hawkinself

[hawkinself]

Love in The Spotlight. Part Two.

Eddie Van Halen x Valerie Bertinelli

The sun was high as we pulled up to Eddie’s Pasadena home, the car packed with empty boxes ready to collect his life. The house sat on a quiet street, modest and unassuming, its charm wrapped in the hum of nostalgia. I could feel Eddie’s energy shift as we stepped out of the car—his usual confidence softened by a quiet reverence for this place where he’d grown up.

“You ready for this?” I asked, sliding my hand into his.

Eddie nodded, his grip tightening slightly. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

Inside, the smell of home-cooked food hit us immediately—warm, spicy, and inviting. His mom, Eugenia, appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. Her face lit up when she saw us.

“Valerie!” she said, her accent wrapping around my name like a melody. She pulled me into a warm hug, her petite frame radiating strength. “You’re too skinny. You need to eat.”

Eddie grinned. “She’s been telling me that my whole life.”

From the living room, his father, Jan, appeared with a pipe in hand and a gentle smile. “Ah, the actress,” he said, offering his hand. “Welcome, Valerie. We’ve heard so much about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” I replied, shaking his hand.

Jan chuckled. “Mostly.” His eyes twinkled with mischief as he motioned toward the dining table. “Come, sit. We’ll teach you some Dutch.”

Eddie groaned. “Dad, we’re here to pack, remember?”

“There’s always time for learning,” Jan said firmly. “And for food.”

Eugenia was already bustling back into the kitchen, her voice carrying over the clatter of pots and pans. “I’m making nasi goreng. You’ll love it.”

I shot Eddie a look, and he shrugged, his grin widening. “Told you,” he said. “They don’t take no for an answer.”

While the food simmered, I wandered through the house, letting my fingers trail along the walls, the edges of picture frames filled with black-and-white memories. Eddie followed behind, pointing out various landmarks of his childhood.

“This was my room,” he said, pushing open a door to reveal a small space filled with relics of a teenage guitarist. Old concert posters lined the walls, and in the corner, an amp sat next to a battered guitar case.

“You spent hours in here, didn’t you?” I asked, picturing a younger Eddie, hunched over his guitar, lost in the music.

“Days,” he admitted. “I’d lock myself in and play until my fingers bled.” He moved to the amp and knelt down, brushing his hand over it. “Learned every Clapton solo, every Hendrix riff, right here.”

But his smile faltered slightly, a shadow passing over his face. “It wasn’t always music, though,” he said quietly. “There were… other things.”

I knew what he meant—the stories he’d told me about starting young with cigarettes and beer, the habits that had followed him into adulthood. I reached out, touching his arm. “You made it through,” I said softly.

He nodded, his eyes meeting mine. “Yeah. And now, I’ve got you.”

By mid-November, the tour had wrapped up, and Eddie officially moved into my Los Feliz house. The place was already bustling with life. My brother Drew and his girlfriend Michelle lived in the guest house, which added a chaotic but comforting rhythm to our days.

Eddie set up his music equipment in the back bedroom, turning it into a makeshift studio. The space was soon filled with cables, amps, and guitars leaning against every available surface. I claimed the small room off the kitchen for my office, where scripts and notes piled up on the desk.

One night, as I was typing away, Eddie appeared in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee. He leaned against the frame, watching me.

“You’re really making this place feel like home,” he said, his voice soft.

I looked up, smiling. “We both are.”

He walked over, setting the coffee down beside me before leaning in to kiss my forehead. “Think I’ll ever get used to normal life?” he asked, half-joking.

I laughed. “Define normal.”

We found our routine in the little things: shared breakfasts in the sunlit kitchen, late-night jam sessions that spilled into the early hours, and lazy Sundays spent watching movies in the living room. It wasn’t perfect—nothing ever was—but it felt real, solid.

Of course, there were bumps along the way. One afternoon, I came home to find Drew and Eddie wrestling in the ivy outside.

“What is happening?” I yelled, hands on my hips.

Both of them stopped, panting and grinning like kids caught in the act.

“He started it,” Drew said, pointing at Eddie.

Eddie laughed, wiping dirt off his jeans. “He was asking for it.”

I shook my head, half-amused, half-exasperated. “You two are like overgrown teenagers.”

But beneath the surface, there were deeper challenges. Eddie was still grappling with the fallout of a paternity suit—a messy chapter from his past that had cast a shadow over our otherwise peaceful time. Though the case was dismissed, the emotional toll lingered.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m dragging all this baggage into our life,” Eddie admitted one night as we lay in bed.

I turned to him, my hand resting on his chest. “We all have baggage, Ed. What matters is that we’re in this together.”

He kissed the top of my head, his arms tightening around me. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispered.

Our home became a sanctuary, a place where love and chaos coexisted. There were loud dinners with family and friends, where Eugenia’s Indonesian dishes became a staple. Nights were filled with music, laughter, and sometimes the quiet hum of two people simply enjoying each other’s company.

One evening, as the sun set over Los Feliz, Eddie sat on the couch, strumming his guitar. I curled up beside him, a book in hand.

“This feels good,” he said suddenly, his voice low.

I looked up, meeting his gaze. “What does?”

“Being here. With you,” he said. “It’s not just a house—it’s home.”

And in that moment, I knew he was right. We were building something together, piece by piece, through the highs and lows, the laughter and tears. It wasn’t perfect, but it was ours.

[hawkinself]

Love in The Spotlight. Part One

Eddie Van Halen x Valerie Bertinelli

Chapter Six: Love in the Spotlight

Returning to the set of One Day at a Time felt like stepping back into a second home. The familiar scent of fresh coffee from the craft services table mingled with the hum of cameras being prepped, and Bonnie Franklin’s boisterous laughter echoed through the soundstage. But this time, there was a subtle shift in the air. My private life had become the unspoken subject of every conversation.

“Nice necklace,” Bonnie teased during a break, her eyes twinkling as she pointed to the small Van Halen pendant I wore around my neck.

I blushed, fingers instinctively brushing over the pendant. “What? This old thing?”

