Modern AU, This isn't a finished fic as i lost inspiration and then couldnt remember where I was going with it in the end.
Tywin is a Homicide captain and Kevan is also a Cop and Jamies a rookie. Maureen is a waitress at a dinner, she been there for like 6 years and everything Thursday the Lannister men show up whether it be on time or late into the night just be for closing, she always keeps a both open for them and coffee waiting.
Maureen is my lovly OC. She 5'3 Dark brown hair and mossy green eyes she from my own house creation House Sett of Stonebarrow sigil the Badger, a loyal banner house to the Lannisters.
This is more on the fluff scale. I think about 6k words I dont remember lol
(I've never used tumbler so lets see how this goes 😅)
The diner was quieter than usual this Thursday night, the clock inching closer to midnight. Maureen glanced at the empty Lannister booth with a familiar mix of patience and mild irritation. The table was always reserved for Tywin and Kevan, but tonight, the two men were nowhere to be seen. Maureen didn’t mind the wait,she knew the demands of police work, especially in homicide. Sometimes the late hours stretched on endlessly.
But Kesley, ever eager and still green despite almost two months on the job, hadn’t quite grasped the unspoken rules. Time and again, Maureen caught her trying to seat other customers at the reserved booth. Each time, Maureen had to quietly but firmly move them along, her tone polite but unmistakably clear.
“Kesley, that table is off limits. Again,” Maureen said softly, guiding a couple toward a small booth near the window. “They’ll be here, just wait.”
Kesley nodded, flushed with embarrassment but undeterred. “I’m just trying to help.”
Maureen sighed, returning to her station and wiping down the counter, her sharp green eyes flicking toward the door.
Finally, just as the minute hand slid past midnight, the bell above the diner’s door jingled sharply.
In came Tywin and Kevan, both looking worse for wear. Their blonde hair was rumpled, collars turned up against the night chill, and their clothes creased and dirtied from the long day. They moved with the heavy, slow steps of men who’d been running on adrenaline and exhaustion for hours.
Maureen slipped a fresh pot of coffee into a cup and carried it over before they even settled into the booth. She set the steaming mug down with a quiet clink.
“Late night,” she murmured, voice low, almost a comfort.
Tywin’s green-gold eyes briefly met hers, the usual sharpness softened by fatigue. “You know the drill.”
“Late night usual?” Maureen asked, lowering her voice even more, already reaching for the notepad.
Kevan nodded wearily. “Black, no sugar. And maybe a refill later.”
Maureen offered a small, understanding smile. “You got it.”
Tywin gave a dry grunt that almost sounded like thanks, and Kevan’s tired smile was genuine.
As Maureen stepped away to check on the kitchen, she caught Kesley watching from the sidelines, her eagerness dampened by the late hour and the weight of the men’s presence.
Maureen glanced back at the Lannister table, knowing the quiet ritual was about to begin again, coffee, tired words, and the steady hum of a Thursday night that always ended the same way.
Maureen moved between tables, but her attention kept drifting back to the Lannister booth. Tywin and Kevan sat stiffly, exhaustion etched into their faces. Tywin’s jaw clenched tightly, his broad shoulders barely relaxing, while Kevan shifted uneasily, his left leg bouncing with a restless rhythm.
Kesley, despite the clear unspoken boundaries Maureen had laid down, hovered nearby like a nervous shadow. Again and again, Maureen caught her stepping too close, hovering with a fresh pot of coffee or an empty cup, trying to refill without permission. Maureen’s voice was low but firm each time.
“Kesley, don’t go near their table. Not unless they ask.”
Kesley’s eyes widened, but her eagerness outweighed her caution. She stepped forward once more, carrying a steaming pot, only for Tywin’s voice to cut sharply across the air.
Kesley’s face paled at the sharpness in his tone, and without another word, she bolted away behind the kitchen door. Maureen just shook her head and let out a small sigh, used to Kesley’s fumbling but knowing better than to scold the rookie too harshly.
As she glanced back toward the Lannister men, she caught the subtle signs, the tight shrug of Tywin’s shoulder, the way Kevan kept shifting weight off his left leg. Old aches, she knew, from years of relentless police work and late nights chasing leads.
Quietly, Maureen reached into her bag and pulled out two small heat packs she always carried, part of her own modest first aid kit. With practiced stealth, she slid them across the table, careful not to draw attention.
