Sunrise. - part 2
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Tags: DESPERATION, extreme stalking, toxic bond, obsessive behavior, eventual smut, dubcon to con, story takes place after julie, north star but worse, youre his sun, reader is referred to as very beautiful/charming so prepare for intense jealousy, (.....) Is an empty stand in for your name.
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Synopsis: He's really battling with self-control...
PREVIOUS CHAPTER~ ~NEXT CHAPTER/....
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Grey cotton sheets rustled around as Dex tossed and turned in his bed. Sodium lights shone through his appartment windows, hitting his closed eyelids with a precise beam.
When he came home he had immediately thrown the casette tape with Julie's voice into a pan, lit a lucifer and tossed it in. He didn't bother watching it burn and hastily walked over to his bathroom. Dex needed to re-boot. Start over and get back on the straight and narrow path. Judas had nearly lured him off it, and now he had to attone for it.
No more violent outbursts.
No more loss of control.
Dex opened his cabinet and knocked over 4 other bottles to get to his orange bottle of risperidone. He opened the lid and dropped the specified amount in his hand, chucking his head back to swallow before eyeing the aripiprazole.
"Not sure if this one will do the trick, but it should help supress your..." The psychiatrist squinted in thought. "Urges."
Dex's hand shot out at the bottle. Nearly breaking the lid apart with haste as he tossed the cap away and shot his daily dose of aripiprazole down too. He closed the cabinet and looked at himself.
Jesus. Dark circles akin to crescent moons had desaturated the skin under his eyes. Dex brought his hand to the bottle of face wash on his sink and began his routine. He had fallen behind on too many things. Self care, work, chores.
Having worked up the gel into foam, he quickly grabbed his Gillette shaving knife and got to work. It was unusual for him to be doing this at night... The knife continued against his soapy skin, going against the grain with sharp precision. Would you like it if he looked a little younger? Dex pulled the skin above his lips taut, sliding the knife down to the vermilion borders. Or were you okay with him being older? He'd normally do this in the morning. The knife went further and further— He thought of you more.
Your eyebrow went up at your notepad, sun rimmed around your hair and chest heaving ever so slightly. Worried about him. Asking if he was okay. Asking for his name. His name. His. He wanted to hear you say it, such a pretty girl...
"Shit!"
The Gillete blade had knicked a scar into his lip. Blood trickled down his chin; dripping onto his white sink in uneven dots. Dex pressed his finger onto the cut and opened the tap. "Ah, shit."
Being 6'2, he awkwardly ducked his face beneath the streaming water. His palms patted and rubbed his face, washing away the foamy soap that stung his fresh wound.
Before going to bed he had to do one more thing. He had thrown his window open and tossed the contents of the pan; charred cassette, into the street below. He shrugged at the pan and tossed it out as well. It clattered loudly and he could hear someone yell something from down below, but he had thrown the window shut already. No, he had other things to think about. How would he fix the situation at work?
The night had ended chaotically in an attempt to force his body back into a routine that hadn't been created yet.
....
Dex groaned and turned on his back, hazel eyes fixed on his ceiling. His brain started to form shapes onto the white canvas. Little stars, circles. A smile, your face...
It was so cold in his room. So lonely. A calloused hand rubbed over his rugged face. It was 3AM.
Looking towards the light that woke him, Dex realized he hadn't closed his curtains. He could forget sleeping now. The diazepam only worked without disturbances. That's kind of why he bought the blackout curtains in the first place.
He got up and thought of a new routine for tomorrow. A small notebook opened in his hands, pen clicking before the sound of scribbling filled the cold, lonely room.
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The next day, Sunday, 2:14PM
Alright. Dex opened his notebook and looked at the routine.
Yesterday he had spent an hour trying to fight you out of his mind. He needed you out. Felt like it wasn't right to think about someone like this again. Not after what had happened... Just, everytime he would fill out a routine, it would be pathetically short.
- 9PM: work.
- 5PM: go home. food.
