| Plaything | Antisepticeye x Reader

Chapter 35

Anti returns sooner than usual, but covered in blood. His shirt is completely ruined, and his jacket might be as well. There's a large cut in his left arm, and his darker blood mixes with the brighter red of whomever he killed. He seems pleased with himself, though. I gesture to his arm.

"What happened? Did someone fight back?" I ask. "Or was it another one of those 'art projects'?"

"Most of them do, eventually. All that matters is that they stay scared," he shrugs, running a finger over the bleeding gash. "And, if that's what you want to call them, sure."

"I was planning on heading back out to get something to eat, and I'm assuming you'd want to come with. Do you wanna, uh... change, though? Possibly hide the massive cut in your arm?"

He looks at his shirt, as if noticing that it's drenched for the first time. Then, he snaps his fingers and his shirt is perfectly clean. The gash on his arm is also gone. Anti pulls a smartphone out of his pocket and looks at the time.

"When did you get a phone?" I ask.

"I've had a phone," he replies.

"You know," I sigh, "texting me would be a lot easier than appearing wherever I am whenever you have an issue with me."

Anti shrugs. "It'd be less fun."

I accept his answer, stand from the couch, and we head out. I guide us to a great restaurant down the street. As we wait for our food, I become lost in thought, eventually wondering what art project Anti could possibly have.

"What do you do, paint in blood?"

He'd been staring at me the entire time, but his eyes suddenly come into focus. Anti almost seems anxious. I can feel his leg bouncing under the table.

"Pretty much."

"What type of stuff do you paint?" I ask, genuinely curious. He doesn't answer. "Is it something personal?"

There's a beat of silence, but he finally responds, "Sort of."

I sigh in exasperation, sitting back in my chair. "Oh, come on! You literally know almost everything about me because you can read my damn mind. At least let me know a little bit about you."

"I told you, it's personal."

"So's the stuff in my mind," I counter. "That doesn't keep you from poking around in there."

Anti stays quiet, seeming to consider my response. I say, "I'm not gonna try to make you tell me everything, but I have a right to know some stuff. You don't respect my privacy, so I'll do the same to you."

He runs his tongue over his teeth, then sits forward and sighs. "Alright," Anti surrenders. "What do you want to know?"

A smile appears on my face as I sit forward, as well. "I won't pry too much, so let's start with something simple: What's your favorite color?"

"Really?"

"I said I'd start with something simple."

"...Green."

"Bit predictable, don't you think?"

"Are you gonna ask another question, or not?"

"Fine, fine. What's your favorite type of weapon?"

Anti's eyes light up for a moment. "Chef's knife: Straight edge, stamped blade, stainless steel handle. Close second is my custom chef's knife: Serrated edge, forged blade, POM handle."

"Detailed. Nice. Do you ever use a gun?"

"They're too loud and it's over too quickly. The victim doesn't have time to suffer. I don't get a chance to see the fear in their eyes," he replies casually.

"Detailed. Morbid. So," I say, deciding to get to my desired question, "what do you paint?"

He grimaces. "A name."

I roll my eyes. "Really? Alright, fine. Be that way." There's a momentary pause. "What's your phone's passcode?"

"No."

Our waiter comes and brings us our food. I thank him as he leaves. Anti hardly touches his food. Unsurprising. I quickly eat, pay, and we begin to head back home. During the walk, I wonder how Anti could be embarrassed about something he did. It's totally out of character for him–

He interrupts my train of thought by saying, "I'm not embarrassed. You just don't need to know."

I toss my arms up in frustration. "See? This– This is what I'm talking about. You just read my mind whenever you want and I can't even get something as simple as a name from you?"

Anti rolls his eyes and ignores my outburst. When we get home, I see him leave his phone out on the table, probably confident that I won't figure out the password. Later, when he's left the house, I think through a couple different variations.

His name? 2684 doesn't work, because there's not enough numbers. 2668999 is one too many. Knives? 564837. The phone buzzes, telling me that I was wrong. C'mon. Think, [Y/N]. Think.

I google something quickly, then return to his phone. Finally, I try one last number combo: 103116. The phone clicks open.

Sure, he's gonna kill me for this, but it's whatever. I've angered him just as much, before.

I don't even have to scroll through anything before I see that his photos are open. The picture that he was looking at was an image he took of a dead body on the floor. It's horrible to look at, in that regard, but there's something written in blood on the wall behind the crumpled form... A name.

The phone is snatched out of my hands almost immediately after it opens, and I turn to face a glaring Anti. He looms over me, eyes glowing.

"The fuck did you think you were doing?"

"The honest answer is: I was being nosy. Side note, give credit where credit is due: I did figure out your passcode after only one wrong answer," I shrug.

Anti rolls his eyes and backs away from me. He points the phone at me with a final warning: "Don't do that again."

I nod and he disappears again – with his phone, this time.

There's a brief moment where I relax and sigh. Then, once I feel certain he isn't paying attention to my thoughts anymore, I flop onto the couch, mind racing a million miles per hour.

Was that my name?!

{A/N} No, I didn't pick green just because it's "his color". If you know anything about color theory and Jacksepticeye, you'll figure it out! Also, can you guess what his passcode means? That one's a bit more obvious, in my opinion.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter of "Plaything" as much as I enjoyed writing it. Comments and votes are super appreciated. Thanks for reading! ~Blue