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odilelajolie · 1 month

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Hunted, Ch. 1

Summary:

Several years after escaping FBI custody, Cooper Adams has quietly settled in a remote Vermont town. He's a monster in remission--his violent urges lay dormant.

But when he catches sight of Alice, a traumatized 18-year-old girl, a new form of predatory darkness overtakes his demented mind. Young and achingly vulnerable, she's a lost soul as alone in the world as he is.

Alice needs the care of a proper Daddy, and as soon as she stops resisting, Cooper knows she'll accept the special kind of love he's been saving for a special little girl like her...

Ch. 1: Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice

As far as Alice could tell, it would be yet another ordinary night in a long sequence of ordinary nights at the Sugar Maple Diner.

Though it wasn’t as if she entirely minded. There was a strong part of her that actually took comfort in the familiarity of it all, the mundane routine of her small, simple world, regardless of the fact that it was rather dull most days.

Dull meant safe—and safe was a good thing, especially for someone like her.

Alice absently rotated her sore neck and shoulders as she made her way into the cozy, 50s-nostalgic restaurant, offering a friendly wave to the owner, Mr. Andrews, one of the only people in town who still bothered to interact with her. Not only had he given her a job when everyone else had refused to hire her, but he and his wife had even opened their home to Alice on occasion for a glass of lemonade, or tea and cookies, or a holiday meal.

Alice rarely accepted these invitations from the elderly couple, always fearful she’d inadvertently exhaust the goodwill they generously harbored for her. But she appreciated their kindness, an increasing rarity for Alice, so she was always happy to volunteer whenever they needed help with little projects around their house to express her gratitude in return.

Alice idled near the jukebox just beyond the hostess stand to see if Mr. Andrews would return her greeting, but he was busy behind the bar serving beer to a group of chatty truckers, and clearly didn’t have much spare time to say hello.

Shaking off the brief, sharp pang of loneliness, the aching desire for someone—anyone—to talk to her, Alice headed straight for the break room to change into her uniform—an old fashioned pale pink dress with a white apron. She secured her hair in a high ponytail, and exactly five minutes before six p.m., she returned to the main dining room for her shift, forcing a smile on her face.

The hours elapsed in the same, slow fashion they always did. The dinner rush—if merely five parties of no more than four people across three hours could be called that—consisted of the same group of Tuesday night regulars Alice had been waiting on for nearly a year now. Alice no longer bothered with trying to introduce herself, much less engage in small talk with her tables, for the town locals had long made it very clear ever since her return that they had no interest in speaking with her. So instead, Alice remained small and silent as she scribbled orders on her notepad, taking up as little space as possible as she refilled drinks, cleaned up spills, and delivered steaming plates of comfort food from the kitchen.

And she did all of this with her head perpetually lowered, so that no one would have to suffer the unnecessary discomfort of looking at her.

By ten o’clock, the restaurant was deserted, and the only other employee remaining was Ted, the largely wordless cook who kept to himself even more strictly than Alice did. Alice generally took her own meal break around this time when it was just the two of them twiddling their thumbs until closing, silence broken only by the rockabilly and Doo-wop melodies sung by the jukebox. But before she could write down her request for a cup of soup and a half-sandwich, losing herself for a few moments to the croons of Elvis Presley—wring my faithful heart; tear it all apart; but love me—the door chime cheerfully rang, signaling the arrival of a customer.

Alice gulped at the intimidating sight of the new arrival, and he was definitely new—she surely would have noticed him around the tiny town before now if he were a local. He was almost as broad as he was tall—and he was frighteningly tall—with the build of an elite athlete, like a champion MMA fighter, his long limbs hard and big and savage. The charcoal sweater and dark jeans he wore actually seemed to struggle to keep his toned muscles contained.

He had thick, silky hair the color of dark roast coffee, and a closely-shorn mustache and short, angular beard. He was a very handsome man, perhaps in his early-to-mid forties, but when Alice finally met his eyes, she was instantly rendered breathless by a powerful, inexplicable sense of sheer terror that seemed to seize her by the throat, and choke her.

