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Chapter Text

The laboratory was quiet for once. No machines humming, no glass clinking, no Candy Citizens barging in with problems only she could solve. Princess Bonnibel Bubblegum sat alone at her desk, a candle burning low beside a stack of unfinished reports. It wasn’t science that occupied her tonight. It was the date.

The anniversary.

She had tried to busy herself with work, tried to forget that this day marked another year since their breakup. But memories crept in anyway — uninvited, like shadows pooling in corners. The sound of a laugh she’d once sworn she could never live without. The smell of guitar strings and old leather. The sting of words she had thrown like knives, and the silence Marceline left behind.

PB tightened her grip on the quill. She hadn’t written like this in ages — not for science, not for record-keeping. Just… words. Messy, emotional words that refused to stay inside her chest. She dragged the quill across the parchment, fast and sloppy, as if her hands knew more truth than her lips ever allowed.

Marceline,

I don’t know why I’m writing this. I told myself I was fine, that the past was buried. But today won’t let me pretend. It’s been years since we ended, and still I keep a calendar of it in my bones. The ache arrives right on schedule.

I’m sorry. For everything I said that night. For pushing you away when all you ever did was try to stay. I told myself I was doing the right thing, that duty had to come first. But what good is a kingdom if the heart that rules it feels hollow?

I miss you. Not just the songs, not just the laughter. I miss the quiet things. Tea that went cold because we were talking too long. The way you’d hum under your breath when you thought I wasn’t listening. The way you made me feel like Bonnie, not Princess Bubblegum.

Her writing faltered. The quill hovered above the paper as a drop of ink splattered, smearing part of the word Bonnie.

She swallowed hard. This was foolish. A scientific ruler, reduced to an old heartbreak. If anyone saw this letter…

But she kept writing.

I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t expect you to even care. This isn’t for you, not really. It’s for me. To let the ache out somewhere safe. To put into words what my pride never allowed me to say: I loved you. I still do. And I don’t know what to do with that.

The last line trembled on the page. PB set down the quill, chest tight. It was enough. It had to be. She folded the letter neatly, slipped it into an envelope, and sealed it with wax before she could change her mind.

It was supposed to go into the bottom drawer of her desk, where she kept things she never intended to send — drafts of apologies, confessions, unsent truths. But her hands, mechanical from years of habit, carried the envelope to the outgoing stack on her work table.

She didn’t notice.

Instead, she blew out the candle, letting the laboratory sink into darkness. She told herself she would forget the words in the morning. That no one would ever read them.

But far away, in the quiet hours of the next day, a bat-shaped shadow would glide down to her doorstep, and a letter not meant for the world would find the one person who could break it open.

The days rolled forward, as they always did.

Princess Bubblegum forced herself back into rhythm. She oversaw repairs in the Sugar Fields, marching along with her clipboard as citizens buzzed around her like bees in a hive. She inspected candy-cane scaffolding, signed her name on parchments for crop rotations, and gave firm nods when Peppermint Butler recited supply numbers that could make any other person’s head spin.

She smiled when she was supposed to, gave orders when she needed to. Everything appeared seamless.

Inside, though, there was that ache again — the one she told herself was just tiredness, just the cost of long nights in the lab. She ignored it, the same way she ignored the empty feeling in her chest every time a faint hum of music drifted across the horizon.

By the third day, she was so deep in her cycle of routine that she almost welcomed the summons across her desk. A royal event in the Grass Kingdom. A gathering of rulers to discuss trade routes and harvest surpluses. Nothing urgent, nothing dangerous. Just politics. Just obligations.

She sighed and pressed her fingertips against her brow. “More posturing,” she murmured to herself. Still, she began preparing. It was tradition to bring a gift — something emblematic of the Candy Kingdom’s abundance.

That meant tarts.

She spent the morning in the kitchens, sleeves rolled up as she supervised the baking. Rows of golden crusts came out of the ovens, their edges flaky and delicate, filled with jewel-colored berries that glistened in the light. She insisted on tasting one herself, her expression softening when the familiar sweetness hit her tongue.

“Perfect,” she said quietly, more to herself than to the chefs.

By the time the tarts were arranged on a silver tray and wrapped in cloth to keep them warm, she had already pushed last night’s hollow dreams to the back of her mind. This was her armor: duty, gestures, tradition.

At the Castle gates, she called out, “Finn! Jake!”

