In the beginning, it’s enough for him to keep track of where you are and what you’re doing.
Your socials make it easier for him, allowing him to check who you’re with and what you’re thinking about. You’re so good at that, posting daily little updates for him.
Of course, he doesn’t enjoy how you allow just anyone to see it, but he’s sure not everyone pays as close attention as he does. No, he’s certain of it. Everyone else takes it for granted. Only he appreciates it, saving all your little pics and snippets in a dozen folders on a dozen USBs he carries around with him. They’re his stress relief—he can’t bring himself to leave the house without them.
It’s soothing. But soon, that’s just not enough anymore.
He can’t afford to follow you around all day, but he dedicates those hours he can to keeping track of you, not just online, but out in the real world. He likes thinking of it like he’s taking you for a walk—his cute little therapy pet—watching you, sometimes at work, sometimes when you’re out and about with friends, sometimes when you’re grocery shopping. He’ll buy the same things you get just to feel closer to you.
It helps keep the stress at bay, but even that just isn’t enough after a while.
For even though he’s able to catch glimpses of you inside the house when you walk to and fro in front of the windows, there’s just so much he still can’t see. Sometimes you’ll spend entire days out of view—he’s even had to resort to ringing your bell and hiding just to see you in the brief moment you answer the door. It helps cool his nerves for a while, but the second you disappear again, the anxiety in his chest blossoms anew. He fears that soon he won’t even be able to breathe without having eyes on you and what you’re doing.
He thought putting cameras in your house would help bring him peace, that by giving himself full access, it would somehow put a damper on his needs just a little bit…
It didn’t.
In fact, he doesn’t think he’s ever been more desperately dependent. Watching you, sometimes in your bed all alone, on top of the covers in the perfect position like you’re fully aware you’re being watched and want to give him the best angle, making him feel sweaty and heavy and all in all hopeless, wanting to give in to the sticky feelings in his chest and lower beneath his stomach, but wanting to stick to his morals—because, you know, he’s not a creep.
You’re his source of relaxation, his comfort show, his special interest, that’s all. He knows most people wouldn't understand it—they’d probably think he’s up to something perverted, but that’s not it. That’s not it, and yet…
He just can’t help himself—watching you, all nude, getting bent over by yet another guy you’d brought home. He’s not jealous or anything, no. It’s the opposite, really… he’s happy for you. It makes him glad to see you enjoying yourself, looking so blissful in the sheets, basking in the pleasure as it takes you with a gorgeous, dewy glow.
Of course, he has to wrap a fist around himself. He would be remiss not to—to give the beautiful performance the proper admiration it deserves by jerking himself until exploding all over the screen like he’s tossing roses on the stage.
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I actually found this so fun to draw, i think it was slightly simpler to do than the other 3 days, but i think it turned out well. That might be because i was refrencing my friend.
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happy death anniversary ianto jones, you’ve been dead for 15 slutty slutty years - you’re truly the only character ever, you shrine is still standing and you will always be remembered