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make-it-mavis · 5 years

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All Work and No Play

Wreck-it Ralph fic (main timeline, post-Roadblasters, pre-Sugar Rush) Comedy/Romance 6370 words Characters: Make-it Mavis, Turbo Content warnings: dirty humor, brief sensuality, themes of burnout/depression

Premise: Unable to sleep, Mavis stays up practicing drawing objects. Turbo joins her and convinces her to draw something more fun. While they both have a good time, Turbo has a few things left to say on the matter, and, as usual, Mavis is reluctant to listen.

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Mavis never considered herself afraid of the dark, per se.

She had long ago set up curtains around her camp in Fix-it Felix Jr., trying to capture and contain the glow of her stolen lights and hide the vast, dark forest from her mind. On the nights she spent in Turbo's trailer, she was grateful for what little sunlight that managed to intrude through the tiny slits of space between the blackout shutters, just enough to highlight the shapes of furniture and belongings. But it was not the dark she truly feared -- it was the space. It was even just the illusion of space. Wide, open darkness with no visible end just needled toxic flashbacks into her brain, memories of the time she spent trapped in her game's code space. Smaller, enclosed spaces were protection from the fear that she would float away in her sleep, never to find her way back, never to be seen again.

Unfortunately, that security was sometimes hard to firmly hold onto during nights in the abandoned wall socket that was Turbo's hideout. The chamber was not unreasonably large, and there was some minuscule illumination from the hole in the socket, but it was not enough to clearly touch all the walls or the far corners.

It was not worthy of a panic attack, but sometimes, it was enough to keep her awake, even just out of the knowledge that she would have a nightmare if she fell asleep.

So, on a night in late spring, Make-it Mavis sat awake, alone in the direct, dim light from the arcade outside. With her sketchbook in hand, and her sleeping attire just a tank top and panties, she figured the mental stimulation and the somewhat chilly air on her bare skin would be enough to keep her from drifting off.

Too tired for extensive creativity, she merely drew miscellaneous objects and weapons, the usual effort to keep in practice so she could accurately produce said items with her brush. If she could not draw it, she could not paint it.

A few pages in, beginning to run out of ideas, she glanced around the room in thought, and had a mini heart attack at the sight of two distant yellow eyes peering through the darkness. In one way or another, Turbo had woken up in the corner where they slept.

"Mav?" she heard him say groggily.

"Hey," she replied. "Did I wake you up?"

"Uh," the glow disappeared for a moment as his eyes closed, "I dunno. Maybe? It's fine."

"'Kay," she said softly, looking down at her blank page again.

After a moment, he asked, "You okay?"

"Oh, yeah," she nodded. "I'm fine. Just can't sleep, so I figure I might as well do something."

From the corner, she heard rustling, grunting, and stumbling footsteps. Turbo approached, a blanket around his shoulders, and two pillows under his arm. His hair was a mess, part of it flattened against the side of his head, part of it trying to fly away to freedom. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Just drawing," she shrugged.

A pillow hit her in the face, thrown by Turbo. After a grumbled thanks, she put it behind her back. Turbo then plopped himself down next to her. Sizing her up, he said, "Ain't ya cold?"

"Don't fuss," she mumbled, drawing a small spiral. "I'm fine."

He threw half of the blanket over her shoulders anyway, scooting right up against her body. Fresh out of bed, he was even warmer than usual. It was more inviting than she cared for at the moment.

"Whatcha drawin'?"

"So full of questions," she observed, glancing at him with a quirked brow.

"I woke up into immediate, crippling boredom, Mav," he exhaled. "Forgive me. Indulge me."

She scoffed. "Okay. But I ain't drawin' anything interesting."

"Why not?"

"'Cause my brain is half asleep, and I need to practice drawing new stuff."

"Huh," he breathed, perplexed. "So, even now, you're working."

Mavis' brow furrowed, and she drew more swirls. "Yeah, so what? I'm just gettin' better at bein' productive. I gotta be if we're ever gonna get you outta here."

Turbo was quiet for a moment.

"Draw something fun," he insisted.

She laid her pencil flat against the page and sighed tiredly. "Like what, T?"

"You really got no ideas?"

"Like I said, I'm real tired."

