aesthetic: old movies on the silver screen, the echo of high heels against marble, sequined gowns, crackling recordings of old ballads, laughter across the table, rolling thunder, whooshing stage curtains, flowery perfumes, light catching on diamond jewellery
(Okay I’ve done it again. I meant for this to be drabble length/paragraphs and it ended up pages again. OTL. But this is a multi part fic based on AMAZING Tsukiyama art that @dumdumdrawstumtums gave to me a bit ago. I’ve been wanting to write to it forever but either have been busy or hadn’t had the desire. But thanks to Tokyo Ghoul being on TV again, I had extra motivation. I hope the next parts will be a little shorter…And feel free to translate my bad French. I just used Google Translate but it’s also supposed to sound terrible because it’s Tsukiyama. Also note that I’ve made him very uncanon and he is able to eat regular food as well as people but oh well. Disclaimer: This has vore content.)
Tsukiyama just couldn’t help himself. He knew that he had an important week ahead of him. First, there was a gala tomorrow and then later in the week a special “engagement” with Kaneki (he hesitated to call it a date) that he was dying to enjoy.
“I shouldn’t. I need to look my best this week. I cannot disappoint those at the gala and I definitely cannot disappoint Kaneki…” Tsukiyama said to himself as he bit his lip, first trying to prevent himself from going down the path that his body wanted to go, then down a dirtier path as he dug harder into his own flesh with his teeth. “Kaneki…” he thought to himself for a moment, trying to shake off his lustful thoughts before giving in. He continued to bite on his lip then let his eyes roll back into his head with his head tilting back just a little as he got lost in the dual fantasy of wanting to bed Kaneki and then wanting to eat Kaneki. His imagination ran wild for a moment as he felt himself stiffen in his pants slightly, before he was shaken back to reality again by the very organ that started this whole mess. His stomach.
It growled hungrily even though he was not starving. He didn’t need to eat…he wanted to. Desperately. “I mustn’t! There’s no guarantee I’ll be ready by tomorrow!” Tsukiayama yelled down at his ab-lined stomach. The gluttonous back of his mind worked in tandem with another growl of his stomach. “But what if you were? You’ve digested quickly so many other times! Why you will probably be back, fitter than ever!”, the evil voice in the head said like a terrible shoulder devil though he could tell that the voice was coming not from his shoulder by “other brains” of his anatomy that wanted him to make terrible decisions.
In dramatic fashion, Tsukiyama wrestled with himself, literally. He tossed his head in his hands trying to shake himself out of the thoughts he was thinking and lost his footing, tossing himself side to side. He threw himself against wall, shoulder hitting brick, as he tensed up his face. “La Torture! Tentation divine! Les horreurs d'un repas délicieux et d'un ventre plein! Que devrais-je faire?” He asked himself out loud, drool forming already at his mouth. “Je ne devrais pas le faire…” he said looking down at the ground and then using the back of his sleeve to wipe away the forming drool at his lips. “Mais je dois! Très Bien!” He said licking his lips.
He looked around, now thinking of those around him as potential meals. It was then that he noticed the tell-tale signs of a CCG Ghoul Investigator in a large trench coat, carrying a large metal briefcase. “Très Magnifique! It’s almost like the heavens provide to sanctify this meal!” Tsukiyama said in trite reverence. He caught up to the man and followed him for blocks to make sure that his prey was indeed an investigator. “Mon dieu, I’m practically doing a public service!” he muttered to himself. He watched as the investigator turned down a small, dark alley and then opened his briefcase to fight. Tsukiyama carefully took off his jacket and laid it gingerly on top of a closed dumpster. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation then charged. “Bon appétit…”
The battle hadn’t lasted long. The investigator was strong, stronger than Tsukiyama had anticipated, but that made his victory that much sweeter. His hunger and desire drove Tsukiyama to fight with greater power and speed, though he was so engrossed in his decision that he seemed to fight with an added flair, near dancing around the alley as he dodged every blow that the investigator tried to land on him. It wasn’t long until Tsukiyama was able to overwhelm the investigator and he was left standing in the middle of now abandoned alley, patting his distended belly and arching his head back to let out a gluttonous, wet belch. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed the sides of his mouth. “Bof…Excusez-moi! How ill-refined,” he said as he patted his bloated belly over his disheveled shirt. He grabbed his suit coat and proceeded to waddle home to sleep off his meal so he’d be able to be prepared for the gala the next evening. Already the food coma was starting to prick at his consciousness and telling him, he had indeed made the right decision.