Shadowed by a prominent brow bone, his inky, hooded eyes were disturbingly dark. Chilling. They reminded Alice of the eyes of a shark. Fathomless. Cold.

Predatory.

“Hey there…can I get a table?”

Unlike his frightening eyes, the velvety timber of the man’s deep voice actually inspired an equally strong sense of comfort—relief—causing the paranoid internal alarms within her body to faintly recede.

Alice was rendered profoundly unbalanced, nearly on the verge of collapsing to the floor from the whiplash of such opposing instincts.

Perplexed by her body’s strange reactions to the stranger, Alice quickly nodded and dutifully lowered her head. She reached for a menu and silently beckoned the man to follow her, her shoulders arched nearly all the way to her ears as she timidly guided him to her favorite booth by the windows with the prettiest view of the forest.

He followed her with slow, heavy foot falls, and Alice nearly caved in on herself when she was directly confronted with just how much bigger he was up close as he slid into the booth with athletic, equanimous movements.

Even sitting down, he was huge.

Alice placed the menu on the table once he appeared settled, and reached into her apron pocket for her notepad and pen, waiting expectantly for him to provide his drink order, as all other customers automatically did upon sitting.

But when he didn’t speak after several moments, Alice shyly raised her head, and was surprised to find the man gently smiling at her.

He looked even more handsome when he smiled—

“There you are,” he said warmly, his voice triggering a sudden influx of delightful tingles throughout her weary muscles. “How are you doing tonight?”

Too stunned to speak, Alice felt hot blush rising to her cheeks in embarrassment.

How long had it been since someone had asked her how she was?

Seemingly sensing her unease, the man continued, “Sorry—you probably don’t want to talk with an old man like me,” he said ruefully, and Alice was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. This handsome stranger was being more sociable with her than anyone had in months, and she was messing everything up. “Would it be possible to order—”

“I’m A-Alice,” she interrupted shakily—awkwardly—cheeks boiling at the mousy sound of her own voice.

To her relief, the man’s smile only widened, and there was a flicker of playfulness in his eyes, somewhat tempering the otherwise unnerving quality in his dark gaze.

“That’s a very pretty name,” he replied. “I’m Cooper.”

Cooper. Alice repeated the name in her head. It sounded strong and masculine.

She quite liked it.

“Put us together and we’re rock stars,” he added. Alice frowned in confusion. “I…I don’t follow—”

“Alice Cooper?” Alice shook her head, and Cooper released a slow sigh. “Ahh…don’t mind me—I’m betraying my age here. He’s before your time.”

“Oh. Okay.” Alice swallowed hard. “Umm…w-welcome to the S-Sugar Maple Diner,” she offered, remembering she needed to do her job. It had been so long since she’d been required to introduce herself to a customer that Alice was quickly finding she was woefully out of practice with the basics. “M-may I get you something to drink, sir?”

“Well I was taking a look at what you have on tap, but I notice you don’t have a bartender right now,” Cooper mentioned. “And I suspect you’re not quite old enough to legally go behind the bar.”

“Yeah…the bar closes at nine on weekdays. Mr. Andrews—he’s the owner—he already left for the night, and he usually handles that stuff.” Embarrassed, Alice tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Call me Cooper.”

“I’m sorry, Cooper.”

“So, how old are you?”

“Eighteen—but I’ll be nineteen next month.”

She wasn’t sure why she shared that detail. It certainly wasn’t as if her upcoming birthday made her seem any less young and pathetic.

“Ahh…definitely too young to pour alcohol.” Cooper softly chuckled, his deep-chested rumble pleasantly tickling her ears. “In that case, how about a nice cold glass of Coke?”

“Would you prefer a frosted glass or ice?”

“Ice, please.”

Alice wrote down the order with a nod. “Coke with ice, coming right up.”

