#emetoomo

[guiltypleasurehoarder]

This is so hot I've never had the desire to be thrown up on before but oh my god

[emeto-omo]

I still exist, y'all. <3 I haven't had any motivation to write lately, but I am honestly begging for some sort of content or prompt that could possess me so badly that I can't rest until I get it out. I miss those days! To those of you still going to my Ao3 and leaving comments, I adore you! I do read those! For those of you who are new, you can find those here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmetoOmo

[ao3feed-mchanzo]

Dinner and a Tummy Rub

by EmetoOmo

It’s their anniversary, and Hanzo has made a reservation at a local hibachi restaurant. McCree, not feeling well, buries it all to enjoy a wonderful anniversary dinner with his boyfriend.

Words: 2123, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Overwatch (Video Game)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Jesse McCree, Hanzo Shimada

Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada

Additional Tags: Emetophilia, Stuffing, Stomach Ache, Sickfic, stomach bug

from AO3 works tagged 'Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada' https://ift.tt/2Bbi0k1 via IFTTT https://ift.tt/2Bbi0k1

[ao3feed-mcreyes]

Hate To Disappoint

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2nmrwKk

by EmetoOmo

After asking to go to the restroom, McCree has been gone far too long.

Words: 894, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Overwatch (Video Game)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Jesse McCree, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes

Relationships: Jesse McCree/Reaper | Gabriel Reyes

Additional Tags: Emetophilia, Vomiting, Sickfic

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2nmrwKk

[ao3feed-sidlink-archive]

Exotic Treats

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2AO8dmL

by EmetoOmo

Knowing the Gerudo Desert may be a bit much for his favorite Prince to ever venture to, Link decides to bring the delicacies of the desert to Zora’s Domain to share with Sidon. Unfortunately, a lifetime of living off the fish of Zora’s River makes digesting the heavily spiced desert treats a bit much for the shark prince.

Words: 1654, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Link (Legend of Zelda), Prince Sidon

Relationships: Link/Prince Sidon

Additional Tags: Emetophilia, Sickfic, Vomiting, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2AO8dmL

[emeto-omo]

I saw someone else asked for Sephiroth emeto fic, and I second it. When you can, I'd love to see something like that from you. I can't think of exact scenarios but I love it when characters are excruciatingly nauseous or heave repeatedly but can't get anything out no matter how hard they try. Also when they desperately try avoid it for as long as possible, swallowing it back and pretending they're fine until it forces its way out, spraying out from around their hand and/or out their nose.

What? Not me answering prompts again after a large hiatus! Thank you for such a fun, unique prompt. I didn't think I'd ever get a chance to write a FFVII one! I hope this is alright! Title: Didn't Have It In Him Characters: Sephiroth Universe: FFVII Crisis Core Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32240563 Summary: Always the show of strength and stoicism, Sephiroth stomach is betraying him in the worst way. Disclaimer: Graphic descriptions of vomit are in this story. ~*~ Sephiroth remained stoic as he returned to the locker room after training. He moved slower than the others, but no one thought any thing of it. If they did, they didn’t say a word. Why would they? Most folks either worshipped him or was afraid of him, and at work, they knew not to bother him. He was grateful that Zach at least was out on duty, it wouldn’t have done to have the puppy nipping at his heels when he felt like this. His stomach gave a sour gurgle as he sat and waited for the showers to clear out. For most, it seemed like he sat in quiet contemplation, but hiding his face behind a silver curtain of hair, he swallowed against the nausea. His mouth filled with unwanted saliva, his adam’s apple bobbing ominously with every forced gulp to try to keep whatever turmoil was going on inside him down.

He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, listening as the conversations ended, footsteps leaving one by one, showers finished and gear put away. He belched beneath his breath, letting it escape putrid and sour through his nose and almost gagged again. He was grateful when the final soldier left, opening his eyes to peer down at his hands that shook slightly from the nausea and the energy his body was putting in trying to cope with it.

