#myfirsteverfanfic

The rain had been steady all morning. Not loud. Not angry. Just there. Persistent. Tapping on the windows like it didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t mind it. The sound settled into the walls of the café, soft and slow, threading through the clinks of cups and the muted hush of the world outside.

The oven had just started to do its magic. That scent, sweet and golden, began to spill out. Butter warming, sugar deepening, vanilla rising into the air like a secret I didn’t mind keeping. I didn’t have to look to know the cakes were rising exactly the way I wanted.

My elbows were pressed into the counter, chin in my hands, eyes half-lidded. There was nothing to rush. Just the faint jazz curling out from behind the register. The dried flowers near the window—chamomile, baby’s breath, and a little lavender—swayed in the breeze sneaking in through the cracked front door. It all felt quiet. Gentle. Like the day had exhaled.

Almost too quiet.

Sometimes I think I built this place just to disappear inside it. The walls were painted cream. I did the painting myself. The menu’s scribbled in chalk on an old board I found at a flea market, slightly crooked. I never bothered to straighten it. Didn’t want to. Nothing here’s perfect. The mugs above the espresso machine are all mismatched, chipped, faded, and too well-loved. I keep them all anyway.

I've always liked when things were a little bruised up from life; it gave a homely feel.

My life is fine. I wake up and bake, then people come in, order, and leave. I water the flowers on the sill and read books on slow days.

But there’s this feeling. Lingering. Like static in the quiet. Like something’s about to shift. Or maybe someone.

I can't name it, but it's there. Like a word stuck on the edge of my tongue. Like sugar, I can taste it but not quite place it.

Outside, the world’s grey and wet and smudged at the edges. A car slides past, tires hissing on the pavement. Across the street, a neon sign flickers half-heartedly. I stare at it until my breath fogs up the glass.

It’s not loneliness. Not exactly. Just too much space. In the room. In my head. In me.

The kitchen timer beeps, sharp and familiar, and I move without thinking. Heat hits my face as I open the oven, and there they are. Perfect cakes. Golden. Light. The kind that make you believe in small joys.

Ding.

The bell above the door rings, cutting through my thoughts, and then a voice, loud and full of sunlight, crashes into the café.

“HEY! WHAT’S THAT SMELL?”

I look up.

A young man stood in the doorway like he had just found gold. Grinning like a kid who didn't know the meaning of shame. His hair was soaked; however, his eyes were wild and bright. He looked at everything like it was new.

He stood there, dripping, eyes wide. “Smells so good!” he practically yelled again, stepping fully inside like the quiet didn’t faze him.

He didn’t ask if he could sit. Or speak softly. Or match the mood of the place.

He just was.

“What do you have?” he said, scanning the counter like it was some kind of treasure map.

Before I could answer, he grabbed a plate. My plate. The one I had just set down. He took a bite so big it should’ve been illegal.

His eyes lit up like fireworks. “WHOA! This is amazing!”

I blinked.

He was smiling at me like I had just changed his whole day. Maybe his whole week. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, casually leaning against the counter like we were old friends.

“My friend Sanji cooks for us,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “He makes really good cake too. I think you’d like him. You guys could trade recipes or something.”

Then he stuck out his hand with a grin so wide it was impossible not to return it.

“I’m Monkey D. Luffy,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

His hand was warm. His grip, reckless and sure.

And for the first time in a while, the café didn’t feel so still anymore.

He took another bite like it was the first. Eyes closed. A quiet hum of satisfaction vibrated in his throat like he couldn’t hold it in.

Then, without asking, he walked over to the nearest table and sat down, legs spread out like he owned the place. The plate stayed in one hand, balanced perfectly as he kept eating. I was still behind the counter, watching him like he was a gust of wind that had broken in through the door and didn’t plan on leaving.

“Do you make other stuff?” he asked mid-chew. “Like bread? Or meat pies? Or that soft fluffy bread with the stuff inside?”

“I do,” I said slowly.

“Cool,” he said, licking his fork. “Can I have some tea too?”

I hesitated. “You want... tea with cake?”

He looked at me like I’d asked him if the sky was blue. “Yeah.”

I sighed and moved toward the kettle, not sure why I was still indulging this. Maybe it was the way he made the place feel bigger, or louder, or lighter. Maybe it was the way he smiled at the flowers like they were alive.

I brought over a mug and set it down across from him. He didn’t thank me, just picked it up and drank it too hot like it didn’t matter.