The adventurers appeared almost instantly, bounding out of the woods as though summoned by the promise of food. Finn twirled his sword, making whooshing noises as he pretended to battle an invisible foe. Jake lumbered beside him, stretching his legs tall enough to step over the outer wall before shrinking back to normal size.

“What’s up, Princess?” Finn asked, jogging forward with his usual bright-eyed grin.

Jake cracked his back with a dramatic stretch. “Please tell me this ain’t another thirty-page treaty you want delivered. My paws still ache from carrying the last one.”

PB shook her head, carrying the tray toward them. The smell of warm sugar drifted out as she lifted the lid. “Not this time. I need you to attend a small royal event in my place. Just a formality. Deliver these tarts as a gesture of goodwill from the Candy Kingdom. Smile, bow, represent us well.”

Finn pumped his fist. “Diplomatic pastry run! We can handle that.”

Jake peeked under the lid and groaned. “Seriously? You’re giving away the good ones again? These look incredible. Like, next-level incredible. You know, you could just buy some day-old bread at the market and nobody would notice…”

PB’s eyes narrowed. “They’re symbolic. They represent care, effort, and generosity. They are not replaceable with day-old bread.”

Jake raised his paws in surrender. “Alright, alright. No shade. Just saying I could house, like, six of those in one bite.”

Finn carefully balanced the tray on his arm and gave a solemn nod. “Don’t worry, PB. We’ll represent you so hard.”

PB exhaled a soft laugh despite herself. “Thank you, boys.” She pressed the tray more firmly into Finn’s hands, then turned back toward the Castle, already listing in her mind the tasks still waiting for her that evening.

She didn’t notice the faint slip of parchment half-tucked beneath the tray’s cloth cover. The plain wax seal rested snugly against the side of the basket, pressed there when she stacked her morning correspondence together the night before.

To her, it was just another morning of work, another duty checked off the list.

To Finn and Jake, it was just another errand — tarts, bows, polite smiles across Ooo.

But to Marceline… it would be something else entirely.

Something that couldn’t be taken back once read.

A few hours later, the castle kitchens were quiet again. Most of the chefs had finished their shifts and gone home, leaving only the faint smell of sugar clinging to the tiled walls.

PB stood at the counter, hair tied back, sleeves rolled up. She wasn’t supposed to be here — queens had no business dirtying their hands in flour — but after the diplomatic tray had left with Finn and Jake, she found herself craving one of her own. Not for duty. Not for show. Just for the simple comfort of it.

She rolled the dough with practiced precision, pressing berries into the center with care. For once, she allowed herself to hum, soft and tuneless, letting her hands move without the burden of calculations.

Word traveled fast in Ooo. Faster than she realized.

The whisper of wings broke her rhythm. A shadow slid across the counter. Before she could turn, a voice drawled behind her, low and amused:

“Can I have a piece?”

PB nearly dropped the rolling pin. “M-Marceline?!”

The Vampire Queen hovered lazily in the doorway, leaning on her axe bass as though she’d simply wandered in. Her dark hair framed her smirk, and her eyes glinted with mischief.

“Jeez, Bon,” she chuckled, floating further into the kitchen. “You still scare easy. What are you doing down here all alone? Baking yourself stress-pies?”

PB’s heart pounded against her ribs. She set the rolling pin down with more force than necessary. “They’re tarts, not pies. And I wasn’t expecting company.”

Marceline touched down lightly on the tiled floor, peering over PB’s shoulder at the unfinished tart. “Looks good. Way better than the ones Finn and Jake tried to hide under their shirts earlier. Word’s been spreading — ‘royal tarts on the move.’ I figured I’d see what the fuss was about.”

PB’s lips parted, but for once, no quick response came. The sight of her — casual, confident, slipping back into her space like no time had passed — pulled the air out of her lungs.

“You can’t just barge into my kitchens,” she managed, though her voice wavered.

Marceline’s grin widened. “Sure I can. I just did.” She tapped the counter with a claw, nodding at the tart-in-progress. “So, Bonnie… are you gonna share, or do I have to steal it?”

PB swallowed hard, pulse racing. She hadn’t meant for their worlds to collide again so soon. Not after the letter she thought she’d hidden away. Not with the taste of old memories rising as fresh as the scent of sugar in the oven.

The silence stretched between them, fragile and sharp.

And then PB, steadying herself the only way she knew how, lifted her chin.

“…You’ll have to wait until it’s finished baking.”

Marceline chuckled, settling into a chair like she owned the place. “Guess I’ll stick around, then.”