She began to turn on her toes to prepare his soda, but then he spoke again.

“So what do you recommend here?” Cooper asked.

“Recommend?” Alice repeated slowly. “You mean…to eat?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Alice realized what a stupid response it truly was.

The townsfolk’s collective avoidance of her was clearly not entirely to blame for her poor conversation skills.

Of course he was asking her what to eat. She was a waitress. It was her job.

Mercifully, Cooper didn’t poke fun at her idiocy. “Yeah, what’s your favorite thing on the menu?” he asked. “If you were to join me for a meal, what would you order?”

Alice squeaked, “You want me to join you?”

Cooper’s eyes widened, and he appeared even more shocked than she was. “Well, I was speaking hypothetically, but…sure! Why not. Care to join me?”

Alice thought she might actually pass out from embarrassment.

Not only had she forgotten how to have a normal conversation, but she’d forgotten all about basic social cues. Sarcasm. Hypotheticals.

Cooper was being friendly. Nothing more. He didn’t actually want to spend time with her—he just had good manners.

“Umm…I’m really not supposed to…” Alice trailed off, nervously biting her lip.

Unperturbed, Cooper shrugged his mountainous shoulders. “Perhaps some other time then.” Leaning forward, he lowered his voice and added in a conspiratorial murmur, “I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble on my account.”

There was an undeniably patronizing quality to his warm baritone, but it wasn’t condescending in a negative way. The lilting way Cooper spoke was gentle, daresay caring, the low pitch of his manly deepness perfectly matched with a bright, uplifting enthusiasm.

Cooper spoke to her the way Alice remembered her own father used to speak to her—as if no one else in the world existed. As if she were important.

As if every word she spoke were the most brilliant thing ever to be uttered in history of the world, and he couldn’t get enough.

Cooper had a…Dad voice, the kind of voice that felt like a warm, clean blanket fresh out of the dryer.

He had a voice of absolute safety—a voice that made her feel brave.

Like she could do anything.

“I recommend the deluxe cheeseburger with fries,” Alice said, unable to contain her giddy smile. “Ted makes the best in town.”

Cooper kept a careful gaze on Alice through his peripherals as he chewed and swallowed the mediocre cheeseburger, though he made sure to provide plenty of appreciative grunts and moans throughout his labored consumption for the girl’s benefit.

He’d been patiently watching her for nearly a year now. It wouldn’t do well to worry the skittish thing when he was so close to finally making her his, for little Alice was a painfully insecure, highly sensitive girl. She was pitifully naïve and defenseless, lonely and desperate for affection.

She was perfect—and finally ripe for his taking.

When he’d originally made the decision to settle down in the middle of fucking nowhere, Vermont after several years on the run, he’d simply planned on living quietly for whatever remained of his existence. The monster within lay dormant—at least for now—the compulsion to destroy and dissect no longer eroding what little remained of his sanity. The urge had been a sickness, a magmatic fever, burning so hot in his veins it was boiling him alive. Cooper knew quite well it would have killed him eventually.

But now, his insides were…cooler, warm instead of blisteringly hot, and the dark, animalistic impulses currently thrumming through his body were far less bloodthirsty in nature compared to his prior proclivities.

Perhaps he was in remission.

He’d spent more than forty years keeping the two opposing halves of his psyche strictly separate, diligently compartmentalizing every aspect of his life down to the most minute detail, but when he’d caught sight of this tiny angel of a girl almost ten months ago—so sweet and innocent and frightened and alone—Cooper was leveled, and struck with an epiphanic clarity.

Perhaps the separatist approach to mitigating his dangerous urges no longer served him.

Perhaps the only way for him to survive was by reconciling his infernal hungers, once and for all.

When Cooper had escaped FBI custody—doubling his body count in the process—he’d been forced to accept that the closest thing to real human connection he’d ever been able access, his family, was lost to him forever. He missed being a husband. He missed being a father.