“Have you ever been on a ship?” he asked.

I blinked. “No.”

“Ever left this town?”

I shook my head. “I like it here.”

“Why?”

The question was simple, but it stuck.

I didn’t answer.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled napkin. Then a pen. He spread the napkin out on the table and started drawing. Not carefully. Just fast little scribbles. Lines. Circles. Tiny stick figures with swords. A weird-looking sea monster. A sun with a crooked grin.

“This is where I’ve been,” he said.

“That doesn’t look real.”

“It’s not supposed to,” he said, holding it up proudly. “But I remember all of it.”

I leaned over the counter, looking at the messy ink. One of the stick figures had a hat like his.

“You made yourself the biggest.”

He grinned. “Well, yeah. I was the one running around the most.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

"Sooo do you live here?" He asked.

"Yes I do"

He looked around the café again, then laughed with his whole chest. “Cool! That means you get to eat cake and candy every day.”

He kept laughing, loud and bright, then added, “Chopper would love that.”

“Chopper?” I asked.

“He’s our doctor. But he’s also really small. And he eats sweets like it’s medicine or something. You’d like him. He’s super smart and gets all flustered when you say nice stuff to him. One time Sanji made him this cotton candy dessert, and he almost cried.”

He smiled to himself, shaking his head like he was remembering it.

“Is he a kid?” I asked.

“No,” Luffy said, pausing for a moment. “Well... kinda? Not really. He’s a reindeer.”

I stared.

“With a hat,” Luffy added, like that explained everything.

I didn’t say anything. I was too busy listening. Not to his words, but to how quiet everything else had gotten. Not empty quiet. Just soft.

He stood up, stretching, arms over his head. The napkin map fluttered to the floor. He didn’t pick it up.

“I’m going to bring Sanji next time,” he said, heading toward the door. “He’s better at talking fancy.”

“I like the way you talk,” I said before I could stop myself.

He turned and grinned. “Yeah? Me too.”

Then he opened the door and walked out into the rain like it didn’t bother him at all. No umbrella. No jacket. Just gone.

I stayed still, the sound of his footsteps fading into the street. I looked down at the napkin.

One of the stick figures was standing under a crooked tree with something in its hand. I couldn’t tell if it was a flag or a flower.

He was strange. No question about that.

But he was definitely something.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The next day, the café was busier than usual. The rain continued throughout the night, leaving everything slick and shining. People came in with damp hair and umbrellas, shoes squeaking against the tile. I moved quietly behind the counter, wiping steam from the glass and restocking the small plate of lemon tarts. Jazz played softly again. The room smelled like honey and chamomile.

Then the door swung open like it had never learned how to do anything gently.

“HEY! I BROUGHT HIM!”

Luffy’s voice rang out over the hum of conversation and clinking mugs. Heads turned. A few customers were startled. I looked up just in time to see him get shoved aside by the man beside him.

Sanji, I presumed, stepped forward like he had been waiting for this moment all morning. He was tall and sharp and far too well-dressed for a place that sold cinnamon buns in chipped mugs. One hand was tucked in his coat pocket. The other reached toward me with surprising speed and grace.

“Mademoiselle,” he said, bending slightly at the waist. “You are as beautiful as the scent of warm vanilla on a winter morning.”

I blinked.

“This is the baker I told you about yesterday,” Luffy announced from behind him, clearly unbothered by the shove.

Sanji took my hand gently, lifted it, and kissed the air just above my knuckles.

“You didn’t tell me she was a lady,” he said, eyes still locked on mine.

Then he turned on Luffy so fast it almost made me flinch.

“You stormed into her peaceful café like a barbarian. Do you have any idea the kind of atmosphere you disrupted? The delicate soul of a young maiden, baking in harmony with the sound of jazz and the rain, and you just yelled at her from the door?”

Luffy scratched his head. “I just said hi.”

Sanji turned back to me, eyes soft again.

“I deeply apologize for him,” he said.

“It’s fine, honestly,” I said, trying not to smile.

“Told you she liked me,” Luffy muttered from behind him.

Sanji glared at him for a second, then turned back to me with stars in his eyes, like he had already forgotten why he was mad.

“Would you allow me the honour of trying your work?” he asked. “I am a chef myself, but I always make time to learn from the best.”

“Sure,” I said.

I served him a slice of honey sponge cake and poured another cup of tea for Luffy, who had already seated himself and was drumming his fingers on the counter. Sanji took his first bite like it was a religious experience. Then the second. Then the third.