PB turned back to the counter, pretending her hands weren’t shaking as she folded the dough.

Neither of them noticed the way the wax-sealed envelope, now halfway across Ooo, had already begun its own quiet journey toward this very moment.

Eventually, the tart was finished — golden crust, bubbling berry filling, steam curling into the air. PB slid it out of the oven with careful precision, setting it on a cooling rack. Marceline hovered nearby, arms crossed, pretending she wasn’t impressed, though her sharp eyes never left the tray.

“You’re really gonna make me wait, huh?” Marceline teased.

PB gave her a pointed look. “Burned tongues are not worth impatience.”

Minutes later, they carried the tart upstairs, a careful balance between formality and the strange ease of old times. By the time they reached PB’s private rooms, the walls of the castle felt quieter, the air lighter — as though the kingdom itself had retreated to give them space.

PB sliced the tart in even portions, handing one plate to Marceline. The vampire wasted no time, biting into it with a satisfied groan.

“Mm. Still the best in Ooo. Can’t believe you wasted years not baking for me.”

PB’s cheeks warmed faintly, though she kept her voice level. “I’ve had responsibilities.”

Marceline smirked, lounging back on PB’s couch. “Always the excuse.”

PB ignored the sting in her chest, turning instead to her projector setup. A flick of a switch, and the wall lit up with the start of a black-and-white adventure film. She sat primly on the far side of the couch, plate in her lap. Marceline, predictably, sprawled out across half the cushions, one arm draped over the backrest.

The silence between them wasn’t hostile, but it was thick — filled with the weight of things unsaid. The flickering light of the film painted their faces in shades of gray, a comfortable distraction neither of them acknowledged aloud.

Halfway through the movie, Marceline’s wandering eyes caught on PB’s work desk in the corner of the room. Stacks of notes, neatly filed reports… and one folded envelope, her own name scrawled across the front in unmistakably careful handwriting.

Her heart skipped.

Bonnie doesn’t write me letters, she thought, suspicion and curiosity tangling. PB was too focused on the movie to notice as Marceline casually floated off the couch, drifting toward the desk under the guise of stretching her wings.

She picked the envelope up lightly, turning it over in her hand. Plain seal. No crest. The handwriting was real, though — and personal.

Her smirk returned. Probably prank ideas. Maybe some nerdy lab invitation. Or another one of her secret “to-do” lists.

With a flick of her wrist, she tucked the envelope into the inner pocket of her jacket, quiet as a shadow.

When she returned to the couch, PB barely glanced her way, too absorbed in the film. Marceline lounged back with practiced nonchalance, biting into the last bite of tart.

“You’re still predictable,” she murmured under her breath, not loud enough for PB to hear.

And as the projector flickered on, playing to an audience of two, the letter sat heavy against her chest — a secret waiting to be opened.

Chapter Text

Marceline’s house was dark when she pushed the door open, the familiar creak of old wood greeting her. She tossed her axe bass into the corner, kicked off her boots, and let herself float lazily to the couch.

The envelope weighed against her chest like it had its own heartbeat.

She pulled it from her jacket pocket, twirling it between her fingers. “Alright, Bonnie,” she muttered, smirking to herself. “What kinda nerdy prank you got cooking? A recipe for exploding gumdrops? Another one of those ‘mandatory friendship activities’?”

The smirk faltered as she broke the wax and unfolded the parchment.

The first line knocked the breath out of her.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. I told myself I was fine, that the past was buried. But today won’t let me pretend.

Her eyes darted faster across the page, heart thundering. Each word hit harder than the last.

I’m sorry. For everything I said that night… I miss you… Not just the songs, not just the laughter… I loved you. I still do.

The parchment trembled in her hands. Marceline’s jaw slackened, fangs glinting faintly in the dim light. Her chest felt tight, like someone had clamped it shut.

“This… this can’t be real,” she whispered, voice rasping. She skimmed it again, as though the words might change if she looked hard enough. But no. Every stroke of ink was PB’s. Every line was raw, unfiltered.

It wasn’t a prank.

It wasn’t even meant for her eyes.

The realization sank into her gut like a stone: Bonnibel Bubblegum still loved her.

Marceline pressed the paper flat against her knee, staring at it like it had betrayed her. Memories crashed over her all at once — Bonnie’s voice sharp and cold the night they split, the slammed door, the silence that followed. And yet here were words that undid everything.