But when he saw Alice, he realized he could still be both.

She was as alone in the world as he was, an isolated little girl shunned by nearly everyone around her. At merely eighteen, she was young and exceedingly vulnerable, in dire need of a loving authority figure to guide her and keep her safe.

And yet, she was also a woman. Barely legal, but a woman nonetheless, and a mouthwatering one at that. Alice was a tiny thing, shorter even than Riley was when he last saw her, her petite body a tight little package of soft, untouched femininity he was growing more and more ravenous to taste.

Cooper had always been partial to blondes, and his little Alice was a natural platinum. A “baby” blonde.

Sweet little baby blonde with her pretty baby blue eyes—

With her milky skin and delicate features—not to mention those pouty pink lips just begging to have something hard shoved between them—Alice could look like a porcelain doll one moment, and a sex kitten the next. She was an undeniably gorgeous girl, not yet aware of her erotic allure, and under different circumstances, he knew she could have had any man on his knees begging to fuck her.

Fortunately for him, the entire town thought she was batshit crazy.

And Cooper was certainly not one to be put off by a little madness—

“How’s your dinner?” Alice asked sweetly from a few tables away. She’d been refilling ketchup bottles and rolling silverware for the last twenty minutes or so, responding beautifully—albeit awkwardly—to his subtle prompts for casual conversation.

Cooper wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin and made an exaggerated show of patting his stomach. “You were right—this is the best burger I’ve ever had,” he lied smoothly. “Excellent recommendation, sweetheart.”

The girl’s cheeks instantly flooded with pretty pink blush—she likes being called sweetheart—and she shyly lowered her head, but couldn’t resist looking back at him mere seconds later with a demure giggle.

Good girl. She found him attractive.

His depraved plans would be much easier for her to adapt to with her sexual attraction already engaged—

“Can I get you anything else, Cooper?” Alice asked. She sounded hopeful.

His left eye twitched at her use of his first name, one of the few…ticks beyond his control, as a small spark of violent rage kindled deep in his gut, leaving a sickly metallic taste in his mouth.

The urge.

Cooper was suddenly overcome with a vision—a lucid hallucination, really—of marching directly to where the girl stood, and shoving her to the floor so quickly the air would be knocked out of her lungs. He saw himself tearing off her clothes and wrapping his big hands around narrow torso, and squeezing, hard enough to crack her ribs, before mounting her like a beast in the wild, ready to take his quivering bitch in heat. He wanted to feel her small, supple body struggling beneath him, his scared, mewling kitten desperate to free herself by any means necessary.

He wanted her to scream. He wanted her to cry.

She was so fucking tiny he’d absolutely crush her with his size. Cooper was already far bigger than most people, but compared to his little girl, his sweet little nymph, he was indestructible, as vast and powerful as a god.

He could do anything he wanted to her. He could violate her beyond recognition.

He could fuck her within an inch of her life—

Realizing he’d zoned out far longer than intended, he released a sharp exhale to snuff out the ember of fury, reminding himself that it was perfectly okay that the girl was calling him Cooper—for now.

She’d be calling him Daddy soon enough.

He forced himself to smile, carefully schooling his features to the affable façade he used specifically for putting people at ease.

Like clockwork, the girl visibly relaxed.

“Just the check please, sweetheart.”

Hunted Ch. 2: Dream A Little Dream Of Me

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58229851/chapters/148279471

#ao3 fanfic #trap 2024 #trap movie #cooper adams smut #cooper adams #the butcher #cooper adams x reader #cooper adams x ofc #cooper adams x original female character #trap film #dark romance

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charliethomascoxuniverse · 2 years

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I was in the kitchen of my apartment staring down at a small rectangular black case that I believed contained a recorder. I believed it contained a recorder because I had been told as much, but I didn’t know for sure because I had never actually opened it. How had I let this happen? I had been tasked with one job in the summer vacation after my first year at drama school — to learn to play the instrument for the school’s tour of the Nativity play. I hadn’t. And the term was starting in T minus 12 hours. All I could do now was pray.

