#glitchdaddy

You weren’t supposed to be looking. But that’s why he made the mirror crack like that—just enough to split your reflection, enough to catch your eye.

He steps behind you, glitching in softly, fingertips brushing your neck like static electricity with a pulse.

“You watching yourself, sweetheart?” he breathes, voice sharp and low, teeth flashing behind you in the glass.

“I could ruin you right here. Let you watch the whole thing happen.”

Your knees weaken as his hand snakes around your waist, pulling you back into his chest. You don’t know if it’s his voice or the warping world around you, but your pulse syncs to a frequency that isn’t yours anymore.

“Say my name~”

You whisper it. Once. Twice. It echoes—through the mirror, through your bones.

Anti just appears—flickering into the corner of your room like a virus that smells like metal and sin.

“You quit weed,” he sneers, voice distorted and hot against your neck. “Cute. Let me give you a better addiction~”

His hand slides through your waistband like he’s rewriting your code. Static sparks down your spine. You’re panting already and he hasn’t even touched you right.

You only said it once. Barely a whisper.

"Jack..."

The lights cracked. Your reflection disappeared. And something inside your head glitched.

"Wrong name."

He stood too close now. Not Jack. Not safe. His smile static-warped.

"Try again, sweetheart."

You swallowed. His fingers brushed your jaw like a glitch catching on code.

You don't know what pulled you back tonight. You should've left when you had the chance. Should've slammed the door on him, on this whole corrupted thing between you two. But you didn't.

You're against the wall now, Anti's breath glitching across your neck like static—warm one second, gone the next. His hand slams beside your head, the sound fractured, echoing like a broken speaker.

"Didn't I warn you?" he growls, voice sharp and layered, like multiple Anti's speaking at once—one amused, one starved, one just cruel. "I'm not good for you sweetheart."

Your breath catches as his lips hover near your ear. He chuckles—jagged, disjointed—and licks a stripe up your neck, making your knees shake.

"I came back anyway," you whisper, barely audible.

"Yeah," he mutters, suddenly still. Then—glitch—his hand is around your throat. "You never fucking listen."

He doesn't squeeze, not yet. Just holds you there, head tilted, eyes gleaming emerald and wrong. The flicker of green dances across his irises like corrupted code, and it wants.

The kiss is brutal.

Teeth crash. Static bites your lip. His glitch bleeds into you—little zaps against your tongue, jolts of raw, aching energy that make your spine arch. When he pulls away, your lip's bleeding. He smirks.

"Look at that. Already breaking."

You yank him back in, and he glitches mid-motion, appearing behind you. "Tsk. Desperate little thing~" His fingers hook into your waistband. "Beg."

"No," you snap. He laughs, voice distorting. "That's cute."

Suddenly, you're bent over the desk—when did he move you? His glitch makes it impossible to keep track. You blink and he's everywhere—beside you, behind you, inside your head. It's overwhelming.

"I could tear you apart and put you back together wrong," he says lowly, pushing your legs apart. "Wouldn't even feel guilty."

You feel the drag of his fingers now—cold and sparking—as he teases between your thighs. He hums when he finds you already wet. "Ohhhh, baby. You do like being corrupted."

You moan, back arching. He licks down your spine, glitches flickering every few seconds, like he's trying to contain himself. Then he thrusts into you in one sharp motion.

You cry out—pleasure crackling through your body like you're being electrocuted by lust. He doesn't give you time to adjust. Doesn't want you to. His hips slap against you, fast and ruthless, while your name breaks apart in his throat like a corrupted radio file.

"Ahh—fuck—[Y/N]—gonna ruin you—"

Your vision blurs. His hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back, exposing your throat. He bites it. Leaves pixels instead of bruises. The pressure builds fast. Too fast. Your moans are stuttering, matching the rhythm of his glitching. "Anti—!"

He wraps his glitching arm around your waist, fingers vibrating into your skin. "Cum for me. Let it out, glitch girl~"

And you do—violently.

