry talking just outside of Sargent Bart's door.

Perfect.

Shawn takes a step back, closer to a display cabinet on the wall and quickly reaches for Gus to pull him back beside him.

“Why the hell is he here again?” Gus whispers.

“Because I'm cursed, because the universe hates me,” Shawn says under his breath as he peeks around the shelf again just in time to see Henry laugh at something Carlton says.

“See?” Shawn says, gesturing towards the pair, “hates me”.

Shawn frowns and closes his eyes, trying to visualize the emergency evacuation floor plan they were provided when Vick hired them, maybe there was a way to get around the pair without being seen…even with Vicks office being two doors down from where his father and Lassiter are standing.

Shit.

“We should have gone left instead of right, that would have been faster,” Shawn admits with a frown as he slumps back against the wall and out of sight.

“If someone hadn't insisted on messing with his hair for twenty minutes we wouldn't be in this situation,” Gus hisses, throwing his hand out to slap at Shawns shoulder, earning a muted yelp which Shawn tries to quell as best as he can.

Shawn retaliates with a slap of his own at Gus's arm and just as he ducks out of the way of another hit he hears Lassiter’s voice float down the hallway. 

“Spencer has been a menace since he started”.

“Shh! I hear my name,” Shawn hisses as he peers around the shelf again, he feels Gus move behind him to match the position. 

Henry is facing away from them but he can see his dad nod at the Detective. 

“He does some good work but he's got no respect for protocol or authority,” Lassie continues looking at Henry with a strange expression that Shawn can’t quite qualify.

“I don't know what the chief sees in that waste of space,” Lassiter huffs, the words are irritated and clipped but his sharp eyes are scanning Henry now. 

Evaluating, looking for something.

Henry stiffens at the words, and Shawn watches as his dad steps closer to Lassiter. He breathes out a low laugh that has the Detective’s eyes narrow as though he's caught something, but Shawn knows that laugh intimately and hears ‘Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!’ blare in his mind as his dad's posture changes. 

Henry leans in even closer, his voice quiet and cold, as he says, “you call my kid a waste of space again, Detective, I'll put you through the wall, are we clear?” 

Shawn lifts his right hand to stick his index finger in his ear, twisting it hard, because there was no way in hell he heard that right. 

Since when did Henry defend him to the other officers --especially his new best buddy Lassiter.

He looks at Gus whose raised eyebrows have cut harsh creases across his forehead in surprise, he shrugs as they both turn back to the strange scene down the hall.

Lassiter blinks once, his face triumphant for a brief instant before he schools his expression into one of shock. The Detective nods as he steps away from Henry's imposing shadow.

“Crystal, sir,” he says, adjusting his tie before nodding at Henry and making his way back to the bullpen. 

Shawn slowly slips back behind the shelf as though dazed, and lets his shoulders connect with the wall behind him.

Because, what in the hell was that?

“What in the hell was that??” Gus whispers as he falls beside Shawn, letting his shoulder roughly connect to the wall. 

Shawn shrugs as he stares unseeing at the floor, “weird, bizarre, peculiar, flummoxing, yeah, that’s it, it’s flummoxing”.

He looks back up in time to see Gus raises a single, exasperated, eyebrow.

“Jules got me a word of the month calendar last week”.

Gus rolls his eyes, but a small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth as he taps Shawn with his elbow, “I'm just surprised you used it correctly”.

Shawn grins, motioning for Gus to head back up the hall the way they came, “it’s always the people who love us who end up hurting us the most,” he sniffs with a false wobble to his voice that has Gus shooting another glare his way.

“You know that’s right, keep it up man”.

Shawn snickers as they make it back to the washroom entrance so they can reorient themselves in a more vacant part of the station, Gus says something about hitting the head while they’re there but Shawn is barely listening. 

Henry's behavior in the hall was flummoxing, that goes without saying.

But Shawn couldn't stop thinking about the strange triumphant expression on Lassiter’s face when Henry tore a verbal strip off him. 

Something was going on with the Detective, and Shawn didn't need a vocabulary calendar to know it was weird with a capital, W. 

Maybe they found themselves a case after all?

***

Shawn should have gone home after his date left, although to call her a date would be entirely inaccurate considering her recent engagement, barring a slight misunderstanding.

Shawn smiles indulgently as the petite brunette immediately snaps the flip phone open, a radiant expression of relief on her face, and speed dials her brand new fiance, mouthing ‘thank you’ at Shawn before disappearing into the crowd of Tom Blair's pub.

It wasn't often that Shawn got to use his observations like this and it always managed to make the tightness of overwhelm in his chest loosen after a long day.

He breathes out a long slow sigh and lifts his gaze to the crowd around him now.

Sometimes people watching would yield something interesting, a breakup, a meet up with a mistress, a promotion --though those were more rare for a neighborhood pub like this. 

He tilts his face to the bar and it's then that Shawn's gaze lands on a familiar face sitting at a table in the far corner.

Detective Lassiter, drinking alone. 

His blue eyes fixed at a far point in the middle distance as he lifts a glass of dark amber liquid to his lips. His shirt is undone by two buttons revealing a swath of chest hair that his loosened tie rests on. 

Holy shit. Lassie looks…good.

If Shawn were being honest with himself, Lassiter has always looked good --if a bit stuffy sometimes. He blames those damn eyes and Lassie's surprisingly strong build. Shawn had been manhandled enough by the Detective to know just how strong he is.

“Spencer?”

Oh holy hell.

The Detective is waving at him, his long, lanky arms curving in a large arc above his head --thankfully not the one holding the glass.

“Spencer! I didn't know you were here!” Lassiter says, his voice carries clear across the pub, causing several other patrons to turn and look at them. 

Lassiter stands up, somewhat wobbly from his table, drink in hand, and makes his way over to Shawn.

Just what in the Bizzaro wonderland has Shawn managed to stumble into that Lassiter is coming his way and sitting down?

“You’re here!” Lassie says loudly, turning a few heads as he sits down heavily in the seat beside Shawn. He’s not exactly smiling but the lack of his signature scowl is just as strange, especially directed at Shawn.

“I am,” Shawn hums as Lassiter takes another sip that is more of a gulp of liquor. The acrid smell of scotch floats over the air between them making Shawn lean away, or try to anyway. 

But a heavy arm makes its way around his shoulders, suddenly pulling Shawn into Lassie’s side. From this close Shawn can smell the spicy aftershave Carlton only sports on special occasions, what might have prompted it Shawn has no idea for once.

“Listen, since you’re here, there's something I have to get off my chest,” Lassiters's voice is clear even over the din of the bar crowd, Shawn would have expected a slur given the nearly empty glass in the man's hand and the overwhelming smell of scotch on his breath.

“Please say it's not your shirt,” Shawn huffs, trying not to picture exactly that as Lassiter snorts into his glass. He hopes the Detective is distracted enough by the alcohol and the lack of lighting in the pub to notice the way Shawn's ears heat at the image, he's sure they must be a bright crimson by now.

Maybe Lassie will finally explain his weird staring the past month, or maybe the Henry incident, as he and Gus had taken to referring to the very flummoxing Detective showdown in the hallway outside of Sargent Bart’s office.

Lassiter shakes his head, his blue eyes wide as he removes his arm from Shawn’s shoulders and turns in his seat to face him fully. 

“You astound me”. 

And that's definitely not what Shawn expected when Lassie came over to his table at the crowded neighborhood pub.

Shawn had been surprised to even see Lassiter at a bar on a weeknight, and even more surprised to see him clearly drinking so heavily.

“I--come again?” Shawn pulls on his earlobe roughly because there was no way--

“It’s beyond astounding.” Lassiter says as he reaches over and places a warm hand on Shawn's elbow and squeezes lightly, "it is some of the most impressive reasoning I’ve ever seen.”

Shawn breathes out a startled laugh, “is there a punchline to this?”

“I don’t know how you do it. I mean it’s not psychic-ness –we both know that’s a crock of crap. You sir, are unstoppable. Guaranteed arrests.”

Shawn opens his mouth to speak but Lassiter keeps going, “can I tell you something else?”

“I really wouldn’t recommend it, no”.

“You know how everyone thinks my wife and I have been separated for nine months?”

Oh.

Oh boy.

“Look, Lassie,” Shawn says lowly, he really shouldn't be listening to this.

As much as Lassiter has been grating on his nerves the last few weeks with his rigid, by-the-book bullshit, and his irritating friendship with Henry, it doesn't feel right to stand by while the alcohol makes this straight-laced handsome weirdo spill what is clearly not meant for Shawn’s ears.

“Two years. Two years tonight,” Lassiter continues as though Shawn said nothing, he takes a long draught of scotch and sets the now empty glass down on the hightop with more force than necessary.

“And I’m the one who keeps trying to fix the damn thing”.

Lassiter wipes a large hand down his face roughly and laughs, “you know I used to be a good cop”.

He doesn’t wait for Shawn to respond, “seriously, stunning arrest record,” Lassie punctuates the words with a sweeping gesture of the hand, “one of the best in the department --you know I caught the Back Bay Killer, there was a tip--”.

“I remember that,” Shawn nods as he shifts in his seat, “the blue sedan”. 

Shawns eyes widen at the same time as Lassiter’s. 

Shit.

He hadn't meant to let that slip, especially not in front of a very drunk and quite possibly armed Detective.

“That, was you?” Lassiter says slowly, he pulls away slightly but keeps his hand on Shawn's elbow.

Shawn feels his heart rate tick up at the proximity and the way those blue eyes have begun to scan him just as they have the whole last month.

“It, uh, it might have been--”

“You know what,” Lassiter interrupts him, pulling out his handcuffs from his back pocket, he slides them across the hightop. The silver metal glints the low light bouncing their sheen on Lassiters face as they move, “you should have these Spencer, you'd actually make better use of them”.

Shawn stares at the cuffs, making no move to take them from the table. 

“Lassie--”

But Lassiter continues as though Shawn hasn't spoken, “I have officially hit rock bottom. A month ago I got this case, right? A healthy 42-year-old astronomer dies. Doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, spends all day in an ergonomically-designed chair charting the night sky,” Lassiter huffs, his face scrunched into a frown, counting on his fingers as he lists the facts of the case.

Which, okay even Shawn is intrigued now. 

A waitress comes by their table but Shawn waves her off with a tight smile, the last thing they need is more alcohol at this table. She nods at him with a wide grin that drops into an irritated grimace as she turns on her heel to another table that would definitely yield a larger bill to tip on. 

“‘Natural causes’, that’s what the coroner comes back with,” the Detective scoffs, tossing his hand out to connect lightly with Shawn's shoulder before it wraps around his shoulders again and tugs him close.

“Does a full autopsy, no red flags, nothing.”

