Work Text:
Disinterest started to linger in his mind as Tetsip's coworkers tried to talk to him. He didn't perceive a single word. Nothing they said mattered, everything was always the same.
"Do your work."
"You aren't being paid to write."
"Cover up your scars."
They were always relentless about his scars. Today was a slow day though, his schedule was practically cleared.
"Get out of my office, I'm tired of being criticized by people lower than me," He scoffed. His coworkers quickly shuffled out in fear of being scolded by him.. He always had more authority than them, but they didn't take him seriously. Nobody did. But Tetsip had time to himself today. All he had was time. Why not reminisce?
Tetsip opened his drawer and pulled out a small wooden box with a latch, phrases in an old language commonly spoken by monsters before him carved into it. He opened it and was met with polaroids of his ex-wife, Sumi Mishinori. He ran his fingers over the pictures as if she could feel his touch somehow. All he wanted was to find her again and just crawl back into her arms despite everything. His attachment was strong.
A tightness formed in his pants as Tetsip looked through the box more, each photo getting more explicit as he went on. It didn't matter anymore, it's not like she was really there.
But little did he know, it *did* matter. This wasn't the right way to cope with his problems. He knew that. Yet like routine, he unbuckled his belt and shoved off his pants, palming his weeping cock. His impulses usually became too much to handle.. He knew deep inside that Sumi was no good. Yet it felt like his leash was being tugged on by her everytime he tried to forget.
The overwhelming memories of her constant abuse flooded Tetsip's mind as he pulled down his boxers, placing one hand on his forehead and using the other to stroke himself. It was obvious he deserved that treatment if it came from Sumi. Everything she threw at him, he deserved. He was nothing. A nobody. But Sumi gave him purpose. And that purpose was to be used.
Eventually he spilled over his fist, tiredly shaking his hand to get rid of the mess and failing. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered when it came to him. A nobody doesn't deserve to be cared for. It was his job to take care of others, not the other way around. He didn't need help. Nor would he ever accept it, his place was at other people's feet despite how much he denied it.