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dragongirl642 · 9 months ago

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Davy Jones x female reader (soulmate au) part 2

Author note:

It's been a while but a sequel is here!

Cross-posted on Wattpad.

Part 1

-----------------Start-------------------

(Y/n) pov:

Life on the dutchman was getting off to a great start. Can you sense the sarcasm?

I'm cold, tired, narrowly avoiding being constantly drenched by the leaky ceiling, and the food is terrible. I've been here three days and I want to die.

I haven't seen the infamous Davy Jones since my unwelcome boarding of The Dutchman. Sure, I'd seen his shadow on the wall a few times, I don't think he realised I could see him, and I'd heard his footsteps late at night when I was trying to sleep; but he hasn't actually come to talk to me again after the whole soulmate revelation.

Meals are delivered twice a day. A small cup of gruel in the morning and another cup of gruel in the evening. Everything tastes and smells of fish. I'm sick of salt. I'm sick of fish. What would I give for an apple or anything really; that wasn't pulled from the briny blue.

However, there is one ray of light in this perpetual darkness. A hole in the brig wall. I've been keeping an eye out outside.

The second I see land; I'm going to make a break for it.

I've tested the hinges on the cell door, and they were as easy to remove as I expected. Just use a stray board anchored against a bucket and lift and voila.

Right now, the ship was gently rocking as soft rays of sunlight drifted through the hole. Lighting up the cell and filtering through a few remaining shards of glass in the window, casting the coral encrusted walls in vibrant hues pinks and blues and greens. If not for the constant rumble of booted feet above, it's almost peaceful.

The opposite of yesterday's violent ride. I'd been thrown around the cell as the ship bounced and dipped in the waves. I had several bruises from where I'd hit the floor and the bars until I'd been flung back and become trapped on the bench during the storm, by hooks made of coral that twisted and looped around me, like the ship was alive.

Well, moving on. New day, new opportunity.

Warm beams of sunlight stream through the hole in the hull.

I skip over and look outside. The warming rays feel like a blessed balm on my skin, chasing away the bone chilling cold.

Land!

There on the horizon. A dark strip of green and yellow.

A beach? An island? A town? Whatever it is, we are getting closer.

Lady luck must be smiling upon me today. I can hear the shouting of the crew above. My breakfast was delivered about 2 hours ago, so I have a few hours to make my escape without being seen.

First, a disguise. I move to the bench and started kicking the coral. Adding a few more pieces to the pile I had been gathering for days under the bench.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I froze, listening for approaching footsteps. The sounds had come no closer than what I assumed was the end of the corridor. Hearing no more steps, and no tell-tale breathing, I set to work. Ruffling my hair out, I pick up a few pieces of coral and begin to entwine them in half of my hair.

'Uh this will be a pain to remove later.'

Picking up some more coral I hook it in the laces of my boots, snag it onto my clothing and around my belt.

Looking down, I give a wiggle...The coral swayed but didn't fall off.

'Alright, disguise is in place...Now I just need to not die.'

Gripping the vertical bars of the door, I squat low and brace before straightening out my legs. The door lifts and I fall back slightly before lowering it quickly. The clang as it hits the floor is muffled by the crew above. At least I hope it is.

Creeping quickly forward, a glance shows no-one around the cells. I crawl up the stairs and step among the crew, hunching slightly so the coral obscures my face. The monstrous crewmembers spare me no more than a passing glance, the few other human (or still mostly human) newcomers hurriedly dart between the more established crewmembers carrying bundles of rope or cleaning supplies.

The dutchmen is dark, if not for the streams of light pouring through the various cracks in the hold and from the stairs. The shifting of the crew flows around these beams; those cursed to wander the dark veil of death, subconsciously seeking the light.

I look around for the stairs. 'Keep moving like you have a purpose (Y/n), and no-one will question you.'

I weave through the hull until the brightest beam of sunlight guides me to the stairs. Just as I make to ascend, a shadow blots the light and I jump to the side. Backing into the area besides the beams, hiding in their shadow as the hammer-headed crewman descends.

He pauses at the bottom and sniffs the air, head tilting as he looks around confusedly. Searching.

"Oi Maccus!"

He perks up at the call of his name, head snapping towards the piranha-headed crewman calling from the depths of the hold. The cat-o-nine-tails at his belt sways along with the ship, barbed tips stained dark with memories of violence.

I crouch subtly more, hands pressing into the beams at my side as I strive to inch further into the shadows.

The wood vibrates, the beat complicated, unlike the natural shudder's ships make as the waves toss them to-and-fro or the marching tempo of booted feet crossing the deck.