"Well, a'ight, how about this," he presented his idea to her on his open palm. "I give a prompt, and you draw the first thing that comes into your head."

She rubbed her brow. "Why?"

"'Cause you're bein' boring."

With an irritated glance, she said, "I'm not boring."

"I know."

Partially fueled by spite, and partially genuine interest, she agreed to the game. "Okay, fine," she shrugged. "What's your first prompt? First thing that pops into your head."

"Rumble," he said immediately.

"Wow. That was fast."

"Y'said 'first thing.'"

"Well, alright," she stared at the page, preparing to carve something out of it. "Rumble."

Latching onto her first bizarre idea, she set to work, her pencil moving fast and loud, barely taking time to erase. Mashing together her knowledge of animals and machines, she drew the lovechild of a tiger and a motorcycle. It was essentially a tiger with a bike for a body. As she was paying particular attention to its snarling mouth, Turbo snickered.

"What the hell is that?"

"Tigerbike, obviously," she said, unable to keep from smiling. "A rumbling motorcycle and a rumbling tiger… Y'know, growlin' and junk."

"That really was the first thing y'thought of, huh?"

"Of course. Does this look, in any way, planned?"

"No, no it does not," he said, leaning in to point out one fatal flaw. "If you'd planned it, you'd have realized exhaust smoke should be shooting from its ass."

That made her snort. "Devs above, how did I miss that?"

"You're off your game, Make-it," he chuckled as she drew crude black clouds trailing out of its rear end.

"Cut, print, done--"

"Wait, wait, wait," he delicately lifted a hand in protest, and took up the pencil. On the tigerbike's back, he drew a tiny stick figure wearing a helmet, sporting a grin and a triumphant thumbs up.

"That's me," he pointed, grinning.

Mavis burst into wheezing laughter. "What? The hell?"

"Well, obviously I'm the only sprite alive who could tame Tigerbike, Mav!" he said in mock outrage.

"Why are you so tiny?!"

"I'd like to think Tigerbike is inconceivably huge," he grinned.

Mavis cackled, "That's perfect. I'm gonna frame this."

"Wanna do another?"

"Y'know what? Hell yeah," she flipped to the next page, pencil at the ready. "Hit me with another."

"A'ight," he smacked his tongue. "Meteor shower."

Her brows raised. "Ooh. How pretty."

"Show me what ya got, kiddo," he shrugged with a smile.

Mavis pondered for about two seconds before an idea hit her. It was so stupid that she snickered out loud, but she shook her head and went with it.

"That's a good sign," Turbo observed, a smile in his voice.

"You're gonna love this," she muttered, her wrist working wildly. This one took way less time, a far cartoonier style than Tigerbike. Mavis and Turbo both chuckled as the idea came to life on paper, until she finally leaned back and showed Turbo the full masterpiece.

It was, quite literally, a meteor shower. Three meteorites stood in a group shower, lathering themselves up with their tiny stick arms.

It took Turbo a second, but then he groaned in the way reserved for any of her horrible puns. With a whimpering, perplexed laugh, he mumbled, "Seriously, Mav? Are you really presenting this to me?"

"No, no, look. You don't get it," she insisted with a grin, pointing at vital details with her pencil. "See, this guy in the middle is totally eyeing up the guy on the left. I mean, like, shameless ogling."

Turbo rubbed his face, half-laughing, half-whining. "No," he pleaded softly.

"Listen," she tapped the paper harder, her voice breaking with laughter. "And, like, the guy on the left is actually super into it, but he's actin' all oblivious n' blushy because the guy on the right is there, and he's-- I mean, he's just some regular guy."

"Mav--"

"AND, and, guy on the left isn't into PDA or anythin' 'cause he's just a boring freakin' space rock--"

Turbo cackled.

"And he doesn't wanna make the guy on the right like, an unwilling third party or some crap like that, but after they're all done n' the guy on the right's gone home, you know the other two are gettin' it on in the locker room."

Turbo put out his hand. "Mav, do me a favor. Please illustrate for me just how two spherical rocks get busy."

She sputtered. "Well, let's see, I mean, it'd be hard--"

"Ha."