He stood, wobbly on his usually sure feet, and made his way for the showers, taking his gear off along the way to leave on the bench outside. A hiccupped belch escaped him and his fingers flew to his lips, sure that something with more substance was soon to spill forth. He gagged weakly, stomach roiling as a small bit of spittle slipped forth that he spat on the floor, but it seemed the moment passed and he swallowed weakly as he continued on.

Cold water rushed forward first, and for a bit, it was soothing until he began to shake and shiver more…then he couldn’t seem to get it hot enough. The violent shakes made the nausea worse, every muscle in his body tensing, and he pressed his hand to his mouth as the door reopened to the locker room. He listened, hearing someone rummaging, a rookie likely having forgotten his keycard in his hurry to leave. It stretched on while his mouth filled again, this time with a more sour, acidic, thicker saliva that he gagged hard behind his hand before he could stop himself. He swallowed desperately, gagging again before he cold with a loud belch.

“Everything all right in there?” The recruit called, likely not having even checked to see whom he was checking on. “Out!” Came Sephiroth’s cold directive, and the audible squeak that sounded let him know they knew sure as anything now as they rushed out, the door closing in time for a viscous brown spray of vomit to escape between Sephiroth’s bare fingers and nose, splattering against wall and floor and feet. The shower hit it, beginning to dissolve it immediately, but watching it dancing within the drops forced another churn of his stomach. “HRRRUUUUUPPPP!” He wretched loudly, bringing up his own shower of puke, far thicker this time that hit with an ugly wet slop against the tile. Barely had he time for breath or to brace himself against the wall before his stomach jerked hard and he half-choked, coughing as chunks expelled hard enough to travel with some distance against the stall divider, sliding down slow.

“Buuuurrrruuuuupp!” He belched as the tail end turned into another thick stream of puke, the power of his spotting his vision for a moment, and he found himself going to his knees, holding his stomach. The muscles were sore as his tummy hitched, rolled beneath his fingers, and pressed a more liquid stream through his nose and lips, burning with pure acid. He had to catch himself on the floor, something soft squishing beneath his palm as it found purchase on a wet pile of chunk that hadn’t fully dissolved down the drain. His eyes watered as it instantly triggered a painfully loud dry heave that echoed off the walls. “Fuc---uuuuugggghhhh!” He had cursed just to belch and gag again, a strained sound leaving him as the reflex strained for almost too long for him to bear, veins bulging in his neck as his face began to redden. He gagged again, and again, retching painfully, unproductively, while he could still hear the wet gurgles of his upset stomach begging to be released. Desperately, he turned his face up toward the shower’s warm spray and let it fill his mouth, swallowing hard and forcing it down. Another gulp, then another gulp, the nausea turned worse than ever…dizzyingly so. The heat of the liquid seemed to float on whatever was down there, and though he gagged, it refused stubbornly to come up. With no other sign of this stopping, he brought long, pale fingers to his lips, hesitating onto a moment before he passed them through. He coughed and gagged before they were past his tongue, but forced himself to hold them there, pressing deeper til he could work them in and out in his throat, pressing down some on the back of his tongue. Like a waterfall, water rushed up with bile, stinging his nose once more, choking him as his hand moved too slow, covered with throat slime as he expelled it violently against the shower floor, feeling it splash back against his face. He wretched unproductively, breath hitching, before a guttural sound escaped him and he brought up one more productive wave, leaving pink-tinged mucus hanging from his lips. He breathed heavily, his face a mess with saliva and snot, both thick and viscous just spilling slowly out of him for a moment before he found enough peace within himself to work to clean himself up. Slow and steady he first let the water slip over his face, then used to clear the shower walls and the ground, before he would focus what little energy he had left to clean himself up. No reason return back to the lab and give Hojo any excuses for further testing. He just didn’t have it within him today. ~fin~

[emeto-omo]

A scenario where character A stresses themselves out to a point of being sick, but character B doesn't realize it because they're so busy with whatever they're doing (both characters are stressed, let's focus on financial tensions), but stops what they're doing to comfort A after A throws up.

