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nanamineedstherapy · 2 months ago

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Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceres CEO Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage. Contains two endings; which one will you take- Abandon them & move on with someone else. Or Take the long road to slow-burn groveling bcs Reader won't forgive them easily.

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Betrayal, Polyamory Gone Wrong, Toxic Relationships, Emotional Abuse, Unplanned Pregnancy, Body Horror, Gaslighting, Infidelity, Isolation, Unhealthy Relationships. As for --- it's for the scene split. And /// is for the splits in between the same scene. Like example a charecter decides to do something, so their multiple attempts could be separated by ///.

Chapter 1: Home Is Just a Place You Leave

The clock blinked 3:27 a.m., its red numbers bleeding into the suffocating darkness of the room. The faint creak of the front door shattered the silence, though it only emphasized the hollow ache in your chest. You didn’t look up from your laptop, though the spreadsheet in front of you blurred beneath your tear-clouded gaze. They didn’t call out to you. They never did anymore.

Gojo’s laugh filtered through the quiet, hushed but unmistakable, its usual warmth now slicing through you like shards of glass. It was followed by Nanami’s deep shush—an attempt at reprimand still laced with the remnants of amusement. They were trying to be quiet. Trying not to wake you. Or worse, trying to avoid you altogether.

Your chest tightened as the bedroom door clicked shut. The finality of the sound pressed against your ribs like a vice. You closed the lid of your laptop, extinguishing the only source of warmth in your home office.

It hadn’t always been like this.

Months ago, Gojo would have bounded through the door, sweeping you off your feet with his endless energy, spinning you in the kitchen as you brewed coffee at midnight because you had work to get done with your international clients in different time zones. Nanami would’ve sighed, exasperated but indulgent, chastising Gojo with his usual composure only to steal a sip from your mug when he thought you weren’t looking. He’d press a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring that you worked too hard and should rest. Nights used to mean laughter, warmth, and their insistence that the world could wait just a little longer while they held you close.

Now, the bed was cold. Empty. And when it wasn’t, they were.

The first time you noticed, you convinced yourself it wasn’t real.

They’d been out late again. Gojo’s shirt was rumpled, his cologne faintly overpowered by the acrid bite of whiskey. Nanami’s hair was damp, the scent of cheap bar soap clinging to him. You’d stayed up, the effort evident in the tea set carefully on the table, your hands trembling with hope as you handed them their cups. You’d tried to salvage something, anything.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Gojo mumbled, his brilliant eyes fixed anywhere but on you. “Work stuff.”

Nanami grunted, brushing past you with a brief, impersonal nod. His silence chilled you more than the winter air seeping through the walls.

You told yourself they were tired. You told yourself it was fine. You told yourself it was ok if they had touched each other without you; maybe the missions they were on had been rough. You told yourself you were just being clingy. You’d uprooted your life for them, moving to Japan, where the language was foreign and the culture even more so. You had no friends, no family here. Your subordinates at work were polite but distant; forcing them to spend time with you wasn’t your style. You’d thought they—Gojo and Nanami—would be enough. They’d promised you would never feel alone.

But weeks passed. The crumpled bar receipts in their pockets became harder to ignore. The hickeys on Gojo’s neck and the sight of Gojo’s blindfold hanging from Nanami’s hand like a bracelet every night sent bile rising in your throat. Then there were the texts you glimpsed on the house iPad, where Gojo’s account was still logged in:

Nanamin <3: Tonight again?

Nanamin <3: Same place?

Nanamin <3: Don’t let her find out, Satoru.

Your stomach twisted violently as you read them, the bile in your throat threatening to choke you. You wanted to scream, to throw the iPad across the room, but instead, you exited the app and set it down gently, hands trembling, heart racing. You told yourself there had to be an explanation. There had to be.

But there wasn’t.

They hadn’t even touched you in two months. No kisses, no lingering glances, not even the casual brush of fingers over dinner. The absence of their affection was suffocating, a void that seemed to grow larger every day, swallowing you whole.

You buried yourself in work, accepting every trip, every meeting, every grueling hour. It was easier to drown in spreadsheets and product launches than to face the gnawing loneliness. But even then, their absence clung to you like a shadow, an ache that refused to fade.

