Addam Of Hull - Blog Posts

What if Luke lived? And what if Addam was his friend, and after he had claimed a dragon and moved to Dragonstone Luke would come to him with his worries?

Lucas Tønnesen as Daeron the Daring and Harry Gilby as older Joffrey Velaryon/whoever Stark y’all will forever be ✨fabulous ✨

I'VE BEEN FED

Addam had taken to calling you "wife," and you weren't about to correct him.

You weren't married, you could never find the time, and it wasn't like anyone was raring to go crying to the sept over it. The people of Hull, at least the people you interacted with, rarely made a fuss over such improprieties, and even had the decency to throw a groat or two in your cap whenever you put out a pot of stew for the dockworkers and looked the other way whenever you would curse burning yourself on the cauldron or hock some phlegm in the dirt or take a hearty swig from your flask. Some of the men told you they had never had fish stew that tasted quite like yours did, and you weren't about to tell them your recipe, so your infractions seemed small in the face of loosing out on the way the fish meat would fall apart in your mouth or how the potatoes were always soft but never mushy.

It had only taken Addam one trip to your little makeshift stand for him to start pining after you, gifting you that flask that you now took everywhere. It was made of sturdy leather, with a small seahorse painted somewhat poorly on one side, and it was given to you already filled with spiced rum. You had made sure Addam's portion had extra meat in it that day. The way his face broke into the biggest grin you'd ever seen told you everything you needed to know.

So yes, you weren't married, but he still called you "wife" and gifted you small trinkets and spent meals at your shack and kissed you when he saw you in the morning, as well as other things that were frankly nobody else's business.

Addam had set out early in the morning, just before the sun rose, with his sieve and other tools to go clam digging. You liked that he worked with his hands, and told him as much when he brought up how soft a lord's hands might be and how much nicer they might feel against your skin. You shoved your calloused palms into his, ending the conversation. He let you sleep in, careful to tiptoe around your living space as he collected his wares. He liked the way your kitchen always smelled like the spices he pinched from his brother's trading cog, and how you placed the small curios he gave you around the windows where you could look at them. He had heard of Lord Corlys Velaryon's Hall of Nine, displaying the treasures from his nine voyages, and thought it couldn't be better than the treasures you kept in your windowsill.

There was a chill in the air, a breeze that made Addam pull his tunic tighter around himself. He recalled how the blanket you used was starting to wear thin, and how the sea breeze would wake you soon without him there to keep you warm. The docks of the port town were already filled with men, loading and unloading boxes, taking inventory, haggling prices with the local merchants, the general bustle of seafarers and sailers. Cod and herring were the main catches coming off the fishing boats, and he knew you would stop by later to pick up some to take home.

The beaches were comparatively quiet, with only a few other men digging around for clams. Poking around, he found a few small depressions in the sand, before settling in and getting to work.

The sun was over the horizon by the time you had made your way down to the beach, slightly stale bread in one hand and basket in the other. Addam stuck out a hand to wave you down, and before you had the chance to say anything, he dropped a pale pink shell into your basket. You fished it out, dropping down to sit beside him as you thumbed over the ridges of the body and poked at the spire. You held it up to the rising sun to see the way the colors changed, before pocketing it.

You cut a piece of bread from the loaf, handing it to him. It would be no use in warning him of its staleness, he wasn't like to complain. He took the piece gratefully, as if it was baked by the cooks in High Tide itself, although you could see the effort he had to put in to ripping off a piece in his mouth. You took your thumb and brushed away the crumbs that stuck to his cheeks. His is a handsome face, you thought, one you wouldn't mind letting people think was your husband's. The chill stung at your skin, and you pulled your knit cape close around your shoulders.

Standing up, you shook the sand from your boots and patted down your skirts. You took a swig from your flask, letting the rum warm your chest. Leaning down, you pressed a kiss to your husband's forehead, and he leaned up to press his own to his wife's cheek. While he felt a pang in his chest as you picked up your things and headed into town, he couldn't deny the contentment in watching you. In those moments he felt like he understood the stories of sailors crashing their ships at the sight of beautiful women-beasts, although none of the sailors could ever hope to know the warmth of their hearth or the grit of their sharp tongue, and none could call a beast "wife," so what could the stories know of ship-wrecking love, anyways.

IMAGINE ending a love affair with Addam of Hull:

Strong-Targaryen!Reader x Addam of Hull

MDNI

CW: Angst, power imbalance, s-xually suggestive themes, bastard drama, star-crossed lovers.

