Gojo groans dramatically beneath you, though you know he’s just putting on a show. His arms lower him down, then push him back up with ridiculous ease, as if the added weight of both you and the hard wooden board on his back is nothing.

“You sure you’re not slacking off up there?” he teases, voice breathy but still playful. “You feel lighter than usual.”

You shift slightly out of spite, making the board creak. He wobbles just a little but recovers fast, laughing.

"Okay, okay! Maybe not that light."

Beside him, Geto remains focused, his movements slow and precise. He barely acknowledges Gojo’s antics, instead keeping his breathing steady as he pushes himself up. Unlike Gojo, he doesn’t talk—he just works, his muscles tense under the strain.

“Bet you can’t last as long as me,” Gojo taunts, sweat beading at his forehead.

Geto exhales, lowering himself once more. “Unlike you, I don’t waste energy running my mouth.”

Gojo laughs, but after a few more reps, he finally collapses, shifting the weight onto Geto’s side. Without hesitation, Geto takes on the full burden, adjusting smoothly as if nothing changed.

Your weight settles more onto him now, but he keeps going, barely faltering.

Gojo rolls onto his back, panting. “Alright, alright. You win this round.”

Geto smirks but says nothing, pushing himself up once more.

And just like that, the cycle continues—you, forever stuck as their unwilling workout accessory.