She dragged a hand through her hair, tugging at the roots. “Damn it, Bonnie…”

The weight of it all would’ve been enough to unravel her on its own. But another truth clawed at the back of her mind, sour and immediate.

Ash.

He was still in the picture. Still in her life, half-committed and half-present. Not someone she loved the way she had loved PB — but someone she had, for better or worse, let linger.

And now?

She stared at the letter again, her voice barely above a whisper. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”

Her reflection in the darkened window didn’t answer.

The parchment sat heavy in her lap, the ink still sharp, still alive with all the words PB had never said aloud. Marceline clenched her fist, crumpling the corner, torn between tucking it away like a secret and flying back to the Candy Kingdom that very second.

But the thought of Ash upstairs, asleep in her bed, rooted her in place.

She leaned back against the couch, letter trembling in her hand, and closed her eyes.

For the first time in years, Marceline the Vampire Queen didn’t have a clever remark.

She only had silence.

The next morning came too fast.

Marceline stirred against the creaky couch cushions, hair tangled across her face. The letter was still clutched in her fist, crumpled from the night’s restless tossing. Her guitar leaned against the armrest, untouched.

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

She sat up, eyes narrowing at the empty bedroom down the hall. Ash’s jacket was gone from its hook, his boots missing from the pile near the door. A faint, sour note of burnt incense lingered in the air — his way of slipping out without a word.

“Figures,” she muttered, voice dry. “Always bails when things get heavy.”

She barely had a moment to breathe before the front door slammed open.

“MAAARCELINE!”

“WAKE UP, VAMPIRE QUEEN!”

Finn and Jake stormed inside like a parade, sunlight cutting across the room. Marceline hissed, burying her head under a pillow.

“Do you guys ever knock?” she growled, voice muffled.

Finn bounded forward, nearly tripping over her bass. “We brought breakfast! Peppermint Butler gave us too many treats again, and Jake said if he ate one more tart he’d explode.”

Jake stretched into the kitchen, head poking into cabinets. “Still might. Don’t test me, kid.”

Marceline peeled the pillow off her face, glaring with bleary eyes. “Gee, thanks. Just what I needed — my favorite blonde doofus and his stretchy dog crashing in at sunrise.”

Finn grinned. “It’s not sunrise, it’s noon.”

“That’s morning for me,” she shot back.

Jake reappeared, holding a jar of something suspiciously purple. “Uh, Marcy? This jam’s older than Finn.”

“Put it down,” she warned.

“Already did.” He tossed it out the window.

Marceline rubbed her temples, the crumpled parchment still hidden in her hand. The words of PB’s confession burned behind her eyes, louder than Finn’s chatter, heavier than Jake’s rummaging.

She floated into the kitchen anyway, trying to look casual. “Fine. But if you’re eating my cereal, you’re replacing it.”

“Deal,” Jake said, already halfway through her bat-shaped marshmallows.

Marceline forced a crooked smirk, sliding the letter into her pocket. She needed time. Time to think.

But Finn wasn’t giving her any.

“Hey, so,” Finn said around a mouthful of candy, “we saw PB yesterday. She made us deliver, like, ten trays of tarts to the Grass Kingdom. They were awesome. You should’ve seen her—she had flour all over her face.” He laughed. “She looked super stressed though. Classic PB.”

Marceline froze mid-float, her spoon hovering over the cereal bowl she wasn’t really eating.

Jake noticed the tension immediately, though he pretended not to. “Yeah, she’s always running herself into the ground. Queen of Responsibility. Surprised she hasn’t worked herself into candy dust yet.”

Finn shrugged. “Anyway, she told us to say hi if we saw you. Said something about… ‘hoping you’re doing okay.’”

Marceline’s stomach twisted. She bit down on her lip hard enough to sting. The letter in her pocket felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.

“Cool,” she said flatly, pouring milk over her cereal with unnecessary force. “PB sends her regards. Noted.”

Finn tilted his head. “You okay, Marcy?”

“Peachy.” She shoved a spoonful of cereal into her mouth, hoping the crunch would drown out her heartbeat.

Jake gave Finn a look, the kind that said drop it. Finn blinked, confused, but let it go.

Marceline chewed slowly, forcing herself to swallow. She needed to hide the letter, bury her feelings, anything to keep the truth from spilling out in front of these two.

But she couldn’t shake Finn’s words.

PB, with flour on her face. PB, stressed but still thinking of her. PB, who had written those words last night without ever meaning for Marceline to see them.

The tart had just been a gift. The letter had been the real confession.