Tsukiyama fell asleep, sure in the knowledge that he had made the correct judgement. He patted his belly and slept on his side, letting his belly fill out the side of his bed and dreamt of his upcoming time with Kaneki later in the week. He counted sheep softly, stroking his struggling belly as he did.
However, when Tsukiyama awoke, he did so to a very unpleasant surprise. He tried to turn over, still groggy, assuming that he’d be back to normal shape or at the worst, still a slight bloat that he might be able to cover. But he found that as he turned over to try to stretch his stiff body that he was unable to do so. Wide awake now, and with a sense of terror, he slowly looked down at his torso and saw that his belly still just as big and struggling as it had been before his sleep. “Oh merde…” He said in defeat as he realized that his gamble had ended in utter defeat.
He glanced over at his alarm clock, having decided not to set it to try to work off his meal as much as possible. “Double merde…” he muttered, rolling his eyes. It was only a few hours to the gala and he would need to get ready. He couldn’t let the investigator out, that was like begging for him to be hunted directly or just killed on the spot. No, unfortunately… He’d eaten himself into a corner. Tsukiyama would have to keep him in his stomach for the gala.
Tsukiyama spent the next hour trying to find some clothes that would fit his new girth. At first he tried to focus on something he could wear to the gala and failing that, just something that would fit. Neither seemed to be readily available. His frustration with his own gluttony, his appetite backfiring on him, and anger that his stomach and it’s contents weren’t cooperating with him was making discontented, and rapidly losing his usual French flair. Finally he decided his best shot was to go back to the flashy suit that he was usually wore to such events and would do his best to say that he had just overeaten at a gourmet meal as his gluttonous ways were well known, just not this this…extent.
He showered, and prepped himself, making sure his hair was perfectly coiffed. With some struggle he was able to get his slacks and belt done up, though incredibly strained. The belt buckle was trying to pull itself free as it sat under his incredibly round belly, the added weight of his middle pushing the buckle painfully toward his crotch as it pressed downward. He should have tucked in his shirt first, but he wasn’t even sure he could get his shirt around his new waistline at this point. He buttoned up around his defined chest and then winced a bit as successive buttons got harder and harder to button until finally he was stuck.
Tsukiyama made a face of mixed disgust and determination. He poked angrily at his stomach to get his meal’s attention. “Urgh-! Suck it in! I have a gala tonight, and I’m not letting you ruin it!” he shouted, trying to pull the two halves of his shirt closer together. He struggled and sucked in his stomach as much as he commit, trying to think thin thoughts and apply as much of a vacuum to his distended torso as he could until he was finally able to do up the last buttons.
He cautiously let himself relax and watched the buttons strain tight but was grateful that for the moment they held. Patting the properly contained belly, he tried to tuck what he could into his tight pants, his fingers already being crushed by trying to get them in the tight belt. “Tsukiyama. You’ve really done it this time. You can do this,” He said to himself in the mirror before then putting his suit coat (he decided not to try a button on that at this point) and walked out the door to go to the gala, requesting a driver to take him there. He was glad that Kaneki wouldn’t be at the extravagant affair, having expressed that he didn’t want to be a such a crowded pretentious place with all those people. It would give him time to return to normal. Tsukiyama gulped. Or at least he hoped.
I have a suspicion that Hetalia can handle gore and shit because he has experienced lots of wars, but everyone treats him like a child even though he is almost the same age as Supernatural and a year older then Homestuck. But that's just a head cannon, A FANDOM HEADCANNON, thanks for readin.
(I actually really like this headcannon and agree. Hetalia as a fandom is actually a pretty dark one, such as Hetaoni, so I know he can handle the gory stuff. The reason I feel they treat him as a child is because he does seem to be more optimistic and happy-go-lucky, so they feel they must protect him. -Hetalia) image