Then something amazing happened. God called me! Well not quite, but close enough. My agent. I had auditioned for a film early on in the summer holidays, had heard nothing for two months and had long since concluded that I had not been successful. Yet this was the call from Hollywood myth: “Kid … you’re in the movie.”

Luckily, I would no longer be showing up to drama school the following day hat in hand, apologizing for my incompetence. Instead I’d be apologizing for having to relinquish the role of Shepherd Number Three, as I would be filming an adaptation of “The Merchant of Venice” — playing the role of Lorenzo — with none other than Al Pacino.

As this life-changing news began to sink in, and on top of the relief from narrowly escaping detention, what was most exciting to me was the prospect that this job might be the point after which I could legitimately call myself an actor.

I had wrestled with this idea for the last few years. I knew I wanted to be an actor. I had won a place at a top drama school and had even played a small part in a film. Admitting, however, that I was an actor (to anyone who might ask) made me feel like a fraud; I would find myself instead saying things like “I’m trying to be an actor” or “ I want to act.” It was like I hadn’t earned the right to the title yet. Surely sharing the screen with Al Pacino would change that.

The next few months spent filming this, my first major motion picture, was everything that I could have imagined it would be. It all still feels like a dream, littered with incredible moments, but one in particular stands out.

We were filming in a remote part of Luxembourg before a Christmas break that happened to include my 21st birthday. In order to keep morale high the producers hired a private dining room in a restaurant nearby, and twice or three times a week the whole cast would be invited to dinner. Not everyone attended every meal, and I would say on average people went once a week.

Not me! I was there Every. Single. Time. I never missed a dinner. It wasn’t for the free food or out of boredom, but because we never knew on which nights Mr. Pacino would turn up. Even if I were never seated anywhere near him, I wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to “have dinner with Al.”

On one of our last evenings before the break I turned up to dinner marginally late, and to my amazement spotted an empty chair next to Al. I’m not sure what gave me the courage other than naïve bravado, but knowing this was a once in a lifetime opportunity I casually eased my way round the table and nonchalantly slipped into the seat next to … Michael Corleone. Carlito Brigante. Lieutenant Colonel Frank Spade.

Now although Mr. Pacino was always friendly on set, none of my inexhaustible efforts to say something fascinating or hilarious on this evening led to the explosive conversation I had hoped for. Truth be told we barely spoke to one another. The producer on Al’s other side selfishly hogged him for most of the evening, which I felt was rather uncharitable!

As we got up to leave, however, and probably in another lame attempt to engage him, I mentioned to Al how cold it was outside. This is how I recall the banter that followed:

“Cold huh? … Where’s your leather jacket?”

I froze. He sounded like someone doing a clichéd impression of Al Pacino.

“Leather jacket?” I repeated. “Umm. I don’t have one.”

“You don’t?”

Silence.

“Well you gotta get one,” he said. “Every actor has to have a leather jacket.”

That was it. Not the most memorable exchange of all time, and undoubtedly forgotten by Al by the time he had stood up and donned his own, impossibly cool leathers.

What he couldn’t have known, of course, was that he had answered a much larger question of mine. I could have sworn I had grown a few inches taller. Impostor syndrome be gone — I was officially an actor. The Godfather himself had declared it!

On the way back to the hotel, my head still in the clouds, my dad called to arrange picking me up for the holiday break at the airport.

Just before we hung up I heard my mother’s voice interrupt him in the background. “Oh, yes, Coxy,” I remember him saying. “Mum wants to know what you want for your birthday.”

A knowing smile crossed my face. “It’s funny you mention that …”

~*~

(X)

#I've a particular appreciation for this article since it's the only one that was written by Charlie himself 🥰💗#he's so hilariously self-deprecating xd #also his dad calls him ''Coxy'' - how cute!! <3 #charlie cox #the merchant of venice #interview #article

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