"There'd be a lot of rolling, and-- hah, hard-- and just, like, tryna smash together like big ol' pool balls--" she drew a short series of pairs of rocks clacking off each other, trying in vain to hold onto the other with their tiny stick arms, getting stuck on their bellies. Turbo wheezed through the whole thing.

"Wait, okay, wait," he interjected, "what if they sorta worked like flint, and they threw off sparks when they really got goin'?"

"Oh, my Devs," she gasped. "What if everyone shot fire outta their junk when they came?"

"WHAT?"

"I mean! Y'better keep a fire extinguisher around and be really good at pullin' out or you'll get yourself some serious property damage and cook your partner from the inside literally every time you smash! There'd be like, safe sex ads in every port, and Surge would be handin' out free fire extinguishers left n' right!"

"Mavis what the hell?!" he wheezed, his eyes glistening from laughter. "Though, I gotta say, as far as horrible deaths go, death from screwin' don't sound like the worst."

"At least you got laid, is what you're sayin'?"

"Yeah. At least the last thing y'knew was the sweet throes of orgasm."

"So you're tellin' me," she poked him, "gettin' burned alive from the inside would be worth it just to get laid?"

"Wh-- I wouldn't go into it with the intent of gettin' fried to death, Mavis! I'm just sayin', theoretically if that unfortunate accident did occur…" he paused. "And, I mean, honestly, if the lay was, honest to the Devs, really to die for--"

"Turbo," she interrupted, her stomach beginning to ache from laughter. "Gimme another prompt, already!"

"Okay, okay, cool your jets!" He licked his lips. "Uh… sunshine."

"Huh. Gettin' sappy on me, here?"

"Just playin' the game, Mav."

Sunshine. She let that word sink in. She loved sunshine. The light, the warmth, the way it brought out the color of everything it touched. She knew Turbo liked it, too. It had to have reminded him of home… It occurred to her then, just how much he must have missed it.

An image suddenly came to mind. But she cheated just a bit and twisted it into something more manageable. They were having fun. She did not want to suddenly drag big ol' emotions into it.

Taking a bit more time with this one, she drew a lovely, grassy hill, speckled with flowers. She then drew herself rolling down that hill… very unceremoniously, as if by accident. She was a bouncing, tangled ball of limbs, throwing up dirt, grass, and flowers beneath her. And close behind, she drew Turbo falling the exact same way.

Watching over her shoulder, Turbo's chuckles had taken on a confused air. "Oookay," he muttered. "What am I lookin' at here, babe?"

"I'unno," she shrugged. "We're having a race. In the sunshine."

"And you're winning? Sounds fake."

"Okay, jackass. What if I told you there were jagged rocks at the bottom of the hill?" She drew crude spikes at the bottom. "Would you still wanna win?"

"Absolutely."

"Wow."

"So what's the real reward for winning, other than broken bones and bragging rights? It's always more fun with a reward."

She considered that. "Uh… I don't know, maybe the loser has to pick the winner a bouquet of flowers. I sure drew enough of 'em."

He paused. "A bouquet of flowers."

"Yeah, I mean…" she shrugged, suddenly wanting to backpedal. "Sprites get flowers for winning sometimes, right? Like, a medal and a big blooming bouquet, or whatever."

"Uh huh… so where's this medal?"

Mavis shoved him just a bit. "Gee, I'unno, T, why don't ya go pick one off the medal tree, ya greedy bastard. Y'said 'sunshine.' Sunshine makes flowers."

"It was a joke," he scoffed. Ruffling her hair, he said, "It's cute ya wanna pick me flowers."

Playfully swatting his hand away, she protested, "Maybe y'didn't hear me right -- I said that pickin' you flowers would be a punishment for losing."

"Sure," he leaned his head a bit closer, "but of course, y'must have known you were gonna lose anyway, ergo…"

Mavis looked at him, silently bearing that strange emotion that she felt only for him, wherein she could be irritated, but still know that Turbo being annoying usually meant he was in a good mood. And it was good to see him in a good mood, with how many reasons he had not to be. After so many nights of seeing him deep in program withdrawal, and literally sharing the pain as his glitching bled into her, but holding him close anyways… She could tolerate annoying teasing if it meant he was happy.