Luffy had already finished his whole slice in the time it took Sanji to chew three bites.

They stayed for nearly an hour.

Luffy talked the whole time. He told some story about getting trapped in a barrel once, and Sanji kept shaking his head, calling him hopeless. But he listened. They both did. They asked questions. Laughed. Ate more than they probably should have. Sanji complimented everything with words I wasn’t used to hearing in a place like mine.

Eventually, they left. Sanji thanked me like I had saved his life. Luffy waved with both hands and promised they’d be back. Then the door closed behind them, and the café settled again.

That evening, after I had closed up and the light outside faded into that grey-blue stretch between day and night, I sat near the window with a cup of tea that had gone cold.

The napkin was still on the counter.

I hadn’t thrown it out. I wasn’t sure why.

The stick figures were smudged now. One of them still had that wide hat. Another looked like it might have antlers. I traced the lines with my eyes. They weren’t drawn well. Just quick and messy and alive.

I sipped the tea, bitter and too cold to enjoy.

He was strange. Both of them were. But him especially.

Still, he had returned.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

A week passed.

I kept thinking about him. Three times a day, like clockwork.

Once in the morning when I brewed the first pot of coffee. Once again when I passed the napkin he left behind, it was still smudged with crooked suns and little stick figures. And once more, right before closing, when the café lights dimmed and I remembered how loud he had been in such a quiet place.

He never came back.

The napkin was still there. Tucked under a coaster I didn’t really use. I kept telling myself I’d throw it out eventually. I didn’t.

That morning, I made spiced apple muffins. Something new. Something warm. I didn’t have a reason. I just needed something to do with my hands. The café was slow. Rain was falling again, heavier this time. The sky outside looked like it hadn’t slept. I wiped down the counters, checked the oven, and glanced at the door more than I should have.

And then it opened.

“WE CAME BACK!”

I looked up.

And stared.

Luffy stood in the doorway, soaking wet from head to toe, his grin still completely intact. But he wasn’t alone.

Clinging to his back, arms around his shoulders like a koala, was something I could only describe as... a small, blue-nosed reindeer wearing a hat.

My jaw almost hit the floor.

Chopper blinked at me, eyes huge and shining. “It smells so good in here,” he said in a tiny voice.

Behind them, a woman stepped inside, calm and dry, holding a sleek black umbrella. Long dark hair, dark eyes, and an unreadable smile that felt far too peaceful given the situation.

“I told you,” Luffy said proudly, water dripping from his clothes like it didn’t matter. “This is the bakery I was talking about.”

“You...” I looked at Chopper again, then back to Luffy. “You weren’t lying.”

Luffy tilted his head. “Why would I lie?”

Chopper slid off Luffy’s back with a plop and landed on the floor, shaking out his little limbs. “I’m not wet,” he insisted. “It’s just the rain.”

“That is what being wet is,” the woman behind them said gently.

Luffy walked straight to the counter like he hadn’t just dragged a woodland creature and a mystery woman into my café.

“I want three of those,” he said, pointing at the muffins.

Chopper scrambled after him. “Can I have one too? Wait, no, can I have two? Do you have anything with cotton candy?”

I stared at him. “You’re... real.”

Chopper puffed up. “Of course I’m real! What do I look like, a plush toy?”

“No, no, I mean... I like your hat,” I offered.

Chopper froze. Then his whole face turned red.

“O-oh, you bastard,” he stammered, wiggling in place, flailing his hooves like he didn’t know what to do with them. “You think a little compliment’s gonna butter me up? Don’t act like I’m gonna blush and get all flustered, you dummy!”

His actions didn't match his words at all, making me giggle.

I handed him a muffin before he exploded.

The woman with the umbrella approached quietly. She looked around the café with interest, taking in the shelves, the handwritten menu, and the chipped mugs. Then she smiled, soft and serene.

“It’s cozy,” she said. “Perfect for a small gathering. Or a discreet interrogation.”

I blinked.

She met my eyes. “The walls look thin. Very good for listening through.”

I nodded slowly. “Right.”

Luffy was already on his second muffin. Crumbs everywhere. I didn’t even try to stop him.

“What’s your name?” I asked, looking at her.

“Robin,” she said. “Thank you for feeding my captain. He gets cranky when he’s hungry. And impossible when he’s not.”

Luffy grinned with his mouth full.