Carlton sighs, his head drops to hang low enough that his hair brushes the tabletop before he brings his eyes back up to look at Shawn with the most dejected expression he's ever seen on another man's face.

“I know he was murdered, I just can’t…”

Shawn waits for a beat as Lassiters gaze slips into something unfocused. He reaches out to tap the other man's hand lightly, bringing his blue eyes back to Shawn, “can’t what, Lassie?”

“I can’t prove it, Chief doesn’t want us to waste more time on something this ‘open-and-shut’,” Lassiter grumbles, letting go of Shawn to raise both hands to make air quotes before letting them fall to his lap.

And maybe this is the reason for the constant staring at work, has it really been jealousy this whole time?

“Should just retire, fold up shop, it's not like I have anyone that would notice,” Lassiter mumbles under his breath, and nope. Nope. 

That is just unacceptable. 

“Come on Lassiepants, you’ll figure it out just like you always do. People have your back,” Shawn taps the Detectives hand again, firmly this time, glaring as Carlton scoffs again at the words.

“Like who?”

“Well, Jules, and Chief Vick, and Gus, and me--”

“You?”

Shawn clears his throat, ducking his face to hide the way he can feel his ears begin to heat, “uh yeah, we have your back Lassifrass”.

Carlton hums, his eyes closing briefly for a moment before he looks at Shawn again, “you ever take your own advice Spencer?”

Shawn bristles slightly, annoyed for the first time since Lassiter made his way over to the table. 

“Look, this isn’t about me, you're a striking man with strong features, eyes that I--that people--that women,” Shawn swallows harshly, ignoring the way Lassiter’s eyes trace over his rapidly heating face, “women wanna do cannonballs into, you have great posture and uh, penmanship the likes I've never seen”.

It’s like verbal vomit, it just keeps coming and Shawn can’t seem to stop it, “you're honestly a catch Lassie, don't be so hard on yourself”.

Lassiter stares at him frozen as Shawn bites his tongue, swallowing nervously. Him and his big dumb mouth. 

“I'm a catch”.

Shawn nods, looking anywhere but at the Detective and his bright gaze, “uh, yeah, yeah Lassie, you are”.

Lassiter continues to stare at Shawn for what feels like an eternity. His blue eyes almost seem to glow in the darkness of the pub and Shawn is so, so, aware of how close they're sitting now.

He watches transfixed as Lassiter lifts his hand from his lap to reach up and trace a soft knuckle across Shawns cheekbone then down to his chin, slightly tipping Shawn’s face up.

Shawn feels himself stop breathing.

What. The fuck. Is happening??

Klaxons blare in his mind once again as a chorus of , ‘DANGER, DANGER WILL ROBINSON’, repeats over and over.

Lassiter’s drunk, that's what's happening here, Shawn thinks as his brain starts to come back online, there is no way that the Detective is making a pass at him.

“A catch,” Lassiter repeats, the words rumble in his chest. He smirks slightly, his blue eyes crease at the corners as he tips his face away to mutter something under his breath about catching someone. 

Right, Shawn thinks to himself in what he hopes is relief rather than disappointment, the murdered astronomer. 

Shawn shakes himself and leans back in his seat, out of Lassiters's immediate orbit.

“You should go home Lassie, sleep this off so you can catch the guy like I know you can,” Shawn says, rapping his knuckles against the bar table for emphasis.

Shawn pushes himself off the stool and shrugs on his bomber jacket with shaking hands, startling at the sudden clatter behind him. He turns just in time to see Carlton stumble and sit gracelessly on the sticky pub floor.

“Jesus Lassiter,” Shawn huffs out as he wanders over, assessing the potential damage as he moves. 

“Falling already,” Carlton says, his slurred words taking on a dreamy quality that Shawn has never heard the man use before. 

“Yup, that's what happens when you drink half the bar man,” Shawn mutters to himself as he grabs Lassiters hand and hoists him to his feet once more. 

Thankfully the Detective isn't so out of it that he can't stand on his own two feet --though Shawn finds it terribly unfair how Carlton leans his face down into Shawns neck as he drapes his long lanky arm across Shawn’s shoulder once again.

The feeling of Lassiters warm breath on his ear is also so distracting that Shawn almost walks them into a pillar as they make their way to the entrance.

By the time they actually get to the front doors, and Shawn has flagged down a cab, Lassiter seems to be vacillating between sleepy petulance at being forced to leave the bar and something resembling contentment as he leans against Shawn heavily.

“Okay Lassie, let's get you home--”

“I'm not that easy Spencer,” Lassiter grumbles and Shawn nearly combusts, his face and neck heating again at the thought. At least the Detective isn't paying attention to him, instead turning his concentration towards buckling his seatbelt. 

The cab ride is uneventful but just long enough for Shawn to struggle to keep Lassiter from falling dead asleep; he resorts to flicking his seatmate in the ear, smiling at the irritated snuffle Lassie makes every time he does. Luckily the Detective also has enough cash in his wallet for the cab fare. Shawn refuses to feel bad about using it, it's not like Lassie's paying Shawn's way home too, he'll just walk back to the Psych office to crash there. 

It's fine, Shawn thinks; trying his best to ignore the feeling of phantom hands on his face or warm breath on his neck as he makes the trek down the boardwalk. Besides, if Lassiter was drunk enough to look at Shawn like that…

No. 

No way, it’s just jealousy, that’s the reason for the staring and for the strange confession this evening. That’s all. 

On the plus side, he’s solved the case of ‘what’s been eating Lassiter’ without any additional effort or the need to be held up at gunpoint this time. 

But, on the down side, it’s yet another case he’s made no money on for Psych. 

Shawn wipes both hands down his face before wrapping his arms around himself as he continues down the well lit path home. 

At least Lassiter was drunk enough that he won’t possibly remember tonight. 

Not at all.

And that’s fine. Totally fine.

***

“You should have seen him, Gus, he tried to give me his handcuffs for crying out loud”.

Gus rolls his eyes and flips the page of the magazine in his hands, pretending not to follow Shawn’s path as he paces across the Psych office. 

It's been three hours since their debrief at the station and over 14 hours since Shawn had managed to drag a nearly unconscious Lassiter home from the bar the previous night. 

Shawn is restless and Gus just doesn't quite understand. If he'd been there it would be so much easier to explain, plus Gus could have helped carry the Irish lug to his front door rather than Shawn offering their cab driver a huge tip to help him half drag, half carry the giant Detective.

“And?” Gus huffs, closing the magazine and tossing it onto the desk in front of him, “I would think that Lassie quitting the force would make things way easier for us Shawn, no more having to fight for cases or getting kicked off crime scenes”.

Shawn makes his way to the mini fridge in the corner, one of the few purchases he had insisted on that Gus actually agreed with when they first opened the place. He opens the door and snags a snapple from the shelf.

“I think we should help, it just feels weird for Lassie to be so down and out, like watching baby Darth Vader call Natalie Portman an angel, it's pathetic in an endearing sort of way”. 

Gus stares at Shawn with narrowed eyes now and sits up in his desk chair, “endearing? Lassiter?”

Shawn cracks the cap of his drink and pauses to read the ‘Real Fact’ printed on the inside.

On average, a human being will spend 2 weeks of their lives kissing, in their lifetime.

He frowns at the bottle cap in his hand, wondering just how ‘Real’ these facts actually are, or if they’re the product of a bored intern at Snapple. 

“Lassie’s all bark and no, we'll that's not right, but that's actually what I mean, he can't be no bark and no bite, that's just craziness in action Gus--”

“Oh my god,” Gus says slowly as he straightens in his seat, “you like him”.

Shawn rears back as though slapped, his mouth opening and closing several times before he manages to say, in a strangled voice, “no--thats--why would you--”

“Because you like people that don't like you Shawn, you always do this, you pick assholes”.

Well that's not fair.

“Gus--”

Gus waves his hands in front of him and stands abruptly from the desk chair which rolls backwards, stopping as it connects with the edge of the rug, “no Shawn, he's threatened to shoot us how many times? He's put his hands on you!”

Shawn tries for a swarthy grin at Gus, “don't knock it till you try it--”

“No! Nope,” Gus cuts him off sharply, “don't try to change the subject or throw me off with,” he shakes his hands again at Shawn, “the thought of naked Lassiter”.

He visibly shudders while Shawn feels the tips of his ears begin to heat, as he feels the phantom warmth of Lassiter's arm around his shoulder from the night before.

Gus sighs, pinching his fingers into his eyes briefly before pinning Shawn with a look “I just don't want you to get hurt again Shawn”.

Shawn thinks of the way Lassiter looked at him that night and the way his knuckle felt against his face and the hand on his elbow, firm in its grip but still gentle and warm from the alcohol coursing through his system. He side steps the thought of how much the lack of recognition in Lassie's blue eyes had hurt that morning during the briefing.

“I might not know exactly what I’m doing Gus, but I think it'll be okay”. 

“Now let's go, I hear the planetarium is playing Laser Floyd, may as well grab two birds before the bush kills them”.

Gus looks at him with wide eyes and a bewildered expression that slowly shifts to something very pained, “I think you just butchered two very well known idioms Shawn”.

“I've heard it both ways, now come on!” 

“You're so full of shit dude,” Gus grumbles behind him as he locks the front door to the office, earning a bright bark of laughter from Shawn as they make their way to the Blueberry.

Tag List: @adaed5 @drakkywolf @newgrangespirals @riverofrainbows @steddierthings @newgrangespirals @eriquin @childofposiden71 @theoxymoronicpoet @cinderellarhea

Part Nine Up

[wittyandobsessed]

𝐅𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 ✓ LONG REQUEST: Spencer and the reader have been fighting. An actual fight instead of their usual bickering. Shawn withheld information on a case yet again but this time it was for a case she had been obsessing over for months. “I told you who I was before we even dated. Why are you surprised?” Has been, thus far, his only real defense. The reader thought she could get used to it but after arguing in circles with Shawn and trying to find logic in his nonsense, she gets tired. Though it all came to a head when Shawn compared the reader to Lassiter. “This is why I don’t tell you these things. You two just get in the way whenever I could make it so much easier. And I do because news flash! I get the guy. Always, one hundred percent of the time, and remind me how you get your guy? That’s right. You don’t. I do. Me. Not you, or Lassie or even Buzz. Me” He regrets it almost as soon as the motor controlling his mouth sputters to a stop but it’s too late by then. For once the reader is at a loss for words. All except for “I’m leaving.” Shawn begins to apologize but he can’t get the words to leave his mouth before she leaves. He doesn’t know if he’d even be able to man up and do it after. She’s on her way to her own apartment before an anger rises up in her chest and she does a u-turn (legally turns into a parking lot to turn around) heading towards Carlton’s apartment. She knocks on the door and he’s just gotten home from the department. His tie is loose and he’s got a clean glass primed for whiskey. “You busy?” She asks. Not sure what direction it should go in from here so dealers choice! Yippeee! 

