#hatter x reader

More laughter. Flip-flops dodging shards of misplaced glass. But you were aware that, in the end, they were all taking momento with a knot in their throats. In a reality where a week is traded for suitcases and files and unrolled sleeves, Fridays leave room for everyone to store their mistakes. Entering this one reality was freefall. As if time contracted itself to the same day, droning, trudging, like a broken disc. You closed your eyes, chose to ignore the lingering smell of citrus in your nostrils. 

Someone had died today. 

Because that’s simply how things worked here. Death was a persisting thought for everyone wretched enough to land in this place; even for the ones who had it between their teeth. The Beach came as a band-aid for purgatory, a cheap thrill, yet here you found yourself, flat-eyed and confused, spilling the rest of your drink on the ground and hoping whoever would take it was resting in peace. Heavy breathing, the world distancing from you in waves, your heart tamped between your lungs. Ice-cold chlorine fondling your feet, you started to sort memories from moments ago. You’d renewed your visa. Showered. The night you’d spent in the prismatic flash of the dance floor, knocking back a few shots and losing control of your body to after-hours beats. Sweaty forehead, glitter on your chest. 

As chance encounters go—you spotted him when you last needed to. Elbows propped on the bar with neon running a pink cast across his hair and a woman stitched to his face, he was a homemade majesty for a world that didn’t ask for it. Hatter, with his shoplifted sunglasses and iced whiskey and dubious hospitality. He bit the girl by the bottom lip and watched you from the corner of his eye as he did, his mouth slightly coiling into obscenity. And just like any other object starring your personal history of oversights, it happened that you'd seen this smirk before. You knew it well enough to have the temperature of your blood rise to hellfire. 

She was a pretty thing. A pretty thing with a pretty face, at that, shoulder bone stabbing through skin and hair lining the chin in a symmetrical cut. Her swimsuit was two-piece with a loose string that slid down her shoulder when she wrapped her arm around him. You didn’t remember ever being coupled with her for a game, and for a moment there you envied Hatter’s ability to register even the less conspicuous of names. Dark hair was brushed around his ear in a tantalising way that revealed distant parts of his jaw and neck. The fingers that rested on her chin were long and slender and glimmered when the light shot into a chichi display of rings methodically lined just under the knuckles; over his shoulders he wore the usual robe that made him look like a sunscreen commercial running on loop. Polished and overripe. 

If you were brought to say out loud, there was nothing more going on between you than some chardonnay-prompted chats and an insignificant number of nights spent on the balcony of his suite. For a clinical tongue-wagger like himself he had turned out a decent listener and you were surprised at how much you were ready to reveal about yourself. You watched him lay out his cards in dim-lit solitude and explain the unequivocal importance of consolidated communities. This morning when the executives called you in to head for a game, he made sure to slide a firearm under your car seat. You returned with a splitting headache and metal on the roof of your mouth; Eight of Hearts tossed on the coffee table, red-smudged, his eyes begging for detail, you stepped out into the hallway and promised yourself not to look back. 

Music spread about the crowds like oxygen, someone elbowed you in the arm, and you flinched, blinked, looked over your shoulder. In different circumstances maybe you wouldn’t have even considered it. But you were angry and drunk and all you really needed to brush your pride at this point was to have a sweet someone flutter their eyelashes at you. Flashing lights, collarbones pulsing, lips half-opened, all dulling your thoughts into decision. 

Two could play at this game, after all. 

So you kissed them. Deeply, slowly, as the floor felt like being dragged from your feet. It became harder for you to remember the right order of later events. You saw a hip there, a vomiting head somewhere else. Danced more, touched more, then the next thing you knew you were edged into a secluded place where you didn’t need to shout over the music anymore and whatever you did with the person you brought there would remain up to the world’s imagination. Everything was a whirling blend of faces and colours and suddenly you felt thankful for all these people making you forget about what you experienced during the daytime. You also remembered the nausea, the tiles of the bathroom floor, you floundering outside with a glass of gin and tonic you didn’t know where the fuck came from.

You needed to take some air. 

A sigh left you, hot and heavy. The water hugged your calves in small folds of movement, a slight gush of sobriety climbing in your exploding temples. You turned your head towards the red and blue sitting next to you, a bittersweet smile hanging in anticipation of your voice. 

“So?” you managed, your throat surprisingly soar. 