Not sure if Overwatch will work, and I’m sorry it’s taken so long, but here you go. I’m a little rusty at writing emeto fics, it’s been a long time.  ~*~ Jack Morrison’s stomach twisted while he went over the expense reports. While it was nice that Overwatch was governmentally funded, it also meant that there was a ridiculous amount of paperwork and red tape and lines to toe to make sure that they were not only doing the job they felt they needed to do…but also making sure the government got out of them what they wanted. “These expenditures…Reyes, you can’t keep spending like this,” he said pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t just send these kids out there unprepared,” Gabriel snapped. All this bureaucratic paperwork bullshit was nowhere near his thing, and if it weren’t that Jack had practically pleaded that he come, he would have been in the training room, trying to ignore the feeling of what felt like tumultuous specters dancing capriciously beneath his skin. 

“No, and I don’t expect you to. But goddamn, Gabriel. These numbers aren’t adding up.” Jack sighed, throwing the papers down and taking a drink of his coffee. Instantly, he grimaced, his stomach twinging at the intrusion of the acidic liquid long cold. He forced another drink stubbornly to follow it, just chalking it up as stress and having eaten far too much at the luncheon he’d attended with the higher ups. He rubbed his stomach some sorely. 

“Figure it out, Morrison,” Gabriel said, pushing off the wall. “Am I here for any particular reason, or is it just to give you someone to yell at while you balance your pocket book?” 

Jack seethed, standing suddenly. “Really? Gabe, what has gotten into you? You scarcely say two words to me in our quarters, I don’t see you all day here. You disappear for months at a time with recruits, my recruits, and I’m not afforded so much as a warning—let alone knowledge of where you’ll be.”

“Excuse me, whose recruits? You don’t think you have plenty of plastic soldiers to look after, you gotta start poking your head into my business? Can’t just be the poster boy, you have to weave your fingers into what doesn’t concern you?!” Gabriel’s blood boiled, and the hurt puppy look that Jack gave him at his words only served to piss him off more. How dare he try to play the victim here? How dare he pretend he didn’t know, that he wasn’t privy to the way people looked at the two of them…like Gabriel was a ghost, a mere shadow of America’s golden boy they had found in Jack? 

“I never—” Jack paused, his stomach giving an audible protesting whine as a pang of oppressive pain swelled in it. It felt so full, so heavy, and the taught muscles of anxiety that gripped it felt like it was threatening to squeeze everything out of him by any means necessary. 

“What Jack? What? Never meant to forsake us for the sake of chasing the spotlight? To step on me on your way clamoring for power? Control? Never could leave well enough alone, and now the one time I have shit going on for me, getting results, getting praise, you’re going to stand there confused as to why I don’t feel like petting your ego at night?” Jack had never seen such fury, such hurt and…resentment…in Gabriel’s eyes. Not toward him, anyway, and the weight of it splashed into his stomach like a heavy stone into the bottom of a fetid pond.

 “I-“ A sudden, sour belch escaped from his lips, bringing with it a shaking weakness in his knees and a suffocating flush of heat through is body. Gabriel’s brow twitched, about to speak, only to be interrupted as Jack suddenly pitched forward and vomited. A small trickle of acrid black liquid had surged up between his lips and onto the carpeted floor of his office with relatively little ceremony. Jack only had time to give a plaintive, tearful gaze to Gabriel before a painful sounding wretch tore through his form, announcing a far more forceful, thick wave of chunky, brown viscous ooze projected from him to splatter with a loud, heavy plap, plap, plap at his feet. It splashed his boots and began to soak into the blue of the threading of the carpet, turning it a sickly color. “Jack…” Gabriel murmured, grabbing a trash can in a puff of black-violet smoke and reappearing beside him to hold it before him and rub his lover’s back. No matter how mad he was at him, he couldn’t just stand there ignoring the way he trembled, the tears that streamed down his face with the strain. He could feel the heat emanating through the thick fabric of Jack’s dress uniform. “You’re sick.” Blurrrggghhhhppp! A loud wretch and another wave, thicker and chunkier still, came expelling from him, forced further by him giving a choking cough, missing the can entirely. He panted, and dry heaved, spitting into the can. 

