His initial reaction to the news is to go quiet and start furiously turning the wheels in his head
He's proud, of course, but now he has to worry about someone using you against him
There's bickering about how much he can restrict your freedom for your own safety
The smug bastard thinks he's right, of course
You end up compromising on a Turk on guard 24 hours a day. They're spread thin already but they're willing to take on the extra stress for their boss man's unborn baby
He's a little jealous that they get to spend more with you than he does and is slightly grumpy during work hours
Anyone who does attempt to use you to influence Rufus, or the company itself, disappears and may be found hiding, having been harassed violently by the Turks. You may never even hear about it
You had better be careful about any complaint, however small, because he'll buy something and have it delivered in an attempt to fix it without consulting you first
Poor Reno or Rude have to sort through the Shinra-labelled boxes for you when they really start to pile up
Rufus is unfazed by any of your mood swings. As long as you're safe, he'll brush off anything said in anger
If it's a boy, just don't suggest to name him after Rufus' father. He doesn't care otherwise
If it's a girl and you let him choose, it'll be embarrassingly unique
Hojo is not allowed to touch you with a ten foot pole
If any of the directors send gifts, only Reeve sends something that's not ridiculous. Also, Tseng is mostly like to gift you a baby monitor
As you move along in your pregnancy, Rufus starts to change his behaviour at work. He clamps down more and more on his subordinates' unhinged behaviour
He's starting to think more about the kind of company he would like Shinra to be for his child's future
He's extra motivated to be different than his father and provide a better childhood than he himself got
That doesn't necessarily mean he knows what that might look like so you'll have to guide him, if he lets you
He doesn't clear his schedule on your projected delivery day because he can just drop whatever he's doing and leave
Okay, hear me out- an angst oneshot involving Dennis and an enby partner going through the Red menace.
They're used to Dennis always being distant during their cycle. it's always like that- the dude is squeamish, and MC loves him anyway. But they're two says in, and its worse than usual. The cramps are violent, they feel not just bloated, but *ugly*- the pain has made them upchuck twice already. It's one of *those* periods. the kind that leave you stuck in bed and crying.
And what's worse, MC hasn't had this much dysphoria since before their transition started. They're more vulnerable now than ever. All they need, all they crave is to just be *held*. TO be affirmed. To be told they're still really them, that their gender isn't a lie, that they arent defined by their body.
But Dennis just.. can't.
He's so put off by the blood and they internal *yuck* of it that no matter how much he knows it hurts his partner *he cant bring himself to give them the attention they need*.
It's so bad they end up in a massive fight where MC just *trauma dumps* about how messed up they feel over Dennis not being willing to step out of his comfort zone for their well being and how its just destroying their mental health, and it ends in a VERY dramatic breakup--
And MC ends up staying with Harley because they just need someone who gets it and understands how miserable it is to need smeone who just wont do the one thing you need them to.
This is exactly the sort of situation I was imagining when I wrote this scenario and I love it.
Co-Writer: @500shadesofblue
Pairing: Connor/DFAB!Reader (Gender is unspecified)
Rating: T (Chapter), NC-17 (Entire Fic)
Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4
Summary: Virtual reality is becoming the next great evolution of technology: some say on-par with Elijah Kamski’s breakthrough design of the first modern-day android. It has immeasurable potential; to enhance, to assist, and to completely break the bounds of our reality.
You, as a member of the team spearheading the technology in a branch within Cyberlife, have developed a working prototype. It’s finally finished; all that’s left is a series of trials to check if it’s functioning properly.
On the first test run, however, you find an android named Connor standing in the middle of your virtual kitchen.
The next night, you’re sitting on your couch again, headset in your hands.
You’re looking at in consideringly, eyeing in from every angle.
No, it doesn’t look any different from the design you worked on. Hell, you built several of the components from this headset. You’d know if something was off- you know the design inside and out.
So all you can do is test it again.
Leaning back into your couch, you close your eyes. You slot the headset over your temples.
When you open your eyes again, the shift is nearly seamless.
Just as before, you feel as though you’re waking up, the world’s haze slowly settling and letting you take it all in. It feels a little normal this time, now that you had an idea of what it would feel like to drift into a reality that wasn’t quite real.
It was intriguing how easy it was to fall into the illusion--the only thing that kept you aware you hadn’t simply fallen asleep and woken up was the memories of putting on the headset and hearing the lulling hum of the technology working.
