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The Abyss || Quentin Beck x Reader

wordcount: 3.6k

a/n: i’d usually include a summary, but i think it’s best if this one just unfolds.

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He’d expected to see more children in attendance. After all, so-called “magic” was tailored to enthuse their small, undeveloped minds. The poor, gullible things. I mean, imagine believing that a quarter could really materialize behind your ear out of thin air, or being genuinely ecstatic because yes, the eight of hearts was indeed your card! Little idiots.

But who could really blame them? Not Quentin. He knew that the apple and the tree went hand in hand. Kids believed in magic, parents believed in CNN. Put them both together and it made for one big stupid, happy family.

Still, the age demographics of the crowd slowly pouring into the dim auditorium took him by a bit of a surprise. No one looked a day under fifty. Quentin couldn’t help but cringe from his hidden corner in the dark rear of the theatre. He was already compromising his own dignity by sneaking into the place, but God these people actually paid to be fooled? Now that was downright embarrassing.

Not that they couldn’t afford it.

Not only did the patrons appear to be older, but by the looks of their attire they had obtained quite the amount of wealth in the span of their years. The women dressed like modern-day flappers draped in real pearls and the men wore tailored suits like Gatsby, gold diamond cuff-links winking just as arrogantly as their wearers whenever they caught the smallest glint of candle light.

And as if to really bring it home, the place they were all packed into was more hidden than a speakeasy. All dark alley on the outside, chandeliers and champagne within. There was even a goddamn secret password for crying out loud.

Thanks to advanced AR technology however, that was one thing Quentin didn’t need to worry about.

“Mr. Connaly?” The security guard in the alley had stared quizzically when Quentin appeared before him. He was thinking, but not really.

Quentin knew that there was a little voice going off inside the man’s head, telling him that something wasn’t quite right. That there was something a little off about this Mr. Connaly. Perhaps it was his posture, or maybe it was his eyes. Didn’t matter what that little voice was saying though. Quentin also knew that he wouldn’t listen to it.

“I thought you already went inside,” the man finally spoke.

Quentin tilted a head of gray hair, squinted a pair of brown eyes.

“Do I pay you to think?” he asked in a voice that wasn’t his own. More gravel. Connaly was a smoker.

And just like that, the guard blinked away all of his doubt.

Quentin wondered if God knew that when he gave man intuition it would go to such waste.

“Uh, no, sorry,” the man stammered, “step right in, sir.”

That simple.

You didn’t need a password when you owned the place -- or when someone thought you owned the place.

Now there he was, illusion executed, standing as himself in the back of an auditorium where according to William, something amazing was going to happen.

“It was unlike anything I had ever seen before!” He’d waved his hands in childlike astonishment. “Like real magic!”

Quentin frowned. “What are you, five?”

The mousy engineer turned red with embarrassment, returning his hands to their usual thumb twiddling position.

“No, not at all.” He cleared his throat before speaking again. “But whatever it is, if we could learn it, it could take what we do to the next level.”

Quentin scoffed.

“Learn it?” he mocked. “Learn what, sleight of hand? Equivoque? I developed the most cutting edge illusion technology on the planet, and you want me to go learn party tricks?”

“N- No, none of that, Mr. Beck, sir.” William shook his head fiercely. “This is quite more than that.”

He took a step forward and handed him a laminated flyer. It was all black except for two white words typed in sleek, futuristic font: The Abyss.

“You have to see it to believe it.”

It was an ironic thing to say, but there Quentin was now. Eyes ready for the seeing. He just had to know what was so damned special that it could possibly build anything greater on top of his life’s work. And there were only eight more minutes until he found out.

His eyes were so laser focused on the closed red stage curtain hiding what he came for that he was startled when he heard a woman’s voice nearby.

“Is this your first time?” she asked, holding a glass of champagne that now held only a fourth of its original contents. Some of her lipstick had come off on the rim, leaving two red half moons on the inner and outer edges of the bubbling flute. She was an older lady like all the rest, but she looked like the kind who spent fortunes on anti-aging creams and the occasional Botox shot.

Unless she was purposely going for the slightly creepy mannequin look, neither seemed to be working out too well for her.

“Indeed it is,” Quentin answered, uncrossing his arms for the first time since he settled in. He hadn’t realized just how up tight he probably looked in this sea of people laughing, conversing, and getting tipsier by the minute.

The woman laughed though nothing was remotely funny.