- 9PM: meds, sleep.
Meaningless. He had to fill it up but he just... didn't want to do anything else. Like having to add another portion on your dinner plate when you're already full.
Still, he needed to appear as normal as possible to his squad. Had to talk about something to his team, regular stuff. A book he'd read, a movie he'd watched. How his favorite team performed. No, that wouldn't be good enough. He needed more. The guys were always talking about the same thing. Girls, women, love and sex.
Dex just... didn't have anything of that sort. He had never felt any romantic attraction to anyone, but knew that if he wanted to stop looking like an erratic freak, he had to give them something they wanted to hear.
'Excuses.' That dark part of him grinned. 'All pathethic excuses. You know what you fucking want.'
He sighed and looked down at his tweaked routine in the café. He wasn't sure you'd be here today, but that would've been alright.
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• 8:30AM: visit cafe. see her.
• 9AM: Enter station, work on case.
• 12PM: Lunch with squad. Talk.
• 5PM: Go home. Dinner.
• 9PM: meds, sleep.
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When he looked up, the world stuttered.
Oh...
There you stood. Across the café, back turned, completely unaware. Dex’s breath hitched, his chest tightening like a fist had closed around it.
His gaze locked onto you immediately—the way your hair caught the light, how your shirt hugged your body so tight, the curve of your hips, lower— shit. His eyes snapped back to the table before he could do something reckless.
Then you turned, smiling at a customer, walking toward the bar to grab an order. “This is the last one for table six? Yeah, okay, got it.”
Dex risked another glance. You balanced a tray effortlessly, heels clicking against the floor as you headed toward the table. There you were, moving like something out of a dream. He didn't have to figure out your schedule, he just walked in and you were here. Like sunrise.
“There you go, Mark. Anything else I can do for you?” You turned your head while listening, eyes falling on the thirty-something year old blonde at the other table. Wait! You knew him. Remembered his hyperventilating and how he had hurriedly rushed out the café. Poor guy didn't even finish his coffee.
"No, thank you (.....)." The young man in front of you stalled and smiled. "Well I mean, you know there is one thing..."
"I am not giving you my number Mark." You rounded the table to walk over to the blonde man.
Dex quickly closed his notebook and gave an apologetic smile, muttering some words before he looked up at you. There you were. There. In front of him. That creep was sitting at table 6, but he was sitting at "—Lucky number 7."
You cocked up a brow. "You said what?"
No way he said that out loud. Jesus. "The table. It's—7 is a lucky number. You..." Shit. Give him a gun, fully loaded. Preferably a .44 Magnum Desert Eagle so he could insert the barrel in his mouth right now and shoot himself.
Silence.
A broad smile showed up on your face, and you tilted your head at him slightly. "You're right, actually. You just won a free coffee."
"Uh- What?"
"You said the magic words." You absentmindedly spun the plastic platter around on your fingertips.
Dex blinked dryly.
"This café has a secret code for coworkers and lucky customers where they can get free coffee."
"Seriously?"
You gave him an incredulous laugh, confused and amused at how soft he spoke. "Think I'll leave that answer up to you. But no, I saw what happened yesterday. I remember you. Your name was... Dex... Right? Agh, I'm sorry if I misremembered."
"—No." Dex cut in, too eager. He had to whip himself for this behavior. He felt like a caricature of a stereotypically horny teenager— wait—digust and fear filled him. Was he horny? No. He wasn't. He was just—
"Well, Dex." You began, interrupting the trainwreck of thoughts you didn't know were unfolding. "It's none of my business but... it looked like you were having a really hard time yesterday. The other lady too, I hope you guys are alright."
"—We're not together. We've never been. Just a friend." He quickly added. He wanted you to know he was available... but he didn't understand why yet himself.
"I—" You laughed awkwardly. The guy probably needed something to eat judging by the way he was shaking. Those hunger shudders are the worst. "Well, I'm sorry nonetheless. I would like to treat you to a free coffee since you left your last one unattended yesterday. And of course, cause you said the password. Lucky number 7. Free coffee coupon. Don't tell anyone." You chimed, already rounding into the kitchen.