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Carlton Lassiter x Reader + Shawn Spencer

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | Shawn is a douch in this one, sorry!

▸ Masterlist

𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱! 𝗦𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝘂𝗽𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗿!

The air in the Psych office was thick with tension, pressing against your chest like a weight, making it impossible to take a full breath. The case was over—wrapped up, solved, just another checkmark on Shawn’s endless list of victories—but this didn’t feel like a win. Not for you.

You stood in the center of the room, arms crossed so tightly your nails bit into your skin. Across from you, Shawn leaned against his desk, arms flung wide in that exasperated way of his, like you were the one being unreasonable. Like you were the problem.

“Look, I don’t know why you’re acting so surprised,” he said, his voice carrying that same familiar cocky edge. “I told you who I was before we even started dating.” He waved a hand through the air, like this was just another casual conversation and not the culmination of months—years—of frustration finally boiling over. “Why are you shocked that I act exactly like me?”

You let out a slow, measured breath through gritted teeth. “But Shawn! You hid information from me! I’m a detective—you can’t do that! I thought I could trust you.” The words tasted bitter, and for the first time, you weren’t sure if they were even true anymore. “You knew how much this case meant to me, how much time and effort I poured into it. I thought—” You cut yourself off before you say something you’ll regret. Instead, you shake your head. “I thought we were supposed to be a team.”

Shawn pushed off the desk, throwing his hands up. “We are a team!”

“No, Shawn, we’re not.” Your voice rose, but you didn’t care—not anymore. “Teams don’t lie to each other.” The words came sharp and unrelenting, like a blade honed over too many broken promises. “You didn’t just hold back information—you deliberately kept me in the dark. Again. You knew how much this case meant to me, and you did it anyway.”

His face twitched—just a flicker of guilt, there for a heartbeat before he buried it beneath his usual bravado.

“I got the guy, didn’t I?” he said with a shrug, like that was all that mattered. “You should be happy.”

You stared at him, disbelief hitting you like a slap. “Are you serious right now?”

He tilted his head, genuinely perplexed. “You’re acting like I did something wrong.” Then, with that insufferable smirk, he added, “But let’s do the math, shall we? Me keeping things to myself? Works. Me telling you and Lassie everything? Not so much.”

The anger in your chest sharpened, cutting deep. “Leave Lassiter out of this. This is between us.”

Shawn didn’t even blink. “This is exactly why I don’t tell you these things.” His voice was sharper now, frustration bleeding through. “You and Lassie just slow me down when I could wrap things up faster on my own. And guess what? News flash! I get the bad guy. Every. Single. Time.”

He leveled you with a look that burned. “And remind me again, how do you get your guy? Oh, that’s right—you don’t. I do. Me. Not you, not Lassie, not even Buzz. Me.”

The words landed like a punch, knocking the breath from your lungs. Maybe because it wasn’t just arrogance—it was condescension. Dismissal. Everything you’d been trying so hard to ignore, finally spoken out loud in the worst possible way.

For the first time in this entire argument, you had nothing to say.

And Shawn noticed. His mouth twitched—just a fraction, like maybe he wanted to take it back. But it was too late. The damage was done, and you both knew it.

You swallowed hard and shook your head. When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet. Steady. Controlled.

“I’m leaving.”

Shawn blinked, his confidence slipping for the first time. “Hey, hold on a sec—”

But you were already turning for the door. You heard him shift, a step forward—maybe reaching for you, maybe trying to fix what was already broken. But he hesitated. He always hesitated when it actually mattered.

And this time, you didn’t wait.

The door swung shut behind you.

You didn’t look back.

You stormed to your car, barely aware of your own movements, your breath coming fast and shallow. Your hands clenched around the steering wheel the moment you slid into the driver’s seat, knuckles turning white.

At first, there was only numbness—a hollow, empty space where anger and hurt hadn’t quite settled yet. But the longer you sat there, the more the weight of the argument pressed down on you, sinking in like a bruise you hadn’t noticed until someone pressed too hard.

And then it all came rushing in.

The arrogance. The secrecy. The blatant dismissal. Like your work, your instincts, you, didn’t matter.

Your jaw tightened, your vision blurring for a split second before you blinked hard, shoving it down. No. No way. You weren’t going to cry over this. Over him.

Instead, you threw the car into reverse, the tires kicking up gravel as you pulled out.

You should go home. Call it a night. Let it go.

But instead, your hands moved on their own, flipping the wheel, making a sharp U-turn in an empty parking lot. Before you even had time to second-guess it, you made your choice.

There was only one person who might understand.

Carlton Lassiter.

You pressed harder on the gas, heading straight for him.

Carlton Lassiter had just arrived home, and for the first time all day, he let himself relax. It had been another long, infuriating shift filled with incompetence, paperwork, and the kind of stupidity that made him seriously consider early retirement. Now, finally, he had peace and quiet.

His tie was loosened, his gun locked up in the safe, and he was about to pour himself a well-earned glass of whiskey when a sharp knock at the door shattered the stillness.

Lassiter froze, instincts kicking in.

It was late. Too late for casual visitors.

Few people knew where he lived, and even fewer ever bothered to show up unannounced.

His fingers hovered over the whiskey bottle for a second before he changed his mind. Instead, he went straight for his safe, retrieving his gun out of pure habit before making his way to the door. Every muscle in his body was tense, his senses sharpened as he peeked through the peephole, bracing himself for anything.

Except you.

Lassiter frowned, lowering the gun slightly as confusion flickered across his face. He unlatched the door and swung it open, still gripping the handle with one hand, the gun now hanging loosely in the other. His sharp gaze swept over you instinctively, taking in every detail.

You stood in his doorway, arms crossed, shoulders drawn in like you were trying to make yourself smaller. Your eyes—red-rimmed and glassy—stood out against the dim glow of the porch light. Had you been crying? No—fighting not to cry. Your exhaustion clung to you like a weight, pressing down hard enough that it seemed to steal the air from your lungs.

And that rattled him.

He was used to seeing you sharp, confident, standing your ground no matter what was thrown at you. This? This was different.

“Y/N?” His voice lost its usual clipped authority, softening in a way that felt almost foreign. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, shifting your weight, your fingers tightening around your own arms like you were holding yourself together. Then, quietly, you asked, “You busy?”

Lassiter raised an eyebrow, his sharp instincts already telling him the answer: This isn’t just a casual visit. This is something more.

Without another word, he stepped aside, lowering his gun completely as he gestured you inside.

“Come in.”

Lassiter closed the door with a quiet click and turned, only to find you pacing his apartment, your movements sharp, restless.

You were boiling.

He could feel it—the way your shoulders tensed, the way your hands clenched and unclenched like you were trying to physically grab hold of your emotions before they spiraled out of control. Lassiter had worked with you for years, long enough to know you inside and out. You were strong. Brave. Unshakable.

Not this.

Not this broken version of yourself standing in front of him now.

Anger curled in his gut, low and simmering. He didn’t need to ask who had done this to you. He already knew.

“This is about Spencer, isn’t it?”

The moment Shawn’s name left his lips, your breath hitched, and your eyes filled with tears—tears you immediately tried to fight back, biting your lip so hard it looked painful.

Something twisted in Lassiter’s chest.

He hated seeing you like this.

Whatever that idiot had done, he was going to pay for it.

But right now, you didn’t need his anger—you needed something else. Someone to listen. Someone to be there.

So, without another word, Lassiter walked to his safe, locked up his gun, and then poured two glasses of whiskey. When he returned, he found you still standing in the center of his living room, arms crossed so tightly it looked like you were trying to hold yourself together by force.

“Sit,” he said, his voice gruff but gentle. He guided you toward the couch, handing you the glass before settling beside you.

You took a gulp, your hands trembling slightly around the glass. You were trying so damn hard not to fall apart.

Lassiter watched you for a moment before speaking. “What did he do this time?”

And that was it.

The last thread holding you together snapped.

You shot up from the couch, pacing again, your frustration spilling out in waves.

“He’s impossible! He thinks he’s untouchable! That no one else is good enough!”

Your voice wavered, but you kept going, unloading everything—the case you had worked so hard on, the one that mattered to you. How you’d gone to Shawn for help, only for him to hold back crucial information until the last second—until he could swoop in, solve it himself, and take the victory.

And then, the fight.

Every word exchanged. Every wound reopened. Every ounce of trust shattered.

By the time you were done, your breath was shaky, your shoulders tense from holding everything in. And then, without permission, a single tear slipped down your cheek.

Lassiter was on his feet in an instant.

Before you could react, his hand was on your shoulder, grounding you, steady and firm. The other—hesitant, yet surprisingly gentle—caught the tear before it could fall any further.

You blinked up at him, startled.

Carlton Lassiter was not good at comforting people. He was gruff, awkward, and had a habit of saying things that came out sharper than he intended. But you had known him for years, and despite his hard edges, he had always been differentwith you.

Maybe because you always got along with him—even when no one else at the station seemed to appreciate him the way he deserved.

Or maybe because, despite everything, he cared.

No, that wasn’t quite right.

Lassiter wasn’t just fond of you. He had a soft spot? Please. That was putting it mildly.

He was in love with you.

And seeing you hurt—seeing you torn apart by Spencer, of all people—the man who had stolen you from him, the man who had wormed his way into your heart when Lassiter had never even had a chance?

It infuriated him more than he cared to admit.

Your eyes met his, your gaze swimming with emotions you were too exhausted to hide. And God, your eyes—wide, vulnerable, searching—made something in him ache.

For once, Lassiter didn’t fight the instinct to be tender.

“He doesn’t deserve your tears,” he whispered.

His voice was low, rough with anger, but his touch? Soft. Steady.

Lassiter’s hand lingered against your cheek, his thumb brushing away the last trace of your tears. He wasn’t the kind of man who knew the right words to say, wasn’t the type to sugarcoat things or offer empty reassurances. But when he spoke next, his voice was firm—grounded in certainty.

“If he can’t respect you,” he said, his tone softer now, “then he doesn’t deserve you.”

Your breath hitched slightly.

It wasn’t just the words—it was how he said them. There was no hesitation, no doubt. Like it was an undeniable fact.

And maybe it was.

For the first time in years, you felt… seen.

Appreciated. Cared for.

With Shawn, you had loved deeply, but you had always felt like you were grasping at something just out of reach. Like your love was a fire that burned bright, while his flickered inconsistently, dimmed by distractions, by his need for attention, for validation. He had always been moving—flitting from one thing to the next, never quite stopping long enough to really see you.

But Lassiter?

Lassiter was here.

Solid. Steady. Present.

Your lip trembled, and before you could think, before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned into him.

He didn’t pull away.

Instead, Lassiter let out a quiet breath and wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight against his chest.

And God, it was the first time in so long that you felt like you belonged.