Bonnie raised an eyebrow, her smirk deepening. “Don’t play coy. You’ve got that glow, Valerie. Spill.”

I couldn’t help but smile, the warmth in my cheeks spreading as I leaned in closer. “Okay, fine. I’m seeing someone. Eddie Van Halen.”

Bonnie let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “Rock-and-roll royalty. You don’t do things halfway, do you?”

The conversation drew curious glances from the crew. Pat Harrington, who played Schneider, wandered over, faux-serious as he wagged a finger. “Val, you’re dating Van Halen? You better make sure he treats you right. I’ve got my eye on him.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Don’t worry, Pat. He’s good to me.”

But it wasn’t long before my romance became more than just a set secret. A few weeks later, the tabloids exploded with headlines.

“TV Sweetheart’s Outrageous Date!”

There, plastered on every newsstand, was a grainy photo of Eddie and me leaving a restaurant, his arm protectively around my waist. Another paper had a blaring headline:

“Rock Star Love Machine!”

They even claimed I’d gushed to a friend about Eddie’s prowess. “Love machine?” I groaned, holding up the tabloid to show him. “Where do they come up with this stuff?”

Eddie laughed, leaning over my shoulder as he read the article. “Well, at least they didn’t call me a ‘wild man’ this time.”

“They made up half of this,” I muttered, shaking my head. But one line stopped me.

“An anonymous friend describes Valerie as the happiest she’s ever been.”

Eddie’s laughter quieted as he noticed my expression soften. “What’s that?” he asked, his voice gentle.

I nodded toward the line. “This part’s true.”

He wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Me too,” he said quietly. “It’s crazy, but I’ve never felt like this before.”

As One Day at a Time entered its sixth season, I found myself balancing two very different worlds. On set, I was America’s favorite girl next door. Off set, I was living the life of a rock star’s girlfriend, a whirlwind of concerts, late-night parties, and hotel rooms filled with band members and their crew.

When Van Halen played back-to-back shows at the Los Angeles Sports Arena, the ticket requests were endless. Castmates, crew members, friends—they all wanted in. I tried to play it cool, but inside, I was giddy with excitement. Eddie had arranged for me to watch from the side of the stage, where I could see him in his element.

The Sports Arena buzzed with anticipation, the energy of thousands of fans palpable. The moment the lights dimmed and the opening chords of “Runnin’ with the Devil” thundered through the speakers, the crowd erupted. I stood in awe as Eddie commanded the stage, his fingers flying over the guitar with a skill that seemed almost supernatural.

He glanced over at me mid-set, a playful grin spreading across his face. Even in the middle of a performance, he found a way to make me feel like the only person in the room.

After the show, we retreated to my house in Los Feliz. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional car passing by. But as soon as word got out that Eddie Van Halen was staying there, the tranquility shattered.

“Ed-dee! Ed-dee!”

The chant started with a couple of guys, their voices echoing through the neighborhood. Soon, others joined in, honking their car horns as they drove past.

Eddie peeked through the curtains, shaking his head with a bemused smile. “You’d think they’d let us have one quiet night.”

I laughed, pulling him away from the window. “This is your life now, Mr. Rockstar. You better get used to it.”

He wrapped his arms around me, swaying us gently in the dim light of the living room. “As long as I have you, I can handle it.”

We spent the rest of the night curled up on the couch, the noise from outside fading into the background. Eddie picked up his guitar, strumming softly as we talked about everything and nothing.

“Do you ever think about the future?” I asked, my head resting on his shoulder.

“All the time,” he said, his voice low. “But for the first time, it doesn’t scare me. Because I know you’re in it.”

I smiled, feeling a deep sense of peace despite the chaos outside. “I’m in it, Ed. For the long haul.”

[hawkinself]

The Night That Changed Everything

Eddie Van Halen x Valerie Bertinelli

Chapter Five: The Night That Changed Everything

June 18, 1981, was one of those humid New York nights where the heat clung to your skin, even as the city’s energy buzzed around you. Madison Square Garden had been packed to the rafters, and Van Halen had delivered a blistering set that left the crowd hungry for more. The roar of the audience still echoed in your mind as you rode the elevator up to Eddie’s hotel room, the adrenaline of the show mingling with the quiet hum of unease in your chest.

Eddie had been off tonight. Sure, he played like the virtuoso he was, but his usual spark seemed dulled. His smiles were forced, his banter with the crowd perfunctory. You’d known him long enough by now to recognize when something was weighing on him.

When the elevator dinged, Eddie stepped out ahead of you, his guitar case slung over his shoulder. He moved down the quiet hallway with a kind of restless energy, fumbling with his room key when you reached the door.

“Welcome to my glamorous five-star suite,” he said with a wry smile, pushing the door open and gesturing inside. His tone was light, but there was an edge to it.

The room was modest, far from the luxury the world imagined for rock stars. The bed was unmade, guitar cases leaned haphazardly against the walls, and an ashtray on the nightstand was overflowing. The air smelled faintly of stale cigarettes and something metallic—strings and amps.

You set your bag down on a chair and turned to him with a soft smile. “Looks cozy,” you said, trying to lighten the mood.

Eddie let out a short chuckle, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He leaned against the door for a moment, running a hand through his hair. “You want something to drink? They’ve probably got some mini bottles in the fridge.”

“Sure,” you said, watching him carefully. His movements were tense, deliberate, as if he were holding something in.

He handed you a tiny bottle of wine and grabbed a beer for himself. He cracked it open and took a long sip, then sank onto the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on the floor. You joined him, the silence between you thick with unspoken words.

“Eddie,” you said softly, placing a hand on his knee. “What’s going on? You’ve been quiet all night.”

He sighed deeply, his head dropping into his hands. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, and you could feel the weight of whatever he was carrying pressing down on him.

“It’s Dave,” he finally said, his voice low and strained. “He’s been riding me all tour. Nothing I do is ever good enough for him. Every damn night, he’s got something to say about my playing, about the show. It’s like he’s waiting for me to screw up.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. You shifted closer, your hand moving to gently rub his back. “I’m so sorry, Eddie. That’s not fair.”