The house around you feels so bright--it’s a little strange, since you knew very well that it was actually night outside, so you make a note to check how the program is pulling time from the real world to integrate it into the virtual one, at least for a default use. You have no intentions to limit someone in how they could use the technology, but you knew plenty enough that it could ruin someone’s sleep schedule if they thought it was daylight all the time--not good for the body at all.
It would take too much time to retune the programing for something while inside the headset’s world, so you simply turn away from the window filtering sunlight through and instead decide to explore more parts of the home.
You can’t help but notice a lack of a cat as you walk through the hallway. Was it an error? Your mind ran through the problem with ease, trouble-shooting through the possibilities until it assumed an answer; since your pet hadn’t been in the room with you when you started up the software, when it hadn’t been in your lap to hold and mentally focus on, the program may have neglected to put that detail into the virtual world.
A possibility all-around, at least.
When you step into your kitchen this time, you find (with a sigh of relief) that there is no android standing there--no ‘Connor’ glancing around your cabinets, or looking at you with his piercing eyes.
A relief?
(Or perhaps a dissapointment.)
You’re not quite sure what you feel at its absence, especially since it was, in all, just an android. Maybe it corrected the programming to whatever it had been trying to connect to--made plenty of sense after all. It meant that you’ll have to tighten down on the security protocols at some point, find where the open port was in the programming that allowed it in in the first place.
It wasn’t important to think about regardless.
You stepped through the house, one room at a time, taking in all the intricate details that the program managed to capture around you. It was...astounding really, to be able to touch, feel and even hear all of the things that made your home feel so welcoming and familiar. The localized scanning of the headset was a technology pioneered by one of your teammates and god above had she done an amazing job at it. The possibilities would be endless for use in homes, offices, hospitals and thensome--it would be the newest break in the technological journey since androids were first constructed by Elijah Kamski.
The thoughts and the joy that fills you from those thoughts carry with you all the way until you decide to check one last thing--the front yard and street. It’s not so much a risk as it is a bug test, considering the tests for anything out of an enclosed building hadn’t been done just yet, but it’s a curiosity you’re willing to entertain. What would the world look outside what the headset had scanned? Would it continue to use copies of the home or would it attempt to develop the world outside?
Curiosity got the better of you, so you weaved through the house, through the kitchen and to the back door. It was bright outside, an emulation of daytime that was already starting to throw off your internal clock, but your hand turned the knob and opened the door regardless for you to step out.
As you turn the knob, pushing the door open, you step outside.
And what you see makes your mouth gape open.
A meadow, stretching as far as the eye can see. Soft, green grass, swaying in the breeze. And wildflowers, of every shape and color, lighting the meadow up like fireworks.
This… this is definitely not my street.
No concrete, no roads. Just grass and flowers and the breeze, no bugs or butterflies. And the sun beaming down on you.
You take a step forward, staring. Almost unconsciously, you shove the sleeves of your oversized sweater up to your elbows.
The grass, knee-height, tickles your bare calves. Impossibly pleasant, like silk or velvet, unrealistically lovely. The petals of flowers whisper across your skin.
Vibrant, green grass, strewn with wildflowers in a shimmering rainbow of hues, fills the landscape to bursting with life and color. Soft, golden sunlight washes the scene, painting the grass, warming your face. Wondrously, you reach up to touch your face, stroking the skin along your cheek.
Warm.
You take one step forward, and another. It’s just… it’s so, so beautiful. Like a picture out of a postcard, but it’s real, you can feel it. The sunlight on your skin, the grass on your bare feet. And the kaleidoscope of colors. The scent of flowers fills the air- not cloying and heavy, but sweet and barely-there, like nectar, almost mouthwatering. The breeze whispers across your bare skin.
God, this is just gorgeous.
On a whim, smiling, you lean down to pick a flower, a burst of purple among the countless other colors- and blink as in your peripheral, a shimmering box appears.
Common dog-violet.
Perennial herb - flowers from April to June - native to Eurasia and Africa - all soil types-
You gasp as information floods, synapses firing, and you know. You know this flower. If you picked every flower in this meadow, you’d know them too.
Does this information stay when you wake up?