At night, the bed felt cavernous. You’d stretch your hand out, desperate for some part of them—a hand, a breath, anything. But all you ever found was the cold emptiness where they used to be.

Tonight would be different.

You’d returned home early, determined to surprise them. You’d made their favorite dinner, lit the candles Gojo liked, and even played the old metal records Nanami swore helped him relax. But as the hours stretched on and your texts went unanswered, your hope dwindled, and the wine bottle you’d opened sat untouched.

Now, you sat in the dark, scrolling through your phone mindlessly until the glow illuminated a photo on Instagram. Your breath caught in your throat.

Gojo and Nanami, seated in a dimly lit bar, laughing like they hadn’t laughed with you in months. Gojo’s grin was wide, his head thrown back in unrestrained joy. Nanami’s lips curved into a rare smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. They looked happy.

Without you.

The photo shattered something inside you. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Your hands trembled as you gripped your phone, your chest heaving.

You’d given up everything for them. Your home, your friends, your career—everything. You’d built a life here for them, endured the isolation, the cultural barriers, the crushing loneliness. And for what? To be forgotten? To be cast aside like you meant nothing?

The front door creaked open suddenly, and you froze. Their voices were softer this time, but you could still make out the unmistakable warmth in Gojo’s laugh, the familiar cadence of Nanami’s low murmur.

You stared at the empty wine glass in front of you, the room suffocatingly silent once more. For the first time, you wondered if you’d made a mistake—if you’d ever meant as much to them as they had to you.

Nanami froze when he saw you, his tie loosened, hair disheveled, half his shirt untucked. Gojo’s ever-present charm faltered under the weight of your stare. You could smell the alcohol from ten feet away on them.

“We didn’t know you’d be up,” Gojo offered, scratching the back of his neck.

“You never care if I am,” you replied lowly, your voice trembling but resolute.

Nanami opened his mouth, then closed it, guilt flickering across his face but offering no solace.

“Do you even love me anymore?” You whispered, tears burning your eyes. “Or am I just the third wheel in my own marriage?”

Gojo’s hands twitched at his sides, but he said nothing. Nanami couldn’t even meet your gaze.

Their silence was louder than any answer.

They didn’t try to explain or comfort you. Instead, they went to bed, leaving you in the drawing room with nothing but your thoughts and the cold, untouched dinner and wine.

You stared at the blank television screen as your mind replayed every moment—the laughs, the touches, the love—that had slowly faded into nothingness.

At some point, the quiet turned unbearable. You wandered into the bedroom, where they lay side by side, their breathing deep and even. It should have brought you comfort, but instead, it only deepened the ache.

Gojo’s arm was draped over Nanami’s waist while Nanami cradled Gojo’s head in his chest, their bodies turned toward each other in unconscious intimacy. The sight made your chest tighten. You covered your mouth to muffle the sob that threatened to escape.

By the time the sun rose, its pale light spilling into the room, you felt no warmth. Only emptiness. You didn’t sleep.

When they finally stirred, you were gone.

You couldn’t bear to interact with people who clearly didn’t want you around, so you moved to the guest bedroom for the morning. It was your leave day, and you had nowhere to go. You had no friends in this country you’d moved to because of them. You’d learned the language somewhat, but it was still hard making connections given your introverted nature.

Their voices filtered in from the living room, low murmurs mixed with occasional laughter. You didn’t dare listen too closely. They were so consumed in each other they thought you weren’t home.

It was easier this way. Once they left, you got up to do your regular skincare and eat something. Not sure what you were looking for when you checked the fridge, you remembered Nanami always left you something to eat. These days you craved his cooking—but nothing this time. You scoffed at the sight as a single angry tear rolled down your cheek.

Two days later, you collapsed onto the cold bathroom floor, your knees pulled to your chest, your body convulsing in spasms you couldn’t control. Every breath felt like it was being pulled from your lungs, sharp and shallow. The weight of it all was suffocating, pressing down on you from all sides. The doctor’s words reverberated in your skull, haunting and relentless.

Twins .

Your trembling hands slowly found their way to your stomach. A cold sweat broke out on your skin as your fingers pressed against the swelling, the tiny lives inside you moving, shifting. It felt wrong. The movement, too much, too fast. It shouldn’t have been like this.