He nodded, but his hands stayed over his face. “I know I’m not perfect, Val. I’ve got my issues, but I’m doing my best. And he—he just tears me down, like I’m some kid who doesn’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

You could hear the pain beneath the frustration, the deep wound of someone who gave everything to his craft only to have it dismissed by someone he once admired.

“You don’t deserve that,” you said firmly. “You’re an incredible musician, Eddie. Everyone can see that.”

He lifted his head, his eyes red and glassy. “Not him. He treats me like I’m just a backup to his show.”

The tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill. “Eddie,” you said, your voice breaking, “you’re not just a backup. You’re the heart of this band. Anyone who doesn’t see that is blind.”

His eyes searched yours, as if trying to find the truth in your words. “You really believe that?”

“I do,” you said without hesitation. “And so does everyone else who’s ever heard you play. Don’t let Dave or anyone else make you forget that.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his expression softening. Then, his face crumpled, and he broke down in tears. You didn’t hesitate, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close. His body shook against yours as he let out all the pain he’d been carrying, and your own tears fell silently.

“I’m so tired, Val,” he choked out. “Tired of fighting, tired of feeling like I’m not enough.”

“You are enough,” you whispered, pulling back slightly to cup his face in your hands. “You are more than enough. And you don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here, Eddie. I’m here.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. When he opened them again, they were filled with something deeper, something that made your heart skip a beat.

“I love you, Val,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how else to say it, but I love you.”

The world seemed to stop. His words hung in the air, and you felt a rush of emotions—surprise, joy, and a deep, overwhelming love.

“I love you too, Eddie,” you said, your voice trembling. “I think I’ve loved you since the day we met.”

His smile was small but genuine, a beautiful, vulnerable expression that lit up his face despite the tears clinging to his lashes. “You mean that?”

“I do,” you said, leaning in until your foreheads touched. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

The kiss that followed was slow and tender, a culmination of everything you’d both been holding back. His hands cradled your face as yours tangled in his hair, the world outside fading away.

Eddie pulled you closer, his hands moving to your waist as he laid you gently on the bed. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low, filled with love and need.

You nodded, your heart racing. “I’ve never been more sure.”

That night, for the first time, you made love. It was slow and unhurried, every touch, every kiss a silent promise. You felt safe in his arms, completely and utterly connected in a way that went beyond words.

Afterward, you lay tangled together, his head resting on your chest, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his back. The room was quiet now, the distant sounds of the city a gentle hum in the background.

“Thank you,” Eddie said softly, his voice muffled against your skin.

“For what?” you asked, brushing your fingers through his hair.

“For being here. For loving me,” he said, lifting his head to look at you. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m not letting go.”

You smiled, leaning down to kiss him. “You don’t have to, Eddie. I’m not going anywhere.”

And in that moment, you knew your lives were forever changed.

[hawkinself]

Highway, Hotel Rooms & Rooftops

Eddie Van Halen x Valerie Bertinelli

Chapter Four: Highways, Hotel Rooms, and Rooftops

Every few weeks, you’d slip out of your world of scripts and makeup trailers and dive headfirst into Eddie’s. You’d hop on a plane, trading the controlled chaos of the studio for the exhilarating unpredictability of the road. Van Halen’s tour was a living, breathing entity—a monster with its own rhythm, pulse, and personality.

The first time you experienced life on the road, it was overwhelming. The tour bus was a maze of narrow corridors, the faint hum of the engine vibrating beneath your feet. Cigarette smoke curled lazily in the air, mingling with the scent of beer and leather. The guys were loud, laughing and shouting over each other, their energy filling every inch of space. But then Eddie caught your eye, his face breaking into that signature grin, and suddenly, it didn’t matter that you were miles from the world you knew.

“Hey, you made it,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug. His hair was damp from the show, and his shirt clung to him, still smelling faintly of sweat and stage lights. “Wasn’t sure if you’d survive the flight.”

“I’m tougher than I look,” you teased, your arms lingering around his waist.

He chuckled, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your temple. “Good. You’ll need to be.”

Night after night, you’d watch from your spot near the amps, the place Eddie had dubbed “the queen’s throne.” The stage transformed him. Under the lights, guitar slung low, he was larger than life. His fingers danced effortlessly over the strings, conjuring sounds that made the air vibrate. You could barely hear yourself think over the roar of the crowd, but it didn’t matter. Every so often, he’d glance your way, his grin wide and mischievous, and for those moments, it was like the entire arena disappeared, leaving just the two of you.

After the shows, the energy didn’t die down. It shifted, became something more intimate yet no less wild. Backstage parties were a blur of laughter, music, and conversations that felt both weighty and featherlight. You’d find yourself perched on a couch in some dimly lit room, a drink in your hand, listening to wild tour stories. Roadies came and went, fans giggled nervously from the edges of the room, and the band’s inner circle orbited like planets around Eddie.

But it was the quieter moments you treasured most.

One night, after a particularly grueling set in Chicago, you found Eddie sitting on the floor of his hotel room, guitar in hand, the city lights streaming in through the window. His back was against the bed, legs stretched out in front of him. The rest of the band was still partying down the hall, but Eddie had slipped away.

“Hey,” you said softly, leaning against the doorframe.

He looked up, his face lighting up despite the exhaustion in his eyes. “Hey. Come here.”

You crossed the room, sitting beside him. He shifted the guitar, letting it rest across his lap as he wrapped an arm around you. “You alright?” you asked, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Just needed a minute. It’s all noise until you’re here.”

The simplicity of his words struck you, and for a while, you just sat there, the distant hum of the city below filling the space between you.

When you weren’t on tour, the distance was like a third person in your relationship. You’d wrap up a long day on set and find yourself dialing his number from whatever hotel room or quiet corner you could find. Some nights, the connection was crackly, his voice barely audible over the hum of static.

“You sound tired,” he’d say, his voice warm even through the phone.

“Miss you, Val.”

“Miss you more.”