He follows with a corrupted groan, voice short-circuiting as he pumps into you harder, until your name is just static on his tongue. When you collapse forward, trembling, he glitches again—already cleaned up, already putting his shirt back on.

You look over your shoulder, dazed. "You done with me?"

He pauses. Smirks.

Themes include: corruption kink, possessiveness, dominance, and intense glitch-core aesthetics.

"You wanted chaos? You got it."

The room flickered like a bad signal-walls humming, lights snapping between dim and burning. You couldn't tell if the static in your ears was from the busted monitor behind you or from him-Anti-glitching in and out of visibility like a skipping frame, like a virus that knew it was being watched and liked it. Your back hit the wall before your brain could catch up.

"Shouldn't play with corrupted files," he snarled, voice layering with distortion, pitch dropping into something that felt more like vibration than sound. "You might get rewritten~"

You should've known better than to taught him, smirking at the screen like he couldn't reach you. Like the glitch didn't have teeth. His hand was already around your throat-tight, possessive, sparking pixels where skin met skin. Your gasp made him shudder, jaw ticking like a broken puppet.

"Look at you," he growled, glitching closer, nose brushing yours. "Breathing like code's not enough anymore. You wanna feel something real? Here."

His other hand yanked your hips against his. Hard. "Feel me."

You moaned, breathless, the sound swallowed by his mouth crashing into yours. His kiss was feral-all teeth, pixelated static burning your lips, his tongue dipping in like he had to taste the inside of you to rewrite it. Clothes didn't come off, they vanished. Corrupted. Deleted.

You didn't have time to gasp before he shoved you back onto the desk, scattering old tech like it meant nothing. He didn't even care to line up. Just glitched between your thighs with a stutter, a growl, a command.

"Override: consent," he whispered against your neck, but he paused-waiting.

You gave him one look-hungry, rebellious-and whispered, "Execute."

That was all he needed.

He slammed into you like code crashing into a firewall-violent, relentless, shuddering through your entire body. Every thrust came with a flicker of static, a warning tone in the room, a groan punched out of his throat like he was trying to fuck your name into his programming.

His grip tightened around your wrists, pinning them above your head as his pace turned brutal, glitched, inhuman. "You wanted to see what happens when your tempt a virus~"

Your legs shook. You nodded, barely able to form words.

He bit down on your neck, hard enough to blur the lines between pain and pleasure. "You're mine now," he hissed. "Hard-coded. Irreversible."

And then he short-circuited inside you with a growl that echoed through every corner of the room, as if he'd overloaded. Sparks flew from a nearby lamp. The screen behind you burst into white noise.

He pulled back just enough to see your ruined state—sweaty, breathless, marked. He smirked, voice skipping as he whispered,

Anti x Reader - unhinged, feral, and one glitch away from breaking you.

You opened a video. That's all it was supposed to be. A jump scare. A joke. A dare from a Discord server. But the screen never turned off. The lights buzzed. And the voice that came through your headphones wasn't part of the video.

"You look better from this angle," he rasped.

You froze. His face flickered-half Jack, half something else. Smiling too wide. Static dripping down his neck. Glitch lines crawling over his shoulders like veins. The screen cracked.

"Go ahead. Close the laptop." You reached for it.

He laughed.

"I said go ahead."

Your finger trembled. The cursor moved on its own. The lid stayed open and he stepped through. One knee on your desk, one hand gripping the edge like gravity didn't apply to him anymore.

"Too late," he whispered, eyes glowing. "You called me. You kept watching. You wanted this."

You backed up. He followed.

"Say goodbye," he growled, and slammed you against the wall so hard your breath glitched. His hands, cold and buzzing with electric heat, gripped your hips like code rewriting itself around your skin. His mouth hovered just above yours, lips twitching, teeth bared.

"Say it," he breathed, dragging one hand up your spine like a short circuit. "Or I'm not stopping."