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” Gabriel sighed, starting to ease him slowly over to the desk, just getting Jack to sit on the edge and hold the waste can for himself while he continued rubbing his back. 

Jack heaved weakly, bringing up a small mouthful of watery vomit and whined.

 “Shh, you’re alright. We’re alright.” Gabriel comforted, sighing softly. “You worrying about getting better. This…can be a conversation for the morning.”

“Stay?” Jack pleaded, blue eyes blood shot from his forceful vomiting. 

“I’ll stay,” Gabe promised, sitting down beside him, prepared to help him weather the storm.

-fin-

[emeto-omo]

I saw your post about McHanzo prompts, so I was wondering if you might be willing to write something where Hanzo takes Mcree out to eat. Mcree’s stomach feels a little funny, but he doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t want to ruin anything, and food actually seems to help, so he winds up eating a lot, but then his stomach actually winds up extremely sick, and Hanzo has to rub it to help him burp and throw up and he’s just miserable the rest of the night because his stomach is so upset.

((Sorry it took so long, anon! I’ll also be adding this to my Ao3 too! https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmetoOmo/works ))Title: Dinner and a Tummy RubCharacters: Hanzo Shimada, Jesse McCreeSummary: It’s their anniversary, and Hanzo has made a reservation at a local hibachi restaurant. McCree, not feeling well, buries it all to enjoy a wonderful anniversary dinner with his boyfriend. 

----Hanzo Shimada was not one for anniversaries. Outside of his annual visit to his brother’s shrine, he really didn’t care much to observe any. Jesse McCree, however, lived for them and it was on that premise that Hanzo found himself downstairs watching the clock, waiting on McCree to get ready and praying they didn’t miss their reservation.

“Now I’m ready,” McCree said, coming down the stairs with a shit eating grin on his face. The cowboy looked…well…pretty much like he always looked. Maybe a bit cleaner, and not wearing his usual shoulder draping. Definitely a bit rough, however, for their formal dinner plans.

Hanzo stood in stark contrast to him in black slacks, a white pinstripe button up shirt, and a blue and dark grey vest. “You are wearing that?” Hanzo asked.

“What?” McCree asked, looking down at his clothes. “These are my lucky pants!”

“There are no less than three bullet holes in them. I would hardly call them lucky.” Hanzo sighed.

“I ain’t dead, am I?” McCree retorted, a winning grin on his lips.

Despite his usually stoic demeaner, Hanzo couldn’t help but to crack a half smirk. “Come then, before we are too late and they send us back home.”

“There’s always McDonalds…” McCree reminded him, following him out the door.

 ----

 The car ride over had unsettled McCree’s stomach, turning what had been a mild gnawing in the pit of his tummy all day had become more of a slow churn. Truth be told, he’d been so excited that Hanzo had made reservations, he’d avoided food just to be sure he would have room for dinner. Certainly some food would settle it some, right?

Hanzo wasn’t entirely into the Hibachi scene, a little too much show for his taste, but he knew that McCree got a big kick out of the theatrics. Though he had called it formal, it was truly Hanzo that was overdressed for the venue. A quiet table in the corner had been reserved for them…even after the manager had explain painstakingly that they didn’t do reservations for parties of two. It was nothing a little money couldn’t fix.

“Ya really went all out, Han,” McCree smirked, taking a seat and sitting his cowboy hat in the empty seat to the other side of him.

Hanzo sat and rolled his sleeves up to the elbows. “That is what you keep telling me anniversaries are for.” He said, a bit of mirth in his tone.

McCree took in his lover’s appearance, the way a few women across the room kept shooting flirty glances in his direction, giggling to each other. McCree chuckled, making Hanzo look up at him, clueless he was being eyeballed. “What?”

“Rollin up yer sleeves like that, yer givin’ off serious Daddy vibes.” McCree joked, barely able to say it with a straight face. He knew exactly how ridiculous he sounded, and it was all worth it to see the look on Hanzo’s face.

“Daddy…vibes?” He asked confused, a slight cant to his head.

