_a shanks x buggy fic making everyone in the ship uncomfortable&

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The Red Force had never been quieter—or tenser. The crew was used to the occasional chaos, but this? This was a whole new level of uncomfortable. Ever since Buggy had begrudgingly boarded the ship again, and he and Shanks had "reconciled," the two captains had been utterly inseparable.

“Do they think we’re blind?” Limejuice muttered, scrubbing a plate furiously in the kitchen. Just as he said it, Shanks and Buggy stumbled in, lips locked, oblivious to his presence.

“Oh, *come on!*” Limejuice groaned, tossing the plate into the sink and storming out, leaving the two captains oblivious to the fact they weren’t as sneaky as they thought.

On deck, things weren’t much better. Benn Beckman leaned against the mast, a cigarette between his lips, watching Shanks and Buggy tucked into a shadowy corner. Buggy’s ponytail was askew, Shanks’ cloak was barely on his shoulders, and they were entirely too preoccupied with each other.

“You’d think they’d at least *try* to be discreet,” Benn said to Yassop, who was trying (and failing) to clean his rifle without hearing Buggy’s muffled, “Shanks, stop it—wait, don’t stop. Fufufufu~.”

“Yeah, well, I’m drawing the line,” Yassop said, standing up.

Marching over to the pair, Yassop cleared his throat loudly. “Captains. Do you mind? Some of us would like to eat, sleep, and work without... that.”

Buggy pulled back, his face a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment, though the lipstick smears on his cheeks weren’t helping. “Oh, I’m *so sorry*, Yassy, I didn’t realize your delicate little sensibilities couldn’t handle two *adults* enjoying themselves!”

“Buggy,” Shanks said, his tone soft but warning. He quickly covered Buggy’s mouth with his hand before the clown could dig the hole deeper. “What he means is, we’ll, uh, tone it down. Right, Buggy?”

Buggy’s muffled response sounded suspiciously like, “Like hell we will.”

“I mean it,” Shanks said, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him.

That evening, Benn, Yassop, and a few others cornered Shanks in his quarters.

“Captain,” Yassop started, clearly exasperated, “you know we’re happy for you. Really, we are. But you two are... well, it’s getting out of hand.”

“It’s not just that we can hear everything,” Benn added, “it’s that we can’t escape it. The kitchen, the deck, the supply room. You’ve got to rein it in.”

Shanks chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “C’mon, guys, don’t tell me you’re not happy for me. Buggy and I finally—”

“We are happy,” Yassop interrupted, “but this is too much. Can’t you, I don’t know, hold back a little?”

Shanks’ smile faded, replaced by a rare seriousness. He looked down for a moment, his hand gripping the edge of his desk.

“You don’t get it,” he said quietly. His crew froze; this wasn’t the playful, easygoing captain they were used to. “I’ve waited almost twenty years for him to feel the same way I do. Twenty years of wondering if I ruined everything by letting him go. And now... now I finally have him.” said with a blush in his smile with his hand holding the shirt simulating holding his heart.

The room went silent. Shanks looked up, his voice soft but steady. “If that means you’ve gotta put up with a little inconvenience for a few days, then so be it. I’m not wasting any more time.”

Yassop sighed, his frustration melting into guilt. Benn put a hand on his shoulder, signaling it was time to drop it.

By dinner, things had only gotten worse. The crew sat at the long dining table, trying desperately to ignore the fact that Shanks and Buggy were suspiciously absent. It wasn’t long before the sounds of muffled laughter—and something that sounded suspiciously like a moan—echoed down the hall.

“*For the love of God,*” Limejuice muttered, slamming his fork down.

“Think of it this way,” Benn said dryly, “at least they’re not fighting anymore.”

“Yeah, but at this rate, I’d almost prefer the fighting,” Yassop said, rubbing his temples. “When’s the next port? Because if I have to listen to one more night of this—”

A particularly loud thud from above made everyone freeze in place, forks hovering mid-air and conversations dying instantly. The room grew heavy with an awkward tension as muffled sounds of pleasure drifted from the hall—soft laughter, breathy gasps, and the occasional telltale creak of furniture. The noises only seemed to escalate, showing no signs of stopping, making the crew shift uncomfortably in their seats, exchanging uneasy glances while pretending not to hear.

Trapped in the dining room, they exchanged nervous glances, too polite—or too terrified—to step out and interrupt whatever was unfolding just outside. "Why the hall?" someone whispered in exasperation, only to be shushed by a frantic wave.

“Land can’t come soon enough,” Benn muttered.

As the days went on, the crew stopped bothering to intervene. Yassop tried a few more times, only to be met with Buggy’s sharp tongue and Shanks’ sheepish apologies. But every time they thought about Shanks’ quiet confession, they gritted their teeth and bore the annoyance, telling themselves it was worth it to see their captain this happy.

No body wanted to risk seeing something that would haunt them for nights to come. As the sounds outside escalated, some crew members stared intently at their plates, while others silently prayed it would end soon so they could escape without an image they couldn’t unsee. Even if it meant listening to those two grown men moan into the night.

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