It took her a moment to realize that he had gone silent, too. He was still smiling, leaning his head back against the wall, but looked calmer, more thoughtful. There was something peculiar about the way he looked at her, and it made her antsy.

"What?" she asked softly.

He blinked slowly, and his smile pulled into his cheek a bit. Tweaking her nose, he said, "Nothin'."

Suspicious, but not wanting to question him on it, Mavis cleared her throat and tried to move things along. She turned to a new page in her sketchbook. "Well, what do you think? Got another prompt for me?"

This time, he was quiet. She almost wondered if he did not want to play anymore, but with a glance at him, she determined that he was thinking about it more than he was supposed to. He was gazing straight ahead, right through the socket, into the arcade. His lips were pressed into a hard line, and he was lightly tapping his thumbs together. He seemed reluctant… almost anxious.

"Hey," Mavis said. "You're not supposed to think about it."

"Yeah, yeah." He did not look at her. "I got one for ya. Fun."

She was not expecting that answer. It felt so broad, compared to the other ones. "...Fun, huh?"

"Yeah," he said, rolling his head back and peering down his cheek at her. "Draw what that makes you think of."

She squinted. There was some kind of ulterior motive there that had her suspicious. Still, she shrugged. "Okeydokey, weirdo."

Fun, fun, fun. Images and colors fought for the forefront of her brain, but she could not hear one single, solid idea through the overlapping noises in her head. It did not take long for her to decide that she had been thinking too hard. She was making it way harder than it had to be. Willing to just get it over with, she put pencil to paper, closed her eyes, and let her hand follow the flow of her thoughts.

As she listened to the graphite scratching, she realized that she had been having so much trouble because ‘fun' was manifesting in her head as feelings and not one specific concept. It felt like… a thrill, a rush, a genuine high. It was triumphant victory and motivating failure. It was acrobatics, dizzying aerial maneuvers, falling, flying. Wild, messy rainbows. Loud music and explosions she could feel in her chest. Fireworks. Theatrics. Clever pranks. Stupid pranks. Petty crime. Booze, bad decisions, rough sex, risky business. It was what she lived for. It was in her code just as much as her paintbrush.

She really believed it was the core of her very being.

A minute passed before she opened her eyes and observed her work. It was just about as cluttered, ugly, and near-incomprehensible as she expected. Hard lines criss-crossed with no rhyme or reason. Shapes and figures overlapped until they were nearly unrecognizable, but she could make out a few. There was a guitar, a trumpet, a drum, and music notes. There were glass bottles, many broken. There were bits of confetti and paint splatter that would have been rainbow. Somewhere, there was a suspiciously phallic shape. But more than anything, there were clouds, feathers, and wings.

It was hideous. She liked it.

Turbo’s weight pushed against her a bit as he leaned in to see. “All done?”

“Yep. Whatcha think?"

He was quiet for a moment before making a comment. “Don't see much of that stuff in here, huh.”

She looked at him with slight concern. He just looked thoughtful. She frowned, wondering if confinement was particularly making him depressed that night. There truly were very few ways to have fun the way they used to, being locked up in a box. A pang of sympathy tapped in her chest, and she subconsciously rubbed his leg a bit, comfortingly.

Turbo just looked at her hand with apparent confusion, and then at her with a serious brow. "Uh, no," he said flatly. "I wanna know when you last did any of those things."

She blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"Y'heard me."

After an automatic moment's thought, she realized an upsetting thing. She really could not remember off the top of her head. But there was something about Turbo's tone that felt accusatory, and her guard went up.

"When am I ever not doing these things?"

"Really?" His expression fell flat. "When was the last time you pulled a prank? Or flew around, just for the fun of it? You sure don't fly in here."

"I can't fly in here," she protested. "There's no room."

"Exactly!"

She huffed. "If you have something to say, T, will you just say it?"

He bit back words for a moment, his brow furrowing as he reconsidered, before he sighed and smacked his tongue. "Mav, you've been workin' way too hard."

She withdrew a bit. "Seriously? You're mad at me for working to get you out of here?"

Turbo sighed, briefly rubbing his face. "I ain't mad, I'm… Look, you're workin' too much. It ain't like you."

She scoffed. "I ain't a hard worker?"