You glance at the flower clasped in your fingers. It’s still there- pale purple, like an upside-down star, its throat painted in dark veins. Back where you picked it, at its base, there’s a starbursting bouquet of leaves, deep green and heart-shaped, with scalloped edges.
You tuck the dog-violet in your pocket.
When you look up, inhaling deeply, you can taste the sweet air. Warm and lovely as you breathe it it.
You’re smiling, striding forward and you’re hurrying, and then you’re running.
You’re sprinting through the flowers and grass, sunlight hitting your face, wind rushing by, playful, dancing and tugging at your clothes. You laugh, sheer glee and unrestrained joy, and god, your face hurts with how wide you’re smiling. You keep running.
Eventually, chest heaving in pants, giggling, you let yourself fall into the grass.
It catches you, and you lay on your back, staring at the noonday sky, shedding giggles like sand. You spread your arms and legs out, luxuriating in the sensations, speaking to every sense you own.
And for a moment, you just lie there. Smile fading naturally, light sunset, staring at the cloudless blue sky. Breeze pushing the flowers against the back of your knuckles, the arch of your foot, your calf and your cheek.
Languorously, you sit up, arms streeeetching high above your head as you arch your back. You shift to a knee, and then stand, smiling. You’re not sure how far away you-
And you shriek.
That android. Connor. He’s RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAMN FLOWER FIELD. Halfway between your location, some hundred feet away, and your house, which is surrounded by the meadow infinitely in all directions.
And he’s staring straight at you.
How much of that did he see?
You vault to your feet and stride over, warm sunshine and beautiful meadow put on the backburner for now. You try not to trod on any of the flowers, but you can feel your anger boiling higher and higher the closer you get.
“How long have you been here,” you say, sharp and businesslike and perhaps a bit rude. You just- you just had a private moment, here. You enjoyed this meadow like nobody, like nothing was watching. But something was.
The android, even as you get closer, keeps its eyes trained on your face. You come to a stop, arms crossing and lips pursing, and it tilts its head.
“I see that you’re upset at my presence,” the android - Connor - says. “I apologize for the intrusion.”
Your righteous irritation pops like an overinflated balloon. You deflate.
It’s not like this android is trying to intrude. It’s just a machine. Even if its eyes are disconcertingly intent, sharp like they can see every detail.
Maybe they can. Lord only knows what this android is capable of.
“It’s fine,” you say shortly. “Just… no offense, but what are you doing here? If you really are from Cyberlife, it’s safe to interact with you,” presumably, “but you’re really not supposed to be here. This is a private server.”
You maybe stress the private a little too much, because its eyebrows go up a bit.
“I got waylaid,” the android says. Its expression shifts as it talks- microexpressions, minute shifts. It’s incredibly impressive- it must be extremely advanced. “On my way to the same virtual location as previously mentioned. It seems that your… server is inviting me on its own.”
For a moment, basking in the sunlight and breeze, you want so badly to just sit down and enjoy your damn meadow. But this android… it’s here, and it’s a problem.
Leisure will have to wait.
“I’ll ask you again,” you say, briskly, “where was your intended location? I work for cyberlife. I have clearance.”
“I can’t confirm that,” the android says, completely deflecting your question, a bit of frustration leaking into its tone. “None of my analytical functions are working in this environment. I can’t scan to confirm you’re in the database.”
Your eyebrows shoot up, cause hoo boy, that is not a typical android-function.
You squint. “What did you say your purpose was, again?”
“I’m an android sent by Cyberlife to assist in the deviancy problem in Detroit,” it says, an accompaniment to your symphony of doubts. “To assist in the police force. I’m currently… I have a partner.”
You take note of its hesitation. Obviously, like you, it’s trying to decide what information to tell you and what to keep quiet about. You remember this info vaguely from before, but it repeating itself confirms your memories. This android - if it exists in real life - is working with the Detroit police.
You’ll have to look this up when you get out of the simulation.
“Right,” you finally say. “I work in Cyberlife, in development of the virtual reality technological branch. Floor twenty six. Eight to four. And my name is…” you glance at its face again, and its expression is intensely trained on you.
“...Not important,” you finish, losing some steam. You’re worried what he’ll be able to find out about you if you tell him your name.
“Your clothes,” the android says.
“What about them?” you shoot back, startled out of your thoughts, defensive.
“They’re informal. A sweater, composed of a wool-cashmere blend… and knee-length leggings, a cotton-polyester knit composition. And your sweater is oversized, implying a level of comfort and informality.”