Chopper was sitting at a table now, tiny legs swinging, muffin clutched in both hooves like it was sacred. He took a bite and immediately made a noise like he’d seen heaven.

“You guys are really something,” I muttered, mostly to myself.

Robin turned to me, eyes warm.

“You’re very calm,” she said. “Most people would have screamed when the talking reindeer walked in.”

“I’ve had weirder days,” I said.

Had I? I wasn’t sure anymore.

The bell above the door rang again. This time louder. Rushed.

“LUFFY, YOU ABSOLUTE IDIOT, I TOLD YOU NOT TO RUN OFF!”

Everyone turned.

A woman stormed into the café, her orange hair clinging to her face from the rain. She looked furious. Her heels clicked against the floor like they were made for chasing people down. Her glare was locked on Luffy like she might physically launch him into space.

Then she noticed me.

“Oh. Sorry,” she said, instantly switching tones. “Didn’t mean to yell. I’m Nami. What’s your name?”

"y/n"

“Nice place,” she added, glancing around before joining the others. “Sorry again. He pissed me off.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “Everyone seems to show up yelling around here.”

She slid into a seat next to Robin, snatched a piece of muffin off Luffy’s plate, and ate it without blinking.

“This is really good,” she said. “Shame we have to set out again soon.”

Chopper groaned. “I wish we could stay longer. I like this place. And the baker lady.”

Luffy nodded. “Me too.”

Then he looked at me.

And kept looking.

And kept smiling.

I stared back for a second.

Why is he still smiling?

Okay. That’s getting creepy.

“Alright,” Nami said, standing. “Let’s go before the ship floats away.”

Robin followed, folding her umbrella. Chopper waved both hooves and thanked me again. Nami said she’d be back for more muffins. Luffy didn’t move right away.

They stepped outside. The rain had eased into a soft drizzle. He stayed behind for a second longer.

Then he looked at me and said, “I’ll be back.”

And for some reason, I didn’t doubt it.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It was raining again.

Not heavy. Just a light drizzle, soft enough that it barely tapped the windows. The kind that made the world look like it was wrapped in glass.

I was already inside. The café wasn’t open yet. Lights still off. Just the early morning grey bleeding in through the curtains and the smell of orange peel and warm milk in the air. I had started a fresh batch of something sweet, more out of habit than purpose.

It wasn’t surprising anymore. The way the rain made everything feel a little closer. A little quieter.

What was surprising was the sound of the bell.

Soft. No crash. No yelling.

Just the bell.

I turned around and saw him standing in the doorway, soaked again. Hair dripping, sandals muddy, a crooked grin already tugging at his mouth.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just looked around like he was making sure nothing had changed. Then his eyes found mine.

“You didn’t yell this time,” I said, folding my arms.

He laughed. “Thought I’d try something new.”

I raised an eyebrow. “It’s unsettling.”

He grinned wider. “You like it.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled anyway.

He stepped inside fully, letting the door click shut behind him. His shirt clung to his skin, and his hair stuck to his forehead, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. He just looked around again, slower this time, like he was trying to memorize it.

The quiet stretched, but not in a bad way.

“I keep showing up when it rains,” he said, wiping his sleeve across his cheek.

“I noticed,” I said.

He walked to the counter and leaned on it with both elbows, watching me like he had all the time in the world.

“Are you happy here?”

The question caught me off guard.

“I don’t hate it,” I said.

“That’s not the same thing.”

I didn’t answer right away.

He kept watching me. Not staring this time. Just watching.

Then, simply, he asked, “Do you wanna come with us?”

I blinked.

“What?”

He shrugged. “Join the crew. Come on the ship.”

“You’re serious.”

“Yeah.”

I laughed once, unsure what else to do. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know you bake really good cake,” he said.

“That’s all it takes?”

He tilted his head. “Pretty much.”

I looked down at my hands. Then at the empty café. The mugs I never threw out. The napkin still tucked beneath the coaster. The way the morning light touched everything, like it already knew I might not be here tomorrow.

He waited.

Not impatient. Just open.

I don’t know why I said it. Maybe it was the way he always came with the rain. Maybe it was the quiet. Or the fact that for once, nothing felt too loud in my head.

“Okay,” I said.

His grin spread like the sun.

I grabbed a coat. Wrapped a few things in a bag. Flipped the sign to closed.

We stepped outside together. The rain felt soft on my skin.

He didn’t say anything else.

He didn’t have to.

And just like that, I left the door unlocked behind me.

𓆉𓆉︎𓆉