Tywin’s green-gold eyes locked on the pack like it was a personal insult. His scowl deepened, lips pressing into a thin line as if the idea of accepting help was a kind of weakness.
“Don’t start, Lannister,” Maureen said with a smirk, voice low enough only for them to hear. “Just take it.”
Tywin’s glare softened just a fraction, and after a tense beat, he reached out and picked up the pack without a word.
Maureen nodded and was already moving away, weaving through the tables with the quiet confidence of someone who had learned exactly when to step in, and when to step back.
Kevan gave her a tired, grateful look as she passed. Tywin’s eyes followed her, unreadable as ever, but something in the brief exchange held a warmth beneath the gruffness. The night pressed on, slow and steady, the unspoken understanding between them as familiar as the hum of the diner around them.
The clock above the counter ticked toward closing, the diner now empty except for the Lannister booth. The chairs were stacked on tables, the smell of coffee lingering faintly in the air. Maureen moved quietly through the space, wiping down the last of the counters while the hum of the refrigerators filled the stillness.
Kevan sat slouched in the booth, eyes heavy, looking like he could slip into sleep at any moment. Tywin, however, was still upright, his sharp gaze following her as she finished her rounds.
Finally, he reached for his wallet. “Check,” he said simply, his voice low and rough from fatigue.
Maureen walked over, her green eyes softening at the sight of the two brothers in their current state, Kevan practically dozing, Tywin’s usually immaculate composure undone by the day’s wear. She picked up the empty coffee cups and the two now-cooled heat packs from the table.
“Don’t worry about it, Tywin,” she said gently, slipping the cups onto her tray. “It’s on the house tonight.”
Tywin’s brows drew together, his expression dry and unreadable. “What you really mean,” he said, leaning back slightly, “is that you paid for it hours ago before we even got here.”
She paused, her smile tugging just enough to be teasing. “Maybe,” she said, shrugging one shoulder as she turned toward the counter. “Guess you’ll never know.”
One corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but enough to let her know he’d caught the spark in her tone. As she moved away, Kevan let out a quiet sigh that could have been a chuckle, while Tywin watched her go, his eyes following her until she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving the booth somehow warmer than when they’d arrived.
The diner was calmer than most Thursday nights, the low murmur of a few late customers mixing with the faint hiss and pop from the grill in the kitchen. Maureen moved through her usual closing shift rhythm, grateful for the quiet, and even more grateful that Kesley had clocked out an hour earlier. Peace at last.
Still, the dull sting in her right arm was a constant reminder of Kesley’s parting gift. While helping the kitchen staff earlier, Maureen had reached into a tub of soapy water only to find the sharp edge of a knife buried at the bottom. The blade had sliced into her forearm before she could jerk it back. Benny, the cook, had taken one look and ordered her to sit while he fetched the first aid kit. She had cleaned and redressed the wound herself afterward, but the spot of fresh red seeping faintly through the white gauze showed it wasn’t going to be a quick heal.
“Just my luck,” she muttered to herself, adjusting the bandage and heading back toward the counter.
The familiar chime above the door rang, and she looked up to see Tywin and Kevan walk in. This week, they looked far better than the last, still worn from work, but not dragging themselves in on fumes. Their coats were still buttoned against the cool evening, their hair only slightly rumpled from the wind outside.
Maureen was already reaching for the coffee pot before they even made it to their booth. She poured two steaming cups and carried them over, sliding them onto the table with the same smooth efficiency as always.
Tywin’s sharp eyes immediately landed on the white bandage wrapped neatly around her forearm, and the faint bloom of red at its edge. His gaze lingered, and by the time he looked up at her, there was a snark already on his tongue.
“What happened?” he asked, the words edged with a dry, knowing bite, as if he were bracing for a ridiculous story.
Maureen arched a brow, setting the pot down on the edge of the table. “Would you believe me if I said I got into a knife fight?”
Kevan’s mouth twitched into a faint smile, but Tywin didn’t break his stare. “No.”
“Didn’t think so,” she said, her lips curving into a wry smirk. “Kitchen accident. Or rather, a Kesley accident. She decided the best place for a chef’s knife was at the bottom of a tub of soapy water. I found it the hard way.”
Tywin’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and his eyes flicked briefly to the kitchen door before returning to her. “And you’re still standing here serving coffee instead of going home?”