He burst into a chuckle. "Are y'serious?"

Face getting hot, she bristled. "Be fair, T. I work real hard when I actually care about something."

He went quiet, and his gaze fell a bit. She could not help but look away, too. It was hard to talk about just how badly she wanted him out, how hard it was to see him in a cage, sick and suffering. And in her day to day life… she was lonely. She missed her other half. There seemed little she would not have done to have him back.

The hard work and sleepless nights, it was almost all for his sake. But it was really for hers, too.

Turbo spoke again, a very real exasperation in his voice. "Look, ya gotta know at least that if y'don't pace yourself, your engine's gonna burn out, n' then you won't be able to work at all. Does that sound good to you?"

"I'm not burning out," she mumbled. "I'm fine. I get enough of a break when I come hang out in here. I mean-- when we're not still working."

He waited again, and she could feel him looking at her. "Mav… take a break."

"I've been takin' too many breaks."

"Obviously, you're not. Take a longer break."

Idly, she drew small bubbles on her already cluttered drawing. "So… what, like a weekend?"

"Try a whole week."

"A week?" Her gaze snapped to him in disbelief. "I-- I-- No, I can't take a week off. That new motorcycle game just got plugged in and I haven't even been inside yet. I feel like we're so close to figuring something out--"

"Can I draw something?"

"...What?"

"Gimme your sketchbook," he beckoned at it.

"Uh, sure, knock yourself out," she said, tossing the book and pencil in his lap. Turbo sure was acting weird that night. She was beginning to just accept it.

As he began to draw, she put her face in her hands and pushed curled fingers through her hair. In a sighing, apologetic voice, she said, "Look, T, it's not like I don't appreciate your, uh… concern. Well-- Not like it ain’t also real annoying, but... It's just that-- I'm-- I don't even think I could relax if I took a week off. I'd just be stressing about all I could be gettin' done, and thinkin' about all the days I was settin' us back…"

Turbo did not reply, or even look at her. His focus remained on the paper against his bent knees. Ever since he ended up in the socket, he had been drawing more and more. She would find his artwork littering the floor almost as much as his notes. It was endearing to see.

Suddenly feeling as sad as she was tired, she scooted closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder, watching him work. It was always sort of hypnotic. Turbo had such a unique drawing style, evolved from years of blueprints and mechanic work -- he seemed to think almost entirely in perfectly clean lines and sharp angles. His work was abstract and boxy, rarely illustrating any clear figure, but beautiful in its own right. More often than not, it looked so pristine, one might have thought a machine printed it. And indeed, as she watched, his arm moved so mechanically, as if his skeleton were made of metal. She would not have been surprised if it was.

Letting her eyes follow the motion of his hand made her eyelids heavy. As curious as she was about his drawing, she just could not keep her eyes open.

Mumbling softly, she said, "I can't sit back and do nothing. Not while there's anything I could do. So, just… let me do this. I'll be fine. I know how to--"

The rough scrape of paper against her legs perked her up as Turbo shoved the sketchbook back into her lap and the pencil clattered to the floor. When she opened her eyes, squinting through the sleepy fog, she saw what she expected -- a geometrical contour drawing. However, as her eyes adjusted and she began to decipher the abstract figures, she saw something entirely unexpected.

Flowers.

Confusion was her first response. Why flowers? Turbo was hardly a flowery guy, much less one to give flowers.

Then she remembered their prior conversation. The prize flowers. The ones the loser had to pick.

She looked at him, lips parted, brows squinting, in some attempt to understand. He was not looking at her, but rather, glancing around at nothing in particular, tapping his leg.

"I don't--..." she muttered. "Why?"

He grunted, and then barely opened his mouth to grumble, "...Not that many options for flowers in here."

"Well-- well yeah, but…" she looked at the page. "What did I win?"

He shrugged and shook his head. "I'unno, pick something. You're definitely the best at what you're doing. No one else could help me the way you are. And you've gotten so much done. Like, a crazy amount. So, you won. You've earned a break."

Mavis was so thrown for a loop, she almost felt dizzy. The sweet gesture, the sweet words… they were not a common occurrence for him. Granted, they had been growing in frequency ever since the two were reunited, but still…

"I…" she fumbled. "I wasn't competing. I just wanna win you a way outta here."