The reunions were always a whirlwind. Airports became your sanctuary, where you’d run into each other’s arms like the world outside didn’t exist. Eddie would grab your bag, sling it over his shoulder, and pull you close, kissing you like he hadn’t seen you in years.

“You’re here,” he’d say, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

“And you’re late,” you’d tease, though you never really cared.

One night in New York, after a show that had the crowd screaming for what felt like hours, Eddie grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the elevator. “C’mon,” he said, his eyes glinting with excitement.

“Where are we going?” you asked, laughing as he led you to the rooftop.

“You’ll see.”

The rooftop was quiet, the city sprawled out below in a sea of twinkling lights. Eddie stood beside you, his hand brushing yours as you both took in the view.

“This is where I come when I need to clear my head,” he said, his voice soft.

You glanced at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. “What are you thinking about now?”

He turned to you, his gaze intense. “You,” he said simply. “There’s this whole world out there every night, but none of it feels real until I see you.”

You felt your breath catch, the sincerity in his words wrapping around your heart. “Eddie…”

He smiled, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “I mean it. You’re my anchor, Val. No matter how crazy things get, you’re the one thing that keeps me grounded.”

You leaned into him, your forehead resting against his. “And you’re mine,” you whispered.

The city buzzed below, but up there, it was just the two of you, wrapped in each other, holding onto the promise that no matter how chaotic life got, you’d always find your way back.

[hawkinself]

A New Melody

Eddie Van Halen x Valerie Bertinelli

Chapter Three: A New Melody

The house was quiet, save for the soft rustle of cards being shuffled and dealt on the dining room table. Your brothers had been at it for hours, playing hand after hand of gin rummy, the kind of mindless activity that filled the void of waiting. The clock on the wall ticked past midnight, and you tried not to glance at it for the hundredth time. The waiting was unbearable, and the hope clinging to each passing second felt like a weight pressing on your chest.

And then it happened. The phone rang.

Patrick and David exchanged knowing looks as you scrambled to answer. “Hello?” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, casual.

“Val?” The voice on the other end was unmistakable—warm, with a hint of shyness. “It’s Ed.”

A rush of relief and excitement hit you all at once. “Ed! Hi!” Your voice lifted, betraying your attempt at cool.

“Sorry it took me so long to call,” he said, a bit sheepishly. “We’ve been on the move nonstop. I’m in Beaumont, Texas, right now.”

“It’s okay,” you said quickly, not wanting to sound like you’d been counting the days. “How’s the tour?”

“It’s been good, busy as hell. But, uh, we’re heading to Norman, Oklahoma, in two days for a festival,” he said, his tone shifting. “Do you want to come?”

A smile spread across your face before you even answered. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

“Great,” he said, and you could hear the relief in his voice. “I’ll have a limo pick you up from the airport. Can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too,” you said softly.

You hung up and turned to find your brothers grinning at you. “Well?” Patrick asked, leaning back in his chair.

Trying to play it cool, you couldn’t hide the excitement bubbling inside. “I’m going to Oklahoma.”

Two days later, you stepped off the plane in Norman, Oklahoma, greeted by a sleek black limousine waiting just outside the terminal. The driver opened the door for you, and you slid into the cool leather interior, feeling a mix of nerves and exhilaration.

The drive to the University of Oklahoma was surreal. The scenery blurred by as your mind raced. When you arrived, the band’s road manager met you at the backstage entrance, draping an all-access pass around your neck.

“Welcome back,” he said with a grin. “Ed’s been talking about you nonstop.”

Your cheeks flushed as he led you through the maze of corridors to where the band was getting ready. The roar of the crowd filtered in from outside, a steady hum of excitement. And then you saw him—Eddie, leaning against a wall, his guitar strapped over his shoulder, adjusting the tuning pegs. His face lit up the moment he saw you.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft, as if it were just the two of you in the room.

“Hey,” you replied, your heart fluttering.

He stepped closer, his hand grazing yours briefly before pulling you into a quick hug. “You made it.”

“Of course,” you said, smiling up at him. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Before you could say more, the road manager signaled it was time. Ed gave you a quick wink as he adjusted his guitar strap and followed the band toward the stage. You found your spot on the side, where you could see everything.

The show was electric. Van Halen owned the stage, and Eddie was in his element. His fingers danced over the fretboard, pulling out notes that seemed to defy logic. Yet, every time he switched guitars or had a moment to glance your way, he did. There was a new kind of energy in his performance, something raw and vulnerable that made your chest tighten.

Back at the hotel, you sat on the balcony overlooking the quiet streets. The night was warm, the stars scattered across the sky like diamonds. Eddie opened up in a way he hadn’t before, sharing stories about his childhood, his family, and his journey with music.

“My dad was everything,” he said, his voice tinged with reverence. “He taught me to love music, to feel it, you know? He’d sit with me for hours, just playing. I owe everything to him.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his. “He must be so proud of you.”

Eddie smiled, though it was bittersweet. “He is. But my mom… she still thinks this whole rock-and-roll thing is a phase. She’s waiting for me to get a real job.”

You laughed softly. “She’ll come around. How could she not? You’re a rock god, Eddie.”

He shook his head, his grin modest. “I’m just a guy who loves playing guitar.”

The two of you talked until the early hours, your words flowing as easily as the night breeze. Eddie was a mix of contradictions—an undeniable genius on stage, yet shy and introspective in private. It was a combination that drew you in deeper with every passing moment.

As the sky began to lighten, he walked you to your room. “Thanks for coming out here,” he said, his voice low.

“Thanks for inviting me,” you replied, lingering in the doorway.

For a moment, you just stood there, the silence stretching between you, heavy with unspoken feelings. Then he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. “Goodnight, Val.”

“Goodnight, Ed.”

You closed the door, your heart racing, knowing that whatever this was, it was only just beginning.

[hawkinself]

A Night To Remember

Eddie Van Halen x Valerie Bertinelli

Chapter Two: A Night to Remember

The address on the napkin led you to a small, unassuming bar tucked away on a side street in Hollywood. From the outside, it didn’t look like much—just a black door beneath a flickering neon sign that read The Riff Room. But the moment you stepped inside, the pulse of rock and roll wrapped around you like a warm, worn leather jacket.

