Ditzzy

Hi! You may call me ditzzy!

I am a teenage dirtbag who uses ANY and ALL pronouns, including neos. Please get creative!

I am bisexual with a preference for men!

I have diagnosed autism, ehlers danlos, manic-depression, anxiety, and endometriosis.

My favorite color is pink and my favorite band is counterfeit, followed by 3oh!3 and brokencyde.

Fandoms that I can, have, or plan to write for including specific characters!

HTTYD - Snotlout, hiccup, astrid

EVERYMANHYBRID - Evan, Habit, Jeff, Vinny

UKMCYT - Willne, James Marriott, italianbach

TALAMASCA: TSO - Jasper, guy

TWILIGHT - bella, Jacob

MARVEL - ALL of the avengers, loki

STRANGER THINGS - the party, Steve, robin, nancy

FNAF - most animatronics, Mike Schmidt + afton

YOUTUBERS: Jschlatt, 3FS, Flamingo, tbc

DREAMSMP - ANY character, ccs: tommy, tubbo, ranboo, billzo, quackity, schlatt

THE BLACK PHONE 1&2 - Vance, Finney, robin, grabber, Gwen (bp2 only)

OVERWATCH - Cassidy, reaper

HONKAI STAR RAIL - tba

CREEPYPASTA - most creeps

ARCANE - most characters

CRK - multi

BANDOM: mcr, fob, p!atd, sleep token, tba

FOR REQUESTS:

DO NOT send in multiple asks if I do not respond to yours. If i ask for clarification, you may send another OR dm me with specifics!

PLEASE give yourself an anon name! I had a few but since I never wrote i never really interacted with them but I think its super fun.

Clarify all of the following: pairings, genders of self inserts, top/bottom, kinks, whether you want a hc list, drabble etc.

Now, onto actual fic rules:

I WONT write: brother-sister, Uncle-niece, extreme underage, somnophilia, scat or piss.

EVERYTHING ELSE IS ON THE TABLE! Im serious. All of it.

most of what I write will be self insert, author insert, or otherwise ambiguous. My favorite pronoun continues to be "you"!

__________________________________________

His eyes narrow at the screen, confusion flickering across his face before his lips twist into a surprised grin. Then, he laughs, before reading your message aloud like he can’t quite believe it’s real.

You barely catch it at first.

Your attention is tangled in your homework, pen tapping aimlessly against your notebook, eyes flicking between half-solved math problems and a slowly dying sense of motivation. Your laptop hums beside you, open but mostly ignored—until you hear your name.

Wait.

Breath knocked out of you like youd just been hit by a car, you glance at the screen just in time to see him still looking at your message. Your message.And he was laughing. He says your name again, clear and casual, like it’s not the most surreal thing you’ve ever heard. Like you’re an old friend rather than just a longtime fan. And then, as if it’s nothing, he asks a follow-up question. Direct. Curious.

The pencil slips from your fingers.You shove your laptop forward, nearly sending it crashing into your open textbook, scattering pages and sticky notes across your desk like leaves in a storm. When you finally manage to type out a reply, you don’t just press the enter key, you punch it. The poor thing creaks in response.

But the sound of his laugh when he reads your response? Totally worth it.

You’ve been a WillNE fan for years. Since the early days—the chaotic, slightly blurry videos, the inside jokes only longtime viewers remember, the feeling of being in on something that not everyone knew about yet.

You were always in chat. Maybe not a huge donor, but a familiar name. A regular. And, most importantly, a streamer yourself—grinding through late-night streams, building your community on scuffed gameplay and low effort, usually late, comebacks.

Eventually, your hard work started to pay off. Views trickled in. Then poured. You hit a weird kind of tipping point—suddenly people recognized you. Not just in your own space, but his.

You still remember the first time it happened; Someone mentioned you in his chat. Then another. Then ten more. The messages came fast, overlapping, excited. Curious.

He noticed.

“Who’s this fella everyone keeps talking about?”

You could feel your soul leave your body as he typed your name into the chat search bar, live on stream. And there it was. your entire comment history, pulled up for thousands of people to see.You didn’t even breathe as he scrolled.

“Wait—these go way back,” he said, grinning. “This you, yeah?”