Turbo rubbed his face. "I cant believe how much convincing it's taking to get you to go goof off."

"...Things are a bit different now."

"I know."

"You want me to go out there and play around the way I used to? The way we used to, together?" Her words proceeded slowly, quietly, and unsteadily, as if they were fragile. A sort of grief weighed down on her heart. "It just… doesn't… feel the same anymore. Even if I tried, I'd just… be thinkin' of you."

He sighed deeply.

She added sadly, shoulders sinking, "Nothin's been the same since I… thought you were gone."

"But I'm here now," he mumbled. "I'm back."

"I know, but… I need you… back. In my life. Again. For real."

Turbo fell silent, but as Mavis studied the crisp lines of the drawing in her lap and idly scratched her foot, she could practically hear words sitting just behind his lips. He was taking his time with them, and she gave him space to do so, mostly because she was almost afraid of what he would say next. What she was about to feel.

Finally, he spoke in a slow, soft voice, “Mav…”

Reluctantly, she looked at him. He had an elbow propped up on his knee, his hand buried in his hair as he leaned his forehead against his palm. His eyes gazed straight ahead into the dim light from the arcade that washed a blue tone over his skin, making the gold glow of his heavy-lidded eyes burn bright in contrast.

She swallowed. “T…?”

He took in a breath through his lips, sat with it, closed his eyes, and let words flow on the exhale. “You remember what I said… that night… about never wantin’ to make you… miserable?”

Mavis’ heart grew tight and heavy at the memory. That night. The last time they spoke before he…

“Yes,” she breathed, not taking her eyes off him.

“And how I said… I’d actually try to keep that from happening?”

“...Yeah.”

He shrugged, flexing his fingers in his hair. “This is… me doin’ that. I’m just tryin’ to keep my word, Mav.”

“Turbo,” she said, gently but firmly squeezing his shoulder, “you’re not making me miserable.”

He looked her plain in the eye. “Tonight’s the first I’ve heard ya laugh in four days.”

She froze. That fact stunned her. That could not have been true, but she had obviously not been keeping track. Had Turbo been keeping track?

In response to her silence, he nodded a bit. “Yeah… Yeah. Doesn’t sound like Make-it Mavis, does it?”

Mavis did not know what to say. Slowly, her gaze fell. Her emotions were too crowded to move in any one direction, but she felt shame begin to simmer in the pit of her stomach. Somehow, she felt that she had done something wrong -- and not in a fun way. She had been trying so hard to help him… but did she just let him down? Did she let herself down?

Turbo took notice of her conflict. He twisted a bit to place his hand on the side of her neck and coax her jaw to tilt up again. “Hey, Mav,” he almost whispered, “don’t be like that. You’ve done good. Really good. It’s… kinda insane actually. It’s very obvious how dedicated you are to-- to helpin’ me, but… workin’ to the point of this, is just… It ain’t you, Mav. It just ain’t you. And I…”

His words caught, and Mavis could see his face clearly wrestling the words. With a bit of a bonk, he rested his forehead against hers and squeezed his eyes shut.

“I need you in my life, too… for real.”

It seemed to Mavis that all the heat in her body rushed to her face. Her chest quivered, scrambling for any words to push out, and coming up empty.

Turbo continued anyway, “So, y’know, if you really wanna help me… take… care of yourself, and… stay yourself. Okay?”

Hard memories crashed into the back of her head, memories from the darkest time of her life. She heard echoes of a promise she had made to his memory, a promise that was, in all sincerity, one she made to herself.

She caved.

“Okay,” she nodded slightly.

As he opened his eyes, their glow nearly strained her own. Slowly, his cheeks lifted in a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she sighed hoarsely through her own rueful grin. “You’re right. I need a break. And I’ll take it.”

A truly exhausted sigh of relief washed over her face as he leaned back to give them both some breathing room. “Thank the Devs, finally,” he laughed airily. “Y’stubborn lil’ mule, ya won’t even listen to me when I tell ya to do stuff you wanna do!”

She laughed too, “I’m doin’ it now, jackass!”

“Yeah, just as I started to wonder how much rope I had left ‘til I’d reach the end!”