“I’ve had worse,” she said lightly, topping off his cup with a practiced hand. “Besides, you two wouldn’t survive the night without your Thursday fix.”
Kevan chuckled quietly at that, shaking his head. Tywin, however, sat back, studying her for a beat longer than necessary before he finally lifted his coffee to his lips. “Reckless,” he muttered.
Maureen’s smirk deepened. “You say that like it’s news.”
The Thursday night rush had already tested Maureen’s patience to its limit. Kesley had been on shift all evening, and it seemed like every other second, she was either dropping something, mixing up orders, or “helping” in ways that created twice the work. By the time the bell above the diner door jingled, Maureen was running mostly on caffeine and sheer willpower.
She glanced up, ready to greet the usual two, and despite herself felt the faintest tug of a smile at the sight of Tywin and Kevan walking in. But her brow arched almost immediately when she noticed the third figure trailing behind them.
The young man was taller than she expected, broad-shouldered but with a boyish charm that softened the sharp lines he’d inherited from his father. His hair was the same golden blond, neatly combed, his green eyes quick and bright. If Tywin was all controlled authority and unyielding edges, this one radiated easy warmth.
Maureen also noticed, with no small amount of amusement, the way Kesley practically froze mid-step near the counter, eyes locked on the newcomer. If cartoon hearts could appear over someone’s head, Kesley would have been glowing like a neon sign. Maureen rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, Oh, this is going to be fun.
She grabbed three mugs and the coffee pot, heading toward the booth. “Third wheel tonight, boys?” she teased, setting down Kevan’s and Tywin’s cups before pouring.
Tywin’s scowl was immediate, sharp as ever, while Kevan tried, and failed to hide the faint smile tugging at his mouth.
“This is my son, Jaime,” Tywin said, his tone clipped. “He’s just been assigned to patrol.”
Maureen’s gaze flicked to Jaime, giving him an assessing once-over. “So you’re the rookie I’ve been hearing about.”
“Hopefully the good stuff,” Jaime replied, flashing a grin.
“That depends,” she said, lips quirking as she poured his coffee. “What can I get you all tonight?”
“Usual,” Kevan said easily, glancing at the menu for form’s sake. Jaime ordered a burger without hesitation.
But Tywin… Tywin was in one of those moods, every answer shorter than necessary, every comment laced with dry steel.
“You’re grumpier than usual tonight,” Maureen remarked, jotting down the order.
“I’m not grumpy,” Tywin said, without looking at her.
Maureen smirked. “That’s exactly what a grumpy person would say.”
Tywin’s eyes flicked up, narrowing. “Maybe I’m just tired of people stating the obvious.”
“Maybe I’m just tired of people pretending they’re fine when they’re not,” she shot back, leaning one hand on the table.
Kevan hid a chuckle behind his coffee cup, clearly enjoying the show. Jaime, on the other hand, looked back and forth between them like he’d stumbled into the middle of an argument without the context.
“Do you two… know each other well?” Jaime asked cautiously.
Tywin took a sip of his coffee. “Too well.”
Maureen straightened with a grin. “Not well enough.”
Jaime blinked, baffled, while Kevan coughed into his drink to cover his laugh.
Tywin’s scowl deepened. “You have other tables, Sett.”
“And yet here I am,” she replied sweetly, collecting the menus. “Guess you’ll never be rid of me.”
She moved off toward the kitchen, leaving Jaime watching her retreat with open curiosity, Kevan smiling into his coffee, and Tywin staring after her with that same unreadable look he always wore though maybe, just maybe, there was the faintest glimmer of something else behind it.
The diner had slipped into its late-night lull, the kind of quiet where conversations from the other end of the room carried just enough to fill the background. Maureen moved with her usual precision, weaving between tables, her notepad tucked into the apron at her hip.
At the Lannister booth, the banter hadn’t let up once since their food arrived. Tywin was in rare form every remark of his dry, cutting, and precise. But Maureen met each one head-on, firing back with the kind of sharp wit that made Kevan chuckle into his coffee and left Jaime glancing between them like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
“You’d think after four years, you’d have learned to keep your mouth shut,” Tywin murmured after she’d made some comment about his “Captain Grumpy” routine.
“And miss the joy of watching you pretend you’re not secretly enjoying this?” she replied, sliding a fresh pot of coffee onto the edge of the table.