Oh God. He was looking at messages from when you were sixteen. You begged him to close it. And he did! but not before laughing his head off at something you barely remembered typing. Something cringe. Something so teenager.

Your fanbase, small but dedicated, didn’t let it go.

Every time you so much as hinted at a creator you liked, they mobilized like a legion of little mosquitos, bothering and biting wherever they could. comment sections were flooded, DMs were sent, shoutouts demanded. It was overwhelming. Embarrassing. Powerful.It also got you noticed.

People started reaching out. Collabs happened. Doors cracked open. One of them led to someone who knew someone who worked with Will.

And honestly? That wasn’t unusual. Not for Brighton. That place was a bustling city of content creators, and eventually, your orbits were bound to brush.

You didn’t think much of it. Didn’t expect anything huge.Will was massive, and you were… well, not. Not yet.

But the WillNE team reached out anyway. First.

They said, and I quote, “It’ll be good content!”

Classic YouTube logic.

You said; “oh, yeah. Sure. Ofcourse.” Fidgeting with your necklace and wiping one palm down the length of your jeans.

“I didn’t ask for your help, I don’t need your help, matter of fact—why are you even here?!” He’d yelled the moment you rushed to his side.

He was injured, quite badly, from falling off hookfang in the midst of a race. His leg looked scrapped with the pieces of cloth and fur from his gear abstracting it.

 “Please, just let me—” you tried, pleading with him, reaching for his wound. He swatted your hand away, interrupting you with a rather gruff voice.“No. You don't get to come back and act like you care now.” Other riders eventually made their way towards him, hoisting him up and away for help. 

You barely held back your tears. Droplets resting on your eyelid threatened to fall and you messily wiped them away, putting on a more determined face. You had made the journey back to Berk all on your own. No fancy dragons, just you, a boat and some oars. You’d come back for him. His friends were worried. They feared he was growing restless, irritable—all because you had left him behind. Hiccup had pleaded with you to make it right. They each carried the same message every time they visited you: 

“Hes going to get himself killed.”

And you believed it. Seeing him up there, faster than necessary and loose in his steering, you knew he was going to fall. Hell, all of Berk knew he was going to fall. And they cheered him on anyway, hoping he’d make it. If he had been even just a few feet further out, he’d have fallen straight into the water below Berk, and that surely would have killed him.

 You anticipated his fall, watching as his feet lost hold in the holsters, and ran for him. You’d been trying to get him to talk to you for weeks, and you had finally found a concrete reason, but he’d pushed you away once again. 

You found him, eventually.

He was sat in his own bed, head in his hands and looming over his knees. You were advised not to go in. He’d yelled all of the nurses away. Go figure. The second you’d pushed the door open more, it creaked. His head snapped towards you, “i said go aw—” when he was met with your eyes, he faltered.

"The same still applies to you, princess.” he’d said it in a mocking tone, yet your heart still fluttered. He moved back into his position, rubbing his temples and ignoring the ache in his calf, you assumed. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult?” he sounded … defeated. You walked further in.

“Your friends. They’re worried about you.” “Oh, yeah. That’s the only reason you came back. Of course.” He flipped his head back dramatically, rolling his eyes so hard you could practically feel it.

 “I’m worried, too.” Your soft footsteps caught up to his ears, but you had already sat down next to him. “What was that out there? I know you.”

you asked. He wouldn’t turn to face you, no matter how low you positioned your head in his peripheral. 

“I dont..” 

“I don't know. Okay? I dont know.” he stood, suddenly, as if he forgot about his injury, wincing the second he put pressure on it. You stood too, if only to cradle his back as you worried he’d fall. He flinched out of your touch. Your eyes fell. “When you left..” he began.“I dont know. It was like you took a part of me with you.” He looked at you now, but immediately averted his gaze back towards the far wall. “Im not sure i understand, snotlout.”

 “Okay, god, fucking…” he staggered forward. his change in tone and swift movement frightened you, but he caught himself on his hands, supporting his body weight on the table closest. “I loved you.” His words felt like daggers in your heart. Loved? Did he not love you anymore? Were you even entitled to feel this way, after you had left him? The thoughts swirled in your head like a thunderstorm on the horizon of a port city until he spoke again.