“Look, I know I’m too good at what I do, so I’ll try my best to get just a little worse,” she smiled, leaning out of his touch. “I’ll play hooky for a week, for starters. And I’ll do…”

“Whatever the hell you want?” he guessed, glancing down his grinning cheek at her.

“I’ll do my damn best, anyway. I would love to at least get some pranks in… I think the sprites out there have had it too easy since I, uh, mysteriously stopped.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, giving a long nod. “That there’s a problem, too. Gotta keep up appearances, Mav. Sprites will know something’s up if you’re suddenly so well behaved that they can leave pies coolin’ on sills.”

“Or balcony doors open.”

“Ah,” he chuckled. “You have not said anythin’ about Gene for ages. When’s the last time ya pranked that guy?”

Unable to remember, she said, “Well, I think I can get him pretty good this weekend. He’s hostin’ someone’s stupid birthday-- I think it’s, uh, Norwood’s, the guy with the cats--”

“PussyMagnet69?”

Mavis’ throat nearly ripped from the size of her surprise cackling.

Turbo joined in, insisting, “That was his name, Mav! How could ya forget?!”

Through tears, she wheezed, “Okay, okay-- But seriously-- I think if I can get in the penthouse early enough-- and I can-- I can switch all his clear alcohol with vinegar--”

Turbo was already keeling into his lap.

She continued, nearly shouting over his laughter, “Then I can make it a party no one will ever forget, and I can make off with a whole buttload of booze!”

Snorting, Turbo threw himself upright again, his hair flying haphazardly. “No, no, you gotta stay at least long enough to see the looks on their faces--” “Well, obviously--”

“And then remember ‘em really well and draw ‘em all out so I can see ‘em too! Damn, why do I gotta miss that?”

“Hey,” she laughed lowly, pushing his shoulder. “I’ll bring ya the drawings, and I’ll bring ya the booze, and then we can get flat out wasted n’ go as wild as this box can-- Well, uh--”

She had forgotten to ask something. Turbo looked at her quizzically.

“I mean, uh,” she said quietly, still managing to hold a smile, “you’ll let me in, right? Am I-- Am I allowed to come back here… on vacation?”

Turbo almost looked stricken, and after a moment’s thought that betrayed a bit of anxiety in his eyes, he said, “Well… obviously. Don’t feel like you gotta or anythin’, though. I’m a grown-ass man, I don’t need a babysitter. But, y’know, if you really wanna come over, you can.”

Mavis’ shoulders dropped and half a scoff slipped out of her. “Of course I wanna hang out with you. Y’kiddin’ me, T?”

For a second, he gave her an uncharacteristically warm half-smile. He chuffed a bit. “Arright,” he said, twisting to open his arms to her and gesture inward. “C’mere. Bring it in.”

Forcing an eye-roll that was ruined by her smiling face, she scooted right up and wrapped her arms around his torso, and he hugged back tightly. The closeness felt so well-needed, as if she were touch-starved without realizing. Surely, they had still been touching over the last little while… but this was the first time she felt present for it in days. She hummed appreciatively, resting her chin over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he sighed, smugness creeping into his voice as he rubbed her back, “should’a known I couldn’t shake ya. After all, I am your lifelong obsession, ain’t I?”

She groaned. “Turbo…”

“It’s kinda creepy, there, Cherry Bomb. Takin’ advantage of the fact that I don’t got a game to get ya banned from.”

“Like I could even get through the barricade here without your help,” she considered. “Or without dynamite, but, y’know. I’d hate to have to build it again.”

Turbo just chuckled. He buried his face against the side of her neck and let out a deep, hot sigh through his nose that sent a tiny wave of goosebumps over her skin. She held him tight, soaking in the exceptional heat from his skin. At times such as this, memories would flood in from the time she believed she had lost him, and her chest would glow with incredulous, almost painful gratitude to have him back.

Mavis chewed her lip for a moment, possessed by the emotion growing in her body. She tucked her head in, the bridge of her nose pressed against his collarbone. Sweetly, sadly, she mumbled, “Y’know I miss you, T. I miss havin’ a friend out there.”