No proving yourself. No chasing after scraps of affection. No fighting to be enough.

Just this.

Just him.

You exhaled shakily against his shoulder, your fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. And maybe he was. Because the moment he tightened his arms around you, pressing you closer, something inside you settled. The ache in your chest dulled, the weight on your shoulders lightened, and for the first time in years, you didn’t feel like you were too much or not enough.

Because in his arms, you weren’t either of those things.

Your fingers curled gently into the fabric of his shirt, holding tightly, almost afraid he might slip away if you loosened your grip for even a second. His warmth enveloped you, safe and reassuring, and you found yourself leaning further into him, inhaling deeply the subtle, familiar scent of coffee, aftershave, and the faint lingering trace of whiskey.

“You deserve better,” Carlton murmured softly against your hair, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate deep in his chest, vibrating tenderly through you. “You always have.”

You closed your eyes tightly, fighting back fresh tears as those simple, genuine words filled the emptiness left by years of feeling unnoticed, unloved, and unappreciated. Your heart ached with bittersweet relief, and suddenly everything clicked into place—clearer now than ever before.

It had never been Shawn, no matter how desperately you had wanted it to be. Shawn had been excitement and laughter, but also carelessness, selfishness, and heartbreak; a flickering flame always just beyond your reach. But Carlton—Carlton had been there all along, patiently watching from afar, quietly supporting you in ways you’d never truly noticed until now.

Carlton had always seen you, respected you, even admired you, without demanding anything in return. And right now, standing here wrapped securely in his embrace, you realized with startling clarity that your heart had chosen him long ago—it had just taken you far too long to notice.

Slowly, Carlton shifted back just enough to gaze into your eyes, and the tenderness you saw in the endless depths of his blue gaze stole your breath away. His thumb brushed ever so gently over your cheek, his touch delicate and reverent, as though he feared any movement might shatter the fragile beauty of this moment.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered softly, the sincerity and raw emotion coloring his words making your pulse quicken. “You always have been. Shawn was a fool—he never knew what he had, never understood how lucky he was to have you.”

You swallowed thickly, lifting your hand to his jaw, fingers tracing softly over the stubble there, marveling at the way his breath seemed to catch at your touch. His eyes never left yours, searching your face, watching carefully for your response—hopeful, anxious, vulnerable in a way you’d never seen him before.

And then, with a tenderness that felt both natural and inevitable, you leaned up toward him, bridging the gap between you with unhurried certainty. Your lips brushed softly against his, tentative at first, testing and exploring. Carlton went perfectly still, almost hesitant, as though afraid to break the spell. But as the kiss lingered, his tension melted away, replaced by warmth, devotion, and a profound sense of relief.

His arms tightened gently around your waist, pulling you carefully, lovingly, impossibly closer. You felt the comforting weight of his hand on the small of your back, holding you securely, protectively, anchoring you to him as though you were the most precious thing in his world.

The kiss deepened slowly, filled with sweetness, honesty, and tenderness—no rush, no urgency—just two souls finally finding each other after years of silent yearning.

When at last you drew apart, breathless and trembling, Carlton rested his forehead gently against yours, eyes still closed, as though savoring the memory of the moment, committing every precious detail to his heart forever.

“I’ve waited so long for you,” he breathed quietly, vulnerability threading through his voice.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to realize,” you whispered gently, thumb tracing softly along his cheekbone.

Carlton sighed softly at your words, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed the faintest kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a long moment. His arms wrapped around you just a little tighter, as though he still couldn’t quite believe this was real, that you were finally here, with him, no longer slipping through his fingers.

He didn’t speak, didn’t rush to fill the quiet with words—he didn’t need to. Instead, he simply held you, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles along the small of your back, his other hand brushing through your hair in quiet reverence. He was grounding himself in you, in the weight of you against him, the way your body fit so naturally against his, as if it had always been meant to be this way.

And then, slowly, almost hesitantly, he kissed you again.

This time, there was no lingering doubt, no hesitation—only warmth, only the depth of a love that had waited too long to be spoken aloud. His lips moved against yours with quiet devotion, with an aching tenderness that unraveled every doubt, every old wound. He kissed you like he was making up for lost time, like he was promising that you would never have to wonder if you were loved ever again.

His hands held you as if you were something precious, something to be cherished, not just wanted. And God, it felt so different from anything you had ever known. This wasn’t the fleeting thrill of being wanted in the moment—this was home. This was safety.

You sighed softly against his lips, your fingers sliding up into his hair, and you felt the way his breath hitched in response. Carlton Lassiter, the man who was always so in control, so composed, shaken just by your touch. It made something deep inside you ache in the best way.

After a while, the exhaustion of the night began to settle into your bones, and as if he could sense it, Carlton gently pulled you with him as he laid back on the couch. He reached for the plaid draped over the armrest and pulled it over both of you, tucking it around your shoulders, holding you close against his chest.

You nuzzled into the warmth of him, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath your cheek. His arms remained wrapped around you, fingers idly stroking your back, a silent comfort that you never realized you had craved so desperately until now.

“You should sleep,” he murmured softly, his lips pressing a featherlight kiss against your hair.

You hummed in quiet agreement, already drifting, already feeling the pull of sleep as his warmth surrounded you, as his fingers brushed lazily through your hair.

For the first time in years, you felt safe.

For the first time in years, you felt loved.

As you lay there, curled against Carlton’s chest, wrapped in the warmth of his arms, you knew that tomorrow, you would have to face reality. You would have to tell Shawn it was over, have to let go of the past and everything you had tried so hard to hold onto.

But for once, the thought of starting over didn’t scare you.

Because maybe, just maybe, this time you weren’t starting over alone.

Maybe, just maybe, you were starting over with Carlton.

And with that thought lingering softly in your mind, you finally let yourself close your eyes, letting sleep take you in the safest place you had ever known.

▸ Everything

@alexxavicry

▸ Psych

@capitanostella @apesarecuul

𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱! 𝗦𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝘂𝗽𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗿!

[cintasfics]

I've recently started watching Psych and I've come up with my own oc/self-insert because I'm desperate for fics lol. So here is a basic rundown of her relationships with the main group:

Friends with Gus and Shawn (obviously)

I'm thinking she met Gus through work (she's a nurse) or they all just crossed paths one day and Shawn decided she was their new best friend (a la the looney tunes show)

Shares custody of Shawn, if Gus is busy with work or has just had enough of Shawn for a bit, she joins him on his cases instead and/or tries to keep him entertained

I'm unsure if she knows that Shawn is faking being a psychic or not, I'm thinking she's eventually let in on the bit so they have someone else in their corner helping them do the grunt work, but until then she's sceptical but goes along with it regardless because it's fun to watch

Gets on well with Juliet, they started hanging out outside of cases when she invited Juliet out with her friends because she knows what it's like to be new in town not knowing many people. they soon have a 'you're not insane and neither am I (both clearly insane)' thing going on and the others try to avoid leaving them alone unsupervised

Lassiter immediately writes her off due to her association with Shawn but slowly warms up to her and to his horror, finds himself falling for her (much to Juliet, their number one shipper's, delight)

Henry is kind of a father figure to her, with her family living elsewhere he kind of steps in to help her with various things (car trouble, maintenance issues, no one to fish with etc.) and they become quite close. she loves to annoy Shawn by saying she's Henry's favourite (she gets away with more/lectured less than him and Gus)

[tineeericeee]

Midnight Snack

Summary: Shawn is hungry. Lassiter is tired.

note: was sad today. Made this to cheer myself up. 

—————

Lassiter was awoken by the familiar sensation of something — or more accurately: someone — climbing onto his cheek as he lay face-up. It tickled him as the barely-there presence shuffled across his skin and began pushing at his nose. 

Sunlight did not shine through his eyelids, so he knew it had to have been very early in the morning. Much earlier than even he would have liked. His suspicions were confirmed when an owl hooted somewhere outside. 

He groaned. “Shawn, it’s too early.” Fighting the urge to brush his hand at his cheek, he instead raised a hand to rub the sleep from his eyes. When he opened them, he immediately saw the small, blurry, very close up figure of Shawn. 

Shawn stopped shoving at Lassiter’s nose the moment he noticed he was awake. “Lassie! Glad you’re up. Just have a quick question for you.”

“And it couldn’t have waited until morning? You know I have to get up early–”

“I’m hungry.” Shawn quickly interrupted him.

Lassiter couldn’t resist the eyebrow raise. “That wasn’t a question.”

“No, but you know what is?”

“What?”

“‘Can you make pancakes?’”

Lassiter sighed. Of course. “You want pancakes. In the middle of the night.”

It was too dark to see his face, but Carlton knew that Shawn was grinning. “Is that a yes?”

Lassiter chose not to answer, instead reaching a hand up and pinching Shawn’s waist between forefinger and thumb. He could feel the little man go limp as he did, allowing himself to be lifted into the air. Shawn’s sides expanded and contracted under his fingertips as he breathed, the little heart beating against his chest apparent as well. 

Sitting up one handed was difficult, but he managed to do so. His left hand pushed against the mattress, helping him into a tailor position, as his right continued to hold Shawn up until eventually they were eye-level. 

Reaching over to his nightstand with the unoccupied hand, he flicked the lamp on. Warm light flooded the room, softly illuminating the minimal decorations, the mussed up bed sheets, and of course Shawn’s big grin as he dangled from between Lassiter’s fingertips.

They stared at each other, neither one showing signs breaking eye contact. 

Eventually, Lassiter gave in. He shut his eyes and allowed his head to fall back against the headboard of his bed. “The things I do for you…”

Amidst the sounds of Shawn cheering, Lassiter swung his legs over the side of his bed, standing up and making his way to the kitchen. As he did, he flattened his hand out to allow Shawn to sit in his palm. 

Of course, he didn’t, instead opting to kneel, grasping the tip of Lassiter’s middle finger — which was roughly the same height as him — with both hands to keep himself from falling. “Have I ever told you how amazing of a boyfriend you are?”

Lassiter couldn’t help the soft smile when he heard those words. “Aren’t you supposed to say that before you ask me to do you a favor?”

Shawn gasped dramatically. “I’m appalled you would insinuate I’d do such a thing! Me? Weaponizing my love for you? I never.”

It wasn’t long until they were in the kitchen. Lassiter flicked the light switch, bright white light illuminating the cooking supplies. 

“Okay, I’m going to need both hands if you want me to do any cooking.” 

“Yeah, I can chill on the counter, no problemo– woah!”

In one swift motion, Lassiter tilted his hand and dumped Shawn into the breast pocket of his flannel pajamas. Now that his hands were free, he could actually cook without being hindered. 

Lassiter could feel Shawn flailing around inside the fabric as he procured the supplies he’d need to make the pancakes. 