“fuck. Love. I love you. Still. I cant deny that to myself. But when you left.. I couldn’t handle it.” he runs his hand through his hair, leaning on the other for support. “Couldn’t handle you leaving me. Because I would never leave you.” he finally, finally turned to face you—and you wished he hadn’t. You, now, looked away.

He laughed to himself, placing both hands back on the table.“you cant even look at me right now.” “Its not that.” You responded, quick and with fervor. You turned back, making short steps closer until you could reach out and touch him, but you didn’t. “I had to go. You dont understand what its like for me.” you implored, eyes wet once again.

You hated it in Berk. The only reason you’d stayed the duration you had was because of snotlout. The dragons, the flying—it shook fear into you more than anything ever could. They were beasts, and the Berk people just.. let them fly away over cliffs and through valleys with them. You even hated the cliff Berk was located on.

“No, I dont understand.” He turned, shifting his weight off his hands, limping slightly. He grabbed your hands, now, cold as ice, and brought them to his chin.

“But you didn’t even give me the chance to show you how wonderful it could be.”  Your cheeks blossomed with heat, your everlasting crush still having an affect even while you were separated. “I cant fly, snot. You know this.”

 “You wouldn’t even let me show you. You didnt have to be alone. We could’ve done it together.” he pressed his lips to your hands, ghosting over your knuckles. 

“Im scared.” You whispered, drinking in the shallow look on his face. 

“Please.” he said, moving his hands to entangle with yours. “Stay.” You began to shake your head softly.

Your mouth moved on its own, contradicting your movements and promising a future you didnt know you could guarantee.

 “Okay. Ill stay.” He pulled you in close, arms cradling your lower back. It was tight, like you’d just settled a deal and you played the role of each other’s hands. 

When he pulled away, he gripped your shoulders. The look in his eyes was more joyous than you’d ever seen him, and all of the darkness from the race had gone. One of his hands dragged up your neck, resting on your cheek when he found it.You stared into each other’s faces for what felt like light-years, until you finally moved in. He was off-guard, startled and slow at first. But soon, your mouths were moving in sync, each movement by him directly echoed by you. His hands began wandering, grasping at your neck and sides like he might lose you again. Your hands wrapped around his neck, clasping together to signal you weren’t going anywhere.

He made ragged steps forward, pushing you indirectly backwards. The kiss only broke when the back of your knees hit the bed and you trampled, pulling him with you. His elbows fell to the sides of your hips. You laughed at the goofy look on his face.

“Hey, who are you laughing at?” He said with a dopey smile, swift fingers finding your waist, digging in and making you squirm. The laugh it ripped out of you was involuntary, and he knew how much you hated being tickled. He knew exactly where you were ticklish (mostly everywhere, to be fair) from when you were children, and used it against you in every scenario. Even this one, apparently. “You!” you feigned shock on your face, gripping the sides of his cheeks and lightly pinching them. 

“Okay, okay, enough.” he pulled himself back towards your face, in for another kiss.

“somebodies eager.” You joked, though he now tried to stay serious, not replying and only crashing his lips back onto yours. His fingers, usually clumsy and uncoordinated, now moved quickly and cunningly, lifting your tunic and splaying his hands across your lower abdomen. You hummed into his mouth, hands gripping the sides of the fabric on his neck. 

Your hands traveled, finding purchase at the skin where his chest was exposed. You pulled at the fabric, desperate and growing irritated.He pulled out of the kiss, leaning back onto his good leg. “Yeah, yeah. I hear you. Ill take it off.” he looked smug when he said that last bit, but you chose to ignore it for the sight of him pulling off his clothes. His muscles flexed as he lifted it above his head, and you involuntarily shut your thighs. “Like what you see?”

he boasted, flexing a few times while you watched, biting your lip and maybe stroking his ego a little bit.You lifted yourself forward, grabbing his neck and pulling him back down.

 “Woah, careful now. Im a wounded soldier.” He mused, and you rolled your eyes in response.

 “and whose fault is that?” You asked, trying to outsass him.

“Yours.” he smirked, stupid and witty. Sick of him, you didnt reward that one with a response. You let your hands follow the curves of his muscles, sculpted from years of training and battles.