He couldn't help but grin as he looked out the window. You were so playful with him. God he really needed someone like that. Someone relaxed and— you.
...
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Dex’s mind conjured every worst-case scenario. Had you slipped on the kitchen floor? Hit your head? Collapsed somewhere out of sight? His fingers drummed against the table, thighs tense beneath the booth. He was halfway out of his seat when you reappeared, rounding the corner with that smile of yours—soft, just for him. All Him. Only Him.
His breath stuttered. Hazel eyes locked onto your lips, then your entire face, as if memorizing the way the light caught your cheekbones. God, he wanted to see them better. To trace them with his fingertips. To part your lips with his fingers—
"Okay, here we are."
Your voice pushed him out of stasis and the tray in your hands came into focus. Eggs on toast, long crispy bacon strips draped over the edges, cheese melted into the yolks. A banana milkshake, thick and creamy, condensation sliding down the glass. Chocolate cookies from another delhi. And a sticky note with a smiley face scrawled in hasty ink.
"Sorry for the wait. I'm working as part-time chef and waitress today. Earl is out to manage his kids, his wife is giving birth in the hospital so..." You wiped your neck. "I just wanted to surprise you. Looked like you needed a good meal too so..." You trailed off, it was getting busier and he could see the stress appear in your face. "Don't worry it's uh, on the house. Just say you paid for it when checking out. My boss is going to obliterate me otherwise."
Dex’s throat closed. Free? You’d made this. With your hands. For him?
"I—"
"Sorry, I have to run. Rush hour, you know? Enjoy!" You flashed an apologetic grin, already backing away, heels clicking toward another table. The scent of bacon and melted cheese hit him like a punch to the gut. Had he even eaten yesterday? His stomach growled—but his gaze stayed glued to you. The way you vanished into the kitchen, the way your hips swayed with every step, the way you spun on your heel when you forgot the sugar at the bar.
"Psst."
A sharp whistle dragged his attention left. Mark—the smug bastard from table six—nodded at Dex’s plate, eyes gleaming. "You gonna eat that?"
Dex turned his head slowly, dead-eyed. "Yes."
"Well, okay, because like…" Mark leaned in, voice dripping with false camaraderie. "She’s never done that for me."
"So. What?"
"So, get in line. I've been waiting longer than you. Been talking to her a long time." Mark's arm rested on his chair as he turned towards Dex.
Dex’s pulse hammered in his throat. “Been waiting for what, exactly?”
Mark’s laugh was a wet, mocking sound. “Pfft.” He rolled his eyes as if Dex was the absurd one. “Like you’re not waiting for the same thing.”
The words hit like a match to gasoline.
Dex’s vision tunnelled. His pulse roared in his ears, fingers curling and knuckles turning white.
Who was this pathetic creature? The thoughts raced, getting worse. He couldn't believe this vile, slithering worm talked about you this way.
He ached to see this smug, sneering snake writhe in agony. To hear him beg. To watch him break. To cut off every single finger, then both hands, and then both arms to ensure he'd never touch you.
No, that's not right.
Dex took a deep breath and opened his notebook. The routine. The meds. He had to take more. Or he had to visit you more. He didn't know yet.
For the time being, he had to control his urges and handle things in a more civil way.
Mark’s sneer faltered when Dex ignored him entirely, groaning dramatically around a mouthful of your food. "Mmmm." He chewed slowly, swallowed, then turned to Mark with a smile so cruel it felt like a blade between his teeth. "So good."
Afterward, Dex left a tip—$77.07—scrawled on a napkin. You should buy yourself something nice, he thought. He was nice. He was good.
He didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t trust himself to look at you again without doing something irreversible.
But he’d be back tomorrow. He’d always be back.
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After work, he went to get some groceries. It was off schedule but he wanted to cook the same thing you cooked for him. So he could eat it— 'Everyday.' That dark voice prodded.