“Well aren’t you in for a treat.” She then looked him up and down, unconsciously wetting her crimson stained lips. “Though you do appear to be on the younger side, so you mustn’t be a member. Are you a guest of Mr. Jameson’s? He said he had a nephew who was quite wealthy that he would be bringing soon. I was very impressed by how wealthy he sounded. Are you him?”

Quentin was just about lie like he so compulsively tended to do when a disembodied voice boomed from the surrounding speakers. “Five minutes left until we enter The Abyss. Please find your seats now.”

The woman did a slight jump in excitement before finishing the rest of her drink and waving the question away. “Oh, never mind that,” she said. “I don’t want to be the last one standing. Have fun!”

She scurried her way back toward the settling crowd while Quentin remained where he stood. He could stand just fine. He had come for one purpose and one purpose only and it wasn’t to get comfortable.

People around him shuffled into seats, chattering giddily like children on a field trip. Quentin’s curiosity was an irritating itch that grew with every passing moment. Why were these grown men giggling like school girls? What the hell kind of show was this?

Five minutes passed, and he was about to find out.

In one instant, without any prior announcement, the room went dark and silent. Every light, every candle, and every voice went out all at once.

It was unsettling how quickly it happened. The contrast was stark. Not even a silhouette could be seen nor a whisper heard. It if weren’t for him being able to feel the ground beneath his feet, Quentin would have thought he was floating in the middle of, well…. An abyss.

But he still wasn’t impressed. Anyone could flip a light switch and quiet a crowd. Whatever came next would have to be extraordinary for Quentin to truly consider it worthy of his respect.

That’s when a warm voice cut through the silence and inadvertently sent goosebumps running all up and down his skin.

“Welcome to The Abyss,” it said. “Do not be afraid of the dark.”

Quentin’s breath hitched. Not because he was in awe, but because the air around him had suddenly grown cold and he didn’t like that his body was reacting.

He was only there as a detached watcher, but that didn’t stop the hair on the back of his neck from standing at attention, and his heartbeat was starting to quicken too.

“My body’s biological response to the unknown,” he reasoned with himself. “It’s out of my control.”

“The universe began in darkness,” the voice continued, gentle and soothing. It was the kind of voice one would use in reading a bedtime story. “You began in darkness. When we close our eyes, we see darkness. The darkness is our friend. And from the darkness, comes creation. Darkness can be molded, folded, whittled, wielded, made into something... from nothing. It is a power all have, yet few master. Tonight, we unlock the power. Are you ready?”

Quentin expected this to be the part where the lights cut back on and the crowd erupted into loud, cajoling cheers, but no such thing happened. The silent darkness remained. It was so quiet he started to wonder if everyone else had left and if he was the last person remaining.

Then the voice returned.

“Good,” it said. “Let us begin. Follow my instructions.”

There was a woosh, followed by the faint beginnings of a song that started off softly. A mellow lullaby, slow-tempoed with twinkling instruments that made Quentin feel relaxed.

“Close your eyes,” the voice instructed.

He chuckled. His muscles might have gone loose but that didn’t mean he was about to take orders from somebody he couldn’t even see. And he surely wasn’t going to close his eyes and risk missing anything. Something that could reveal whatever big secret was hiding in the darkness.

“Uh oh,” the voice sounded, taking on the tone of a mother chastising a small child, “someone isn’t closing their eyes.”

The chills came again.

“Follow my instructions. Close your eyes,” the voice repeated.

“Cameras,” Quentin thought to himself. “Night vision lenses. And someone must have opened the door. That’s why it’s so cold. In August. So cold.”

The lullaby grew louder. Something was coming over him. He was so relaxed. So sleepy. He blinked a few times. Open, close, open, close, open, close.

What came after close?

The music was getting even louder. All the tension in his body, diminishing.

And actually, he liked it with his eyes closed. He didn’t want to open them. He just wanted to hear the voice. That sweet, warm voice.

Then like an answered prayer, it came. Except this time it didn’t seem to be coming from any speaker. It sounded like it was inside him. Inside his head. Whispering. Soft.

Do you see it? it asked.

Quentin tried to move his mouth to respond, but he wasn’t in control of his body anymore. Did he even have a body? He couldn’t see anything. Except for those tiny white specks. Were those stars? Where was he? Panic slowly started to arise, but then --

Sh, sh, sh, the voice soothed him. It’s alright. Relax. You don’t have to speak here. Just think, Quentin. I’ll be able to understand you.