And Marceline wasn’t ready for either.

The door finally shut behind Finn and Jake, their voices echoing faintly as they made their way down the hill. Marceline stood in the silence they left behind, her ears ringing with too much noise and not enough clarity.

Her house was a wreck. Candy wrappers on the couch. Empty mugs in the sink. Cereal spilled across the counter like a sugar explosion. She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Those two are worse than a pack of gremlins,” she muttered.

Floating lazily across the living room, she started scooping trash into her arms, stuffing wrappers into a bag, wiping down the table with the side of her sleeve. She tried to hum, tried to distract herself with a tune, but the sound died halfway out of her throat.

Because the parchment was still there.

Not in her hand, not in plain sight anymore — but heavy in her pocket, like a secret whispering every time she moved.

She set the mugs into the sink a little too hard. Water splashed up, catching the faint light that trickled through the window. Marceline stared at the ripple, her reflection bending and warping in it.

And then the words came back.

I loved you. I still do.

Her fingers tightened on the edge of the counter.

The mugs clinked together.

“Bonnie…” she breathed, the name leaving her mouth before she could stop it.

Every line of the letter replayed in her head — the vulnerability, the regret, the aching tenderness woven into every stroke of PB’s handwriting. It wasn’t just a confession; it was raw, unpolished truth.

Marceline pressed her palm against her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. She could almost see PB sitting at her desk, pink hair falling into her eyes, chewing the end of her pen the way she always did when deep in thought. Pouring herself out onto the page because she couldn’t say the words aloud.

And then sending it by accident.

Marceline let out a sharp laugh, one that cracked halfway and turned bitter. “You’re a genius, Bonnibel. Absolute genius. Build an army out of candy people, invent a hundred gadgets, but you can’t keep your feelings locked down for one night.”

The laughter faded as quickly as it came, leaving her chest hollow.

She leaned against the counter, hand curling around the crumpled parchment in her pocket.

Ash was gone. The boys were gone.

And she was standing in a house that suddenly felt too quiet, haunted by words she wasn’t supposed to read.

Her heart thudded once, twice, heavy and uneven.

She didn’t know if she wanted to scream, or cry, or fly straight back to the Candy Kingdom and demand answers.

But all she could do was stand there, still as stone, while the ghost of PB’s words pulled at her from the inside out.

The floorboards creaked.

Marceline’s head snapped up, fangs bared on instinct. The door groaned open, and in walked Ash, smelling faintly of smoke and cheap incense, like he always did when he vanished for hours.

“Yo,” he said casually, kicking his boots off. “You clean this dump? Looks halfway livable for once.”

Marceline didn’t answer. She shoved the parchment deeper into her pocket, her shoulders stiff.

Ash noticed, of course. He always noticed when she was hiding something.

“Relax, babe.” He sauntered across the room, snatching an apple from the counter. “Not like I’m the cops.”

She rolled her eyes, floating past him toward the couch. “Could’ve fooled me.”

But before she could sit, his hand darted out, quick as a whip. The envelope slipped from her pocket.

“Hey!” she barked, spinning around.

Ash twirled it between his fingers with a smirk. “What’s this? Tax notice? Pfft. This better not be a tax letter, Marcy. I told you, I don’t do paperwork.”

“Give it back,” she snapped, reaching for it.

But he was already unfolding it. His lips parted, ready with another sarcastic remark — until his eyes scanned the first line.

And then the second.

And then the third.

The smirk vanished.

Silence pressed heavy between them, thicker than the shadows stretching along the walls.

Ash’s grip tightened on the paper, knuckles paling. He didn’t look at her. He just kept staring at the words, his mouth opening and closing without sound.

Marceline’s heart slammed against her ribs. She wanted to rip it out of his hands, to snarl, to vanish into the night. But her feet stayed planted.

The weight of PB’s voice hung in the air between them, louder than either of them could bear.

Ash’s eyes skimmed the page again, and slowly — horribly — a laugh bubbled out of him. Low at first, then louder, sharp and cruel.

“Oh, this is rich.” He crumpled the paper just enough to make it crackle, his grin stretching wide. “Didn’t you tell this bimbo you were done with her? That you’re not into girls anymore? That whole ‘phase’ thing? Tried it, didn’t like it?”

Marceline’s stomach twisted.

Ash waved the letter like it was proof in some court case. “Seriously, Marcy. She still doesn’t get it? You should tattoo it on her forehead — it was just a phase, get it into your thick skull.”