“Enjoy is not the word I’d use,” he said flatly.
“Mm. Sure it isn’t.” She poured his refill without asking.
A few tables away, Kesley saw her chance while Maureen was busy with another order. She drifted toward Jaime, all bright smiles and wide eyes, leaning in just a little too close as she set down his dessert. Her voice was pitched just loud enough for him to hear over the low music.
Tywin’s gaze slid sideways, his jaw tightening. The moment Kesley reached out to brush a crumb from Jaime’s sleeve, Tywin’s voice came like a crack of ice.
“Kesley. You have other tables.”
The rookie waitress startled, glancing at him before hastily mumbling something about checking the counter and retreating behind the kitchen door. Jaime blinked, looking faintly embarrassed. Kevan smirked into his drink.
By the time Maureen returned, she caught sight of Kesley slinking away and Tywin settling back in his seat with that composed, slightly smug air he got when he’d just cleared the board without moving a piece.
She set down a plate and, without warning, leaned down so close her breath brushed his ear.
Tywin went perfectly still, shoulders going rigid at the sudden proximity.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered, her voice low and edged with amusement, “you’re still my favorite… if that’s what you’re so worried about.”
One of his brows twitched upward, but he didn’t turn his head toward her. “Worried?” he murmured back, the faintest rasp in his tone. “You think too highly of yourself.”
She straightened with a sly smile. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just right.”
Kevan glanced between them, the corner of his mouth twitching, while Jaime sat there, entirely lost as to what undercurrent had just passed between his father and the waitress who seemed to be the only person in the city unafraid to poke the bear.
The night had already been a marathon for Maureen. Kesley had been in rare form, wrong orders, dropped plates, disappearing when she was needed most and Maureen’s patience, already worn thin by the week, had dissolved completely. By the time she stepped outside for a quick breath of fresh air, she was clinging to that brief moment of silence like it was gold.
Inside, the familiar chime over the door rang. Tywin, Kevan, and Jaime walked in, the cold evening air following them. The booth that had become their unofficial headquarters was empty, ready for them except Maureen wasn’t there to greet them.
Kesley, seeing the opportunity, swept in with a bright smile, menus in hand. She leaned a little toward Jaime, who returned a polite but somewhat uncertain smile.
“So,” she said in a lilting tone, “what can I get for you gentlemen tonight?”
Tywin’s green-gold eyes lifted from the menu with slow deliberation. His voice was low, clipped, and entirely unimpressed. “Do you have anything better to do than bother us?”
Kesley’s smile faltered, but she rallied. “Well, it’s my job to take your order—”
“It’s not,” Tywin cut in, voice sharp enough to slice the air between them.
Her cheeks flushed, frustration bubbling up. “I don’t see why it matters who takes it—”
The kitchen door swung open, and Maureen stepped back in, her dark hair a little mussed from the breeze outside. She didn’t break stride, crossing directly to the counter to grab three mugs and the coffee pot.
“Kesley,” she said, her voice flat and without room for argument, “you were supposed to be clocked out five minutes ago.”
Kesley opened her mouth to protest, but Maureen didn’t even glance at her as she walked toward the Lannister booth. The message was clear: go home. Now.
The younger waitress huffed and slunk away toward the back, shooting a last look at Jaime that he awkwardly ignored.
Maureen reached the table, setting the cups down with quiet efficiency and pouring the coffee without asking for orders. The lines under her eyes spoke to how long she’d been running tonight, and her tone was calm but distant her way of holding things together when she was at her limit.
Before she could turn to head back to the counter, Jaime, perhaps out of politeness or misguided chivalry, started, “She was just trying to—”
Three things happened at once.
Tywin’s eyes snapped to his son, the look sharp enough to still movement. Kevan turned his head with the same steel in his gaze, though his was quieter more of a warning than a reprimand. And Maureen, without missing a beat, sent Jaime a withering look that froze the rest of his words in his throat.
He shut his mouth instantly and sank back into the booth, clearly realizing he’d stepped into something far above his pay grade.
Maureen, satisfied, topped off Tywin’s cup and straightened. “Glad we understand each other,” she said, and then walked away to tend to her other tables—leaving Jaime sitting awkwardly between his father’s cold glare and Kevan’s amused smirk.