Soon, the sound of sizzling and the smell of cooking pancakes filled the kitchen. 

Shawn had managed to push himself up and over the lip of the pocket, upper half hanging as far as he could go without tumbling out.

Carlton gently pushed him back in with a finger. “Stop that. Remember what happened last time?” 

Voice muffled from the wall of fabric that suddenly surrounded him, Shawn noted, “Last time you had on your silk-y pajamas, it made it easier to slip.” A moment later and his head was once again peeking out of the breast pocket. 

“Mh. You’re lucky I’d already had my eye on you when you fell out.” 

“Again, might I add: unreasonably slick pajamas!”

Lassiter just shook his head. Using a butter knife, he flipped over a minute dot of batter that was meant to become one of Shawn’s pancakes. There were at least ten of them dotting the griddle, along with one normal-sized pancake meant for Lassiter. 

Not even a minute passed before Shawn began bouncing up and down impatiently. “Are they done yet?”

“No, just be patient.” With that, he flipped over his own pancake with the spatula.

“Awww, come on big guy! Can’t you like, turn the little knob and make it cook faster?” 

“That’s not how the griddle works. If I made it any hotter the pancakes would cook too fast and leave the outside burnt and the inside raw.” 

Shawn huffed. “Yeah, but mine should cook faster since they’re smaller.” 

Normally, yes, they would have. Lassiter had just turned the heat on the griddle much lower than it should have been. It meant his own pancake was struggling, but it also meant that Shawn’s were cooking at a normal speed.

The moment the tiny dots of pancake were done cooking, Lassiter set them aside on a small piece of napkin. Then, as discreetly as possible, he turned the heat on the griddle up so as to let his finish faster. 

It went off without a hitch. Shawn had been so distracted by the prospect of getting closer to eating his own pancakes — the very thing he’d woken up Lassiter for — he hadn’t noticed the larger pancake suddenly cooking much faster. 

“Come on! They’re done! Let me at ‘em!” 

“Calm down! You’ll get your pancakes in a second.” Lassiter slid the spatula under his regular pancake and set it onto a plate. 

Again, Lassiter pinched Shawn between finger and thumb, lifting him out of his pocket and onto the table in front of his small stack of pancakes. “There you go. You better enjoy them, because I’m not making more.” 

“Doubt it.” Shawn commented. He picked up one of the little pancake dots and took a large bite, tearing off a chunk. 

Lassiter rolled his eyes, cutting into his own pancake with a fork instead of using his hands like Shawn had. 

And so they sat in comfortable silence, savoring the flavor of the pancakes so graciously made by Carlton. 

—————

ao3 link

[thespiritssaidso]

some people do it by the book (but i prefer to go by feel)

Summary: Shawn and Lassiter are undercover at a high-end resort where all visitors get their own private cabin. All the two need to do now is settle in — and chop up some wood to make a fire, of course. 

Notes: okay, so I’m basing this place off of the Big Cedar Lodge (I went there one year with my family on a road trip). I’m not sure if there’s a resort like it in California, but oh well. Currently as I’m writing this, it is 3 in the afternoon and the internet at my job is crappy and won’t let me look at maps without taking forever and a half to load it up. And if anyone knows me then they know that my patience is extremely limited (part of the reason why I’m only good at writing one shots lmao) and I don’t really feel like taking longer than necessary to make sure the made-up place I am writing for the made-up people to stay at actually exists. 

TL;DR this place exists in Branson, Missouri, but I’m too lazy to make sure a place like it also exists in California. 

Anyways, enjoy!! I know we all love a good Shassie at a cabin au.

Flufftober day 8: Chopping and Piling Wood

—————

Lassiter grunted as he swung his ax into the block of wood, chopping it neatly in two. He leaned over and tossed the half still sitting on the block and tossed it onto a small pile that was slowly building up. After throwing the other half onto the pile right after the first, he reached up and wiped a line of sweat beading on his forehead. 

Currently, he and Shawn were undercover as a married couple to investigate a few disappearances that were happening at the Great Pine Lodge. 

The place was as fancy as a cabin in the woods could get. Full plumbing, air conditioning for when it got hot, heaters for when it got cold, a large king size plush mattress complete with expensive feeling sheets and covers. And that was just the cabin. 

About a stone’s throw from where they were staying was a large beautiful lake, with water so clear Lassiter could almost see the bottom. 

The other cabins people were staying at were a decent distance from their own, close enough to see but not close enough to hear the inhabitants if they were inside. 

A paved road — not a gravel road — sat in front of the cabins, shuttle buses on speed dial on the rotary phone sitting on the bedside table inside, so that visitors wouldn’t have to waste their own cars’ gas to go to the dining hall, or the gift shop, or even the arcade (yes, this place had an arcade). 

Lassiter had always dreamed of going here one day. It was the perfect vacation spot for him and Shawn; fine dining, a beautiful view, activities the both of them would enjoy. 

But now was not the time for dreaming of a perfect vacation (although hopefully there’d be some time left for them to do so). Now was time for investigation. Or more aptly, chopping firewood, in Lassiter’s case. 

Before chopping another log, Lassiter stopped to reroll his sleeves that were slowly unraveling themselves. At the moment, all he was wearing was the button up he normally had on under his jacket, the pants to match said jacket, and his work shoes. He probably should’ve put a little more thought into his wardrobe. 

Too late. He’d committed and now he had to stick with it. Lassiter was just glad that Shawn was still unpacking inside. He was always self-conscious about his arms, how much of a stick he looked when he wasn’t wearing something loose — like his suit jacket. 

He looked at his biceps with disdain. It wasn’t like he was weak and couldn’t lift anything. His muscles just never showed unless he flexed them, hiding like some kind of sleeper agent, or whatever they were calling it nowadays. 

Whatever. So long as no one was here to see him make an idiot of himself trying to chop wood. Lassiter was eventually able to cut them into halves once he figured out a comfortable rhythm, but the start was just godawful. His first swing into the first log didn’t have enough weight behind it and was at an awkward angle, so it had bounced away from the wood and left only a small dent. His second swing was too strong and split right between the log and lodged itself into the chopping block. 

But he was better now, after cutting for what felt like hours, though realistically it had probably been thirty minutes. 

After placing another log down, Lassiter prepared to swing the ax once more when-

“That is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Lassiter nearly jumped out of his skin. There, leaning against the door was none other than his boyfriend. From what he could see, it looked like Shawn made himself a mug of something warm, judging by the faint steam emanating from it. Tea? Coffee? Hot cocoa? Probably the latter, knowing his boyfriend’s taste for sweet things. 

Lassiter felt the tips of his ears warm, and he knew they’d gone red. “How long were you standing there for?” 

“Ah, time is irrelevant-”

“Shawn.” 

“At least ten minutes.”

Ten minutes. Ten minutes of just watching him swing an ax at wood. Lassiter had no clue what he looked like when he was cutting wood, but he was probably ridiculous. Shawn had probably seen every mistake he’d made. 

Lassiter turned back around, doing his best to ignore the way Shawn was staring at him and lifted the ax once more. He swung with precision and split the log neatly. “Don’t lie, Shawn.” He said, referring to what Shawn had said that startled him. “You know I hate it-”

“What? No no no! Carly, I’m being serious! Look, this is my serious face.”

He didn’t look, not wanting to see his boyfriend who was most likely holding back laughter. He didn’t say anything either, simply returning to the task at hand. Although now he knew he had an audience, which somehow made swinging an ax ten times harder than it was originally. 

There was quiet, uncharacteristic for Shawn. Only the crunching of dead leaves and the swish of grass told Lassiter that he was walking over to him. 

“Back up. I don’t want to accidentally hit you with the-”

“Carlton, look at me. Lemme see those baby blues.” 

At the use of his name, Lassiter turned his head to Shawn. The lack of a nickname and his tone told the detective that he really was being serious. 

And he was right. Lassiter couldn’t remember the last time the otherwise childish man looked this serious about something. He said nothing as he looked into Shawn’s eyes, grass green grounding him. He dropped the ax, a dull thud breaking the quiet. 

“I love all of you, Carly. Doesn’t matter how much you hate it, I look and see you. I don’t see flaws, I see the sexiest body a man could ask for.”

Lassiter couldn’t help the grin, or the tiny laugh that bubbled out at the last thing Shawn said. “Alright, if you say so.” 

“I do say so, and my word is law. You should know this by now, Carlytown.” Shawn stated matter-of-factly. 

This time, Lassiter let out a snort at his boyfriend’s statement. “Is that right?”

“It is.” 

“Mhm. By the way, did you finish unpacking our stuff?” If his calculations were correct, Shawn had taken all of twenty minutes. And from past experience Lassiter knew that it took him at least an hour to get everything perfectly situated for the both of them. 

“We can do that later, I know you have a specific way you like to have your toothbrush set up. Right now there’s a suspect somewhere that’s begging to get caught.” 

“I’m not sure any criminal actually wants to get caught.”

“Really? Because I’m sensing they’re at the arcade right now, writing a secret message in morse code at the game where you have to shoot down those rubber ducks.” 

“Are they, or do you just want to go play games?” 

“That’s neither here nor there. Point is, I’ve already called a shuttle to pick us up and take us to the main building. They should be here in about… five minutes?” 

Lassiter stared at him incredulously. “Five- five minutes? And you’re only telling me this now because why?” That just barely left him with enough time to get out of his sweaty button up and into something clean. It was just the arcade, but he’d prefer to go out without smelling weird in public. 

“Well, I would have told you earlier, but I just couldn’t stop watching you chop that wood. Seriously, Carly, you have no idea how hot you looked swinging that ax.”

“I- alright, fine. Could’ve used more warning time, but it’s fine. Where’d you put my clothes?” 

“In the dresser on the left of the bed, everything’s in the top drawer.”

—————

Notes: yeah yeah yeah, the name of the place they’re staying at is just a rip from the place I based it off of. Sue me. 

oh and the title is a lyric in C'mon Girl by Red Hot Chili Peppers, i couldn't come up with an actual title by myself, sorry

ao3 link

[gremlin-pattie]

Psych fics that altered my brain chemistry (most of these focus on Shawn and Gus’s friendship):

One Undead to Another

(vampire!Shawn, angst, the gang (Gus + Lassie + Jules) being there for Shawn)

same eyes as your father

(Henry learning how to accept and support trans!Shawn; he’s a little confused at first, but it’s very sweet)

Second Shooter

(trans!Gus and trans!Shawn surviving middle school together)

every superhero has an origin story

(a look into how knowing Shawn has changed Gus’s life)

these first few fragile months

(Shawn and Gus reconnect after Shawn returns to Santa Barbara, once Shawn finally decides to stop running)

[vertigoevolved]

shawn buys a gun || psych mini fic

obvious warnings: mentions of guns but no real violence

Shawn buys a gun.