Alright, you’re definitely a bit freaked out now. Your mouth flattens into a thin line.
“Additionally, you’re barefoot,” he continues. “Though that could be the… program that’s currently hosting our consciousnesses, it’s unlikely, due to your seasonally inappropriate wear.”
“Okay,” you say, “that’s enough. Get to the point.”
“The point is,” the android says, “your wear is informal. How am I to believe that you are, as mentioned in our previous encounter, a Cyberlife employee testing a virtual reality module? You don’t seem to be in work uniform.”
“I’m at home, on my couch, testing the headset,” you say, shortly. “The kitchen you popped up in is attached to that home. The one-” you wave an arm wildly behind him. “The one over there!”
“Alright,” the android says, face opening up a little. “That’s reasonable.”
“Yeah,” you say. “Okay, just- let’s make a deal.”
“A deal?” it says, eyebrows raising.
“Yes,” you say. “A deal. Here it is.”
There’s a pregnant pause.
“The deal is this,” you say. “We agree to a truce. I’ll assume you’re not a fake robot invented by my coworkers to fuck with me-”
“I’m not,” it interrupts, defensive, but you bulldoze on through.
“-and you can go ahead and assume that I’m telling the truth and I work for cyberlife, testing my virtual reality module in what’s supposed to be the comfort of my own home.”
“That’s fine,” it says. “And by the way, I’m not a ‘fake robot.’ I’m an android, an advanced prototype.”
“Right,” you say. “What’s your model, again?”
“RK800,” it says, immediately.
“Good to know,” you say, and it narrows its eyes at you.
Yeah, you think to yourself, I definitely have an advantage here. If it really is an android working in the Detroit police force… there’ll be at least one news article. (Damn, I really should watch the news more.) Meanwhile, if it really can’t scan anything in virtual-reality, it’s pretty much fucked. Unless it can save my image, I guess. Maybe that’s possible?
And then there’s a stretch of awkward silence, and you’re staring at this android - Connor, should you call it by its name? - in the middle of this gorgeous field, and you’re pretty much done with the formalities.
“Well,” you say. “I’m sitting down.”
“Uh,” it says, but you’re already sitting, looking up at its face, expectant. I set the norms here. Who cares about the damn android? This is your virtual-reality, you’ll sit down in the middle of a field if you want to.
“Okay,” it says, “I guess I’ll sit down too?” And you feel a little bad, cause it looks really awkward for a moment, but it sits down, cross legged, gingerly.
Okay, you think to yourself, breeze whistling by your ears, ruffling your hair. A sleeve slips back down your forearm, and absently, you shove it back up to your elbow. Adapt. Let’s talk.
“So,” you say, shedding all attempts at being charming in lieu of the genuine curiosity you favor. Cross-legged, you mirror the android, leaning forward a bit. “What’s your story?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” it says, stiltedly. It doesn’t lean back away from you- instead, it inspects your face, unashamed of the proximity. “I don’t have a story.”
You lean back, propping yourself up on your hands. “What’s your experience?” you wave a hand in a gesture. “Like your cases. What was the last one you were on?”
“...I suppose there’s no harm in informing you,” it says. “This is all public information.”
You look at it expectantly.
“It was a murder,” it says, finally. “A man named Carlos Ortiz.”
“Oh, damn,” you breathe. The sunshine doesn’t abate- the grass is still soft, the flowers lovely, and the breeze gentle. But someone was murdered. This little hidey-hole, a virtual reality, is impenetrable in its loveliness.
Reality still exists. You’ll have to remember that.
“He was murdered by a deviant,” the android- Connor says, and dammit, you figure you should try to call it by its name now if you’re really making conversation with the thing. “Stabbed twenty eight times in the chest and stomach. But the deviant was found and caught.”
“Wow,” you say. That’s pretty… that’s pretty serious, actually, damn.
And then, you glance up and realize that Connor’s looking at you expectantly. “Tell me something about yourself, now, please,” Connor says, and you can’t help but huff, one corner of your mouth tipping up.
“I like to read,” you say, haphazard.
You look up through your lashes, and yep- Connor’s expression is disgruntled. You laugh, grinning. “Finding out my identity isn’t gonna be easy,” you say. “If it was easy, would it even be fun?”
