Headcannons for the gang during married life
Henry Bowers
He is a creature of habit. Waking in the morning with little interest in conversation until his morning paper and coffee. He says black, but you slip in four sugars, the way he truly likes it. He’s not a hard man to please, all he wants is the house to be cleaned, laundry folded, dinner on the table, and a cold beer in his hand the second he steps through the door… no pressure.
Spare change collects in a rusted tin bucket that reads VACATION. It’s never as full as he’d like it to be, both of you dipping into throughout the years when unexpected misfortune comes your way. Call it the Bowers’ curse. Good sex doesn’t cost anything. Better, that it’s his favorite pass time.
Patrick Hockstetter
There is never any incentive for him to get marry–though the idea has piqued his interest before. Coming home from a mundane job to a mundane house and having mundane sex because you were tired out from keeping the house running while raising his kid. Ya’ll would have at least one, heaven knows Patrick never cared for protection. It’s a quaint little though, but dull and practically useless.
He would mostly spend out the rest of his marriage behind bars convicted as a sexual predator or warming the sheets of a stranger’s bed making love to their spouse while your own sheets remain frigid. Commitment was never a forte of his.
Belch Huggins
He leaves the house early and returns home late. His clothes always wrinkled and blemished from working on cars all day. A mug that reads WORLD’S #1 HUSBAND sits at his work station. A hairline fracture crawls up the handle where it was super glued back together after the Tin Anniversary debacle. Never again would he dawn on roll blades, no matter how much you plead with him.
His evenings are booked solid with home repairs he promises to finish in a week’s time. Rarely is he ever that punctual, often distracted by your hypnotic call to the bedroom.
Victor Criss
It’s protocol to return home with flowers when he works late–on your birthday, he goes the extra mile with a box of chocolates. He embroiders you with kisses and praises compose of precise wording. A tale sign he knows he’s in the dog house. You take pity on him because you know he works hard to provide such a big house, and you do love being spoiled by him.
The babysitter knows more about his children than he does, and you joke soon they’ll refer to them as Daddy. At night, far past the children’s bed time and somewhere between him lighting up a smoke after sex, the phone rings; it’s work.