How do you know my name? he thought, but he could hear the words just as clearly as if l had said them out loud. What was going on?

The voice giggled.

I know everything about you, Quentin Beck. I know your name. I know where you grew up. I know your wants. Your needs. Your joys. Your fears.

He tried to shake his head, but it didn’t work. He couldn’t shake something that wasn’t there.

How is this possible?

Another giggle, but he didn’t get the damn joke.

You’re a curious boy, Quentin.

Those five words were the trigger.

The tiny stars were vacuumed away and the darkness folded in on itself to create a new image. It was him, in the backseat of his parents’ station wagon. The one they got rid of when he graduated high school.

What is this?

His first perception was wrong. It wasn’t an image. No, he was there. Really there. He could smell the cigarettes. Feel the wind coming through the windows. He could twiddle the loose string from the seat between his fingers.

“Mommy, how do planes fly so high?” he asked in a voice so small; so not his own. But it was his own. Just a version from a long, long time ago.

“I’m not sure, honey,” his mother answered. His mother answered. He hadn’t heard her voice in so long. It was rough from all the cigarettes, but somehow she still sounded like an angel to him.

Quentin looked down at his lap. His jeans had grass stains on them and they were too small. You could see his socks. Those were dirty too.

“Mommy,” he spoke again. “How do the people get in the TV?”

“Huh?” She ashed her cigarette out the window.

“The people on the TV. Like on Sesame Street. How do they get in there? Can they come out?”

His mother laughed. It was the prettiest laugh he had ever heard. “You’re a curious boy, Quentin.”

And just like that it was over. The scene crumpled up and tossed itself to the side like a balled up wad of paper.

Did you see it? The voice returned.

If he had eyes they would be crying right now.

Y- yes. I saw her.

Do you want to see something else?

I- I don’t know.

He felt so exposed. So vulnerable. It didn’t feel like anything he would normally allow. But he wasn’t even sure if he was himself anymore.

I think you’ll like this.

Another scene. He was flying over a city, a cape blowing behind him in the wind. People stared up adoringly. Kids pointed and jumped. A truck driver smiled and gave him a thumbs up while he sounded his horn. Quentin waved back down at his fans. The people. They loved him. And he was getting ready to fly over the ocean.

When he reached the harbor he could see his reflection in the water, all suited up. He was a hero. He was the hero. The one that people needed. Nothing like Tony Stark. Better. Stronger. Smarter.

Until he wasn’t.

The scene ripped itself into a thousand tiny pieces and they all blew away.

Darkness once again.

Did you like it?

He fucking loved it.

Yes. Yes!

I knew you would.

The voice was proud of itself.

Show me again. Take me back. I want more.

I can’t do that, Mr. Beck. All things in moderation.

Bullshit.

No, no. Fuck moderation. I want to see. Show me.

The show’s over now, Quentin. You were never supposed to be here. Be grateful.

Fuck you.

Another laugh.

We’ll see about that.

Wait, what?

Huh?

Before anything else could be said, he woke up. It was sudden and disorienting. The lights were back on now. Everything was too bright. Everyone was too loud.

As reality slowly came back into focus Quentin realized he was no longer standing. He was on the ground and everyone else was just getting up from their seats. He was confused. Had they seen was he had seen? There was no way. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. He felt violated. Angry. He’d come for answers. Not for some invisible bitch to crawl inside his mind. For the first time, he left his safe little corner and began to push through the crowd.

As he maneuvered through body after body he caught bits and pieces of the conversations around him.

“... Oh, the most beautiful beach!” one woman gushed.

“He was there, my boy was really there!” another man cried.

He passed the woman whom he’d spoken with earlier.

“Oh, I was young again!”

Fools. How could they be so happy to have their subconsciouses breached to such an invasive extent? Idiots. He felt like an idiot.

No one seemed to be paying attention, all too wrapped up in relaying their own twisted fantasies. He figured that was the reason no one stopped him or said anything when he climbed up on the stage, pulled back the curtain, and started to shout.

“Hey! Who the hell is back here? What are you? What was that?”

He walked around backstage and saw nothing. Heard no one. The not knowing was getting him more and more pissed by the moment.

Finally, he heard something.

The sound of heels clicking. The sound of his name.

“Quentin.”

The same voice from inside his head. From inside the speakers. He whipped around prepared to release his wrath but he stopped short.

He wasn’t sure what or who he had expected, but she definitely wasn’t it.