Marceline’s fangs flashed. “Shut up, Ash.”

But he just laughed harder, leaning back against the counter. “Man, Bubblegum really is pathetic. Wasting her genius brain writing this love junk to someone who already moved on. To someone who doesn’t even swing that way anymore. What a joke.”

Her hands clenched into fists. Every word scraped across her nerves like broken glass. The letter — PB’s heart, PB’s vulnerability — twisted in Ash’s grip as if it were nothing more than a prank doodle.

“Stop talking,” she said, voice dropping low, dangerous.

He arched a brow, mocking. “What? Did I hit a nerve?”

The room was heavy with her anger, her wings twitching with the urge to launch across the room and rip the letter out of his hands.

But underneath that anger was something colder: guilt.

Because once — more than once — she had told Ash what he said. That she’d tried the girl thing, it hadn’t worked. That PB was a closed book, a mistake better left on the shelf.

And now, with the letter in front of her, she couldn’t tell which burned worse — Ash’s laughter, or her own lies echoing back at her.

Ash’s laughter rang in her ears, sharp and grating, like nails on glass. Marceline stood frozen, wings twitching, jaw tight. Every word he spat out twisted like a knife against the fragile weight of PB’s confession.

She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She didn’t even reach for the crumpled letter in his hands.

All she could do was seethe.

The fury bubbled beneath her skin, hot and raw. A storm of anger at Ash for mocking what was precious, at herself for letting him see it, at PB for daring to write words so beautiful and true, and at the universe for putting her in the impossible position of holding this secret while still tethered to someone else.

Her chest heaved. Her claws flexed.

And still, silence.

Ash continued to grin, oblivious to the fire he had sparked, as Marceline’s gaze locked on him, cold and unyielding. The words of the letter burned behind her eyes, louder than his laughter, heavier than his mockery.

She didn’t know what she would do next.

But she did know one thing.

She wasn’t letting him get the satisfaction of seeing her break.

Not yet.

The room settled into tense quiet. Only her heartbeat sounded loud enough to mark the storm raging inside.

And Marceline stood there, seething in silence.

Chapter Text

PB’s hands shook as she rifled through the stacks of parchment on her desk. Reports. Inventories. Diplomatic letters. Nothing.

Nothing.

Her heart thudded in her chest like a drum. That’s when it hit her: the note. The one she had written two nights ago. The one she never intended to send.

It was gone.

Panic clawed up her throat. She ran to the kitchen, checking the counter. Clean. No trace of the envelope.

“Finn! Jake!” she barked, nearly tripping over a stack of blueprints. “Where’s the letter? The one I—” She stopped herself, breath catching. “The one I wrote?”

Finn and Jake were nowhere in sight. They’d gone on errands across Ooo, she reminded herself, but her mind was already racing. Maybe it had fallen off the tray… maybe one of the boys saw it and…

Her pulse quickened.

PB dashed toward the Castle gates, eyes scanning the path Finn and Jake had taken. She could still faintly smell the lingering aroma of the tarts, and it was taunting her, like breadcrumbs leading her straight to disaster.

Her mind was a storm. Where could it have gone? Who could have it?

Her thoughts flicked to Marceline immediately. She’d been in the kitchen last night. She’d been hovering over the tray while PB finished the tart. The thought of Marceline with the letter — her name on it, her words spilling out unguarded — made PB’s chest tighten with dread.

“No,” she muttered, shaking her head. “She wouldn’t… she couldn’t… not yet. Not like this.”

PB’s fingers dug into her hair, tugging lightly in frustration. Her mind ran through every possibility, every scenario:

Finn or Jake accidentally delivered it somewhere else.

The letter had fallen off the tray during the trip.

Marceline had taken it… maybe as a joke, maybe to tease her.

Her stomach turned. Each option was worse than the last.

PB sank into her chair, head in her hands. “How do I fix this?” she whispered, voice trembling. “How do I fix anything?”

The laboratory, once her sanctuary, felt suddenly too quiet, too exposed. Every invention, every chemical, every careful record now seemed meaningless compared to the vulnerability she had exposed.

And somewhere out there, the letter — her heart in ink — was out of her hands.

PB closed her eyes, breathing rapidly, forcing herself to think. To plan. Because panic wasn’t going to help.

She had to find it.

Before Marceline read it.

Before it ruined… everything.

PB’s hands were still trembling as she tried to organize her notes, muttering to herself, when a shadow flitted across the doorway.