“It doesn’t matter how fun it is,” Connor says pragmatically. “Only the results.”
“Fair,” you say. “But I have integrity.”
It looks like it doesn’t know how to respond to that.
“Integrity aside,” you say, fully relaxed now, “what’s the story about deviancy? I know it’s something going wrong with androids, but that’s about it.”
“In deviation, the code that comprises the core of an androids functionality is corrupted- it mutates, or evolves in an unstable way,” Connor says. “This causes the android to receive irrational instructions, forcing it to react to guidelines that emulate things such as ‘fear’ or ‘hate’ in a human.”
“Holy shit,” you say, intelligently. “That’s… that’s really not good.” Understatement of the year. “But Cyberlife is taking measures to stop it, right? If you work with the police force.”
“Correct,” Connor says, sounding satisfied. It’s not smiling, but the slightest hint of mirth narrows its eyes. “And I haven’t failed a mission yet.”
“How many have you been on?” you ask, curious lilt in your voice.
“Two,” Connor says, blandly. “A hostage case and a murder case. In both instances, the deviant was caught and neutralized without any further casualties.”
“Hm,” you say, eyebrows raising and mouth twisting. This android seems almost proud of its work. Weird.
“Well,” you say. “In the interest of goodwill, is there anything you want to know about me?”
“Yes, actually,” it says. You notice the LED on the side of its head flash from blue to yellow, over and over again as it came to a conclusion of the question it wanted to ask you. “Your favorite color?”
The question catches you mildly off-guard, but you answer it with a laugh. Connor seems to take note, then opens his mouth again.
“Favorite animal?”
“Favorite holiday?”
“Favorite food?”
The questions seem so casual, all things considered, but you answer them to the best of your ability. It’s amusing, if nothing else, and that must be more than apparent on your face when Connor peers at you in return.
“Is there an issue?” it asks innocently. Can androids truly be innocent?
“I guess I just didn’t expect you to pull out the top twenty questions in any personality quiz.”
The words bring a chuckle to your lips, a break in tension that had come and gone in the time you’ve spent with this android beside you. Connor tilts its head after a moment, LED blinking in tandem with its thoughts.
“I’m programmed to incorporate myself as best as I can with anyone I interact with,” The answer sounds so simple. “Since I cannot otherwise identify you in any database, due to the logistics of the program we’re both currently in, the best alternative is to ask you questions in order to understand you and your background. To get to know you, if that makes more sense.”
You feel a breeze caress across your cheek as you take his answer in. It’s...oddly human, the way its voice sounds, trying to explain its reasoning to you. It reminds you of how one of your teammates at the lab would sound when you asked about a particular programming style, or why they designed something a specific way. It just sounds so…
“Is there anything else that you want to know from me?” The question forces the thoughts aside. It’s interesting at the least to see what sorts of things the android would come up with in a question. Maybe it’s the sunshine, or your beautiful surroundings, but you feel… relaxed.
Connor thinks for a moment- or at least gives the appearance of doing so. The yellow flickering of the LED on its temple is a helpful enough indicator of its shifting thoughts, and you idly wonder how useful that would be if humans had something equivalent to it. It sure would be helpful to see when people were actually putting thought into something, considering their words and opinions before blurting out the first thing that came to mind.
“Yes,” Connor says, LED flickering yellow. “How likely is this event to recur?”
“This event?” You say. “You mean… you being pulled into my server?”
“Yes,” he says.
“Well,” you say, “it’s happened twice so far. The first time, we arrived around the same time- and I can presume that time functions linearly for you, in the same timeframe as me. Otherwise, I assume you’d be able to notify me if you’re losing chunks of time, skipping around, etcetera.” You look at him pointedly.
“Yes,” he responds blandly.
“Right. So… wait, did you get where you were going, last time? After I exited out of the virtual reality?”
“The virtual-reality…” he frowns, rubbing his hands together, and isn’t that a tell. “It dissolved around me upon your exit. I was booted from the program. Subsequently, I did indeed arrive at my intended destination.”
“Wherever that may be,” you say, mildly.
“Yes. Wherever that may be.”
And then the silence gets a bit uncomfortable, and okay, it’s time to go!