A moment passed. 

A small chuckle fragranced the air. He smelled like amber and citrus and those fucking cherry superslims he used to smoke. “This is when you tell me to fuck off, I take.”

“Is that what you expect of my manners?” you said. “No, stay, let’s see how long you can feel sorry for yourself.”

“You think I’m pulling an act?” Takeru rested an ankle upon his knee; the movement was soundless, deliberate, a jaded Dionysus brought to divine trial. 

You avoided meeting his stare. A corner of your lips hitched an inch higher at his response, like extracting the solving of a riddle. “Are you not?” 

Then the laughter came out again, hearty this time, with his head thrown back and chest moving in an offensive staccato. You watched him as he regarded you with his tell-tale amusement and remembered the foul ways this world renders a man, edging between sanity and rehearsed conduct. But you knew Takeru well enough to tell he wasn’t a product of the games. 

Unlike the rest of you, he was made for this. Viper sliding out of old skin. 

Swiping the tears from his eyes, he said, “In my defense, I wasn’t expecting you’d know how to use it.”

You shot him a look. “That makes you an asshole and an idiot.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “You were, I–” a tap into concrete, once, twice, rephrasing the thought. “I should’ve come with you.”

You dragged your feet out of the water. “You simply don’t get it, don’t you now?” your frown was a wretched junction of jeer and accusation. 

“Not really, no,” he said. “But I’m sure hoping you'll break it to me soon.”

“Ok, sure. I’ll tell you what you shoulda done,” 

Takeru crossed his hands, his eyes fixing now an imaginary spot across the pool. 

Silence. 

You took in a deep breath. 

“Nothing,” came out slow, painful. “Absolutely fucking nothing. I shouldn’t have been here, ok? What happened today confirmed it for me if anything. My chance at living is granted by someone deciding to fool around bending the rules, I didn’t do anything to deserve it.” 

“That’s simply not true.” Takeru hummed, taking yet another moment to himself, his profile shimmered graciously with a grin forming at the corners of his mouth. It made you think of satin sheets and Lotus Eaters, staining your lips with the fullness of a pomegranate. “You are more deserving than you give yourself credit for, sweetheart. It wounds me actually that you think I’d go out of my way for someone who isn’t.”

But you’d come out of your way for yourself. Something close to laughter vibrated inside your throat, your stare grew blank. “And if I tell you I find it selfish either way?” 

“Selfishness carves lovers,” he said, heaving a dramatic sigh. “Besides, it saved your life, did it not?” Words took to a whisper as he let his head fall on your shoulder. His breath smelled of cherries and alcohol. “I’m glad you chose to stay with us lesser things.” Me.

Across from you kindled water painted itself in irregular strokes upon the walls of the resort. Sound of glass shattering inside, a group of three lumbered into one another on the way to the bar. With a veer of what felt like losing consciousness, you experienced life in particles and molecules, microscopic worlds overlaying each other so fast and so slowly at the same time. Big-Bang. You wrapped your arm around Takeru, thumb digging into the texture of his clothes. His mouth moved to tell you something more, selfish, and you closed your eyes, pushing a tear off your eyelashes. Apocalypse. 

“You didn’t mean that,” you said, forced playfullness, rested your temple against his. 

“Who knows,” a long murmur of secrecy was wrapping you both in a distant space between movement and sleep. His fingers stroked your eyes to spare you from another tear. “I’ve earned myself a couple more days with your pretty. Better start making every minute worthwhile, for once, for both.”

Behind your eyelids lingered an unspoken ache for a reality where you didn’t kill anybody, and you weren’t versed to look for sympathy in the arms of someone who had done worse, and where you wouldn't worry that this peacefulness could be taken from you in the blink of an eye. His hair was velvet against your jawline and his touch warm enough to make you stay. 

“I’m still hell mad at you,” you said against him, a faint sound. 

You felt a small shrug pushing into your ribcage. “Very well,” he said. “Won’t fault you for feeling that. Sort of saw it coming.”

There was nothing going on between you, you’d convince yourself every morning after. Somewhere you imagined him doing the same. Takeru liked to market himself as a creature of instinct; but there was something serpentine about him, too, still, poised, always calculated. Someone who’d store the right word for the right person and snatch their trust when less expected. Isn’t this what false prophets do after all, sweetheart? your eyelashes brushed the thought against the tip of his thumb. 