The diner had gone quiet, the hum of the old refrigerator and the occasional rattle of the coffee pot the only sounds left. The last of the plates had been washed, the chairs flipped on tables except for the booth where the Lannisters sat, nursing the dregs of their coffee.
Maureen finally allowed herself to clock out, grabbing a steaming mug of hot chocolate and sliding into the booth beside theirs, not with them, but in the one adjacent, so she could still lean an elbow over the seat back to talk.
“You three sure know how to close down a place,” she teased, cupping the mug in both hands.
“Someone has to keep you honest,” Kevan replied, smirking over his cup.
“Mm,” she said, eyes flicking toward Tywin. “And here I thought your brother just liked the sound of his own voice.”
Tywin’s mouth twitched, the faintest ghost of a smirk. “Better than listening to you list all the ways you’d rather be anywhere else.”
“Not anywhere,” she corrected, sipping her drink. “Just somewhere with less scowling.”
Kevan chuckled into his coffee. Jaime looked like he was watching a tennis match, eyes bouncing between his father and Maureen, trying to make sense of how they could insult each other with such…comfort.
It was in the middle of her leaning back, smirk still tugging at her lips, that the yawn hit her. She tried to stifle it with one hand, but Tywin caught it anyway.
“You look ready to drop,” he said, and his voice had shifted, still deep, still firm, but lacking that usual edge.
She blinked at him, then gave a little shrug. “Been a long week.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, like he was assessing her the way he would a soldier after a mission. “Your father or brothers coming to get you tonight?”
That question pulled a sigh from her she didn’t want to give. “No. I’ll be walking home.”
Jaime sat up a bit. “At this hour?”
She gave him a pointed look. “What, you think I’ll melt?”
“Not melt,” Kevan said mildly, “but it’s a long walk. And this isn’t exactly the quietest town at night.”
Maureen’s mouth curved in a wry smile. “I’ve got two legs, Kevan, and a mean right hook. I’ll be fine.”
Tywin’s gaze lingered on her, unreadable, before he spoke again. “Fine isn’t always enough.”
She arched her brow. “What, you volunteering to walk me home, Lannister?”
“Not if you’re going to talk the whole way,” he deadpanned.
She grinned at that, leaning back in her booth. “Good. Wouldn’t want to be accused of keeping you from your beauty sleep.”
Kevan laughed under his breath, Jaime’s brow furrowed at the strange tension threading between them. Tywin only shook his head slightly and went back to his coffee, but she caught the way his eyes still tracked her over the rim of his cup.
The last of the coffee was gone, Kevan pushing his cup aside while Jaime stretched and muttered something about the early patrol the next morning. They offered Maureen polite nods on their way out, the bell over the diner door giving a half-hearted jingle before it swung shut.
Tywin, however, didn’t move. He stayed seated, one broad hand resting on the table, his gaze steady on nothing in particular.
Maureen disappeared into the back room, reappearing a minute later with her bag slung over one shoulder and her keys in hand. She stopped short when she saw him still there.
“Come now, shoo, Lannister,” she said with a smirk, stepping toward the front door. “Captain or not, I gotta lock up.”
He gave her the faintest roll of his eyes, more an exhale than a gesture. “I’ll take you home, Maur. Don’t want you out this late.” His tone was low, matter-of-fact, as if it wasn’t up for debate.
She frowned, the weight in her shoulders sagging. “Tywin…”
The look he gave her cut her protest off mid-breath, sharp, unyielding, and absolutely sure of itself. It was the look of a man who didn’t need to say No, you’re not talking your way out of this because it was already written in his eyes.
She huffed, clicking off one of the lights and muttering, “Fine. Let’s go.” Her voice was tired now, the fight was gone from it.
He fell into step beside her as she locked the door, the street outside dim and quiet. There was no fanfare, no gentlemanly offer of his arm, just the solid, steady presence of him at her side.
By the time the dinner rush had eased into its slower late-evening pace, Maureen was already running on thin patience and too much caffeine. Thursday nights had become their own kind of ritual, predictable enough that she could almost feel the rhythm of the evening in her bones. The regulars trickled in, the air carried that faint hum of conversation and clinking mugs, and eventually, without fail, the corner booth by the window would be claimed by the Lannisters.
Which was why she had planted herself in front of the two brand-new hires that afternoon, leaning her hip against the counter with a clipboard in one hand and an expression that suggested she’d already given this speech twice.