The air was thick with the scent of beer, smoke, and something electric, a hum of energy that lingered after a big show. The dim lighting gave the place a moody, intimate vibe, with walls covered in old concert posters and scrawled messages from musicians who’d passed through. The jukebox in the corner played Led Zeppelin’s “Good Times Bad Times,” its heavy riffs weaving through the hum of conversation and bursts of laughter.

You scanned the room, your heart already beating faster. It didn’t take long to find him. Eddie was at a booth near the back, surrounded by his bandmates, his signature guitar case propped against the wall. He was mid-laugh, his face lit up in a way that felt both magnetic and endearing. His black t-shirt clung to him, still slightly damp from the show, and his hair was tousled like he’d just run his hands through it.

Alex sat beside him, beer in hand, gesturing animatedly as he told a story, his voice carrying over the noise. Across from them, Michael Anthony leaned back with a wide grin, clearly enjoying the banter. And then there was Dave—sprawled out in his seat, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the table in front of him, soaking in the attention like he was born for it.

You hesitated for a moment, suddenly nervous. But before you could second-guess yourself, Eddie looked up and spotted you. His eyes lit up, and he raised a hand, waving you over with a grin that was both mischievous and warm.

“You made it!” he called as you approached, sliding over to make room for you in the booth.

“I figured I’d check out the infamous Riff Room,” you said with a teasing smile, sliding in beside him.

“Well, well,” Dave drawled, his eyes glinting as he leaned forward. “Look what the cat dragged in. You must be Valerie.”

You gave him a polite smile. “And you must be Dave.”

He winked. “Guilty as charged.”

“Don’t mind him,” Alex said, rolling his eyes but grinning. “He’s always like this after a show.”

“Like what?” Dave shot back, mock-offended. “Charming? Charismatic? Devastatingly handsome?”

“Annoying,” Michael quipped, earning a round of laughter from the table.

Eddie leaned closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “They’re not always this wild. Just… most of the time.”

You laughed softly, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease. “It’s good to see you offstage,” you said, turning to him. “You seemed different up there.”

He shrugged, a hint of shyness creeping into his smile. “That’s just the show. Offstage, I’m more…” He paused, searching for the right words. “Normal, I guess.”

“You’re not normal,” Alex chimed in, pointing at Eddie with his beer. “You’re a freakin’ genius. Don’t let him fool you,” he added, turning to you. “This guy’s been a guitar wizard since we were kids.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but there was a faint blush on his cheeks. “Yeah, yeah, don’t embarrass me.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly from there. The guys shared stories from the road—some hilarious, some downright insane. You learned about the infamous “brown M&M’s” clause in their contract, the time Dave got locked in a hotel room during a fire drill, and the countless pranks they’d pulled on each other.

At one point, Michael leaned forward, grinning. “So, Val, what’d you think of the show?”

“It was amazing,” you said honestly. “I mean, I’ve seen concerts before, but nothing like that. You guys are something else.”

Eddie’s face lit up at your praise, his eyes sparkling. “Glad you liked it.”

“She was watching you the whole time,” Dave teased, wagging a finger. “Eddie’s got himself a groupie.”

You shot him a playful glare. “Hardly.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Eddie said, his grin widening as he leaned back in the booth.

As the night wore on, the crowd in the bar began to thin out. The jukebox switched to a slower tune, and the energy around the table mellowed. Dave and Alex wandered off to the bar, likely to flirt with the nearest bartenders, while Michael headed outside for some air, leaving you and Eddie alone.

Eddie glanced over at you, his expression softening. “Thanks for coming tonight,” he said quietly, his fingers tracing absent patterns on the edge of the table. “It’s nice having someone here who’s not… you know, part of the circus.”

You smiled, touched by his sincerity. “I’m glad I came.”

There was a moment of silence, the kind that felt more comforting than awkward. You could hear the faint hum of the jukebox, the murmur of voices from the bar, but it all seemed distant, like the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

“Hey,” Eddie said suddenly, pulling a pen from his pocket. “Can I get your number? You know, in case… in case you ever want to come to another show. Or just… talk.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you took the pen and scrawled your number on a napkin. “Only if you promise to actually call,” you said, handing it back to him.

“I will,” he said, folding the napkin carefully and tucking it into his wallet. “You have my word.”

Before you could respond, Dave’s voice rang out from across the bar. “Eddie! Val! You two sneaking off or what?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. “Ignore him.”

You laughed, standing up. “I should get going anyway. Early call tomorrow.”

He walked you to the door, the cool night air hitting your skin as you stepped outside. “Goodnight, Valerie,” he said softly, his eyes lingering on yours.

“Goodnight, Eddie,” you replied, feeling a warmth spread through you as you turned and walked away.

As you made your way to your car, you couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight had been the start of something big—something that neither of you fully understood yet, but both of you were ready to explore.

part 3

[hawkinself]

The Night We Met

Eddie Van Halen x Valerie Bertinelli

Story is loosely based on real life events, I do not own the characters and rights, it’s just a simple take on this great love story with hopefully a happy ending. I haven’t found any fanfiction based on EVH and Valerie and I thought I’d give it a try. P.S. this story is in third person POV of Valerie (you), hope that’s not too confusing.

Chapter One: The First Note

1981

You weren’t supposed to be here, not really. A friend of a friend had slipped you a pass, telling you it’d be a night you wouldn’t forget. And now, here you were, clutching the laminated badge around your neck, feeling like an imposter in this gritty, electric world.

The backstage corridor was dimly lit, with roadies bustling past, their arms laden with cables and cases. You stepped aside, lingering near a stack of amps, your breath catching as you tried to steady your nerves. And then you saw him.

Eddie Van Halen.

He stood against the wall, his guitar still hanging low, its polished surface catching the faint light. His hair was damp with sweat, curling at the edges, and a smirk played on his lips as he exchanged a few words with a crew member. But then, as if sensing your presence, his gaze flicked up and locked onto yours.