For a moment they simply stared at one another. There was no other way for him to put it; if she was The Abyss lady, she was hot.

“I knew you’d come back here,” she finally spoke through a cheeky grin. “I asked security not to stop you. I wanted to meet you.”

His chest heaved up and down from the subsiding anger. He felt like he should be saying something, but he couldn’t. He was too focused on how she was wearing a slightly over-sized oxford with the top three buttons undone… and nothing else. Well, aside from the pink panties he could see through the translucent white fabric. And she stood there so casually. Cigarette and a glass of wine. Completely disarming. Fuck, what was he about to yell for?

She was beginning to grow impatient waiting for him to say something but then it occurred to her what the problem might be.

“Ah, clothes,” she said as if it were a foreign concept. “Sorry. When you have an audience that doesn’t exactly need to see you, you tend to get pretty comfortable. The heels just make me feel sexy. Though I don’t get the double standard. I mean, guys can walk around in boxers right?”

Quentin cocked his head and looked at her like she was from another planet. Hell, maybe she was.

“T-this is insane,” he finally sputtered. His anger had turned into astonishment. Curiosity. “Who are you?”

The woman took a drag from her cigarette and shrugged. “I’m The Master of The Abyss. I create from the darkness behind man’s eyelids. I show people what they want to see. Dead relatives. Naked celebrities. Did you see the man in the third row? He came in his pants.” She laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.

Quentin just shook his head. “This is impossible.”

The Master rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh.

“Come on, you saw it with your own eyes. I made you a hero. That’s what you want, right? To be a hero?”

Quentin flinched. He didn’t like her phrasing. She hadn’t made him anything. She’d taken images from the inner depths of his mind and turned them into some fucked up film. He was going to make himself a hero.

“Yeah, well you shouldn’t have ever even known that,” he snapped suddenly. “I didn’t give you permission to go inside my head and make me anything.”

The Master set her glass down and snapped right back.

“I didn’t give you permission to enter my show for free. Just like no one gives you permission to fuck with their waking realities.” She was pointing a purple manicured finger directly at his face and inching closer. “And at least I have a system. A show with a set of rules. A moral code. My audience knows what’s real and what’s not. You don’t give people that luxury, now do you?.”

“Hey,” Quentin hopped on the defense, “I do what I do because people need to believe in someth-”

“Oh, save it,” The Master interrupted. “Let’s not pretend to be fucking saints here, we all have our own selfish motives. You have an ego. I have a lust for money. Do you know how much a married man will pay to fuck someone who’s not his wife without the guilt? Because it’s not cheating if it’s not real.”

Quentin scoffed. “Great, so you can conjure up a glorified wet dream and suddenly you’re better than me?”

The Master grinned at this. “Tsk, tsk, Mr. Beck. That’s no way to talk to someone you want help from.”

The man let out a huff. “We both know you won’t team up with me anyways,” he said in a low voice, “So what’s the point?”

She sighed. “You’re right, I won’t team up with you.”

“So what’s the point?” Beck repeated.

And there went that giggle again.

“What is it?” God, why was everyone so humored today? And why did she keep winding him up like some sort of game? “What’s so fucking funny?”

She batted her eyes and shook her head, feigning innocence, the greatest illusion of all.

“It’s nothing.” She shrugged, smiling, playing with the buttons on the shirt that barely covered her hips. “It’s just that, you’re an attractive man, Mr. Beck.”

Quentin froze. Every time he thought the night couldn’t get any more twisted, there came another curve ball.

She was coming closer, tilting her voice to make it do seductive things. “And something about your mind is just such a turn on.”

He swallowed as they stood almost nose to nose. “So what now?” he asked huskily. “This is the part where you ask me to fuck you?”

He hadn’t planned on any of this and it was happening so fast, but hell.

The Master’s smirk faded and for once she became serious.

“Only if you want to.”

He could see down her shirt from here. One glimpse was all it took for him to suspend all circumstance. God, did he want to.

Fuck it.

He grabbed her by the waist and went in hungrily.

Their lips pressed together, he closed his eyes.

He closed his eyes.

Suddenly the air went cold.

Shit, shit, shit.

By the time he realized his mistake it was too late.

No longer could he feel her body heat. No longer could he feel anything at all. There was nothing. Just like in the beginning. Before heaven, before earth, before her.

All there was was darkness.

#quentin beck x reader #mysterio x reader #quentin beck imagine #mysterio imagine #jake gyllenhaal imagine

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