"I’m all you’ve got," you whispered, voice breaking, the words splintering as they left your lips. A sharp, painful sob wracked your chest. Your body betrayed you in ways you didn’t know were possible after your hysterectomy.

You hated it. You hated how their lives were tied to Gojo’s cocky smirk and to Nanami’s quiet strength; you hated how you could already feel them—tiny, fragile, their little bodies twisting and growing inside you. It felt like they were crawling under your skin, stretching and shifting in ways that didn’t belong, but more than anything, you hated how much you loved them already, how their very presence in your body was slowly becoming a part of you, tearing you open from the inside.

You had practically run from the hospital when they wanted more bloodwork, when they suggested deeper tests. The thought of them poking and prodding, of finding out what was inside you, made your stomach churn. If anyone knew—if anyone found out you were carrying the children of the most powerful sorcerers in existence, children who could potentially tip the power scales further—it would be a death sentence.

You couldn’t let them see. You couldn’t let anyone know. The world didn’t need to see what was growing inside you. They wouldn’t understand, so they didn’t need to know what you were tied to.

Because if they found out, Gojo and Nanami would stop at nothing to take them from you. And so would their enemies, who’d tear you apart, piece by piece, to get to them. You could already feel the blood pulsing beneath your skin, the strange, unnatural warmth of it all. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t human.

You couldn’t let that happen. You wouldn’t let anyone take them from you. Even if it meant you had to burn the world down to keep them safe. You had the money for it. The only thing you didn’t have was their support.

You gritted your teeth, eyes stinging with the unshed tears you refused to let fall. You should’ve told them. Should’ve screamed it at them the moment the doctor’s words had settled in your chest. But no, you couldn’t. Not after everything. Not when they didn’t want you, the mother of their child, around.

They’d been avoiding you, disappearing into their own little world, their own secret, leaving you to watch from the sidelines like some unwanted ghost. They’d been too busy with each other, tangled in their own twisted dance of pleasure and control, while you stood there, like the mistress in your own marriage. They didn’t need to know. Not now. Not when they were too busy fucking each other senseless to even look your way.

It wasn’t like they cared anyway.

Gojo had made it clear from the start: he never wanted kids. The idea of leaving behind an heir to carry on the Gojo name—his name—was a joke to him. He hated the clan and everything they stood for. He’d burn it all down before he’d let them turn his own flesh and blood into a weapon for their cause. He’d never allow it.

And Nanami? Maybe he’d considered it once, in a quiet, fleeting moment when the world wasn’t always on the brink of death. But not really. Not enough to change his mind. The reality of their lives, in his eyes—of sorcery—was that they could die at any moment. Kids? They’d both be dead before the kids ever grew up. It was a risk they’d never take.

You had never wanted children either, so you never had any issues; in fact, it was even better that way. You never asked for this. But now they were here. Now they were all you had left, all that mattered. You pressed your hand harder against your stomach, feeling the strange, unnatural pulse beneath your fingers. It was as if something was clawing its way out from within you, desperate to be born.

You weren't even sure why you bothered thinking about it. It wasn’t like they’d ever wanted you to be the mother of their children. You were just the one who got stuck with it, the one left holding the weight of it all. The one left standing while they pretended you didn’t exist.

You’d seen the way Gojo’s eyes barely lingered on you anymore, and Nanami’s were just as guilty—cold, absent, like you were some afterthought. They’d been treating you like the other woman, like you didn’t belong in the life they’d built.

You were expendable.

And yet, here you were, holding their children. Your children. You weren't sure if it was the rage or the pain that made your decision so clear, but you knew you couldn’t give them that power. Not now. Not when they were too wrapped up in each other to care about you.

If they didn’t want to see you, you’d let them stay blind. If they didn’t care, you wouldn’t force them to. You’d keep the secret. You’d protect them—your children—on your own.

Your husbands didn’t deserve to know. Not anymore.

After some nights, the bedroom door creaked open sometime past 3 a.m. You were already under the covers, turned toward the furthest wall, hiding from the world. You’d only stayed in your shared bedroom because you knew they wouldn’t come home; they never did on weekends.