Time seemed to slow.

His eyes, warm and mischievous, held you in place. He tilted his head slightly, studying you, and then that grin appeared—the one that had melted hearts across arenas but now felt like it was meant for you alone.

“Hey there,” he called out, his voice carrying effortlessly over the low hum of post-show chaos. “Didn’t know Hollywood stars snuck backstage.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Hollywood star?” you echoed, stepping closer. “I think you’ve got the wrong girl.”

He chuckled, the sound rich and unguarded. “Not from where I’m standing.”

The distance between you closed as you approached, the air charged with a strange, exhilarating tension. You weren’t sure if it was the lingering adrenaline from the concert or something else entirely. Either way, it made your skin tingle.

“Eddie,” he said, extending his hand, though it seemed unnecessary. Everyone knew who he was.

“Valerie,” you replied, slipping your hand into his. His grip was firm but easy, and his calloused fingers hinted at countless hours spent on the strings.

“So, Valerie, what’d you think of the show?” he asked, leaning casually against the wall, his guitar now hanging loosely at his side.

“It was incredible,” you said, meaning every word. “The energy out there—it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

Eddie nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah, the crowd was wild tonight. Feels good, y’know? Like we’re all just… connected for a while.”

You found yourself drawn in by the way he spoke, how his words seemed to carry a weight that belied the chaos of his world. He wasn’t just the rock god you’d seen on stage; there was something more, something deeper.

A few roadies passed by, nodding at Eddie but giving you curious glances. He didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he didn’t care. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if the two of you were sharing a secret. “So, what’s a girl like you doing here, anyway? Got a thing for loud guitars?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I guess you could say I’m curious. A friend thought I’d enjoy the scene.”

“And are you?” he asked, his grin widening.

“I think I am,” you admitted, surprised by how true it felt.

Eddie’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you. “Are you sticking around tonight?” he asked, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of something more—hope, maybe.

You hesitated, feeling the weight of the question. “I hadn’t planned on it,” you said, though the idea of leaving now felt almost unbearable.

“Well,” he said, pushing off the wall and slinging his guitar over his shoulder, “plans can change.”

The suggestion hung in the air, tantalizing and impossible to resist.

Before you could reply, a voice called out from down the hall. “Eddie, man, we’re heading out!”

Eddie glanced over his shoulder, then back at you. “I gotta go,” he said, regret flickering across his face. “But hey, if you’re up for it, we’re hitting a spot later. You should come.”

He pulled a crumpled napkin from his pocket and scribbled something on it, handing it to you with a crooked smile. “That’s where we’ll be. No pressure.”

You took the napkin, your fingers brushing his briefly. “Thanks,” you said, feeling a spark at the contact.

Eddie nodded, his grin returning. “See you around, Valerie.”

And with that, he was gone, disappearing down the hall in a swirl of leather and laughter. You stood there for a moment, the napkin in your hand, your heart racing. The world outside the Forum felt far away, and all you could think about was the man who’d just walked out of sight—the man who, without realizing it, had already begun to change your life.

That night marked the beginning of something wild, unpredictable, and utterly intoxicating. Eddie’s world was a whirlwind of music and mayhem, but it was also a world where you’d find love, heartbreak, and everything in between. And as you tucked the napkin into your pocket and stepped out into the night, you knew there was no turning back.

[hawkinself]

Cherry Slushies

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

1.5k

friends in love, first kiss, record store co-workers.

“Have you seen the time, Munson?” you gave the boy a deadpan glare, as he lazily walked into the record store, car keys swinging in loops over his index finger. Eddie huffed, rolled his eyes at you but grinned nonetheless putting a cherry slushy on the counter in front of you.

“I’ll have you know that I am late for my shift only because I’ve got a very very serious reason for that,” the boy hummed as he leaned over the counter where you stood, his long ringed fingers with chipped black nail polished tapped a rhythm over the wooden surface and you stared at his hands transfixed for a second. Your breath was stuck in your throat and you blinked several times unable to hold his gaze that long. He watched you closely, with those huge brown eyes that reminded you of melted chocolate and… and…

“And the reason is..?” you twisted your lips, busying yourself with the cash register machine.

Eddie shoved his hands in his back pockets, swaying back in forth on his heels as he smiled with that wide, warm smile that showed off his dimples that you’ve grown to love so much over the summer. Eddie was wearing a black tank top with a handmade DIO logo on the front that you watched him paint over the fabric just a couple of days ago. It looked sick you thought, it showed off his arms littered with tattoos and you swallowed hard seeing the muscles in his arms flex. For a change, Eddie was wearing black denim shorts that clearly used to be jeans before and the material ended just slightly above his knees but you could still see another tattoo peeking out it, inked all over his thigh.

“Like what you see, princess?” the boy wiggled his eyebrows at you, winking at you as he did.

Keep reading

[hawkinself]

Cherry Slushies

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

1.5k

friends in love, first kiss, record store co-workers.

“Have you seen the time, Munson?” you gave the boy a deadpan glare, as he lazily walked into the record store, car keys swinging in loops over his index finger. Eddie huffed, rolled his eyes at you but grinned nonetheless putting a cherry slushy on the counter in front of you.

“I’ll have you know that I am late for my shift only because I’ve got a very very serious reason for that,” the boy hummed as he leaned over the counter where you stood, his long ringed fingers with chipped black nail polished tapped a rhythm over the wooden surface and you stared at his hands transfixed for a second. Your breath was stuck in your throat and you blinked several times unable to hold his gaze that long. He watched you closely, with those huge brown eyes that reminded you of melted chocolate and… and…

“And the reason is..?” you twisted your lips, busying yourself with the cash register machine.

Eddie shoved his hands in his back pockets, swaying back in forth on his heels as he smiled with that wide, warm smile that showed off his dimples that you’ve grown to love so much over the summer. Eddie was wearing a black tank top with a handmade DIO logo on the front that you watched him paint over the fabric just a couple of days ago. It looked sick you thought, it showed off his arms littered with tattoos and you swallowed hard seeing the muscles in his arms flex. For a change, Eddie was wearing black denim shorts that clearly used to be jeans before and the material ended just slightly above his knees but you could still see another tattoo peeking out it, inked all over his thigh.