“Yeah, ya know? Daddy vibes. Them…uh…Kristen Grey feels from that Grey movie.” McCree said, watching Hanzo die inside as he butchered that.

“…Christian Grey?”

“Ah! So ya do watch those movies!” McCree said victorious. He had come down stairs one night a few months back and caught Hanzo on the couch watching 50 Shades of Grey, the archer insisting that he had simple had indigestion and was merely dozing where he sat up…McCree was fairly sure he’d been pretty intent in watching it.

“You can spend this anniversary alone, I can go back home,” Hanzo said, crossing his arms, pink creeping across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

McCree only smiled all the more. “Na, it’s alright, I won’t dog on yer terrible movie taste. Ya watch my spaghetti westerns without complainin’,” he chuckled, the fun mood making him forget about the turmoil in his tummy.

Hanzo settled into a comfortable, faux broody silence, thankful when the chef came to their table to start the show. There had been no expense spared, and before they knew it, they were given a veritable smorgasbord of food before them. Not just the fried seafood, veggies, and steak from the hibachi, but an array of sushi, some Udon, and some of the most potent sake bombs.

It was truly enough for six people, but once they got started, they would slowly work through it. McCree found himself feeling better yet the more he ate, glad it was likely just the hunger that had upset his stomach before. Three sake bombs later, he couldn’t remember that it had bothered him at all. Hanzo had only taken one, knowing he needed to drive, but was happy to get more for his lover while they enjoyed their anniversary.

“Wanna feed me?” McCree asked, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, a flirty smirk on his lips as he pushed the last plate toward Hanzo.

“I think you are likely full enough,” Hanzo found himself smiling, amused.

“I am,” McCree said, rubbing his tummy, feeling it gurgle lightly beneath his fingers. “Ain’t that what you like?”

That blush returned on the archer’s cheeks, and he looked around to see if anyone had overheard. “Here? In the restaurant?”

“Where else?”

Hanzo sucked in a breath between his teeth, readjusting how he sat as he felt himself flush with heat. He grabbed his chopsticks and began to feed the rest of it to McCree, being generous enough to let him stop to get some water to help wash it all down. McCree met Hanzo’s dark eyes as he took the shrimp, steak, veggies, whatever Hanzo would bring to his lips. “I’m so full.”

“Just a little more,” Hanzo whispered, a tenderness to his tone. “You know you have to make it home. There isn’t enough room in their restrooms here for—”

“I know, I can do it,” McCree smirked at him.

Hanzo smiled, handing him the remainder of his own Udon bowl, and instructed him to finish it off while he headed to pay the check. McCree took it in hand and began to finish it, chewing meticulously slow to make sure he could get it down.

While he waited for change, Hanzo glanced back at the table just in time to see McCree’s shoulders lurch some, a gag coming up unexpectedly as he quickly recovered. Hanzo’s heart fluttered in his chest, warm and tingling all over. He needed to get him home.

 ---

 “Han…” McCree whined as they pulled into the driveway, the car jerking some as it pulled in.

“You made it this far,” Hanzo said tenderly, already unbuckling both of their seatbelts once he put the car in park. McCree hiccupped softly, sucking in a quick breath of air as the pressure of the belt was released from his stomach, a weak belch coming up without warning.

The archer came around to his side to help him get his door open. McCree’s mouth was watering some, and for several moments, he sat with his head between his knees hanging just over the payment while he still remained in the seat, waiting and willing the vomit to come up. “Not yet.” Hanzo whispered in his ear.

McCree whined softly but took his lover’s hand letting him help him to his feet, and ultimately back within the house. He breathed swallowed thickly as they got across the threshold, his stomach audibly gurgling, painful in its bloating. “I feel so sick.”

“I am surprised. It was a lot, but not the most we’ve done,” Hanzo said softly, crouching to help McCree out of his boots.

“I was…feelin’ sick before we left,” McCree admitted, trying to force a burp, but aborting it once it put up too much of a resistance.

Hanzo looked up. “We could have stayed home.”

McCree gave him a true, albeit miserable smiled, reaching down to release Hanzo’s hair from the bun it was in. “And miss seein’ ya flush knowin’ how sick I feel now? Nah.”