It’s always the fear of rejection that would get the worst out of these ones. 

“Perhaps I’m not in the right place to ask,” he said again, and even with your eyes closed, you could see the grin climbing upon his lips as he did. “But have I ever told you how hot you are when you're pissed off? You were electric in there.”

This time you let the chuckle escape you, a little unconvincing under the trails of tears that had rolled down your cheeks, a little wrecked. 

"That right?" 

"Mhm." 

“Does your friend know that, too?" you said. "Next time tell her I make my own cocktails or something.” 

“I'll make sure the message's heeded,” Takeru’s voice was sultry by your ear, he rolled his head to catch bits of your best angles. “However I’m wondering if this is the best magic you’ve got, darling.” 

“It sure worked with you,” The ease it took to say this was enough to lift your spirits. Neither could you deny the thrill hitching up your throat as you found his eye, first time tonight, dark waves reflecting a flicker of intrigue that for a fleeting second you allowed yourself to indulge. “And I wasn’t even trying.”

It was a strange thing, this feeling that you had, something bitter you couldn't quite place but were clever enough not to associate with love. 

Takeru's sigh came out long and dreamy in the starless night. You smirked.

No, this wasn't love, you concluded further, but rather the unexpected realisation of feeling anything at all, the weight of existence pressing down your shoulders. A drowsy appetite for life with its worths and misfortunes readying to flash at you all at once. 

(y/n) grinned as he sang out his heart on top of the stage at another one of the Beach’s many parties. It was his job, technically. Get the mood up after an intense game for most of the players, keep the people happy. It made Hatter’s job much easier. And (y/n) would do (mostly) anything for Hatter.

He was his savior after all.

Soon the song finished and he grinned, yelling out happily. “Everyone did so amazing!” He called out, and people cheered back at him. Sometimes, he could just pretend that this was his normal life. That he had gotten out of that shell of his, that his sister as just off somewhere with her friends, and he was here- at a normal party with a normal life. But he wasn’t. This was the Borderlands. Where he could die if he wasn’t careful enough.

“I'd like to give thanks yet again, to our lovely leader.” (y/n) said, with a charming grin as he held out his hand to point out Takeru Danma, or Hatter as he was known to everyone else. He only knew his name because of a drunken one night together- just a normal night. “Who has given us a chance at life again, and a safe haven for us to live in!” He said, and everyone cheered at that

(y/n)’s eyes tried to see Hatter’s face clearly, but it was hard with the atmosphere and those damn sunglasses. But, he could see that clear grin on his face- and that was enough. His job here was done. He hopped off the stage and talked with some of the members, grinning before he could see a familiar hand wave him over. (y/n) waved goodbye to the members and trotted up to Hatter. Niragi, Aguni, and An were there as well.

Niragi sneers at him, muttering ‘Hatters Dog’ to him, and (y/n) ignores him. “You wanted me Boss?” He asked Hatter, and the male hummed in response. “Your performance was spectacular, like always..” He says, taking a sip of his drink.

“Glad it lived up to your expectations. I was given a task, and I take those very seriously.” He said.

Hatter nodded to that response, clearly pleased. “Why don’t you stop by my room later? We can talk more without… prying ears. Just about future things at the Beach.” He said with a hum.

(y/n)’s heart was loyal to Chishiya. Mostly. It wasn’t fully his until he knew that he could trust that damn Cheshire like man with his heart. That led to a problem though, that it was quickly being filled with Danma. What was him and falling for emotionally unavailable men? The daddy issues? Probably. He knew Danma wasn’t the type of guy to fall in love, and honestly, (y/n) didn’t expect him to. The Beach’s code was open with relationships of any sorts. No one tied down, because who knew if you’d live to see tomorrow- so why not have fun with it? But the way Hatter carried himself, his mannerism and personality charmed (y/n) easily. Not to mention, in a way, Takeru Danma had saved him.

When he had first come to the Borderlands, it was just him and his sister. Back at home, he had been a recluse. Emiko, his sister, had been the only person to try and get him out of his shell. So when they both had arrived at this.. Strange world. (y/n) clung to his sister– and the two of them quickly figured out the rules for the land. (y/n) started getting out of his shell, and started quickly making allies and friends with each game they played. It was like he was becoming a different person. 