“Like what you see, princess?” the boy wiggled his eyebrows at you, winking at you as he did.

“You wish, freak,” you squinted at him, bashful. You smiled shyly, feeling crimson creeping up your neck. Head down, you kept shuffling dollar bills in your hands, trying to escape Eddie’s gaze but he noticed your smile nonetheless, feeling his own cheeks getting rosy pink.

“Oh no, you wound me greatly, m’lady,” Eddie gasped all faux shock. “I doubt it,” you said, huffing a laugh.

He was watching you carefully when you walked to the displays that were full of vinyl records, arranging them in alphabetical order. You were pretty, like really really pretty. You were kind. To everyone and to him in particular, a rare occurrence Eddie didn’t always get from people who marked him as a Hawkins freak. In fact, you were the only person who could call him that and the boy would get flustered. The way you’d say it cute and affectionate, with that voice that Eddie believed was reserved only for him, it would send him spiraling. Sweaty palms and weak knees accompanied him pretty much all summer that you’ve worked together. And on top of all that you had the same taste in music, those lovely flower summer dresses you were wearing would fool anyone but Eddie who knew your favourite album was Piece of Mind by Iron Maiden.

“Well, I had to stop by the arcade and get you a slushy,” the boy continued, clearing his throat as he pointed at the slushy that was already starting to melt in the August heat, “Cherry. Your favourite. Can’t have my favourite co-worker die of heat.”

Suddenly it felt so much warmer inside the record store than it was. And if your cheeks weren’t pink before, they were for sure now. You hid your face behind David Bowie's vinyl trying to ignore the way your heart rattled in your chest.

“Are you flirting with me, Eds?” your voice wavered just a bit, as you walked past the boy, jokingly poking him on his biceps. He was warm, soft skin and that scent that screamed Eddie Eddie Eddie. Burnt caramel and pine mixed with weed and cigarette smoke. It made you dizzy.

“I’ve been trying all summer.” he nodded but then grinned wolfishly like he didn’t mean it, handing you the slushy. His face was flushed and he prayed you hadn’t noticed but he could still feel his skin burn just where you touched him a second ago.

And that was pretty much how you spent the whole summer. Flirting that was but wasn’t really there, jokingly mean comments thrown back and forth at each other, innocent touches pretending they were not on purpose. You liked him. He was sweet and cute and really himself. You liked the way he talked, the way he smelled and the way he’ll get slightly shy around you. Eddie was all smooth sweet talk, rosy cheeks, loud metal music in his van, cherry slushies and lukewarm beers snuck behind the counter, soft touches at the small of your back and sometimes late night talking on the phone. He’d call you his favourite co-worker and the coolest girl in Hawkins which would earn him your shy laugh and that little smile you always tried to hide.

The clock showed ten to six when you and Eddie locked the doors after the last customer, the boy mopping the floor, making a bigger mess than before and you counting cash, dollar bills rustling in your hands.

“I can’t believe she chose Blondie over Metallica,” Eddie sighed dramatically, waving his arms in frustration, “Who does that?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your bag ready to go. You took Eddie’s van keys, hinting that it was time for him to stop complaining and drop you off at home.

“Blondie is cool, Eds,” you scoffed knowing well enough he’d say you were talking shit. You were.

The boy peered at you through his lashes, the slow stretch of his lips as he stopped, dropping down the mop.

“Oh, shut up,” he said it lightly, soft enough for your stomach to do a summersault. Your heart was stuttering behind your ribcage under his fond gaze.

Oh, he should stop looking at you like that.

“Make me.”

The words left your mouth quicker than you could register what you actually just said and too breathily for your liking. You could’ve sworn that just for a split second there was a change in Eddie’s eyes. Something dark and dangerous swam in the depths of those honey-brown eyes of his and you swallowed hard. His lips parted and you watched him lick his bottom lip and suddenly he was close to you. Too close.

He didn’t reply at first and you were scared you crossed the line. The boy stood just inches away from you, towering over you, making your brain go all fuzzy.

Your knees bumped, skin to skin and you shivered. Eddie murmured your name, unlikely quiet and shy, and you weren’t even sure if you heard him over the music still playing inside or if you imagined it. The toes of your black Converse touched his same black ones covered in sharpie doodles and Eddie tilted his head, gaze set on your lips.

You took a breath, exhaling shakily, feeling Eddie’s arm settling on your waist, his slender fingers digging into the skin there under your summer dress. You wondered if he’d kiss you now, you wondered what he’d taste like.

“Eddie…” you started but you were cut off as the boy leaned closer, all hooded eyes and you closed yours, eyelashes kissing the high of your cheeks. He kissed you then. Soft lips moving over yours, the kiss that was barely there, a contrast to how his hands were holding you, surely bruising tender skin that burned under that summer dress he loved so much.

And then he was kissing a spot just right behind your ear, and you let out a sigh that almost sounded like a moan and Eddie groaned, hands grabbing harder at you, pulling you into him, bodies pressed together. His lips were gentle, tender touches that were barely there. Your hands went up up up until they were tangled in his curls and you tugged softly earning yourself another groan from him. It was soft, a quiet one but it made you feel hot and you trembled when Eddie’s fingers traced the column of your neck as he gently nipped at the skin there. And then he pulled back, looking at you like that and smiled. You whined, feeling greedy for his touch and Eddie laughed, looking slightly smug but shy all the same.

“I wanted to do that all fucking summer,” he confessed, sincere and honest, fingers grazing soft skin just slightly under the hem of your dress.

“I thought you’d never do it,” you whispered as you reached on your tip toes for his lips for more.

[hawkinself]

December 24, 1983      ⤷ Hey, wish your mom a Merry Christmas for me, okay?

[hawkinself]

Better With You

just a little blurb cause it’s missing eddie munson hours.

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Eddie can’t sleep, cuteness overload, fluff.