Hanzo could only smile, and reached up to unbuckle McCree’s belt, helping him out of his pants there in the entryway still. As the cowboy stepped out of his pants, Hanzo reached up to run his hand over the swell of McCree’s stomach. Rrrrruuuuuuuuurrrrrhrrrggggllllll.. his stomach audibly whined, the bubbles streaming beneath the flesh under his touch.

“God…” McCree moaned miserably, putting his hat on the hook and moving to unbutton his shirt. He just wanted free of it all, the nausea causing anxiety to climb.

“Shhh, I am here,” Hanzo whispered, kissing his tummy lightly, and standing once more, moved to help McCree over onto the couch.

“Shouldn’t…we go to the bathroom?” McCree worried, not arguing however as Hanzo helped him setting down into the soft cushions.

“I will get the trash can. No reason for you to be more uncomfortable than need be.”

McCree settled back, closing his eyes with a groan. His poor tummy felt like it was a ship adrift on the open seas, roiling to the whims of a summer storm. Just the idea of rough waters made McCree’s mouth water again, and he pressed the back of his hand against his lips, trying to hold back the flood til Hanzo returned.

It was barely a minute when he returned with a small, plastic trash can lined with a plastic shopping sack from the last time they grabbed groceries. Immediately McCree pitched forward to spit the bitterness from his lips, shuddering and giving a weak gag at the stringiness of it.

Hanzo sat and rubbed his back. “Relax. You can let it up.” He said gently, grabbing the remote to turn on one of McCree’s westerns for background noise.

Several minutes passed, filled with groaning and whining from his stomach, the bloating so painful it was almost unbearable. He squirmed uncomfortably, liquid sloshing audibly with every move, but no matter how much he willed and spit, and tried to strain a belch…nothing came up. He had broken out in a cold sweat now, and Hanzo could only watch on with a frown.

“Do you want me to rub it?” He asked softly, still in that scion-esque formal outfit. His only concern was for McCree, not worried about putting wrinkles into his expensive clothes.

McCree nodded pitifully. “Please…” he begged.

Hanzo’s hand rested firm on his stomach, just adding to McCree’s discomfort, even as he began to rub in slow circles. Once he found the bubbles, he chased them, trying to rub them away only to force a loud, wet and gurgling belch from McCree’s lips. “Mm, god..” he groaned miserably.

“Better?” Hanzo asked.

“K-keep going.”

Hanzo pressed a little harder, eliciting another longer belch from McCree, ending with a definite wetness as he spat brown bile into the trash can. He could feel it in his throat, growing like a pressure geyser, and opened his mouth. He let the drool pool and spill from his lips in a long string, his eyes watering some as he felt it burn on the back of his tongue. God, why wouldn’t it just come out?

He let his hand fall wet upon Hanzo’s and pressed in and up hard, instantly making a choking sound as he pitched forward and expelling a small gush of vomit into the trash. “There you go, let it happen.” Hanzo said comfortingly, taking upon himself to press again, forcing up a large air pocket as a burp, only for it to end in a more forceful wave of puke.

McCree was shaking now as his body took the hint, barely giving him a moment for breath before he gagged hard enough it sprayed out of mouth and nose both, and forcing viscous chunks of udon noodles and veggies to spray over the lip of the trash can and onto his lap and the floor. His veins in his neck strained as he gurgled another bunch of tangled noodles up, causing him to choke mid gag, and expel them further onto the coffee table.

Hanzo didn’t make any comment on it, just rubbing McCree’s back with one hand while the other rubbed his stomach. “I’m so sick…” McCree whispered, getting a break finally to catch his breath.

“Not feeling any relief?” Hanzo asked him, kissing his temple. “You feel warm.”

“I feel worse…if…urk….hurrrrrrrrrkkkkk.” He dry heaved loudly, gripping the trash can again. Another painful dry heave tore through on the tail of that one, and he spat a little blood in the trash from the strain.