You didn't say it. And he didn't stop.

Your back hit the desk. Your clothes glitched-pixelated, torn, discarded like corrupted data. He dragged his teeth down your neck, slow and brutal, laughing low when your legs shook.

"You're shaking," he whispered. "But that's not fear, is it?"

The room flickered. The lights died.

All you saw were his eyes. All you heard was static and breathless moaning. All you felt was him-possessive, obsessed, and infinite.

Anti - X reader —Third Prrson POV — NSFW

She should’ve known better.

The moment Anti found the corrupted file—his corrupted file—messed with, overwritten, touched by her little fingers, it was over. Her wrists are bound in tight, twitching cords of glitching rope, the ends flickering with bright neon. Each movement only tightens then more, as if the code reacts to her resistance.

“You think I wouldn’t notice, sweetheart~?” he hisses, his voice distorted and layered in static. One version low and seductive, the other sharp and aggressive.

“You think I wouldn’t feel it when someone pokes around in places they don’t belong?”

He started stalking around her like he was a predator and she was the prey. One hand crackles with glitches, the other grips her chin hard enough to make her gasp. He leans in close. Too close.

“Say it.”

She doesn’t. Her rope tightens. Her breath stutters.

“I said,” he growls, glitching so violently his form shifts, briefly duplicating behind himself, layered and jittering, “say. It.”

“I-I’m sorry,” she chokes out, eyes wide.

“Anti, I didn’t mean to-”

“Too late~”

He drags his thumb across her lower lip with alarming gentleness. The next second, he has her bent over his desk , stomach pressed to the wood, arms restrained above her. Her legs start to tremble. The cords slither like snakes around her thighs, locking them wide apart. Every time she gasps, he glitches harder.

“Can’t decide,” he mutters against the curve of her shoulder, voice suddenly strained, “if I want to punish you more… or beg you to never leave.”

She freezes. His glitching grows worse. Sparks of pixels crawl up his jawline, past his temple. His hand runs down her back slowly, before landing a sharp smack to her ass that echoes through the room. She cries out.

“Again,” he demands.

She obeys. Again. And again.

And then, he stops.

A glitch fractures across the room like lightening, all the lights flickering out.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, staggering, shaking. His image stutters briefly. One frame he’s over her being dominant and composed. The other consisting of trembling and desperation.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he says, more to himself than her.

His hands loosen the bonds. The ropes dissolve into soft, flickering threads that vanish with a breath. She shifts slightly, testing her limbs, her body aching but tingling at the same time. He doesn’t move.

She turns her head to find him on the floor.

Glitches crawl up his arms like veins. He’s curled into himself, panting, his jaw tense. Not with rage, but with something far more fragile.

“Anti?”

His head lifts slowly. He looks… small. Terrified. Still him. But not.

“I’m breaking,” he confesses in a fractured voice. “And I don’t know if hurting you makes it better… or worse.”

Her body aches, but her heart aches worse.

She moves toward him without thinking, ignoring the stinging in her muscles. She sits beside him, hesitantly reaching out.

He flinches. But he doesn’t move away.

And then… he crumbles. One glitched sob. One broken sound. One sharp inhale before he falls into her lap like a corrupted virus that no longer wants to fight his own code.

She strokes his hair through the static. He doesn’t ask her to stop. The silence buzzes. His voice is as soft as a whisper now, trembling and real.

“Just… don’t leave. Even if I deserve it.”

You’re The Static

He shows up when your brain goes quiet. Right between a blink and a breath, pixelated at the edges.

“You left your window open,” he hisses, glitching half-through your mirror. “Not very smart of you~”

You don’t flinch. You never do anymore.

“Didn’t forget about me, did you?”

You’re about to answer—but your voice cuts out. He smiles. Of course he did that.

“You’re the only one I can’t delete.”

His hand brushes your cheek, fingertips like corrupted data. Cold. Burning. Addictive.

“You’re the static that won’t stop screaming.”