Jenlisa Oneshots

kitten season

"They wouldn't be our pets. We'd be fostering them, and I'll do everything."

"Like finding them another home?"

"No."

"Lis-"

Lisa cuts her off with the most pathetic set of puppy eyes she's ever seen in her life and a, "Please, Ni."

Lisa is begging and Jennie is a weak, weak woman, but she needs to stay strong.

"I'll do everything," she repeats. "They won't ever leave the guest bedroom. You won't even know they're there and they'll be gone in a few weeks. I promise."

Jennie wants to say no.

Jennie should say no.

She looks at Lisa, sticks another toe across the line, and asks, "You promise they'll be gone in a few weeks?"

Her girlfriend smiles, big and bright and beautifully convincing. "I promise. They'll be gone in a few weeks."

"Fine."

Lisa's on her before she can even realize it, arms wrapping around her in a hug and lips making their way to pepper kisses across her face with repeated declarations of, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, I swear you won't regret this."

Jennie knows at least some of that isn't true (she's truthfully already regretting all of this), but she can't find it in herself to care right now.

-

The same cannot be said about the following morning.

Lisa's alarm goes off far too early for any sane human being and upon finishing her usual attempt to drown herself in her pillows, Jennie comes to the realization that it had gone off thirty minutes earlier than usual.

Thirty minutes of precious sleep, gone, just like that-and judging by the empty space currently filling Lisa's side of the bed, her girlfriend's apparently gone too. All in all, not the best way to start the day.

Luckily a good, balanced breakfast is the real start to any proper morning routine, so Jennie figures things will get better with some food. Bit by bit, she slips on a bra, an old T-shirt, and the first pair of joggers within reach. With high hopes and bleary eyes, Jennie makes the trek to the kitchen, only for the world to immediately take a big fat dump on her dreams of a good, easy morning.

The stench in the kitchen hits her in the face without warning.

It's pungent, visceral, akin to an unholy lovechild of a week-old bag of garbage and a tuna sandwich that was left in the sun for days. Lisa is seemingly unbothered, standing in front of the source of today's olfactory torture with a cup of coffee brewing nearby, happily scooping what Jennie can only describe as liquid shit onto a plate with one of the spoons they use for cereal. One of the spoons they eat off of. One of the spoons she eats off of.

Forget gagging, Jennie wants to throw up.

"Can you not do that in here?"

Lisa turns, arching an eyebrow as she asks, "Do what?"

A hand moves to wave vaguely toward the can of gateau de gato sitting dangerously close to the sink they use to clean shit. "That."

"I have to feed the cats, Jennie."

"Not with my cereal spoon you don't." It comes out a bit grumblier than she'd intended, but still, her point stands. Nothing that smells that bad should ever come in contact with anything she puts in her mouth.

"Oh." Lisa looks down at the spoon in her hands that she'd defiled. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you'd care."

"Of course I'd care!" She does her best not to sneer in disgust at watching goop drip off one of her favorite spoons, but she's pretty sure she fails. "I eat off those."