Addam of Hull had never felt so seen. Not until the day you put your eyes to him. Even Seasmoke hadn’t made him stand as still as your smile had.

An instant draw. Something instant. Powerful.

The mutual passion of two bastards in a place so hallowed as Dragonstone. Almost embarrassing in its predictability.

Your lips trailing his jaw, his palms flat on your back. Laces undone and clothing pooling around your ankles. All is right in the hour of the wolf. All is quiet, all is right. Addam can pretend he is just a man and you are just a woman. Two lovers tangled in a bed too large to sleep alone in.

That was how it started. And for many nights after, it was how it stayed. Alas, night always turned to dawn.

Addam could still feel your fingernails pressing into his back. A sting that made the pleasure of your night together all the more intoxicating.

But as he broke fast, all he felt was guilt.

Your mother had let him sleep where only Princes had laid, gave him a place at her table. He knew that this was wrong of him. It was easier for him to remember this in the daylight, when he awoke alone in a bed of silk and the smell of you still lingering around him. Addam would wash his face and stare into his reflection in the mirror thinking: ‘No good can come of this.’

And then night would fall, your shy knocking would sound behind his door and he would let you in. The taste of your kiss and the song of your pleasure would erase all his worries. The cycle continuing on and on… until this night.

You came to him dressed in a robe of blue velvet and nothing else. Love made you bold. Addam could not stop your lips from touching his own. Not because you threw yourself at him, but because of his own selfishness. ‘One last kiss,’ he swore. And then one turned into three, then the tie of your robe came loose. Control found him just before he cupped your bare breasts.

“We cannot carry on like this,” he says as he breaks the kiss “It’s wrong.”

Undeterred, your arms slip over his broad shoulders and you try to pull him closer, “Addam, you say this nearly every night.” His hands feel warm, almost hot, against your hips as he keeps you from pushing yourself flush against him.

Normally, he would laugh and lift you from your feet like a groom to his bride. Not tonight. His expression was tight, jaw tense. Your cheeky grin fell, “Addam?”

Addam closes his eyes as your hand cups his cheek. If he were a stronger man, he could push you away. Perhaps say something cruel to break your heart and end this affair. Addam damns himself as he leans into your touch, “I know I do. What I say is true no matter how many times we ignore it.”

“What we do is only wrong if anyone besides you or I know of it. And nobody has to know,” you coax. Something about his tone, his words, it bothers you. It’s like he’s lecturing you on morality. You get enough of that from your mother.

He finally works up the nerve to take his hands off of you, stepping back from your partially nude form. Addam focuses hard on your face, “You deserve better than to be my secret.”

“I am the one who decides what I deserve, Addam,” you scoff. Your confidence was your most attractive trait in his opinion. He had to remind himself what he was meant to do.

“And what if I don’t want to be a secret either? I’ve lived all my life that way,” he challenged with a tense jaw. “What’s the point in living out another lie? To live in shame, again?”

You step closer, your hands take his. Bastards like him… and like you, all that you are is someone’s secret passions made flesh. “You are not alone in those feelings, Addam. We’ve spoken on this. I don’t want us to be lovers in the shadows for all time. I want you. I... We both—“

“—We are not the same and you know that,” he forces his hands to break your hold on him.

You close your robe tight and reply, “If you want this to end, I will honor that. But not if you are doing this just to protect me. Or the fucking throne. It has to be what you want. We started this as two people. We should end it the same way.”

This was his chance. He could be a better man and set you free. Free to marry a good Lord of a good House. Addam may have a dragon and place at the Queen’s table, but he knew he could never have you. Not like he wanted to. Addam crosses his arms over his chest and says, “You lived all your life as a Princess, the Iron Throne will be yours one day. There is no room for me beside you on the throne, nor in your bed. I will happily bend my knee to you but that is all we can afford.”

Your nostrils flare and you glare into his face, “You’re still just protecting me.”

“I want you to go back to your rooms, and when day breaks, we forget each other’s touch. I want this to end,” he hates the way his voice sounds in his ears. Like Lord Corlys, barking orders as his ship leaves the docks. Prideful, cold.

The anger in your eyes is still burning hot, even as your expression cools. “So it shall be. Goodnight, Addam of Hull.”

You tighten the sash of your robe and leave him to sleep in a bed too big and a room too empty.

“Goodnight, Princess.”