No, he made sure to buy other things too. Banana, apples, cherries. Bread, milk.
Dex stopped at a section, paused, but quickly walked past. He'd never have to visit that section. He'd never do that with anyone. No one would have him the way he was.
....
Beeps and boops caused his attention to shift from one part of the store to the other. The checkout had always distracted him in grocery stores. He was waiting in line when a familiar voice beckoned him to look behind him.
Was that?
Dex peeked his head around the people in line, looking back into the store.
"Yes, yes I know. You know I'd rather just have something simple for tonight."
He felt struck by lightening, quickly moving out of the queue to walk back into the front row of the store.
"Then why are you inviting him? I thought we'd just have a girls night."
To the left, behind this row. Dex clutched his shopping basket and rounded the corner.
You?! He wasn't going crazy, it was really you!
Dex took a deep breath. You were on the phone with a friend, eyes fixed on the bottles of honey oolong tea.
"I don't know, he makes me a little uncomfortable. I want it to be us for tonight— if that's... you know, okay?" Your fingers reached up towards a specific flavour. Peach. You couldn't reach it, standing on your toes and fingers straining for the bottle. "Hold on a sec."
His legs moved before he could press execute, walking over and easily reaching the row you were struggling with. He lowered it to you while a small, lopsided smile fell onto his lips. "For... you." Dex cleared his throat. "For you." He said again, with more confidence this time.
"Heyy!" Your eyes widened in surprise. "Hold on, let me call you back in a bit." The phone went into your pocket as you happily took the bottle from him. "Look at you, lucky number seven reaching up to the seventh shelf without issue. We can't all be that gifted." You put the peach drink into your basket. "Doing groceries at this hour too, hm?"
"Yes I am. Doing that right now." He breathed out, forcing a smile on his face afterwards. "I like... doing groceries after work." Lie. He never did.
You looked up at him, and Dex realized how close he had been standing; towering over you as the led lights above scattered a sparkle in your eyes. He took a step back and looked at the floor. "So, been some day, huh?"
"Ugh tell me about it. Oh!" You continued. "I couldn't make my round back to you but now that you're here I can finally ask. How'd you like the food?"
"Oh yes. So good." He looked at your lips and felt his breathing hitch. Focus. You were going to kill him. "I— left a tip. I wanted to give you my... appreciation."
"Oh? I'm so sorry, I didn't see it! I'm sorry Dex the café gets so swamped sometimes, maybe someone took it? Please tell me it wasn't much." You put your hand on your hip and tilted your head at him.
Dex fought his eyes from trailing down your hips. He tilted his chin up a bit, getting a good waft of your perfume instead... tart apple and green tea. He shook his head. "...No, it wasn't much."
A relieved sigh escaped you. "Oh I'm so glad to hear that!" Your phone rang. "Oops, I need to take this."
"Yeah, yeah of course." He said, body stiff. Dex didn't want to walk away, but he reaaally needed to before this became weird. "One last thing." He slipped out a leather wallet from his jacket and opened it, pulling out a 50 dollar bill and offering it to you. "For your trouble."
You froze and looked at him in disbelief. "You're kidding. What?"
"I just. It's for you. My tip."
You shook your head and laughed while you walked past him. "You're a funny guy. Hey take care okay? I gotta go now." Phone already between your ear and neck as you walked to the checkout. "Hey it's me again... Yeah I got the oolong tea.... Shut up I've got work tomorrow..."
Dex watched you walk away, his eyes dripping down an inch, another inch, another inch. He sucked in a deep breath in an effort to calm himself. His lips were pulled into a tight line as he meandered out the aisle. He wouldn't follow you.
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3 hours later, 12AM.
He plopped down on the couch and opened the peach oolong tea, imagining your soft lips press against the rim as you drank. Was that what you had been doing now? Dex threw his head back on the couch.