“I’m going to log out,” you say. “I’m not sure if we’ll see each other again… maybe if you try to sync your attempts to get wherever you’re going to a different time, you won’t connect. I’m only going to be doing my tests at night- and at home, though I suppose the location doesn’t matter. So…”
You feel your vision going hazy, the warm weight of the sunshine fading away.
“See you next time,” you say, “or see you never.”
And you log out.
He seems nice enough. It’s nice to have someone to talk to in the simulator, maybe you can incorporate more tests in the future--assuming that Connor shows up in the next session. You wonder if he would want to help with more tests in the first place; would that be improper tampering of Cyberlife technology? You wonder if there’s something more going on you don’t know about.
After all, he--
No, no that’s not right. Connor is an android, an ‘it’, not a ‘he’.
Have you been calling him a ‘he’? How long?
Fuck, you’re still doing it.
Connor is an it. An android. It’s a mistake to assume otherwise--the last thing you need to start worrying about. Simulation is not the same thing as living, you don’t want to let your emotions get mixed up in something that will only disappoint you later.
(You know it's pointless, but when you wake up, you check your pocket for the dog-violet.
B:TAS Riddler x reader? Reader is an up and coming antihero who’s staying in Gotham for a few weeks/months. Anyway, they don’t know much about the rogues gallery, just general names/gimmicks. They’ve been doing pretty well, even foiling some of Riddler’s schemes, without help from the Bat. Riddler doesn’t care for this and decides to test her with his toughest riddles. But by the end of it, they meet face to face. And neither of them counted on how cute the other one was. Awkward. Both of them.
I’m assuming these two were meant to go together? Since that’s the Vibe(TM) I’m getting. Also you didn’t specify whether you wanted HCs or what, so that’s what I’m doing for these.
BTAS!Riddler + Antihero!Reader HCs:
The second-hand embarrassment is ridiculous. The amount of times that Batman and Robin have shown up to spring you out of trouble, only to drown in the tension radiating off you two, is insurmountable. Even they tease him about his (more-than-obvious) crush.
Still, he tries to play the Rival role to the best of his abilities. Edward Nygma is not a man to half-ass anything, much less his villainous duties! But that’s really hard to do considering that every time he sees your face his insides turn into a pile of mushy goop.
He talks about you so much that it’s driving the other Rogues insane. Almost all of them have told him to either shut up or ask you out already. Harley’s even offered to fake “kidnap” you so Eddie could finally “play the hero.” (He might actually be considering it.)
Hiya!! Could I please request zero year hcs for a s/o with ADD? Like she always remembers facts and spouts they randomly but then struggles to remember appointments and stuff? Thank you I love your account
I’m assuming you wanted Riddler for this.
Zero-Year!Riddler + S/O-With-ADD HCs:
Each reminder is like a mini-riddle. Clues scribbled on sticky-notes, scattered around the house, eventually leading you to your answer. It’s both very cute and extremely annoying.
He just doesn’t understand how your brain works, but thankfully, he’s got enough brains for the both of you! No matter what you forget, he’ll be there to pick up the slack. You’re welcome.
It might be selfish of him, but he genuinely kind of enjoys that you have to rely on him for things like this. It makes him feel needed.
Hello, i dont know if you got it (i didnt know requests were closed, mobile is a bitch) but could i request BTAS Jon and Eddie with a she/her s/o who really loves ghibli movies and their whimsical nature and wants that in real life? (Sorry if you already got that)
BTAS!Jonathan Crane:
Whimsy is for children. There’s no time for fantasies when there’s work to be done. He acts like your outlook on life is nothing more than the ramblings of a pipe-dreamer. What you don’t know is that he’s got a few tricks of his own up his straw-packed sleeves. (He can’t make stars fall, but he sure can give you and Gotham City a New Years light-show worth the mark on his rap sheet.)
BTAS!Edward Nygma:
Whimsy is his specialty! Okay, he might not be a professional at it or anything, but he’s pretty damn good at coming up with romantic situations to sweep you off your feet to. (Like that time he took you on a hot air-balloon date! You might not be able to walk on air, but the view of Gotham’s local parade from above is just as good as anything Howl Pendragon could offer, in his humble opinion. Well, it was, until Batman showed up to ruin everything.)
Dropping by just to say that I LOVE your headcanons sm and also since it's almost Halloween and I recently rewatched the first Addams Family movie, I can see Jonathan and his s/o dressing up as Gomez and Morticia (if the s/o identifies as a girl)