‘‘Eddie, you okay?’’

Your voice came all groggy, rough with sleep. Dark trailer’s room was barely lit, a stripe of yellowish light snuck under the curtains running across the bed. The soft rustle of the sheets and Eddie’s heavy breathing were the only noise filling the space around you both.

“Baby?”

Eddie was all flushed skin, cheeks clammy when he turned to face you. He grimaced, glassy eyes trying to focus on you in the dark. Your hand soothed over his warm forehead, fingers gently brushing stray hairs away.

“M’fine,” Eddie grumbled, shuffling closer to you, leaning into your touch, “Just a nightmare.”

You smiled, noticing him relaxing under your fingers, thumb gently rubbing circles at his shoulder. The boy was stubborn, never wanting to show his own weakness cause Eddie swore that he couldn’t stand you being upset because of him.

You hummed quietly, all-knowing that he desperately needed you to touch him now. Eddie didn’t have to say it. You leaned closer, noses brushing. Eddie was all cigarette smoke, spice and autumn leaves. Burnt caramel and wood underneath. Your lips found the corner of his mouth, the high of his cheeks, the plush of his lashes.

Eddie sighed softly, lips chasing yours in a slow, languid kiss, the kind he was willing to give you when his chest hurt. Your hand found his under the covers, gently squeezing once, twice, a silent “I’m here, baby, you’re alright” as he licked into you.

“Fuck, I love you.” Eddie’s voice was hoarse, mouth pressed into the column of your neck, palm running down your side, warm and rough on your skin under the Dio t-shirt you slept in that smelled like the boy.

“Yeah?” you asked quietly despite knowing the answer.

“Yeah.”

You could feel him smile against your skin, nose nudging against the line of your jaw. Eyes fluttered shut as he gently nipped at your skin, warm breath sending goosebumps all over your body and you didn’t have it in you to scold him for being so Eddie.

He was slow and sluggish, broken sleep tugging at the boy as he tucked himself into you, soft curls tickling at your skin. Face hidden in the crook of your neck, Eddie hummed in contentment, breathing you in. You smelled like cut grass and cherry blossom, buttery popcorn and ginger beer. You reminded him of his favorite time of the year - spring. Even though it was a rainy November night outside, you felt like the sun to him.

“Let’s get back to sleep, huh?” you murmured, fingers gently tugging at the soft curls at the nape of his neck. Eddie pushed his palm up the inside of your t-shirt, thumb brushing over the swell of your breast as he nodded in agreement.

“Feeling better?” your own voice became sluggish with sleep, eyes shutting down, unable to fight off the tiredness that settled in your body.

Eddie pulled back just enough to look up at you, your lashes flattered closed against the apples of your cheeks, cherry-stained lips slightly parted.

“Always better with you.”

Eddie pressed a kiss to your temple, thinking how the hell he got so lucky.

[hawkinself]

Idk about y’all but Eddie has me by the clit tbh

[hawkinself]

Eddie is the type of boyfriend you catch eating apple slices right off the knife at 3:15 in the morning

[hawkinself]

Better With You

just a little blurb cause it’s missing eddie munson hours.

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Eddie can’t sleep, cuteness overload, fluff.

‘‘Eddie, you okay?’’

Your voice came all groggy, rough with sleep. Dark trailer’s room was barely lit, a stripe of yellowish light snuck under the curtains running across the bed. The soft rustle of the sheets and Eddie’s heavy breathing were the only noise filling the space around you both.

“Baby?”

Eddie was all flushed skin, cheeks clammy when he turned to face you. He grimaced, glassy eyes trying to focus on you in the dark. Your hand soothed over his warm forehead, fingers gently brushing stray hairs away.

“M’fine,” Eddie grumbled, shuffling closer to you, leaning into your touch, “Just a nightmare.”

You smiled, noticing him relaxing under your fingers, thumb gently rubbing circles at his shoulder. The boy was stubborn, never wanting to show his own weakness cause Eddie swore that he couldn’t stand you being upset because of him.

You hummed quietly, all-knowing that he desperately needed you to touch him now. Eddie didn’t have to say it. You leaned closer, noses brushing. Eddie was all cigarette smoke, spice and autumn leaves. Burnt caramel and wood underneath. Your lips found the corner of his mouth, the high of his cheeks, the plush of his lashes.

Eddie sighed softly, lips chasing yours in a slow, languid kiss, the kind he was willing to give you when his chest hurt. Your hand found his under the covers, gently squeezing once, twice, a silent “I’m here, baby, you’re alright” as he licked into you.

“Fuck, I love you.” Eddie’s voice was hoarse, mouth pressed into the column of your neck, palm running down your side, warm and rough on your skin under the Dio t-shirt you slept in that smelled like the boy.

“Yeah?” you asked quietly despite knowing the answer.

“Yeah.”

You could feel him smile against your skin, nose nudging against the line of your jaw. Eyes fluttered shut as he gently nipped at your skin, warm breath sending goosebumps all over your body and you didn’t have it in you to scold him for being so Eddie.

He was slow and sluggish, broken sleep tugging at the boy as he tucked himself into you, soft curls tickling at your skin. Face hidden in the crook of your neck, Eddie hummed in contentment, breathing you in. You smelled like cut grass and cherry blossom, buttery popcorn and ginger beer. You reminded him of his favorite time of the year - spring. Even though it was a rainy November night outside, you felt like the sun to him.

“Let’s get back to sleep, huh?” you murmured, fingers gently tugging at the soft curls at the nape of his neck. Eddie pushed his palm up the inside of your t-shirt, thumb brushing over the swell of your breast as he nodded in agreement.

“Feeling better?” your own voice became sluggish with sleep, eyes shutting down, unable to fight off the tiredness that settled in your body.

Eddie pulled back just enough to look up at you, your lashes flattered closed against the apples of your cheeks, cherry-stained lips slightly parted.

“Always better with you.”

Eddie pressed a kiss to your temple, thinking how the hell he got so lucky.

[hawkinself]

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[hawkinself]

i think about this a lot.