Kickstart My Heart
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader Word Count: 921 Summary: Eddie loves taking you to rock concerts, sharing his passion for music, and showing you off as his cool partner. Warnings: Loud music, crowded spaces, physical contact, possessive behavior, flashing/strobe lights, strong emotional intensity, implied PDA
It's a Saturday night, and the air hums, thick with anticipation, as bodies press together, a restless energy rippling through the crowd. The faint smell of beer and sweat lingers, mixing with the metallic tang of the amps warming up. You’re right at the edge of the pit, the boundary where chaos is about to erupt, Eddie’s arm draped over your shoulders, solid and familiar. The flicker of dim lights catches the sheen of spilled drinks on the floor, the shadows stretching and shrinking like they’re alive. The bass thuds low and steady, rattling through your chest, each pulse syncing with your heartbeat.
Eddie bobs his head to the pre-show riffs spilling from the speakers, his curls bouncing, untamed as ever. He doesn’t just hear the music; it moves through him, lighting him up like a live wire. You glance sideways, catching his grin—a wicked curve of his lips that dares the night to get better. His dark eyes lock on you, and for a second, everything else fades: the crowd, the noise, even the stage. His gaze isn’t just looking at you; it’s pulling you in like you’re the reason he’s here.
He leans in close, his breath brushing your ear as he murmurs, “Ready for this, babe?” His voice is low, rough, and tinged with the kind of excitement that bubbles just before the drop. You nod, though your pulse isn’t quickening from the music. It’s him—Eddie, alive and electric in his element, his passion practically spilling out of him. The way he glows when he talks about music, like it’s a religion and you’re his favorite convert, sends a thrill through you.
A sharp guitar chord splits the air, and the lights dim to black. The crowd explodes, a wave of voices surging forward, pressing closer. Eddie laughs, wild and unrestrained, grabbing your hand as the pit heaves around you. He dives in without hesitation, dragging you along, his fingers warm and solid in yours. His movements are raw, untamed, all sharp angles and unfiltered energy, his hair whipping as he headbangs like he was born for this. But when his hand squeezes yours, there’s a gentleness beneath the chaos, an anchor holding you steady even as the world tilts.
You catch him shooting a smirk at a couple of guys sneaking glances your way, their lingering looks barely subtle beneath the shifting lights. Eddie’s grin stretches wider, wicked and triumphant, as if he’s just scored the winning hand in a high-stakes game. His arm snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against him with an effortless possessiveness that sends a thrill racing through you. There’s no tension in his hold, only the playful confidence of someone who knows exactly what he has and isn’t afraid to show it. “Look at her!” he shouts, voice cracking with unrestrained joy, loud enough to cut through the pounding music and the din of the crowd.
Heads turn at his declaration, but Eddie doesn’t care. His pride radiates, bold and unapologetic, woven into the way his eyes never leave yours, his expression practically glowing. He beams at you, his smile wide and unguarded, like the thought of you standing here with him is enough to make his entire night. You feel heat rush to your face, the tips of your ears burning under the strobe lights. But there’s no teasing in his gaze, no smugness in his voice—just pure, unfiltered pride. It’s written all over him, in the tilt of his head and the way his fingers splay across your hip, like he’s daring anyone to doubt that you belong here, with him, in this moment.
The music crashes around you, the relentless rhythm pounding like a second heartbeat, shaking the air and rattling your ribs. You tilt your head back, your eyes drawn to Eddie under the chaotic swirl of strobe lights. He looks untouchable, like something out of a dream. His wild curls bounce with every movement, catching flashes of light that dance across his sharp jaw and high cheekbones. The leather jacket clings to his frame, worn and rugged, the perfect complement to the ink that snakes across his forearms, momentarily illuminated by the erratic bursts of light. The way he moves—fluid yet wild, entirely unrestrained—makes it easy to imagine him onstage instead of in the crowd, commanding an audience with nothing but his presence.
But then he looks at you, and it’s like the whole world tilts. The music, the lights, the bodies pressing in around you—it all fades into the background. His dark eyes lock on yours, and they’re soft now, stripped of the playful arrogance he flashes at the crowd. They hold you in place, like an invisible tether drawing you closer, the rest of the world forgotten. His gaze says everything he doesn’t need to put into words: You’re it. You’re the reason I’m here. The reason I’m alive in this moment.
It’s not just pride anymore; it’s devotion, raw and unguarded, that takes your breath away. The pounding music becomes nothing more than a dull thrum, the flashing lights just a faint flicker at the edge of your awareness. He looks at you like you’re the star of the show, like you’re the reason the crowd cheers and the band plays. Every crashing chord, every screaming lyric, every flicker of light—it all feels like it exists for you, because of you.
And for one perfect, electric moment, you believe him. You believe that, in Eddie’s eyes, you are the center of the universe.