A rhythm...music!

I wonder where it's coming from. But, there's no time for that.

The beat seems to seep into my hands, soulmark tingling in time. I quickly pull my hands away from the boards and look around.

I sigh in relief, as Maccus goes to see what the whip-carrying crewman wants, I scramble around the corner and up the steps.

Head down, eyes darting around, I make my way to the stern.

Scales.

Coral.

Wounds.

Seaweed.

Pearls.

Eyes.

Starfish.

Teeth.

Shells.

In the light, the crew look even more horrifying. No longer hidden in the shadows of the hold or the shade of the night. I keep my eyes down as I grab a bucket sitting near the steps. Lifting it to hide my chest, I slink through the crew.

Looping the deck takes almost an hour.

Blending in with the other deckhands low in the hierarchy, means stopping every few minutes to scrub absentmindedly at the deck or rails.

Just keep your head down and keep looking.

"Oi, watch where you're going."

I stumble back as a shell-encrusted crewman shoves me to the side. I stumble against the railing and fumble with the bucket, almost dropping it.

Shit, did they see anything? Suspect anything?

I throw a glance at their back from under the coral, but they walk away uncaring of the "lowly deckhand" they'd just accosted.

I can't help the sigh that escapes me and quickly pretend to scrub the railing.

Davy Jones Pov:

I find myself crossing the line again.

Stretching my senses through the walls of my ship to check on the woman in the hold.

When we sailed through storms, I made sure she was held safe.

When the cold became too great, I ordered my crew to sail to warmer waters.

Now, I am here again, at the bottom of the steps to the hold. Just a few steps away from turning the corner and standing before the bars.

Every time I so much as have a passing thought of her, the words on my wrist burn and I find myself standing here again. Drinking in this strange feeling of calm emanating from just around the corner. Listening to their even breaths.

'I want to talk to her.'

No sooner had this thought crossed my mind, that the hole in his chest pulsed in mimicry of a distant heartbeat. A surge of rage swells within and I turn to leave.

I step though the Dutchman's wall and emerge in my cabin.

The gleaming keys of the pipe organ glimmer and I find myself drawn to sit and play. As I always am.

A familiar melody fills the air, and my gaze is drawn to the music box. Her gift.

For the first time in years, I stutter over the tune.

The air turns bitter and my soulmark begins to beat, not like a heart, more like a drum. I do something I've never done before; I draw my gaze away from the music box and focus on the keys, not to focus on playing the music box's melody, but to play something new, just to see if I could. With the beat of the bond in my chest and an electrifying spark on my skin, I begin to play.

At first, I test the keys carefully.

A high note here, a low chord there.

Slowly a melody begins to emerge.

Flickering up and down the keys with the unpredictability of flames, accompanied by the steady beat of a blacksmith's hammer at the anvil. Melodies whispering low, then swelling into a crashing crescendo, then drawing back with the unshakeable predictability of the tide.

The pitted surface of the keys, the distant groans of the crew, the creaking of the ship. All begin to fade away as the music fills the air.

The music box is open. I don't remember opening it. The melody

"Calypso."

I don't dare voice the words I wish to accompany her name.

Can I ever be free of you?

A flickering catches my eye, and I look up to see a face reflected in the crusted metal of the organ's pipes.

I hear a sigh. So soft I almost miss it. The tone is relieved, of fear released.

I take a moment to place it before I realise it must be her, in the brig.

I pause. The mark burns again, and I'm suddenly filled with the need to know just what had scared her so.

I stand, clenching my good fist and unable to stop my beard's tentacles writhing as sudden unease grips me.

I almost charge through the walls of the Dutchman, landing heavily outside the brig.

The door lies on the ground, the cell is open and empty.

The cell is empty.

No!

How dare she escape?

Did she leave me?

Where is she?

Conflicting feelings swirl within me; sudden rage at the brazen audacity of the escape, sorrow at the apparent abandonment, and fear...fear that I would never see her again.

These emotions catch me off guard with their strength, but I'm helpless to resist the siren song of their pull.

My soulmark burns and I draw on the strength of the Dutchman and authority as her captain.

Find Her!

(Y/n) Pov:

There isn't a small-boat on this cursed ship.

It makes sense. They never go on land and the ship full of creatures who can breathe underwater wouldn't need a means to escape a sinking ship.

I stop in the shade of the stairs, rubbing my temples to ease the stress headache I can feel building. Crouched under the railing, with the bucket in front of me, so it looks like I'm cleaning the barnacles of the aged wood.

Suddenly there's an unknown pressure. A whisper. Spreading through the crew like a ripple in a pond. Slinking up from the depths of the hold and up onto the deck.