Girls night out, you said... but your friend wanted a guy involved. You didn't like that. Dex chewed his lip, the case file light in his hands. Could he ever be the kind of person who got invited to your parties? Maybe not as himself. But as an FBI agent? For health protocols, of course. Too many risks—spiked drinks, unseen threats. He’d bring his testing kit, play the part of a cop rerouted from another call.
'Police are busy tonight. Just following protocol.'
Then he’d see you. Dancing. Laughing. With someone else.
His stomach twisted. The case file scrunched up in his fingers. More meds. More coffee. More work—anything to distract from the thought of you.
A knock at the door startled him. At this hour?
Dex moved cautiously, pressing his eye to the peephole. It was the landlord. He opened the door just enough to see the old man adjusting his glasses, his breath wheezing slightly.
"Ah! I was hoping to see you." He shifted around, floorboards creaking. "How are you doing?"
"Uh. Good, thanks. Can I help you with anything?"
"Always so blunt, Dex. As a matter of fact, yes. See, the tenant in room 307—the one next to yours? Well… vanished. Just like that. No forwarding address, no hospital records, no police reports. Not a trace in two years. Checked half the state myself.”
Dex raised an eyebrow. “You want me to look into it?”
The old man waved a gnarled hand. “God’s no! Hah! Why would I—” A cough racked his chest.
Then another. This one wet and rattling.
Dex took a step back without thinking.
“I don’t need your FBI skills, boy. Just… a good word. For me. For the complex. You know people, right? Colleagues, friends—anyone who might need an apartment.” Another cough, this one lingering.
Dex squinted, suspicion creeping in, but he nodded. “Yeah. I’ll see what I can do.”
The landlord’s grin widened. “Huzzah! Thank you, my boy.” But he didn’t move. The gap between the door and the frame shrank, inch by inch.
“And—preferably a woman tenant!” He wheezed out a laugh. “Cleaner. Haha. Okay, goodnight, boy.”
“Yeah. Bye.”
Dex twisted his keys to lock the door. He had a lot of work to catch up on.
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1AM.
The smell of coffee filled the living room as he typed away on his computer. Opening files, adding updates. Evidence, altering countless John Doe's into people with names. He cracked his fingers and thought it was time for a break.
...
1:30AM.
The Instagram logo glowed on Dex’s monitor, a small beacon in the dim room. He had decided reintegrating into society meant showing up—even if it was just online. His profile was boring. The only post being a coffee cup, pictured off center and badly-lit. He remembered this. A forgotten relic of a morning long past. Dex had been crying that day.
Zero likes.
He didn't know if he cared because it made him feel lonely or because it made him look lonely.
"People you might know."
The suggestion feed rolled past—faces from his old squad, distant army contacts, strangers with shared connections. A sigh escaped him. This was tedious, but he’d committed to it. Swipe. Swipe. Swipe.
Swipe.
Stop.
His breath hitched. There you were—a flicker that didn't escape him. You posed for the camera. Sexy, he thought. That must be what sexy looked like.
Dex leaned closer, his fingers twitching toward the trackpad. The pixels weren't anywhere near the real thing; too lackluster at showing your beauty, but he didn’t care—no. Even if it had been a picture of your thumb he'd be ecstatic.
He really wanted to click on your profile.
What would you have on there? More pictures of you posing, eating, showing your favorite music or dancing? Or would you be more risque... Close ups of your face, beach pictures of you in a bikini— A grin tugged at his lips, sharp and hungry. He'd really... like to see that.
His pulse quickened, that dark, insistent pull demanding action—harsh, possessive. Give it to me. Take it. Want it. Need her. NEED HER.
Then, like a bucket of ice water, reality crashed back.
Dex slammed his laptop shut and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. A deep breath.
It was time for stronger meds. Tomorrow, he’d email the doctor—right after he figured out how to phrase it without sounding like he was losing control.
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Credits to indexpoint, vacilatior & Leonhart on tiktok for the gifs!
Taglist: @sapphire-saga @crazydexling @starlitflora