Your breath hitched when the mattress dipped, the weight of it familiar, but this time it felt like dread clawing at your skin. Gojo slid in first, followed by Nanami. A blade twisting deeper into your chest. You felt the weight of it settle in your bones, pressing you further into the bed, as though the world was slowly collapsing on top of you.

You could hear the wet, sloppy sounds of their kisses, their breaths, so painfully intimate and shallow it felt like a physical violation. Gojo’s muffled whimpers, Nanami’s barely audible groans—they echoed in your mind, tearing away the layers of the lies you’d been telling yourself. Your hands clenched your shirt, knuckles white with the effort to hold yourself together, but every rustle of fabric, every quiet chuckle that followed, felt like it was shoving you further into the abyss. You weren’t just an observer; you were a prisoner, locked in your own home, trapped in a marriage that was no longer yours.

You heard the unmistakable sound of a belt buckle being released. “Not here,” Nanami muttered, his voice low but lacking any real conviction, as though it were a half-hearted protest. You could almost hear the disinterest in his tone, as if your presence had become a dull ache he’d long stopped caring about.

“Why not?” Gojo’s voice was smug, teasing, as if daring the universe to intervene, daring it to stop him. “She’s asleep.”

You weren’t asleep. You hadn’t been able to sleep for days, but the idea of letting them know that—of confronting them right now felt disgusting—felt like it would tear you apart. The bed shifted slightly with their movements, and you felt each small shift like a punch to the gut. The sounds of their clothes rustling, the soft murmurs of each other’s names, the desperate, needy gasps—they all melted together into a sickening symphony that filled your ears, but you could hardly hear them over the sound of your own heart breaking. It was obscene. It was intimate. It was everything you weren’t anymore.

Tears burned down your cheeks, hot and stinging as they fell. Your body trembled beneath the sheets, every muscle aching with the effort to keep yourself from breaking down completely. You pressed a trembling hand to your mouth, desperate to stifle the sobs that clawed at your throat, but it didn’t matter. They couldn’t hear you. They never would. Gojo’s words sliced through the air with cruel simplicity.

“See? Nothing.”

It was the final blow. The words rang in your ears, each syllable heavier than the last. The suffocating silence that followed felt like it would swallow you whole. Your chest ached with the weight of it, a hollow emptiness growing where your heart used to be. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, the metallic taste of blood spreading across your tongue, but it didn’t stop the pain. Nothing could stop it. Nothing could make it stop.

The bed shifted again, the weight of their bodies moving in rhythm, their shared gasps filled the air. It felt like you were being suffocated, the room closing in on you, pressing in on all sides. You wanted to scream. You wanted to turn around, to confront them, to demand answers, to demand some shred of decency, but you couldn’t. You stayed silent. Unmoving. Paralyzed by a combination of rage and heartbreak so deep, it left you hollow. You wanted to crawl out of your skin with the way you felt disgusted with them, with yourself being next to them.

You stayed silent because you had already made your choice. There was nothing left to say, nothing left to do. You had been here before, alone in your marriage, surrounded by their indifference. And yet, it was never more apparent than it was now, with their laughter still echoing in your mind, their skin brushing against each other as if you were invisible.

The air in the bedroom was suffocating, thick with the stench of unspoken words, broken promises, and sex. You could feel the ghost of their presence on the bed beside you, a haunting reminder of what they’d once been, of what you’d once thought you had. But now, it was just a shell.

Your eyes were wide open in the dark, staring at the wall in front of you but seeing nothing. You couldn’t sleep. Not now. Not after the cruel mockery of your existence that was playing out in front of you. Their bodies moving together—everything about it was a slap in the face. You weren’t there, you weren’t needed, and you never had been.

You had thought you’d gotten used to the isolation, to the distance they kept, but tonight had shattered whatever fragile illusion you’d managed to cling to. You had never felt more invisible, more worthless, than you did in that moment. They hadn’t even cared enough to hide it. They hadn’t even cared enough to pretend.

You didn’t know how long you’d been lying there, trembling beneath the sheets, your body wracked with sobs you couldn’t stop. You were still in the same bed you’d shared with them, the bed that once felt like a symbol of everything you’d built together, now a mockery of your place in their lives.