It looms over me, and I fight to catch my breath. Its anger and sorrow clawing at my skull.

Suddenly the ship vibrates as a distant muffled roar-like sound travels up from the hold.

The eyes of the human-looking and distinctly non-human looking crewmen alike all cloud over for a moment, all overtaken by the powerful force seeming to emanate from the very bones of the ship itself.

The crew begin to murmur. Eyes and feelers shifting this way and that.

"Escapee."

"Find the girl."

Oh No!

I quickly slip through the door beside me, wincing as the crew outside begin to shout. The wooden interior is worn and covered in algae like the rest of the ship. Which makes sprinting down the short corridor hazardous. I almost slip down the short stairs at the end, hitting the wall when they twist back on themselves.

There's another door. Heavy and pitted with barnacles, hinges leaking rust. But it opens smoother than I would have thought it would.

There's light. A pale blue light fills the room. Streaming shadows flicker and wave on the ceiling, but there is no pool of water or windows to make these reflections.

The room is a dead end.

A bunk to my left, a chest to my right, and a massive pipe organ dominating the opposite wall. The silver pipes gleam and shimmer and pale bone keys shine bright against the encrusted frame.

I approach the instrument.

Maybe there is a secret lever or a space behind or somewhere I can hide.

Close up, I can make out the pits and scrapes making a pattern of age across many keys, while others are worn smooth; whoever plays this must play the same song a lot.

I reach out and feel around the sides of the organ, before kneeling to look underneath the keys. There's a faded elegance to the organ, and a beauty to the way the coral spirals with the grain of the wood. I knock on the panels below.

Clatter-Clack.

I freeze. Something just fell.

A gentle melody begins to fill the air. I crawl back and something catches on my foot. I awkwardly turn to roll out from under the organ and grab the object.

It's a music box. The sorrowful melody continues to twinkle from the small locket as I pull myself to stand.

My soulmark burns.

"What are ya doing'uh?"

I flinch, almost dropping the locket but I catch myself and instead slam it shut. I spin on the spot and hold the locket behind me like a child caught dipping into the pantry before dinner.

Davy Jones is stood in the centre of the room. Thunder in his eyes and chest heaving like he's run a marathon. He stomps forward to loom over me. "Why are ya here?" and not in the brig.

The music box is freezing in my hands, even as my soulmark continues to throb and burn.

I fish for an excuse, but don't dare step back or lean away. "Um...I..." the reflection of the organ in his eyes catches my attention, "...I heard music..."

The captain's eyebrows (ridges?) raise slightly in surprise.

"It felt nice so I was wondering where it came from." Time to make a gamble. I lean forward slightly, "do you play?"

Something unreadable flashes in his eyes, and his expression darkens.

Oh shit! Subtle shuffling back as the tingle of a bead of sweat drips down my back. This is how I die. I gulp.

Davy Jones' gaze snaps down at the sound before he meets my eye again and steps forward. He circles past me and takes a seat at the organ.

I jump as he starts to play, the air vibrates from the force of the sound coming from the pipe organ. The vibrations from the music reverberate through the deck beneath my feet.

The beat feels familiar.

The vibrations I'd felt earlier, they must have been him.

The music weaves around us, seeping into the wood and coral of the dutchman.

It doesn't look like he will stop anytime soon. I take a hesitant step forward. No movement. I take another, and another, and soon I'm stood beside him.

For a moment, I'm transfixed by the flurry of movement as his hand and beard tentacles fly across the keys. His eyes are closed, brows slightly furrowed.

I know I've never heard this song before, but something about the melody feels familiar. The push and pull of the tide, the steady beat of a hammer on steel, the call of a gull, the crackle of flames.

Something inside me tugs at my heart and the locket is quickly tucked back into its place as I slowly inch closer to the fearsome captain.

There's a space beside him on the seat. If he notices me sit, he doesn't show it.

His eyes are closed, face softened in contemplation. A shadow falls over him from the brim of his hat, outlining the angles and ridges of his face and, when it angles just right, giving me a glimpse of the human face he once bore.

His clawed arm rests on his thigh next to me, the sharp tip resting on the edge of the organ.

I reach a hand forward to rest a finger against the wooden frame of the instrument under the keys; just beside his claw. The vibrations that travel through my hand are soothing.

I can feel the cold brush of his claw against my knuckles. I don't move, either to pull away or place my hand over his arm.

He doesn't move either, just continues playing that hauntingly familiar song.

I close my eyes, taking this moment to rest before I plan my next move.

It sounds like home.

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