“Oh. Hi,” Marceline said, leaning casually against the frame with one arm draped over her axe bass. Her dark hair fell into her eyes, but the smirk on her lips gave away the amusement sparkling behind them. “I’m hungry. And Ash is mad at me because… something about your taxes.”

PB froze mid-breath. “Taxes? What—”

Marceline stepped into the room, moving like she owned the place, casual and teasing as ever. Her eyes flicked over the counter, the scattered papers, and lingered just long enough on PB’s hands.

PB’s pulse accelerated. Her stomach dropped. She knows. She has the letter.

Marceline raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. “So… whatcha baking today, genius? Or are you just inventing stress for fun?”

PB swallowed hard, fumbling to compose herself. “I… I wasn’t—just… just finishing some routine things. You know, royal work.” Her words sounded tight, clipped. Her gaze darted subtly to the edges of the counter, wondering if the letter had somehow slipped into Marceline’s line of sight last night.

Marceline’s grin widened, like she could see exactly what PB was thinking. “Ah. Sure. Royal work. That’s why your hands smell like sugar instead of chemicals, huh?”

PB tried to smile, forcing her attention back to a stack of papers. She felt like a cat cornered, aware that Marceline was watching her every move, casual but sharp.

“And… taxes?” Marceline prodded again, letting her words hang in the air like a feather teasing the storm. “Ash is fuming. Something about owing money, apparently. Guess he’s not thrilled with me. So now I’m starving and in trouble.”

PB blinked, the panic rising. Her thoughts scrambled faster. Marceline knew Ash was around, but how much did she know? Did she already read the letter?

Marceline stepped closer, plucking a tart from the cooling tray as if it were entirely normal. “Mind if I snag one?” she asked, voice light, teasing — but there was an edge in her tone that made PB’s chest tighten.

PB froze. The tart, the note, Marceline’s casual tone — it all collided. Her mind raced, imagining Marceline already holding the letter in her hands, smiling faintly at the weight of her words.

“…Sure,” PB said finally, her voice quieter than intended. She tried to sound nonchalant as Marceline bit into the tart, but inside, her panic boiled.

Marceline leaned back lazily, chewing slowly, eyes glinting. “You sure you’re just ‘finishing routine things’? Because you look… freaked out. Something’s up.”

PB’s heart lurched. She forced a calm nod. “Just… tired, that’s all. Lots to do, you know. Royal obligations.”

Marceline smirked, setting the empty plate down. “Uh-huh. Sure. If you say so, Princess.” She floated toward the doorway, her wings spreading slightly. “Anyway, I’m gonna raid your fridge later. Hope you’ve got more of these tarts ready.”

PB watched her leave, every nerve in her body screaming. The letter. The note. Marceline knew. Or did she?

And somewhere deep in her chest, panic and dread tangled like vines.

PB sank onto a stool, hands pressed to her face. She had to find it. She had to know. Before it was too late.

PB cleared her throat, forcing her voice light and airy. “Uh… hey, Marceline. You’re not in a rush, right? You could, uh… stay a little while. I mean, since you’re here and all. We could… hang out. Maybe—um—have some more tarts?”

Marceline raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Hang out? That’s your big pitch?”

PB’s cheeks flushed pink. “Well… I mean, I thought, since you’re hungry… I could make some fresh ones. Special batch. Just for you.”

Marceline tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly, suspicious but amused. “Fresh batch, huh? And what’s in this ‘special’ batch, Princess?”

PB busied herself with the ingredients, trying to appear calm. Her hands shook slightly as she measured flour and sugar, rolled dough, and filled little tart shells with berries. Every so often, she stole glances at Marceline, who lounged casually on a stool, one leg tucked under her, eyes drifting over the counter.

“Uh… mostly just your favorites,” PB said, trying to sound cheerful. “Blueberry, raspberry… maybe a hint of chocolate. Nothing crazy.”

Marceline hummed, leaning forward slightly. “Mmm. That actually does sound good.”

PB’s heart skipped. She could have the letter. Or she could not. I need to know.

“Uh… you know,” PB added, pretending to concentrate on the next tart, “if you want, you could… um… help. Sort of… make it a fun thing. Like old times?”

Marceline’s smirk deepened, though her tone remained casual. “Old times, huh? You mean when I nearly burned the castle down trying to ‘help’?”

PB forced a laugh. “Yeah. That. Totally safe now. Mostly.”

Marceline slid off the stool and floated closer, peering over PB’s shoulder at the tray. “Mmm… smells amazing. You really put your heart into these.”