His hand thumped softly against her shoulder blade. “...Yeah. I know, Mav,” he muttered. He then turned his head until his face was in her hair, his mouth angled just behind her ear. She could feel his lips move as he said, “I’m pretty lucky to have a friend in here.”

Heart aching, Mavis pulled back to look him in the face. He just looked thoughtful, meeting her gaze with a bit of a squint. “Seems like whatever luck I’ve had since this mess started has had somethin’ to do with you. How’d that happen? Once upon a time, you were the biggest pain-in-the-ass problem child in my life.”

A small laugh blew from her throat, half warm, half naughty. “Things are different now… and you forget I’m a good-luck-charm Easter Egg.”

Turbo chuckled, and his eyes dropped to her mouth as a hand snaked behind her head. “Whatever you say.”

She drew closer, her eyes closing with an airy, snarky chuckle. “But I’m still a pain in the ass.”

“Don’t I know it,” he breathed, before his lips made contact with hers.

She kissed back gladly, folding her knees and bringing them up close as she let the comforting warmth in her face and chest slowly spread throughout her body. The kiss did not break, only deepened, and after his hands tugged under the crook of her legs, she found herself grabbing his shoulders and gracefully moving to straddle his lap. All she wanted was to be closer, to hold him as flush against her body as she could, and it was a sentiment he clearly returned. His rough hands roamed over her slender curves, clenching fistfuls of her shirt and letting his fingers skirt beneath the fabric. As her head and body began to buzz with all-too-neglected excitement, she broke away from his mouth to kiss a trail down to his neck and happily nip at the salty skin there.

For a few moments, Turbo merely squeezed her hip bones in appreciation and uttered naught but a few shivery sighs, but Mavis soon noticed that he was a bit too still and quiet. No sooner had she noticed than Turbo leaned his head into hers a bit, ducking his face down.

“I will get out of here,” he whispered insistently. “I swear I will.”

Mavis paused before pulling back to look at him. He did not look sad, no -- he just looked determined. There was a fire in his eyes that made him look unstoppable, like nothing could possibly hold him back from taking his place in the world again. She believed it fully.

“I know you will,” she muttered back. “And I’ll be there.”

He scoffed a bit. “And then? Then I’ll get ya some real flowers. Call those ones over there a placeholder.”

Mavis twisted a bit to look at the sketchbook she had tossed to the floor, the graphite lines softly illuminated from the light shining through the socket.

“Hm,” she hummed. “Don’t bother. These ones are better.”

When he laughed briefly, she looked back at him to see a lopsided grin that flashed his pointed teeth. “Okay, princess, how about this? Whatever kingdom I end up ruling--”

“Ruling, huh?”

He ignored her and continued, “I’ll program a room just for you, and then I’ll draw flowers on the walls like a gap-toothed madman, and I’ll make ‘em so Dev-damned bright and colorful and horrendously ugly that no one could spend more than five minutes in there without gettin’ a migraine.”

Mavis laughed, clapping his shoulder a bit. “See, now that sounds perfect. Seriously. Please do that. That’s so much better than flowers.”

Turbo’s eyes narrowed as his grin grew. “Consider it done.”

“Now,” she wrapped her arms behind his neck, leaning her forehead against his. “Will ya please go back to bein’ a jerk for a while? All this sweetness and thoughtfulness, it--” she dropped into her roughest, most unflattering Turbo impression, complete with bad accent, “‘it ain’t like you.’”

Turbo’s brows shot upward, and he sputtered through a wild grin. “Ooh, okay, smart-mouth,” he said, cracking his neck and knuckles. “Ya wanna get reacquainted? Let’s get reacquainted.”

With that, he seized her by the ribs and roughly yanked her in, lunging for her neck like a snake. As his teeth sank in, Mavis’ short yelp of pain and surprise turned into thrilled, dirty, self-satisfied laughter. The mushy stuff was finally over. It was time to have fun again.

Mavis was still unsure of how effective her little vacation would be, but as far as she was concerned, she was off to a pretty good start.

#fanfiction #turbo #make it mavis #wreck it ralph #the shitgoblins #yeah have another story i worked on whenever i couldnt sleep #i just wanted to write something fun and cute for the babies #of course theres bittersweet bc i cant help myself #but i hope yall enjoy this silly mess #rare non-AU content

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