#also i am forcing everyone to accept my headcanon that vanj likes watching the lobsters in the supermarket fight by writing it everywhere

[phrynewrites]

hello hello hello Christine!! i saw the words "i'll try any ship" so i'm here to force my love of Monique on to everyone and politely ask for 27 with either Monet x Monique or Monique x Vanessa pls! 💖

Hello! I have tried very hard to give the ceo of vanique some solid vanique. Please consider my efforts in my next quarterly performance report, ma’am. 

Without further ado, and without any particular au, here’s vanique in “Do you hear yourself when you talk?”

Monique was made to be viewed by candle light, Vanessa decided. 

She sat across the table from the woman, who was carelessly swirling a glass of what they, to the disgust of the waiter, called pink wine, studying a menu full of food they would usually argue could not possibly be worth it, especially compared to their typical takeout rotation, in which all they ordered was cheap and tasty, and only half the restaurants would sometimes give them food poisoning. 

But tonight, with the three lit votive candles on the table, the small, polished stone of Monique’s necklace sparkling in the dancing light, things were different. 

It was Tax Return Dinner.

Tax Return Dinner was a glorious day. It was the day when Monique slipped into her iridescent sequin dress as easily as Vanessa found it slipped off. It was the day when Vanessa would walk to the bathroom with a spring in her step, sneak up behind Monique while she was brushing her teeth, yank her down by the arm, and whisper an inch away from her ear, “I might just wear that red thing tonight,” and watch with a smirk as Monique nearly gagged on toothpaste. It was when Vanessa could walk right up to the tank of fighting lobsters behind the hostess stand and play god with those delicious beasts. 

With the check cut and their cashed out tax return now in a fat stack of twenties, fives, and ones, burning a hole through Monique’s pocketbook, the possibilities were endless. 

“Do you know that you’re beautiful?” Vanessa posed, unraveling the cloth napkin, scrambling to save the little fork from tumbling over the edge of the table. 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Monique didn’t bother to look up from the menu, but Vanessa could still see the cloying smirk emerging as her eyes scanned the entrees, and she couldn’t help but chuckle. 

Vanessa playfully rolled her eyes. “You’re not even playing the game right, stupid,” she whined. “I ask if you know and you’re supposed say, no, Vanj, I don’t give me an explanat- explanshion-” She collected herself and began her imitation again. “Whatever, tell me about it, please. And then I get to say that you’re beautiful and I love you.” 

A woman from the table next to them trained her eyes to Vanessa, stabbing her salad violently. 

Reaching her hand across the table, Monique offered Vanessa a gentle smile. Their hands met. Monique’s hand was soft and familiar, her fingers cresting over the back of Vanessa’s hand. 

“Vanj,” Monique began, tearing away to catch Vanessa’s gaze. “You are stupid as fuck.” 

A laugh ripped through Vanessa, tearing through the dining room ricocheting off of the mirrored walls and mahogany leather booths, causing Monique to join in and more patrons to join in with Salad Lady’s irritated staring. 

“I do love you,” Monique admitted once her own laughter died down. “You should know that too.” 

Vanessa felt it with every throbbing of her eager heart, every instance in which the light seemed to pull entirely toward Monique. On their ratty couch that was suspiciously already in their apartment. Against their mattress, comforter discarded on the floor, as Monique slowly pushed her back with a splayed hand against her chest and a whisper that she’d take care. In the restaurant, squirming in that red thing. She did know. 

“Should we get stuffed shrimp to start? I think we should get stuffed shrimp.” Monique pointed at the menu in front of her, as though Vanessa could read it from that far away, or could find it on her own menu, which she hadn’t even bothered to open. 

“Get whatever you’d like, babe.” Vanessa took a swig of her own pink wine. “It’s tax return dinner.”

“So stuffed shrimp?” Monique raised a brow. “What all do they stuff it with? Like it’s so much that they’re just like fuck it you don’t gotta know what we do to this shrimp, all you gotta know is that we stuff it.”

“Please, I’m gonna be stuffed tonight,” Vanjie said, tightening her grip on Monique’s hand. “First with that fat lobster, gettin’ squished by all them alpha lobsters, and then with you.” 

Salad Lady — who was now onto her main course — coughed.

“Oh, really?” She tilted her head.     

Vanessa hummed, feeling Monique’s gaze darken. She ran her tongue over her front teeth. “I feel pretty sure this table’s all that stopping you right now, so...” 

Gaze fixed to their still joined hands, Monique inconspicuously slipped her pinky finger off of Vanessa’s hand. She looked back up and drummed the remaining three fingers. 

“Put it back,” Vanessa whispered thickly. “I’m gonna want all you can give me, every bit of you.” 

A fork clanged. Salad Lady’s head shot back up at breakneck speed. The man across from her shook his head and held his hands up, but Salad Lady was unperturbed. She whipped her napkin off of her lap. 

She turned back to the man across from her, and snapped “Do you hear this?” before turning back toward Monique and Vanessa. “I mean, do you hear yourself when you talk?” She spread her napkin back over her lap, adding with a twisted face, “my god,” smoothing down the napkin repeatedly. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Monique cried out, raising her free hand to form a scolding pointed finger. “Who do you think you are?” 

“Yeah, you get back to your farm raised snail and scallop raviolis and your dry ass man and leave us alone.” 

The woman kicked at her man under the table, urging him to do something. He looked between them before going back to cutting his steak. 

The woman huffed, turning back to face her man with a scowl.

Vanessa downed the rest of her drink. “And fix your dress, Mary. You got a stain.”