It’s a smaller handgun and he buys a compact gun safe with it too. It takes two days before gus asks what the metal safe is for.

“It’s a gun safe.” Shawn answers honestly. He wonders if Gus can tell he’s nervous. They’ve always been close like that.

“Okay… what do you actually have in it” Gus sighs. He seems to ignore shawn’s fidgeting hands and lack of eye contact. He’s sure Gus is mentally preparing for more Shawn hijinks.

Most days shawn hates his gift, the only exceptions being when he uses it to help people, this wasn’t one of those times. The memories of Tommy pulling out his obnoxiously large gun and pointing it at Gus were forcing their way in to his thoughts. The hundreds of scenarios of what they could be doing to Gus while Shawn was stealing that stupid car.

He trusted this guy. Shawn was suppose to be able to “see beyond the veil” and he trusted the man holding a gun to his best friends head. he was barely able to keep up his comedic act when he was making the trade off. He let Gus down. He got too close. He almost lost his best friend. If anything had happened to Gus-

“Shawn?”

Shawn’s downwards spiral is cutoff. He looks up and sees Gus’ concerned face much closer than last time he was paying attention.

“Shawn what’s going on? What’s in the safe?” Gus has his hand on shawn’s shoulder. He’s probably trying to reassure him they are in this together. That’s Gus, always by his side, and nothing was going to happen to him if Shawn had anything to do about it.

Shawn smiled. “What do you want for lunch?”

[typicalopposite]

shassie | T | chapter one 2,744 words

read it on ao3

summary: The color blue never used to mean much; lately it’s all Shawn seems to be able to think about. Blue skies, blue oceans, blue(berry) cars — like the one he’s sitting in fantasizing about a pair of blue, blue, blue eyes.

Let me start with I never ever EVER do this! But there was quite a nice response to me writing this sooo I’m gonna tag the people who seemed interested in reading it👀👀

@pineapple-psychic @river-lawrence @shawnaise @autism-criminal @starfish-spencer @obsidiancreates @notnickel @thegroundhogdidit @foldingthepage @acemonsterfudger @marieonhold @boozy-the-ghost @city-of-all-tunas @zombified-duck @iknowyouknowimnottellingthetruth @mores0 @vixiak @okiedokieletsgo @psyxhic-angels @therearenonamesthatarenttaken @brookiedaaroacecookie @tigertronn @lil-obsessed @nigellica @sweetsfandomcorner @lady-jarnsaxa @realtwilightsparkle

I think that was all of them!!! I am so sorry if you don’t like being tagged just let me know😮‍💨 I am now tired!

[cant-get-worse-than-this]

hey guys!!! this is my trans shawn spencer fic where lassie flirts withshawn without know that it's... well, shawn. i hope you enjoy it!

@bjugnakraekir @mores0 here it is!!!

[aba-daba-dooo]

A sequel to my other Real Psychic Shawn Fic: Impressively (Alter) Average.

(plz read it I'm sad and need validation)

[biancastoaster]

A Lily By Any Other Name (Is Still a Lily)

Category: Gen

Fandom: Psych (TV 2006)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Author Decided Not to Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Carlton Lassiter & OC

Characters: Lily M. Lassiter (OC), Carlton Lassiter, Carlton Lassiter's father, Shawn Spencer

Additional Tags: character death, misgendering, deadnaming, all that fun stuff, OC insert, sad Lassiter, flashbacks, homophobia, transphobia, little brother Lassiter, no beta we die like yin

Summary: Carlton visits his older sister. 

Author’s Notes: Lassiter needed an older sibling, I think it would’ve been good for him. 

I hope you guys like this, it took me a month to write. 

~~~~~~

At his desk, Carlton checked the time. Not yet. 

5 minutes went by before he checked again, and slumped back in his chair in disappointment when he saw it hadn’t been long since he last looked. 

This repeated until it finally was time. He quickly got ready to go. But just before he stood up to leave, Carlton grabbed a small file and put it inside his briefcase. He snapped the clasps shut and briskly began his way from his new office to his car. 

Halfway through the corridor, he’s stopped by an all too familiar voice. 

“Lassie! Where you going?” 

Carlton heaved a deep, exasperated sigh. Without even looking to see who it was, he kept walking away. “Not that it’s any of your business Spencer, but I’m visiting a family member.” 

Shawn caught up, ambling alongside Carlton. “Ooo, who? Is it Lauren? No wait, I got it: it’s your mother…s.”

He rolled his eyes. “None of them. I’m visiting my older sister, Lily.”

Shawn gave a look of surprise. “I didn’t know you had an older sister! Hold on, does she know you named your kid after her?”

Lassiter briskly walked out the door, Shawn still on his tail. “No, that’s why I’m visiting her today.”

“Doooes Marlowe know?”

“Yes, in fact she was the one who encouraged the name.”

“No no no, not that. Well, actually, yeah that too. But, does she know you’re visiting your sister without her?”

“Yes, she’s well aware I’m- you know what, I’m not entertaining this anymore. I need to leave now, I don’t want to be late.”

~~~

1974

It was dark out, the pitch black of night covering the neighborhood in a blanket, the sky dotted with little pinpricks of stars.  

Carlton Lassiter was in his bed, and he was tossing and turning in his sleep, mumbling nonsensical words to himself. 

He eventually woke up with a gasp. He was shaking, and he reached up to feel tear tracks on his face. He could’ve sworn that… 

But no. He was here, at home, safe in his bed. 

He wiped the remaining tears from his face, and tried to go back to sleep. But the adrenaline still lingered, keeping him awake and scared. Shadows seemed to loom from the corners, taking the form of monsters and blank figures. 

Eventually, he couldn’t take being alone in his room anymore. Grabbing his blanket, he gently hopped off his bed and onto the floor, and began making his way to his parents room. 

But right before Carlton even touched the doorknob, he hesitated. He didn’t want to bother them with something like this. His dad would probably just send him back to his room. And besides, their light was turned off, meaning his parents were fast asleep. 

So he kept going down the hall, and up the stairs. 

Carlton crept past the dining room and kitchen, and made his way to his brother Liam’s room. There was a tiny bit of light shining from under the door, nearly invisible to the untrained eye. 

He grabbed the doorknob, and as it made a small jiggling sound the light quickly turned off.

Carlton gently opened the door. “Liam?”

From the bed in the corner of the room, a head belonging to his 12 year old brother popped up from underneath the covers. “CJ? What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

He found himself unable to answer, his face screwing up and tears falling once more. 

Liam sat up, immediately concerned for his little brother. “Hey, hey, it’s alright, it’s alright. Come here.”

Carlton complied, clambering onto the bed and sinking into his older brother’s arms.

“It’s okay, just let it out.”

And he did, slowly hiccuping his way through telling Liam about the whole bad dream. 

The whole time, Liam sat there, rubbing Carlton’s back periodically to try and soothe him, like he had seen people on tv do. 

After sitting for a minute, Carlton sniffled, looking up at Liam. “What were you doing before I came in?”

“Ohh, just rereading The Hobbit.” 

“Can you- can you read it to me?” 

Liam smiled. “Of course. Did you want me to start at the beginning, or where I’m at?”

“Where you left off.”

“Alright then. Get comfy, come on, CJ.”

As Carlton snuggled under the covers, Liam reached under the first pillow and grabbed the book and pen light he had hidden just before Carlton came in. 

He cleared his throat, reading out loud, “As they sang the hobbit felt the love of beautiful things made by hands and by cunning and by magic moving through him, a fierce and a jealous love, the desire of the hearts of dwarves…”

Carlton slowly began to become more and more drowsy as the gentle timbre of his brother’s voice lulled him to sleep. 

“He looked out of the window. The stars were out in a dark sky above the trees. He thought of the jewels of the dwarves shining in dark caverns…”

Right when he was about succumb completely to sleep, he felt Liam gently put away the book and turn out the light once more. 

~~~

present

Carlton carefully pulled into a small strip mall, right in front of a store called ‘The Flower Corner’. 

He walked in, and stood at the desk, clearing his throat to catch the attention of the lady behind the desk. 

She looked up and saw him, and quickly stood up. “Oh hello, sir! How can I help you today?”

“I’m here to pickup a bouquet. It should be under Lassiter.”

“Of course, just one second.” She tapped a few keys on her keyboard, clicking a bit with her mouse as well. “Alright then, I’ll go ahead and grab it from the back.”

Carlton began awkwardly drumming his fingers on the counter as he waited for the employee to get back. 

“Alright, here they are!” 

He looked up and saw a beautiful bunch of flowers, a mix of pink lilies and carnations, all expertly wrapped in decorative plastic to hold it all together. 

As he paid, the cashier asked, “Who are the flowers for?” 

“My sister, Lily.” 

“Awww! Well, I can definitely see why you chose the lilies, then. I’m sure she’ll love them.”

Carlton nodded stiffly. The whole interaction felt awkward to him, and he hated awkward situations. So once he had gotten the bouquet paid for, he tried his best not to run out the door. 

~~~

1976

Carlton was riding in the back of his father’s car, on the way to pick up Liam from his friend’s house. 

He couldn’t remember his name, but he was pretty sure Liam’s friend was on the football team along with Liam himself. 

Looking out the window as they pulled up to the curb next to the house, he saw figures moving around behind the windows, presumably his brother and his friend saying goodbye.  

To his surprise, Carlton watched as his older brother walked out with a girl he didn’t recognize, instead of another guy. Maybe it was Liam’s friend’s sister? 

They had stopped at the entryway to continue a conversation, talking very animatedly, using dramatic hand gestures and exaggerated expressions. 

The two — along with Carlton — were startled when his dad honked the horn. 

Liam gave an apologetic look to the girl, and she burst into laughter. They exchanged a few more words before she gave him an energetic hug, which he equally returned. 

In the rearview mirror, Carlton saw a grin forming on his father. It was very clear what he thought the hug between the two had meant. But Carlton could just tell it wasn’t that kind of hug. He’d seen his parents hug, and girls and boys — couples — hug each other public. However, he had also seen girls hugging girls — their best friends — as well. That’s what kind of hug his brother and the girl had reminded him of.

As Liam climbed into the car, his dad gave him a look. “So, who was that?” 

Liam buckled in. “Just Chuck’s sister, she’s really nice.”

“Really nice, huh?” 

Carlton caught the suggestive look on his dad at the same time Liam did. “No, dad, it’s not- she’s just nice, I barely even know her.” 

His dad laughed. “That’s how it always starts. Soon enough you’ll be all over each other.”

It was then that Carlton noticed his brother’s face. It was red. The same shade of red his mother had at the end of the day when she finally took off her makeup. 

Not red in embarrassment from his father’s comments. He looked as if he’d been rubbing it continuously to get something off.

‘Was that what Liam had been doing? Wearing makeup?’

