Oneshots, imagines, and ideas, oh my! *discontinued*

Jim Gordon Imagine

Jim Gordon Imagine

Warnings: Adultery, cursing, sexual themes. Rated R for safety first.

Song for this chapter: S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W by My Chemical Romance

Note: Hey I tried something new watch nobody vote on it.

Jim Gordon (Gotham, TV) Imagine

"He loves me, he loves me not." Y/n tiredly picked at the bloom in her hands, consulting it for romantic advice as only a child would. Had it really been eight years of this? Long days, cold nights. Always more to be done and nothing else to do about it. And he was as busy as busy could get, stuck on a case and clogged up with paperwork. It wasn't like she'd made a big dinner and gotten dressed up, he'd told her in the morning that he'd be staying late, or staying period.

To his credit, he'd sent her a rose.

It was the very same rose that was getting demolished in her hands. Down to the last petal, she heaved a sigh, plucking it.

"He loves me not."

Decision having been made, she dropped the stem and stood, draining her glass of wine and grabbing her purse at the same time. It wasn't like it was unfair to him, he was having an affair with his job, anyways. That's what she told herself. 

There never was any guilt after, oddly enough. She should be beside herself with grief, betraying her kind husband who cared only for her safety. But she didn't feel bad driving over to his apartment, she didn't feel bad when he fucked her, and she didn't feel bad when she went back home to sleep in her own bed. The bed was hers, just hers, Jim never got the chance to sleep in it anymore.

It hadn't happened over night. They hadn't always been this been this broken. She very clearly remembered kissing him on the counter while they moved into their first apartment, rubbing his shoulders when he first got to Gotham. But their anniversary prompted a look back at the year behind them, a curious look at what had gone wrong.

The first year, it was their lack of success in getting pregnant. The second, it was learning of her infertility and the blame associated with that. The third year had been just worse, as Jim threw himself into his work with a mildly regretful passion. Fourth, he'd stopped coming home every night. Fifth, she cheated on him. Sixth, he cheated on her. Seventh, she started drinking. And now...eighth. 

What had the year been? They didn't argue, anymore, they hardly spoke. It was unfortunately ironic, seeing as Y/n had never thought she would miss yelling at her husband and getting shouted at in return. The year was mostly made up of regrets. He didn't have anything he wanted to come home to, and thus he became very wrapped up in fixing the town around him. Anything to keep away from his wife, and his marriage.

It wasn't all her fault, either. Y/n was a child, in a way, constantly wanting attention. Jim had never really been keen on giving it to her, right from the start. It used to only pinch at her heart, tug at her scalp, but since then she'd become self-conscious and bitter, noting his lack of attention and calling it aversion.  He didn't ask about her, he didn't communicate her. And she was the stereotypical woman, needing the things he just couldn't give. She used to listen to him, but as she grew emotionally exhausted, she blanked whenever he started to vent to her. It wasn't her fault when he got mad at her for not listening, she was just returning the favor.

When she first cheated on him, she'd been nudged towards another man out of loneliness. She'd been so in love with him, still, and he couldn't find the time for her--nor did he regret the fact. It hadn't been hard to find someone else, and when Jim had accused her of cheating she openly admitted to it. He says otherwise, but she's certain he cheated on her in return out of spite. They hadn't left each other after their rounds of unfaithfulness, stuffing one another up with marriage counseling and false promises. No matter what they tried or what they said, it all boiled down to a poorly-disguised truth.