"Mhm, keep 'em coming." Simon growled, sprawled out in bed with you in his quarters, an arm held possessively around your waist, a reminder you were his and not the other way around, as you fed him grapes tenderly. A knock sounded on the door.

"Cap'n?" One-Eyed Soap called, creaking the door open a bit.

"M' 'pologies if 'm interruptin' somethin', but the nets 're empty again, Cap'n. Ain't nothin' much for the crew to eat."

"Not my problem. Eat the bloody gunpowder if you'd like." Simon growled back, closing his eyes as he basked in your beauty.

"Sir please. We're desperate, aye? Might e'en needa cook yer muse inna few days, ha!" Soap nervously chuckled, to which Simon only annoyedly turned his head to him.

".. 'S that s'posed to be funny?" he growled, to which Soap quickly apologized, and closed the door, leaving the two for you alone again.

"How rude. I ain't gonna let them cook you, sweet thing."