Later that day, Carlton confronted him, demanding to know the truth. Eventually, Liam caved. 

“Okay, okay, fine. Chuck wasn’t actually there, he had something come up. But Linda was, and… she uh… needed someone to model some of her makeup for her, and she asked me since we have really close skin tones.” Liam twisted his hands. “Her words, not mine.”

Carlton was young, only 8, but he knew when his brother was lying. However, he also knew when he should and shouldn’t pressure Liam with more questions, and decided to leave it alone. 

~~~

present

Carlton pulled out of the flower shop, and onto the road once more. 

He’d been driving for at least another 5 minutes when he hit a pothole that he heard a particularly loud bump from the back. He thought it was his briefcase for a minute, but a quick glance at the passenger seat told him that wasn’t true. There was something — or someone — in the trunk. 

Carlton pulled over to the side of the road, and grabbed his gun from his holster and cocked it. 

He pointed it at the trunk door, and quickly opened it. “Freeze!”

Light flossed the trunk, and a very familiar high pitched girlish scream emerged from inside. “Nonono don’t shoot!” 

“Spencer? What the hell are you doing here?”

Shawn clumsily clambered out of the trunk, tripping momentarily before regaining his balance. “I just wanted to meet your mystery sister, man. I’ve known you for what, 8 years? And I’ve never heard you talk about you ‘big sister Lily’.”

Carlton took a deep breath. “Spencer…” he briefly thought about ditching him on the side of the road. But a quick look told him that would be inhumane. And probably illegal. He ran a hand down his face exhaustedly. “Fine. You can come.” Shawn pumped a fist. “But you’re sitting in the back.”

“Tch.” Shawn made a dissapointed face, but got in the backseat anyway. 

~~~

1978

Carlton was hiding in his room, trying his best to drown out Liam and his father’s argument they were having just down the hall. 

Liam had been caught underneath the bleachers at the track, locking lips with the captain of the football team. Chuck, Liam’s so-called best friend, was the one to catch them, snitching on the couple to Carlton’s father. 

Which was what the current argument between the two was about.  

Everything was mostly muffled, thanks to Carlton shoving a pillow over his head to drown out the noise, but he definitely heard his father say something along the lines of ‘not raising his son to be a faggot’. 

At this, Liam raised his voice even more, becoming sou loud it permeated through the pillow. “I’m not gay, Dad!”

“Oh really? And how’s that, huh?”

“Because I’m a girl!”

There was a tense silence, shortly broken by the sound of a sharp slap, followed by quick footsteps running down the hall and up the stairs. Carlton could practically feel the slam of his brother’s- no, not brother, his sister’s bedroom door reverberating through the house. 

He waited for the sound of his father following after, but there was nothing.

Quietly, he opened his door. Carlton silently tiptoed upstairs, making sure he didn’t make too much sound. After a short trip, he made it upstairs, gently knocking on the door to his sister’s bedroom.   

“Are you alright-” he opens the door, and stops. So does Liam, who’s in the middle of shoving a t-shirt into a slowly overflowing backpack. “Liam? What are you doing?” 

Carlton sees her wince at the name. “I just… need some space from dad. I’m gonna stay at a friend’s house for a bit, wait for him to cool down a bit.”

“But, why is he mad at you for being a girl?”

She sighed. “I don’t know, buddy. Some people just, I can’t- they’re not really-” Her face started to scrunch up, eyes filling with tears. “But don’t worry, I won’t be gone for long, okay?”

He didn’t understand, but he nodded anyway. “Okay…”

She slung her backpack over her shoulder, and slid the window leading outside open. Just before slipping out, she paused and turned around. “Hey Carlton, can I ask you a favor?”

He perked up a little. “What is it?”

She scooted to the edge of the window, prepping to jump down. “Remember how you asked all of us to stop calling you CJ?” 

At least Carlton was able to understand this. “Yeah. It felt like a girly name to me.”

She smiled. “That’s kind of what I’m doing. ‘Liam’ doesn’t feel right.”

“Well, what do you want me to call you?”

“Lily. Just call me Lily instead.”

“Lily.” He tested it out “Okay. Bye Lily.”

“Bye Carlton. I’ll see you soon.” And with that, she jumped from the windowsill and landed nimbly on the soft grass far below. Lily wasted no time in booking it down the road, her figure quickly fading from sight as the night swallowed her. 

~~~

Present

Carlton’s hands subconsciously gripped the steering wheel as he remembered that night. He did get to see her again after that. Very soon, in fact. Just not in the way he had hoped. 

It had been a hit and run. There was only one bystander, and they hadn’t been close enough to see the car’s details in the pitch black of night. 

Carlton remembered sitting in the hospital waiting room with his parents and Lauren, the latter of whom was napping in her baby carrier, anxiously anticipating any news of Lily’s condition. 

He remembered someone coming out and whispering to his parents solemnly, something about Liam’sconditions, and how he wasn’t going to make it. 

He remembered going to her room and being told to say his goodbyes to Liam, seeing her broken and damaged body lying limply on the hospital bed. 

He remembered begging her still unmoving body to come back, to not leave him alone. 

He remembered being dragged away, tears flowing like a river as her heart monitor flatlined. 

He remembered his father reprimanding him, telling him he was tarnishing Liam’s memory by calling her Lily. 

He remembered that was the night that the last shred of respect he had for his dad crumbled away. 

It was as though he had just gotten to know his big sister, and then she was yanked away from him. 

As much as he hated it, it was the final push he needed in finalizing his decision of pursuing a career as a police officer, then head detective, then his current position as Chief of police. 

“Wait, Lassie this is-” Shawn cut himself off, immediately realized where they were going. “Oh man. I- I’m sorry, I had-”

“It’s fine, Spencer. You didn’t know.” Carlton said, his tone uncharacteristically soft.  

He pulled his car onto a gravelly path, bumping slightly along as he searched for-

There. He could see it from here. It wasn’t like it could be moved, but he almost always lost it in the sea of granite and marble, and would have to go on a search. 

He parked, and reached into the passenger seat where his briefcase and the bouquet still sat. 

“I’ll just- just wait here, Lassie. Me and dead people… it’s really depressing.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you to come anyway, Spencer.” Just before he closed the door, he pointed a threatening finger at Shawn. “You touch anything in here and I will not hesitate to shoot you. Copy?” 

Shawn said nothing, simply giving him a mock salute. Carlton rolled his eyes and shut the door. 

He walked up to a gray marble tombstone. The area had been mowed recently, so there was still some grass clippings scattered on the base of it. 

Liam Lily Mark Lassiter 

1962-1978

son daughter, brother sister, friend

Carlton smiled a bit to himself. Normally, he was opposed to defacement of property, but this was an exception in his eyes. Lily deserved to have her true name on the stone that marked her final resting place. 

He kneeled down and, after brushing away the grass clippings, gently set the bouquet in front of the tombstone, making sure none of the words were obscured. He’d already taken the plastic wrapping off. The world didn’t need more trash littered everywhere. 

“Hey Lily. I know it’s been a while. A few months, actually.” 

Carlton shifted a bit, trying to get comfortable. “I got promoted. I’m Chief of police now, like I’ve always worked for.” 

The tombstone sat silently.

“Uhmm, Marlowe gave birth, too. In the back of a food truck, of all places. Of course, it was all Spencer’s and Guster’s fault. I’m sure that doesn’t surprise you, huh?” 

Silence.

He continued. “It’s a girl, and god she is so beautiful. She has your eyes. We named her after you.” 

Still silence. 

“I have something else.” He reached beside him for his briefcase, and pulled out the file from earlier. “I managed to get your name legally changed. It was one hell of a legal battle, but Mom and Althea and I managed it. You’ll be getting a new tombstone soon, one with your real name.”

Taking a deep breath, he went on. “I miss you, Lily. But, not as much as I used to. I hope you don’t mind.”

A gentle breeze brushed by him, ruffling his hair. 

Carlton cleared his throat. “I’m… not good at saying goodbye. Even after all these visits. You’d think I’d get the hang of it by now.” 

Somewhere in a nearby tree, a bird tittered. 

“Okay, I’ll try to come back sooner next time. I know you don’t like waiting.” He packed up his briefcase once more, and turned away, heading back to his car. 

~~~

Bonus: 

Lily watched as he left, swinging her feet from the tombstone, a soft smile playing on her lips. She looked exactly how she had when she died, but somehow emulated an air of femininity she would never have been able to achieve while alive. 

She waved, even though she knew her little brother wouldn’t see it. “Bye, Carlton.”

[afewproblems]

WIP Snippet from Difficult Days

This is rough, but I just had to share because I am kicking my legs up in the air at this interaction!

Shawn clears his throat, realizing just how close Lassiter’s face has gotten, “uh yeah, we have your back Lassifrass”.

Carlton hums, his eyes closing blearily for a moment before he looks at Shawn again, “you ever take your own advice Spencer?”

Shawn bristles slightly. 

“Listen, this isn’t about me, you're a striking man with strong features, eyes that I--that people--that women--” Shawn swallows harshly, ignoring the way Lassiter’s eyes trace over his rapidly heating face, all because of Shawn's stupid, big, dumb mouth.

“Women wanna do cannonballs into, you have great posture and uh, penmanship the likes I've never seen”.

“You're honestly a catch Lassie, don't be so hard on yourself".

“I'm a catch”.

“Yeah Lassie, you are”.

Lassiter stares at Shawn for a beat, his blue eyes almost seem to glow in the darkness of the pub and Shawn is so, so, aware of how close they're sitting now. He watches transfixed as Lassiter lifts his hand from his lap to reach up and trace a soft knuckle across Shawns cheekbone then down to his chin, slightly tipping Shawn’s face up.

Shawn feels himself stop breathing.

What. The fuck. Is happening??

Klaxons blare in his mind once again as a chorus of , ‘DANGER, DANGER WILL ROBINSON’, repeats over and over. 

“A catch,” Lassiter repeats, the words rumble in his chest. He smirks slightly, his blue eyes crease at the corners as he tips his face away to mutter something under his breath about catching someone. 

[wittyandobsessed]

𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Carlton Lassiter x Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | none

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓: 3. Exhausted, they are half asleep while saying good night, and an "I love you" slips out

𝐔𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

The precinct was quiet. Not the kind of quiet that signified the end of a long workday, but the kind that came from exhaustion pressing down on the few lingering souls who refused to call it quits. The only sounds were the soft rustling of papers, the distant hum of the vending machine, and the rhythmic scratch of a pen against a notepad.

Carlton Lassiter barely registered the passage of time anymore. He had long since lost track of how many hours he’d spent poring over the case files, scrutinizing every line, every connection, every inconsistency. They were missing something. He could feel it like an itch at the back of his mind, just out of reach, taunting him with its elusiveness.