“All right,” she began, her voice steady but pointed. “The corner booth by the window? After nine o’clock? That table belongs to the Lannisters. Nobody else sits there, nobody else gets served there. Got it?”
The two girls, wide-eyed, fresh out of whatever diner training they thought they had blinked at her as if she’d just switched to speaking fluent German.
One of them, a blonde with an overly perky smile, tilted her head. “Uh… why?”
Maureen exhaled slowly through her nose, like she was counting to five in her head before answering. “Because if you try to serve them without knowing what you’re doing, they’ll eat you alive, and not in the fun, romantic way you’re probably imagining. And then I’ll have to clean up the mess.” She glanced between them. “So unless you feel like crying after whatever sharp comment Tywin Lannister throws your way… you leave that table to me.”
The brunette shifted uncomfortably. “Tywin?”
“Tall, blond, terrifying, usually with a face like he just bit into a lemon,” Maureen said dryly. “You’ll know him when you see him.”
Behind her, Kesley was lurking by the coffee station, refilling a sugar jar with a little too much force. Her glare could have burned holes through Maureen’s back. No doubt still stewing over being corrected on order tickets earlier.
“Was I unclear?” Maureen asked, leveling her gaze at the new girls again.
“No,” they mumbled in unison.
“Good.” She straightened and tapped the clipboard. “Now, remember it. Saves me a headache.”
By the time the door opened and the familiar jingle of the bell announced the Lannisters’ arrival, Maureen was in the back, untangling a small disaster in the kitchen involving a burnt grilled cheese, a missing order ticket, and a fry cook insisting the plate wasn’t his fault.
Kevan walked in first, easygoing as ever, followed by Tywin, who looked like he’d been dragged here under protest but had come anyway. Their eyes automatically went toward the corner booth only to see one of the new hires scurrying over, menus in hand and a hopeful smile plastered on her face.
Kesley, leaning against the counter, was watching the scene unfold like a cat watching a birdcage. She’d made sure to set this up, nudging the girl forward earlier with a fake-sweet, Oh, they’re very nice, they’ll love you, knowing full well it was a trap.
“Good evening!” the blonde chirped, setting menus down in front of them. “What can I get you to drink tonight?”
Tywin’s eyes slid up to her cool, assessing, with all the warmth of a midwinter breeze. “Nothing.”
The girl faltered. “Uh… coffee?”
Kevan, trying to be polite, offered her a small smile. “We usually have Maureen take our order.”
“Oh, she’s busy,” the blonde said brightly, glancing toward the kitchen. “I can—”
“You can,” Tywin interrupted, his voice clipped, “step away from this table and find something more productive to do.”
Her mouth opened slightly, as if she couldn’t quite believe she’d been dismissed like that. “I was just—”
“Miss.” His tone was sharper this time. “Go.”
Kevan leaned back, hiding the smirk tugging at his mouth.
The blonde retreated quickly, cheeks pink, and Kesley looked momentarily triumphant, until the kitchen door swung open and Maureen emerged, wiping her hands on a towel.
Her eyes took in the scene at a glance: the awkward expression on the blonde’s face, Tywin’s expression of mild irritation, Kevan’s amusement. Then her gaze cut to Kesley, who was still by the counter.
“Kesley,” Maureen said evenly, “you were supposed to clock out ten minutes ago.”
Kesley’s smile faltered. “I was just—”
“Clock. Out.” Maureen’s voice left no room for negotiation. She turned to grab two mugs and the coffee pot without breaking stride.
Kevan murmured something to Tywin under his breath, but whatever it was made the corner of Tywin’s mouth twitch for the briefest second.
Maureen set the mugs down in front of them, pouring without asking, because she didn’t need to. She looked tired, worn thin by the night’s nonsense, but her voice was steady when she said, “Evening, gentlemen.”
Kevan’s smile warmed. “Evening, Maur.”
Tywin gave her one of those small nods that passed for a greeting from him.
Jamie wasn’t there tonight, and for some reason, that absence made the booth feel smaller, quieter. Kevan leaned back in his seat, Tywin stirred his coffee once before setting the spoon down, and Maureen… well, she stayed for a moment, hip resting against the table’s edge, like she’d finally found a pocket of calm after a long, ridiculous shift.