 “Feeling me up, huh?” so, so smug. And maybe he was right to be a little bit of a smartass. Atleast in this situation. “Shh… ive never gotten the chance to before.” You said, still slightly squeezing at his bicep as he tensed it. “I mean, ive offered.” That he had. Even when you were both still training, he’d tried to get you to feel his muscles. Even before he really had any. You were always too embarrassed to take him up on the offer.

 His own hands started feeling you, careful of any light touches. He massaged your sides, moving slowly down to your hips, where he left small circles with his thumb.

You reached back up to his cheek, and he nuzzled into it. You hadnt been this intimate with someone since.. well, ever. You’d always dreamed it would be him. When you were just kids it was never like that—it only really happened after dragon training. When he got muscle mass and you got horny. You rejected lots of boys in those days, hoping that your training partner would realize your chemistry.

 The domestic moment barely lasted, with his fingers tugging at your own clothes and nearly ripping them off. Your lips meet again, almost feverishly this time, More a gnashing of teeth and lip than anything. Your hands fold themselves in his hair, lightly tugging.

You can feel him smile against you, and you nearly regret giving him this big of an ego boost. Hes so pressed against you that you can feel his heart beating against yours, wild hunger throbbing against anxious desire. His hands slip under your undergarments, gripping at your naked hips. When he pulls back you follow him, whining when your lips are no longer pressed together. He smirks, clearly enjoying himself.

“Calm down, im not going anywhere.” he assures, and the way he says it you almost feel like its a jab at you. Your head hits the mattress, arms laying across your ribcage. He hooks his thumbs along the sides of his belt, and you nearly shut your legs in anticipation, but they’re blocked by his own hips. He makes a show of pulling his pants off, making sure your drinking in the way his abs are caved in, the v line that leads down them… you could stare at him for hours.

When he finally does pull them off, you shoot up. Hes big. You havent done this before. Oh god. It suddenly dawns on you that you dont even know if it will fit. He notices how scared you look, and immediately goes to comfort you. 

“Hey, hey, its okay.” His warm hands hold your shoulders. “I wont hurt you. We dont even have to keep going if you dont want to.”

your worries dont melt away, per say. They more like chip off in bits as you realize your more scared of stopping than him having trouble fitting inside you. You stifle a moan just thinking about it. “no. No. Okay. Yeah. Itll be okay.” You nod.

He still looks at you gentle, like he may break you as easy as glass. You dont think you hate the sound of that, honestly. He slowly glides one hand down the length of your thigh, closer to your core. You squirm a little, and he anchors you with another firm hand on your hip. 

“Have.. have you done this before?” You asked. And really, its a silly question. You know he has. You just don’t want to believe how skilled his fingers are at undressing, pinning.. among other things.

“a few times.” He shoots you a questioning look. “Havent you?” He inquires, and his fingers stop dead in their tracks when you simply look away. “Youre.. a virgin?” He seems confused, and the blunt statement catches you off guard.

 “I always wanted it to be you.” You say, fighting through the embarrassment.

 “Oh.” His eyes are wide as saucers, with pupils to match. He tilts back towards you, pressing his lips to yours again, smiling all throughout. When he stands back up, hes all goofy smiles. 

“Ill take real good care of you, princess.”

Your stomach twists at the use of the old pet name, once used to ridicule you as children now turned into a term of endearment. He finds his way through your undergarments, with striking ease you may add, and begins stroking you. Your breath catches, and the way he handles you, with completely unbreakable eye contact, you just have to look away. You even cover your mouth when he inserts one finger. His hands are huge, and it stretches you so well. His motions slow, and he uses his free hand to grab your wrist. 

“No, no, no. Come on. Let me hear you.” His lips are curled into possibly the most mischievous smile you’ve seen on him thus far. He knows exactly what hes doing. You lower your arm, but still dont look forward.

“Eyes on me, princess.” princess. Again. And it works. You look at him. The man standing between your legs, with one mangled calf and a dream. He always knew how to get what he wanted from you.

"thats it. Good job.” He praises as he presses his thumb harder onto your clit.

“snotlout..” you breathe. Your fingers scratch at his forearms, leaving noticeable red marks in their wake.

 He takes his time. Knowing you’d never done anything like that before was all he needed to guarantee he’d be the best. Set your standards too high for any man that may come after him.