Across the desk, you were slumped over a stack of paperwork, eyes heavy-lidded, barely managing to stay open. Every so often, your head would tilt forward, jerking back up only for the cycle to repeat a few moments later. Your highlighter had stopped moving altogether, resting idly between your fingers.

Lassiter smirked slightly, shaking his head. He wasn’t surprised. You had been running yourself ragged over this case, just like him. No, worse than him. Because where he functioned on duty and caffeine-fueled stubbornness, you had a habit of caring too much, of putting your whole heart into every investigation, into every victim, until the weight of it all became unbearable.

And yet, you were still here. With him.

For years now, you had been at his side. His partner in all but title. His closest confidante. His friend.

But that word had never sat right with him. Not when he looked at you and felt something clawing at his chest, something more than camaraderie, more than loyalty, more than friendship.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this way.

You weren’t supposed to be the first person he thought of in the morning, the last thought before sleep. You weren’t supposed to be the one he worried about, the one who could make him laugh despite himself, the one who knew him better than anyone else ever had.

You weren’t supposed to be the one he—

Lassiter stopped himself before his thoughts spiraled any further. Instead, he sat back in his chair, watching you—studying the way your breathing slowed, the way your face softened in sleep.

He exhaled slowly, scrubbing a hand down his face before standing. With a quiet rustle, he shrugged off his vest and stepped around the desk. Carefully, he draped it over your shoulders, the fabric settling around you like a shield against the cold precinct air.

The moment it touched you, you shifted, releasing a soft, contented hum. A ghost of a smile played at your lips as you instinctively burrowed deeper into the warmth.

Lassiter smirked to himself, prepared to step away—until you shifted again.

And then, in the quiet of the dimly lit office, your lips parted, voice barely above a whisper.

“…Carlton.”

His breath caught. For a split second, he thought you were awake. His heart lurched, throat tightening as if caught doing something he shouldn’t. But no—you were still deep in sleep, completely unaware.

Still, something in him softened.

And then—

Still caught in the haze between dreams and wakefulness, your lips moved again.

“I love you…”

Lassiter froze. For a second, his entire body went rigid. His breath caught in his throat.

Had he misheard you? No. No, he hadn’t.

The words hung in the air between you, delicate and fragile, and Lassiter felt something inside him shift, something he had kept buried for far too long threatening to break free.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out every rational thought.

You had said it. Those three words he had never allowed himself to imagine hearing from you.

Did you mean it? Or was it the exhaustion speaking?

Lassiter swallowed hard, his mind at war with itself. Every logical part of him screamed at him to brush it off, to pretend he hadn’t heard, to let you sleep and forget about this in the morning.

But another part of him—the part that had been quietly, hopelessly in love with you for years—wouldn’t let him.

So before he could second-guess himself, before fear could take hold, he did something reckless.

He leaned down, just enough that his lips were close to your ear, just enough that his words would be for you and you alone.

“I love you too,” he whispered, the confession barely more than a breath, but carrying the weight of years of unspoken feelings.

You stirred slightly, letting out a sleepy sigh, but didn’t wake.

Lassiter let out a quiet, shaky exhale and slowly pulled back, his heart hammering as he watched you sleep, wrapped in his coat, wrapped in the words neither of you had dared say until now.

Would you remember in the morning? Would you pretend it never happened? Or would this change everything?

For the first time in a long time, Lassiter didn’t have an answer. But maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need one. Not yet.

For now, he just let himself watch over you, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Maybe this was the start of something new.

▸ Everything

@alexxavicry

▸ Psych

@capitanostella @apesarecuul

[cintasfics]

Leave It On

pairing: carlton lassiter x oc

wc: 1.6k

summary: while things are getting heated between the couple, lassiter finds out that marley has a certain appreciation for an aspect of his uniform

warnings: implied smut

a/n: i’m sure I’m not the only one who froths at Lassiter when he has his jacket off and sleeves rolled up (especially when he’s wearing his holster and sunglasses 🥵) so this is for those who feel the same way <3

The bedroom door was pushed open by Carlton’s shoulder, his hands busy supporting Marley as she held herself to him with her arms over his shoulders and her legs around his waist. What had begun as a simple after-work greeting in the living room had quickly escalated to a heated make-out session on the couch.

After the removal of her shirt and his tie and jacket, Marley had suggested they move to the bedroom between kisses. Not wanting to part with her, Carlton had tightened his grip on her rear and stood up with her in his arms, forcing her to wrap herself around him in surprise at the sudden movement.

He made his way across the room and lowered them down onto the bed, only parting his lips from hers as he leaned back on his knees above her to remove his holster.

'Wait,' came Marley's breathless command as she reached to stop his hands with her own.

'What's the matter, is something wrong?' came Lassiter's equally breathless question, afraid he'd done something to ruin the moment.

'No! Nothing’s wrong, I just...' her words trailed off as she broke eye contact, biting her lip as she turned her head to the side.

'Hey,' he reached out and cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand, turning her head back towards him to meet his eye as his thumb gently stroked her cheek, 'talk to me.'

She bit her lip, and he could see the apprehension in her eyes as she tried to work up the courage to say what she was thinking.

'Do you promise not to laugh at me?'

'Baby of course I won't laugh at you, you can tell me anything,’ he was almost offended by the idea that he would laugh at her during such an intimate moment. Sure, she had gotten a laugh or two out of him before in the bedroom, but that was when she was actively trying to mess with him, not when she was having a moment of vulnerability.

'Okay, well, I just-' she pursed her lips, glancing away for a second before returning to meet his worried gaze, 'would you mind if, I mean would it be okay if you... left the holster on?'

It took Lassiter a moment to process her words, he didn’t know what he was expecting her to say but it wasn’t that. She wanted him to leave his clothes, namely his holster, on while they had sex?

His lack of response starting to make her fear the worst, Marley started trying to backtrack.

'It was just an idea! I completely understand you not wanting to bring work into the bedroom, I've just always thought you looked so hot in it so I thought- it's fine, just forget I said anything!'

Lassiter remained kneeling over her, his knees on either side of her thighs as he took in this new information. It was a bit hard to think with a good percentage of his blood having already made its way south, but as he took a moment to jumpstart his brain, he was able to think back to the times in the past he had forgone a jacket around her, his holster out in the open. Now that he knew what to look for, he realised that on those occasions she had acted a bit strange around him, though the reason had eluded him at the time.

'You think it's hot?'

His question made her pause. Her plan for how she was going to escape from under him, pack her bags, and get the hell out of dodge after embarrassing herself like that was put aside so she could answer him.

'Well, yeah. I mean, I don't know what it is but whenever I see you in it my brain stops working. I don't know how many times Juliet's had to nudge me to get me to focus when you're like that, especially when you have your sleeves rolled up as well, like, wow.'

It was his turn to feel a bit bashful, not used to receiving such open praise. His cheeks gaining a red hue from their rising temperature.

'I didn't realise it had such an effect on you,' he coughed out, trying to hide his embarrassment.

She scoffed at his comment, 'you'd be the only one. The guys love to tease me about it, the bastards. Funniest thing in the world to them.' Her own embarrassment faded in favour of her annoyance at the thought of the two jackasses she called friends.

Still mulling it over, Carlton came to the conclusion that he liked the idea. He would never admit it out loud, but the holster did make him feel good about himself. Something about it making him feel manly, like he was in one of those old-school noir detective movies, that he was untouchable. It was certainly flattering to hear that she had been thinking about this for a while, something he had never really given a second thought to before this moment.

'It's alright with me, if you're sure.'

His comment brought her back from her stewing over the boys teasing. Her eyes lit up, though she kept her tone level, 'I am. But don't feel like you have to do this, I did kind of just spring it on you.'

He was becoming more eager the more he thought about it, ‘trust me. It's more than okay with me.'

'Alright then,' feeling her confidence coming back and excited for what was to come, she reached up to thread her fingers through the hair on the back of his head, leading his lips back down to hers, purring out before they connected ‘what you say goes, detective.’

Fuck. There goes the rest of his blood. For all her talk of not wanting to bring work into the bedroom, the minx had no problem using his title to stir him up.

~}i{~

They lay in bed afterwards, Marley lying on his bare chest. His shirt and holster gone to make their reclining more comfortable.

'Any other little fantasies I should know about?'

‘Wouldn't you like to know.'

'I would, actually. Considering they concern me.'

'Hmm, is that what you think?'

Though he knew she was teasing, the idea that she even entertained thoughts about other people bothered him. The possessiveness he felt over her rearing its ugly head.

'Well I should hope so.'

Noticing the slight edge to his voice, but knowing he wasn't truly upset, she decided to try another method of teasing. One that had a track record of turning him into a pile of mush.

'Oh baby, of course they involve you,' she peppered kisses along the underside of his jaw, 'there's no one else I'd rather be with! Besides, part of me is worried that if you knew how much I truly liked you I'd scare you off.'

Her teasing had it’s intended result, the man practically melting under her attention, but her words about scaring him off kept him present, ‘impossible. Do you know how long it took for me to find you? For us to finally get together? I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you're stuck with me.'

'Hmm I don't know, I think it's the other way 'round. If I had to go back out there and find someone new, I think I'd just throw in the towel and join a nunnery.'

Though the idea of her in a habit was amusing, it just didn’t seem right to him, 'I don't see that happening. You'd be a horrible nun.'

'I beg your pardon? I'd be a great nun!'

'Oh really? You curse like a sailor, love sleeping in, and despise strict rules and routines,’ he couldn’t hold back the teasing smirk and coy look that appeared on his face for his next argument, ‘plus you always take the Lord’s name in vain, five minutes ago being the perfect example.'

She couldn't argue with his first three points, but the last one made her slap his chest. The cheek of this man!

'Oh be quiet! It’s not like I heard you complaining. Besides, I think I’d join one of those monasteries out in the countryside, where I can tend to the farm animals and spend time in the garden alone and at peace with no one to offended with my un-Christlike behaviour.’

‘I hate to break it to you, but you don’t exactly have a green thumb either. You’d be locked inside where you couldn’t kill any of the plants.’

‘For Christ’s sake, can you not just let me dream?’ she rolled away from him, landing back on her pillow with a huff.

‘And there we go again with the Lord’s name in vain.’

Done with his teasing and lack of support for her dreams of what could be, as unrealistic as they might be, she sat up and smacked him with her pillow.

‘Alright alright, I’m sorry! You’d be a fantastic nun, they would be lucky to have you tending to their fields,’ he placated her with a laugh.

‘Thank you. That’s all I wanted to hear.’

‘I can’t support the idea though. It would be a great loss to society to have you hidden away on some farm.’

‘Hmm, you’re right. I’d miss Juliet too much. And who would stop the boys from killing themselves in some kind of freak accident?’

He took a moment to consider her words, finding the picture she painted quite appealing, ‘you know what, maybe it wouldn’t be such a loss to society after all.’