Work Header

Enby mc / Alfie Solomons Oneshots

Chapter Text

You picked her up off the street, shit covered and mewling for her mother. Poor scrap.
You were waking home from the distillery and found this crying kit. Skin and bones, nothing more.
You couldn’t stop yourself, you picked her up and wrapped her in your hanky. You washed her, fed her and made sure she got better.

You didn’t really expect to have a cat. Not in your cramped apartment working for a 1920s gangster.

So be it though. You love the fucker now.


It’s been two or so years since she cried her way into your life. Two long years of kitten mischief, lost pens and scratched furniture.

She sits in your windowsill watching the people and horses in the streets. You’re scribbling away at some paperwork you’ve brought home. Her profile distracts you, you’re itching to saunter over there and bother the shit out of her until she bites four little holes in your hand.

You give in to your impulse, now sitting in the chair by the window. You stroke her back and scratch behind her ears. She turns to give you a distasteful look. It doesn’t deter you.

“Oh stop with that, there’s enough of that look at work.”

Her whiskers flex in response. You roll your eyes. You allow yourself to be distracted by her for the better part of the evening till she starts meowing for some dinner. You cook yourself some small meal of relatively cheap foods, and curate her a small feast of fish and chicken livers.


It isn’t uncommon to fall asleep with a fat lug of a cat purring across your chest.




“I don’t like the way she looks at me,” Alfie states, voice pinched. She’s sitting in the windowsill, staring at Alfie with no regard for anyone’s comfort. You shrug and take another drag of you cigarette.

“You’re in her space. I don’t have people over- she’s not used to it.” Neither of us are.

It’s maybe the fourth time Alfie’s been over. You still can’t decide if you like it or not. He usually sits in your good chair, he takes up too much space and leaves your meager rooms smelling like liquor and woodsmoke. You like that last one, for sure.

You make him come up the back way, from the alley. Can’t have your land lady seeing him here. She’d throw a bloody tantrum about ‘reputation’ and ‘safety’. God only knows what your neighbours would say or do. You’d rather not find out.


Regardless, Alfie and your damn cat have decided that a stare down is the way to win this war. Somehow. Jesus. Animals.

“You’re not gonna win,” you tell Alfie. Despite him being a staring master, this cat is like a God or something. And unless she submits- she won’t- Alfie doesn’t stand a chance.

You’re hoping she hurts his ego, just a bit.


After a long ass minute Alfie shifts his gaze back to you. Your cat blinks in *clearly* superior pride. You grin at the whole thing.

“Lost,” you murmur.

“Fuck off,” he says with a hint of novel dissatisfaction in his voice. You just smile more.




She grows on Alfie. Funnily enough. You used to think they most they’d do is tolerate each other, but nope. She sits with him when he comes to visit. You don’t say anything about the salami you catch him sneaking her.

It’s cute. This scary gangster dog person learning how to love a kitten who for a period of time couldn’t even hold her own head up. He’s scratching her cheeks and she’s purring at him. He asks about her, sometimes. “Where’d you get her?” “How old is she?” “Has she had kittens?” “What’s her favourite food?”. It makes you happy, to know he cares. He’s all the more sympathetic when he hears about her tragic backstory.


He starts to bring her good treats. Fishes and beef. She puts on some extra weight and Alfie thinks she’s pregnant.

“No hun, she’s just fat from your pampering,” you tell him. He’s almost offended by it. You laugh it off.
“She’s still quiet the picture of health,” he insists. You let it slide.

You feel lucky, fortunate and all the rest of those good things. You’re happy he cares so much, you’re happy she likes him.