“Bathroom. Perhaps a better angle will help,” Hanzo whispered, getting up and helping him carry the trash can. They were in for a long night.

 -Fin

[emeto-omo]

Also yes I thought you had deleted your account months ago so I'm overjoyed that you're back and I found you again! :') you're one of my favorite writers here!

Aww! That makes me so happy! Yes, I still have my account, I just haven’t been writing on it. It’s been so hard to find my muse again between working then the pandemic, and now working through some issues of my own that are adjacent. I’d really love to get back into it. I tend to save most of the suggestions I get in my inbox, even if I don’t write them right away.  I also have an Ao3 for any story of mine that you can’t find here! https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmetoOmo

[emeto-omo]

Casual reminder that you can find all 41 emeto fics that I’ve written on my Ao3! I always keep it updated, just in case of Tumblr purges and shit. Plus, way easier than trying to navigate my shitty inconsistent tags. :3

[emeto-omo]

For those of you unable to see it in my tags or anything, I do have it and any other updates I do for my fics on Ao3. 

[emeto-omo]

I’m Not Leaving Tumblr

I just want you guys to know that I’m still going to be sticking around here, unless they actually go and delete my whole ass blog.  But, I do back up every single one of my kink posts up on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmetoOmo Please back this link up. With the current state of things, finding specific kink stories, especially my couple that actually are nsfw, is a pain in the ass. Tag searching within blogs is all fucked up, so if you say...want the New Years one with Jamie/Vincent, you’re going to have a hard time finding it unless you go there.  If you’re into sfw non-kink stories (I have a whole cutsey SidLink trilogy over there), you can check out my main Ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullElven

I will, of course, continue taking requests here for art, stories, ect. It’s kind of hard to request those things through Ao3, but at least you will always be able to find my past stories there :D  If you’re wanting to follow my cosplay, art, and other endeavors, you can follow me any of these places: https://facebook.com/fullelvencosplayart https://instagram.com/fullelven.cosplay https://twitter.com/fullelven https://deviantart.com/fullelven https://patreon.com/fullelven https://ko-fi.com/fullelven

[ao3feed-mchanzo]

Vampiric Appetites

by EmetoOmo

Hanzo has a bad habit of sucking down blood packs, laying on the couch depressed about his state of mortality while McCree is off working. McCree returns to find Hanzo’s practically “drank” himself sick in his absence.

Words: 883, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Overwatch (Video Game)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Jesse McCree, Hanzo Shimada

Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada

Additional Tags: Overwatch AU, Vampires, Vampire!Hanzo, Blood, Vomiting, Stuffing, Emetophilia, Comfort, Depression, Sickfic

from AO3 works tagged 'Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada' https://ift.tt/2MXmM8p via IFTTT https://ift.tt/2MXmM8p

[ao3feed-mchanzo]

The Ballad Of Salty Whore Hanzo

by EmetoOmo

While on a mission, Jack is insensitive to Jesse’s motion sickness, and ultimately pays for being an unreasonable sympathy puker. Hanzo is a salty whore about it the entire time.

Words: 1465, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Overwatch (Video Game)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Jesse McCree, Hanzo Shimada, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison

Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison

Additional Tags: Vomiting, Motion Sickness, Emetophilia, Sickfic, Stuffing

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Sick Dragons Need To Be Pet

by EmetoOmo

Hanzo has been sick all day, and as much as he hated being comforted, he bedrugingly accepts it when McCree returns home from work.

Words: 554, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Overwatch (Video Game)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Jesse McCree, Hanzo Shimada

Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada

Additional Tags: Emetophilia, Vomiting, Sickfic

from AO3 works tagged 'Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada' https://ift.tt/2nkJUmA via IFTTT

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Ride Of Their Lives

by EmetoOmo

Hanzo and McCree head to a local cultural faire where they celebrate the different alcohol around the world.

Words: 1526, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Overwatch (Video Game)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Jesse McCree, Hanzo Shimada

Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada

Additional Tags: Sickfic, Vomiting, Whump, Motion Sickness

from AO3 works tagged 'Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada' https://ift.tt/2vPflcD via IFTTT