Work Text:
Boombox layed in his bed. He missed his friends, and he was bored. He didn't want to make any music, he was out of ideas. He sighed, getting up to get a classic glass of 3 am water. As he took a sip, he thought. His arms stung a bit, but he couldn't remember why. His memory was always terrible. He doesn't know why. He finished the glass of water and went back to his room. All of his friends were probably asleep, but let's be real. They definitely aren't. Boombox just doesn't have the motivation to talk to people.
He continued to lay. He was tired. He was bored. Till he opened his laptop. He decided to play some sorta game. Then immediately shut it as intimate noises came from the device. His face flushed, he remembers why his arms stung. He sets his laptop onto his bedside table and hid under his blanket, he didn't want to remember last night. SFOTH... He's disgusting. A fucking sewer rat. Worthless bitch.
He buried his face in his hands, trying to shake off his self degrading thoughts. He thought of his best friends, all of them having fun. Nothing much. Till it morphed into something more inappropriate. He quickly shook his head, as if physically wishing the thoughts away. He couldn't think of his friends like that, it's just disgusting. Though, everything he thought of turned into something filthy, till he couldn't just stop thinking of them.
The wetness between his thighs grew as he grabbed his laptop. He put it on his bed, opening it. Porn played, and he rubbed his fingers against his clothed pussy. He continued to tease himself, listening to the moans coming from his computer. He finally unzipped his pants, pulling them down with his underwear to his knees. He rubbed his fingers against his entrance before gently inserting two digits. He moaned softly, moving his fingers back and forth in his pussy. His filthy moans blended with the video playing on his laptop, till he came.
He closed his laptop and cleaned himself up. He knew what he did. He knew how wrong it was. How gross he is. He pulled his pants and underwear back up. SFOTH, he hates himself. He needs something else, something other than self pleasure.
He reaches into his bedside drawer, getting out a box cutter. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the several cuts from two days ago. He hesitated, before recutting the wounds. Blood spilled from the cuts, rolling down his arm. Then he rolled up his other shirt sleeve. Then his pant leg. Then his other pant leg. Till he felt like he was going to collapse. He set the box cutter back into his drawer.
He curled up under his blanket, whispering one last thing before drifting to sleep.
"I hope I don't wake up."