Your body felt wrong. You pressed your hand to your stomach, feeling the faintest flutter of movement beneath your skin, the tiny lives growing inside you—their children. The children they had never wanted. The children you hadn’t wanted. And yet, here they were, their presence growing inside you, relentless and undeniable. Their actions next to you made you feel like these children were a disease, a curse, spreading through your veins, feeding off the pain, feeding off the isolation. It made you feel alive in a way that made your skin crawl.

You hated it. You hated that you were carrying their children, that your body was betraying you in the worst possible way. You hated that the only part of them that still mattered—that was what had been left inside you. And yet, no matter how much you hated it, you couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of them. You couldn’t. They were the only thing you had left; it wasn’t their fault they came from such fathers.

You weren’t even sure why you stayed anymore. You had given them everything—your time, your body, your trust—and all they had given you in return was distance, neglect, and betrayal. Gojo, with his smug, untouchable arrogance, always so sure of himself, never even noticing the cracks in the façade. Nanami, the stoic, the silent one, always too focused on his work, too focused on keeping his distance. They were too wrapped up in each other to see you, too lost in their own world to even acknowledge that you existed.

This was beyond anything you had prepared for.

And yet, when you closed your eyes, all you could hear were the sounds of them together. The muffled groans, the wet kisses, the sound of their skin against skin. Every breath you took felt like it was pulling the air from your lungs, suffocating you in the weight of it all. You wanted to scream, to shout at them, to demand that they see you. But you didn’t. You stayed silent because you knew it wouldn’t matter. If they cared, they wouldn’t have left you for days without a word after you had begged them to tell you if they loved you. You were just a ghost in their lives now, nothing more than a bystander in a marriage that had already crumbled.

The next morning, when they left, as they always did, before the sun had even risen, you lay there, unmoving like you had the entire night, too afraid of the humiliation, unable to shake the image of them slipping away from you once again. The bed was still warm, but it wasn’t enough. The scent of their cologne lingered in the air, a reminder of everything you had lost, of everything they had taken from you.

You stared at the ring on your finger, the symbol of everything that was supposed to be but never was. It felt heavier than ever before, like a weight pulling you down into the abyss. A reminder of how much you had given up and how little they had given in return.

You were nothing to them now. Nothing but a placeholder. A person who had been used, then discarded. And still, you had stayed because you had no choice.

So you made your choice.

You left the ring on the nightstand.

You locked the door behind you and didn’t look back.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts: Who do you think is more unforgivable, Gojo or Nanami? Or is it both? Please leave a comment; your chaos fuels mine.

Chapter 2 - Home is just a place you leave (Tumblr/Ao3)

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watchfuldeer · 8 months ago

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last night i went to a really fun and informal fundraiser evening with jesse and lucy at westminster school, where they were interviewing each other. i got to ask a question which i’ve mused upon for some time about tom, shiv and greg. enjoy! full transcript under cut

Transcript

me: so i’m gonna have to look at what i wrote down.

jesse: that’s alright, you’re highly in credit since you know more about the show than us. more about john berryman.

(laughter)

lucy: tell us what we’ve done wrong so far!

me: god, no. i wouldn’t! so my question, this is a character based question, and one thing that probably got a bit subsumed in the fourth season just because everything was happening. but i’d like to know more about tom and shiv, and also greg. because my read on the situation between the three of them is that greg is a source of marital strife (laughter) that shiv never noticed, and what would it have taken for shiv to notice the depth of greg’s presence in their marriage.

jesse: uh huh.

me: and tom’s attachment to him.

jesse: uh huh. sometimes you get little bits in life or you see something and you’re like, i wish we were making the show, because i suddenly do want to hear shiv say ‘greg you’re a source of marital strife’.

(laughter)

jesse: that’s like, when you’re like, that’s gonna be in, we’re not gonna cut that.

lucy: absolutely.

jesse: (doing greg voice) wh-wh-what?!