He waits until you begin to move on your own, whining about needing more. And then, he uses two fingers. Then three… and when he finally curls them and you get so, so close… he pulls out. You whimper at the loss, fingers digging crescents into his arms. He wastes no time in pacifying you.

 “Shhh.. shh.. it's okay.” He pumps himself a few times, and you realize why he left you so empty. You still don't know if three was enough. Even with how big his hands are.. his cock is even bigger. The girth is what really irks you. He lines himself up with your entrance, and pushes.

Slowly. Steadily. He analyzes every small muscle that could possibly move in your face. He studies you for any sign of discomfort, all the way until he bottoms out.

It's exhausting. You know you can't tell him to speed up. He can't. He knows you won't be able to handle it. And yet, you yearn for it. When his hips finally hit your ass, you can't help but notice the way his chest rises and falls. Like he's restraining himself, holding himself back.

It hurts. God, does it hurt. And at the same time, it feels so, so good. Him stretching you, it's like you were made to fit together this way. You try to move yourself, push your hips upward, even slightly, but his hands on your hip steady you. They press down hard, strong, and you can't move even if you really wanted to.

 He throws his head back, and you see a bead of sweat fall down his neck. You notice only now just how big the strength difference between you was. He could overpower you so easily, and yet here he was, only using what force is necessary. You think back to all of the spars that you “won.” How many times he let you be the defeating party in dragon training.. it was all just because that's who he was. He let you take the glory.

For such a proud man, he had surrendered himself to you in more ways than one.

You finally reach a breaking point, where the pain has subsided and all you feel is a deep nagging to move. To gain friction. You pull at his hands, pouting and feeling powerless. “move.” You say, more like a command than a request. His head falls down, looking at you kind of sideways before he gets this glint in his eyes.

“Snotlout. No. I need it.” You contest his idea that you know he had, one where he messes with you and royally fucks up your experience. 

“Oh, fine.” He accepts, mockingly upset at your interference. And then, he pulls out. It's quick but it isn’t subtle. The only part of him that remains buried inside you is the tip, but only for a moment. Because then he's pushing back in. At full force.

 You let out a moan akin to a scream, and his lip ends up nestled between his teeth. He sets a rugged pace, not as attentive as he was before and not nearly as gentle. His hands find purchase everywhere. They caress your chest, grasp your hips for leverage, and eventually he pulls out and they flip you over onto your back. It's so sudden you make a noise when you hit your chest on the mattress, and you can barely look back before he's pulling himself onto his knees on it. He rubs your sides again, a silent apology for how rough he had been.

 “You alright?” He whispers, chest to your back and breath ghosting your neck. 

“Y.. yeah. I’m good.” You're out of breath, but that was less his fault and more your stamina. He's more gentle this time around, taking his time and sliding his hands down your back. It feels great, all things considered. But you get restless.

“Snotlout..?” You ask.

“Hm?” he responds, leaning back over to your neck and pressing soft kisses to it. 

“more.” you say, soft and embarrassed. “please.” You add. 

“Well, what do you mean by that, sweetheart?” He replies, sitting up, still far inside you.

“Harder.” you finally mutter, face halfway hidden in his blanket.

“Harder? Do you mean..” he thrusts with all of his might, causing you to pull your head up. “LIke that?” And you know he's smiling. You know he's got a stupid look on his face and you choose your own pleasure over whatever he's getting at. 

You try to reply, but he cuts you off with another one. “What was that?” He muses, his sentiments from earlier halfway out the window. He keeps steady, pounding into you like he's being paid to do it. You realize you have one more request. “Hand,” you say, holding up your own and looking him in the eye.

Tentatively, he slows and crosses fingers with you. You reach over to the back of your head, where you give one simple instruction. “Pull.” He grins.

“That I can do, baby.” he says, before he's burrowing his fingers to your scalp, and yanking you up. You moan his name, which encourages him to ball his fist on your head. He leans over, still thrusting into you, holding your head up. Looking into your fucked out eyes, you can only see pride on his face. He sits back, pulling your hair up with him. Your back arches and you have to use your elbows to support yourself. You swear you hear your spine crack.

 Your stomach tightens, and you can nearly feel it doing flips. As your stomach grows tighter, so does your cunt. When your walls clench around him, he can tell you’re close.