Later on when the dinner died down Maureen settled back into the booth beside the Lannisters, the ledger balanced on her knee, a pencil tucked neatly behind her ear. The worn pages of the month’s accounts were spread before her, dotted with smudged numbers and scribbled notes. She let out a long sigh, her green eyes scanning the columns as she tried to catch up on the backlog of paperwork that had piled up during the chaos of the week.
Tywin sat opposite her, his usual scowl firmly in place, sharp eyes watching her every move with that familiar intensity that always made her feel like she was walking a tightrope. Kevan, relaxed as ever, leaned back in his seat, sipping his coffee and letting the quiet settle around them like a comfortable, if slightly tense, blanket.
“How was your shift today?” Maureen asked without looking up, fingers absently tapping the ledger as she worked through some calculations.
Kevan grunted. “Long. One of those days where everything that could go wrong, did.” He gave a knowing look at Tywin, who simply tightened his jaw and said nothing.
Maureen glanced up with a sly smirk, eyes locking onto Tywin’s. “Hmm. That bad, huh? Want to bicker a little and make your mood even fouler?”
Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t bicker. I make statements.”
“Oh, same difference,” she said, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm as she tapped a pencil against the ledger. “Statements that could curdle milk.”
Kevan chuckled, shaking his head. “You two never change.”
Maureen gave a soft, tired smile, turning back to her papers before adding quietly, “I won’t be here next Thursday, family duty. Funnel for my Uncle Neil.” She paused, arching a brow. “Think your boys can survive a day without me?”
Tywin’s eyes flicked to Kevan briefly, then back to her, his expression unreadable for a moment. “We’ll manage. But it won’t be easy.”
“Oh, come on,” Maureen teased, closing the ledger and slipping the pencil from behind her ear. “You make it sound like you’ll be lost without me.”
Kevan grinned. “Maybe but you’re their secret weapon when it comes to Tywin.”
“Secret or not,” she said, standing and stretching a little, “they’d better figure it out fast. Because next Thursday, I’m off the clock.”
Tywin scowled at Kevan, but said nothing, just drank his coffee.
The three of them settled into a companionable silence for a moment, the sharp edges of the day softening a bit in the glow of the diner’s late-night calm
The diner was a whirlwind of clattering dishes and half-finished orders as Maureen darted between tables, sweeping crumbs off counters and restocking napkin holders. Tonight, the three other employees seemed to have collectively forgotten how to work, leaving Maureen to pick up the slack with her usual mix of patience and exasperation.
A sharp chime above the door caught her attention, and she glanced up just as the Lannisters stepped inside the familiar trio of Tywin, Kevan, and Jamie. She’d caught wind from the other staff that last Thursday had been rough; the servers had completely dropped the ball handling the Lannisters, and word had made its way back to her.
Kesley was already nearby, eyes glued to Jamie with an infatuated glaze that made Maureen roll her eyes so hard she almost saw her own brain. With a steadying breath, Maureen grabbed three steaming cups and a pot of coffee, then strode toward the corner booth like she owned the place.
“Well, well,” Maureen said, setting down the cups with a practiced flick of her wrist, “I heard you guys didn’t survive me being gone last week.” Her brow lifted challengingly at Tywin, whose scowl was even harsher than the last time she’d seen him two weeks ago.
Tywin’s green-gold eyes flashed in response, unamused but not denying the truth.
Jamie, never one to miss an opportunity, tried flirting with Maureen throughout the night his smile easy, his attempts casual but persistent. Maureen deflected each one with practiced grace, turning down his advances with witty remarks that only seemed to tighten Tywin’s jaw further, to the point where it looked like it might snap.
Kevan kept shooting his nephew warning looks, eyebrows raised and eyes sharp. Jamie, however, seemed undeterred; after all, Maureen wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes, and if she could handle both his father and uncle, maybe he could give it a shot.
Kesley, meanwhile, seethed in the background, casting daggers at Maureen as if daring Jamie to notice her instead.
At one point, while refilling their coffee, Maureen leaned just slightly against Tywin’s shoulder a casual touch but loaded with meaning. Their eyes met briefly, and her look was crystal clear: I’m not interested in your son.
Jamie, oblivious or perhaps deliberately defiant, cleared his throat and asked, voice light but steady, “Maureen, would you like to go out sometime?”
Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh no, Jamie,” she said, voice dripping with mock sympathy, “that’s going to be a no. You wouldn’t know how to handle me even if you tried.”