(laughter)

lucy: yeah. well we enjoyed that, didn’t we. we had a scene in america decides, which was the only scene between shiv and greg.

jesse: oh yeah.

lucy: the election episode in the final season where she takes him into a little room and threatens him.

me: ah, but it’s jealousy over lukas, over the greg and lukas thing, and it’s like, have you forgotten your husband, who is also very attached to this limpet?

lucy: yeah. i would also say that there are marriages in which a third party is not an unuseful thing, as well. not in a forgiving way about infidelity, but i would say that there are things that tom can express with and at and on greg (laughter) as it were, to greg, that are useful because he’s both a - you know the great, the interesting thing about tom is that he’s both a courtier and a bully. he’s that rare combination of someone who you totally believe as being almost like (mimes bowing and doffing cap) ‘oh yes sorry thank you yes ma’am’ and also like, ‘i’m gonna kill you’ and that juxtaposition is what makes him so interesting.

but in his marriage to shiv he has no real way, until quite late i guess in the final season, where we explore it, to hold power over her and to use that part of himself. so he’s accepted the acquiescing, he’s accepted the role of courtier in that marriage, and greg is quite a useful place where he gets to express all of that, the bully in him so that maybe it doesn’t have to come out in the marriage. which might be bad, because perhaps it should do and then the marriage would’ve ended much earlier, yknow, when shiv would just be like ‘i’m not dealing with you challenging me in any way’. so it’s not until that balcony scene i think where he really challengers her much at all. possibly the beach scene, where he sort of says that he’s considered leaving her, and how that would feel. but with aggressive challenge? it’s all directed at greg, and greg is allowed to be the place where all those feelings go.

me: but the affection - there’s also affection between them.

jesse: YEAH. and i think that’s the other thing maybe you’re alluding to is like, she… i think, some things you know you’re putting in the show because you talk about them and other things just naturally occur, and audiences and people tell you what the show is and what you put in there and you didn’t even realise, but i think we were aware of this - she’s oblivious. her obliviousness is a big part of her wealth and her upbringing and… so there’s something homoerotic going on between greg and tom.

me: i mean it’s not for me to say.

(laughter)

jesse: and does she… i think there’s two ways of reading that, either she’s oblivious, and that’s intriguing and possible. the other is that she sort of - there’s a scene in, you know that one, in the sun valley media conference in argestes, where we wrote a bit where shiv shows up unexpected and tom’s sort of flirting with someone, and it never really landed that much. i think we were like, oh this really gonna, shiv’s gonna spark up when she sees him flirting with someone. and it’s one of those things where you were like, you know what? i don’t think she gives a hoot, really, does she.

(laughter)

jesse: it’s like, she hasn’t got that, that’s not in her belly, that fear of loss.

lucy: no.

jesse: so i think that goes, that probably goes for a same-sex relationship or flirtation as much as it does for with a woman.

lucy: i think that’s true.

jesse: like she really… even if he was like - and this is not the way that tom would be like - ‘i think i’d like to sleep with greg’, i think she’d be like (mimes looking at watch) ‘when?’.

(laughter)

jesse: (as shiv) ‘not when i’m in the city, that’s weird, tom’.

(laughter)

jesse: i don’t think she’d have any fundamental objection to that.

lucy: that’s true. i think jealousy is quite a low status emotion.

jesse: yes.

lucy: and i think that she would struggle to feel it.

(jesse laughs)

lucy: even if it was present in some way, she would never be able to access it because it would put her too much at a disadvantage. so i think yeah exactly that, it would be like, ‘oh i guess you’re going to fuck that boring woman now are you, tom’ or do that, like… she has to be here (mimes one hand above another hand) so jealousy can’t really be accessed by her. so she might be irritated by greg, but in the way you would be by a mosquito.

me: to her detriment.

lucy: to her detriment, sure, ultimately yeah.

#succession #tomgreg #tomshiv #jesse armstrong #lucy prebble #sorry for the audio quality 😭#they didn’t have mics as it was a very small room and my phone could only pick up so much #lucy put forward the more traditional view of greg being tom’s emotional outlet #but credits greg to prolonging a doomed marriage that otherwise wouldn’t have made it over the first hurdle #i’d never really thought of it that way. greg is actually the third wheel of their marriage lol.#and it’s why the marriage finally goes off the rails when greg does like… usurp her #just by caring about tom #jesse’s answer made me laugh and i think it is probably true #she would feel bound to accept tom asking if he could sleep with greg #and as lucy says it’s because jealousy is beneath her to acknowledge

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