Then disaster struck, and it was like (y/n)’s worst nightmare had come true. While playing a Diamonds game, (y/n) had made a mistake. And a mistake in a Diamonds game was fatal. The cost was his sister, who had been his partner in this cruel game. 

(y/n) didn’t didn’t know if he could go on after that game. He had 5 days on his VISA, and all he did was just hide in the room that he and Emiko had been taking shelter in recently. On the last day, he almost just let his VISA run out. (y/n) just.. wanted to give up. His older sister was the closest person to him growing up– the one person to try and get him out into the world. Without her, he didn't think he could survive. These games were basically hell, so where would he go after he died? But he didn’t let his VISA run out. Maybe he heard his sisters voice in the back of his head– or maybe he just managed to get himself out of the funk but.. (y/n) got up. He held his phone tightly in his hand and went to find another game

That’s when he met Ryota, a strange man around his age who was wearing Beach clothes. (y/n) thought it was strange, but when they started talking– Ryota quietly mentioned he came from a sort of safe haven. He technically wasn’t supposed to mention this to anyone, but once the game had finished– Ryota had apparently thought (y/n) had done amazing. His specialty had to be Clubs. So he told him that he would see if their leader would send out an invite to him. Ryota told (y/n) to meet him at this location, and if the leader agreed to let (y/n) in, there would be someone to bring him to said Beach.

In the end, someone had come that day. Niragi, he had introduced himself as. (y/n) could tell something was off about the man- but he didn’t speak on it. Maybe it was stupid of him, but he trusted Ryota enough that he probably wasn’t sending him to his death. I mean this place was literally death everywhere. (y/n) had a sack put over his head and taken to a car, before they seemed to arrive at their location

When the sack was taken off his head, (y/n) was tied to a chair in a big room. On the wall across from him was giant black and red man-made playing cards. A lot of them were X’d off, and (y/n) realized what those were. The cards he had been collecting..

Then the man himself walked in. He was wearing swimsuit shorts and a long robe, and had sunglasses covering his eyes. He carried himself in such a high regard, before he stood in front of (y/n). 

Hatter, as he introduced himself to be, told him about the Beach. About how it has become a utopia, and they are working together to collect all the cards. Because Hatter believes if you collect a full deck- you get to go home. The man rambled on for a bit more, before he told (y/n) that he heard he was a skilled player. And Hatter was feeling generous, so he would offer him a place here. The rules were simple. He could party, have sex, do drugs- whatever he wanted. But he had three rules. 

Rule number one, He had to only wear beach clothes.. Which explained alot- and why Ryota was wearing them the day they met. (y/n) could handle that- he wouldn’t mind wearing beach clothes. 

Rule number two, was that all of the cards that he collects belong to the beach. He apparently had already taken the cards that (y/n) had collected- which.. Okay fair. 

And the last rule, the one that made (y/n)’s blood run cold. Rule number three, Death to all Traitors. (y/n) never planned on betraying anyone, but just the thought of what happened to those peoples.. The way Hatter said it. But he just smiled at (y/n), waiting for his response. (y/n) wondered what would happen if he declined. But he didn’t. He agreed to the three rules and Hatter cheered.

Hatter waved his hand and a girl with short black hair untied him and he pulled his hands to rub his wrist. The man in front of him hums– telling the girl (An? Yeah, tha’ts her name) to lead him to his new room and let him choose his new clothing. An nodded and helped usher (y/n) to his new living arrangements.

(y/n) quickly climbed the ranks and got used to the life at the Beach. Here he could forget about the outside world for a bit. So as he got accustomed to the life, he wanted to say thanks to Hatter- and this new life that he granted him. So he basically just kept the party spirits up, talking up Hatter and making him sound great. Which was easy because like him- everyone else was grateful for the ‘new chance at life’.

One thing let to another, and (y/n) became an executive. His task was easy, and he enjoyed it well. Just like what he did, he would make Hatter painted out in a great light. Keep the spirits up, sing songs to keep the party going. Make the place feel like a home- so no one would dare to think of leaving or betraying their cause.

So he had some admirability for him in that way. And (y/n) was easily swayed with love- being a recluse most of your life will do that to you. So when Hatter told him to stop by his room later, (y/n) grinned and bowed slightly, looking up to meet his gaze “I will be there. Let me go around the party and check in with everyone. I heard we got some new recruits and.. Well I should talk up my favorite boss, hm?” He said with a grin