Kevan snorted quietly behind his cup, while Tywin’s scowl deepened into something dangerously close to a warning glare.
Jamie raised his hands in mock surrender. “Worth a try.”
Maureen smirked and shook her head. “Keep dreaming, rookie.”
Tywin’s voice cut in, low and clipped. “Maybe focus on learning the job before chasing distractions.”
Jamie gave his father a wry look. “Noted.”
Maureen caught Kevan’s amused glance as she moved away, feeling the familiar mix of exhaustion and satisfaction that came with managing the Lannisters even when the rookie tried to stir the pot.
Kesley, meanwhile, retreated with a pout, the night’s battle for attention firmly lost.
The diner was winding down, the last of the coffee pots scrubbed clean and the floors smelling faintly of bleach. The warm yellow glow from the overhead lights made the place feel quieter than usual, the usual clatter replaced by the rhythmic squeak of someone wiping the counter in the back.
Jamie had already made an early exit, likely licking his wounds after Maureen’s polite-but-deadly rejection and Kesley had stormed out earlier in a huff, muttering something about "wasting her time." The rest of the staff had melted away into their closing tasks, leaving Maureen alone at the corner booth with the two older Lannisters.
Kevan sat relaxed, leaning an elbow on the table, watching his brother over the rim of his coffee cup with mild amusement. Tywin, however, looked like a storm cloud in human form, his hands wrapped around his mug as if the ceramic had personally wronged him. His eyes were fixed on the dark liquid inside, brows drawn low, jaw set in that way that made him look equal parts calculating and furious.
Maureen slid into the seat across from them, ledger and receipts abandoned for the night, folding her arms over the table. She studied Tywin for a long moment, letting the silence stretch, the faint clinking of silverware from the kitchen filling the space. Then she sighed, almost to herself.
"You know," she said casually, "your son’s got guts. I’ll give him that."
Kevan’s brow ticked upward, clearly curious where this was going. Tywin didn’t look up, but the tightening in his jaw was almost imperceptible.
"Not really my type, though," she continued, leaning back against the booth with a shrug. "Sorry, Lannister, but I don’t think I’ll be wanting to date your son."
That earned her a slow blink from Tywin, his eyes finally flicking up to meet hers, green-gold and sharp as a blade.
"But," Maureen went on, tilting her head in mock thoughtfulness, "if you’re really in the market for a daughter-in-law, I do know someone who’s been chasing him around since he walked through the door a month ago." She smiled sweetly. "Kesley’s practically been tripping over herself every time he comes in."
Tywin’s glare darkened not at her exactly, but the implication. "I am not ‘in the market,’" he said, voice like gravel.
"Oh, I know," Maureen replied, her tone as airy as if they were discussing the weather. "I’m just saying you seemed concerned enough to glare a hole in Jamie’s head earlier. Thought maybe you were trying to play matchmaker."
Kevan chuckled lowly. "If Tywin ever played matchmaker, the poor fool on the receiving end would probably run screaming."
Maureen grinned at that, eyes still on Tywin. "I don’t know. I think he’d be good at it. Scare everyone else away until the only option left is exactly who he wants."
Tywin’s mouth pressed into a thinner line, but the faintest flicker of something not quite amusement, not quite irritation passed over his face. "That would assume I care about such things."
"Sure," Maureen said, drawing out the word, clearly not believing him. She rested her chin in her palm, studying him like she was trying to read a difficult book. "You didn’t seem too thrilled about Jamie trying his luck. Almost like you…" She tapped her chin. "What’s the phrase? Oh, right. Didn’t like sharing your toys."
Kevan nearly choked on his coffee, turning his head to hide his grin. Tywin’s stare sharpened until it could have cut glass.
"You think very highly of yourself," Tywin said coolly.
Maureen smirked. "You think very highly of me too. You just don’t want to admit it."
There was a long pause. Tywin didn’t answer, but his silence spoke volumes. Kevan was outright smirking now, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth far too much.
"Don’t worry," Maureen added after a moment, straightening up and reaching for her pencil. "I’m not after your son. And I’m not after you, either… unless you ask nicely."
Kevan laughed outright at that one, and Tywin gave her a look that was somewhere between exasperation and reluctant intrigue though, as always, his poker face didn’t fully crack.
Maureen just grinned, picking up her ledger again, satisfied with the tiny victory of making him react at all.