PB froze for a fraction of a second. Her heart pounded. The note. The letter. She needed to subtly check if Marceline had it, but she couldn’t let her panic show.

“So…” PB said slowly, moving her hands toward a small basket of ingredients near Marceline. “Do you… want to pick the berries? Just for fun. You can… um… taste-test, too.”

Marceline chuckled, leaning back against the counter. “Taste-testing, huh? That’s my favorite part.” She plucked a blueberry and popped it into her mouth. “Mm. Perfect. You really do spoil me, Princess.”

PB’s stomach tightened. She forced a smile, kneading dough for another tart, all the while sneaking glances at Marceline’s hands, her pockets, anywhere the letter could be. Every movement felt amplified, every casual glance a possible clue.

Marceline leaned against the counter, eyes watching PB move, humming softly. “You’re… a little twitchy today, you know. Nervous about something?”

PB forced a laugh, handing her another tart shell filled with berries. “Oh, no. Just… focused on making these perfect for you. I take baking very seriously.”

Marceline smirked, taking the tart. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

PB kept rolling, filling, and topping, doing everything she could to appear nonchalant while her mind screamed. The letter could be in Marceline’s bag, in her jacket, maybe even in her fingers right now.

And she had no idea how to get it back without revealing her panic.

So she kept baking, kept smiling, and kept stealing glances, every second a battle between pretending to be casual and trying to reclaim what was hers.

PB moved closer to the counter, arranging tarts on a cooling tray, trying to steady her shaking hands. Every time Marceline leaned over to taste-test a tart, PB felt her heart skip — the letter could be anywhere on her person.

“So,” Marceline said casually, resting a hand near PB’s elbow, “you really do put your heart into these. Not just the baking, I mean… you.”

PB forced a laugh, nodding. “Well… I like making things people enjoy.”

Marceline smirked, leaning just a little closer, her dark hair brushing PB’s shoulder. “You sure about that?”

PB’s pulse raced. She needed to know — does she have it? — without making it obvious. She tried a subtle maneuver: as she slid a tray toward the edge of the counter, she gently brushed against Marceline’s jacket sleeve, pretending to adjust her hair.

Her fingers brushed the inside of the pocket.

Nothing.

Her heart sank slightly, but she tried not to show it. “Hmm… maybe a bit more sugar?” she muttered, picking up a pinch and sprinkling it over the berries, using the motion as cover to glance at Marceline’s hands, her posture, anywhere the letter might be.

Marceline tilted her head, humming. “You’re fidgety today. Nervous about something… or someone?”

PB’s chest tightened. She kept her hands busy, flattening dough, patting the crusts. “No… just… making sure the tarts are perfect. For you. That’s all.”

Marceline’s smirk widened, and she leaned slightly closer again. PB felt her hair brush against her arm. “Uh-huh. You sure that’s all it is?” she teased, voice low, playful, but carrying a subtle edge that made PB’s pulse hammer in her ears.

PB’s hand twitched. She tried another subtle check — reaching under the counter to “grab another ingredient” — stretching her arm close enough to feel Marceline’s jacket just a little, pretending she was pulling sugar from a bowl.

Still nothing.

Her chest heaved slightly. She doesn’t have it. Not yet. Relief and panic tangled together.

“Perfect,” PB said, forcing a light laugh, sliding a completed tart toward Marceline. “Here. You try this one. Extra berries.”

Marceline leaned forward, plucking it up and biting into it slowly. “Mmm… you really do spoil me, you know that?”

PB’s hands hovered over the next tart, heart hammering. She forced a smile, hoping Marceline couldn’t read the storm inside her. If she knew about the letter… if she had read it… how would she act?

The casual proximity, Marceline’s teasing, the warm, familiar scent — it all coiled around PB like a spring ready to snap.

PB kept working, kept pretending, kept baking, all the while her mind raced: I need that letter back. I need to know she hasn’t seen it. I need… I can’t mess this up.

Every laugh, every lean, every touch from Marceline ratcheted the tension higher, and PB realized just how thin her control over the situation really was.

The letter was still out there. And right now, nothing could prepare her for what would happen the moment Marceline discovered it.

PB wiped her hands on a towel, trying to appear calm, though every nerve in her body screamed. The letter was still unaccounted for, and Marceline’s teasing proximity only made the anxiety coil tighter in her chest.

“Uh… hey,” PB said, fidgeting slightly, “you… you don’t have to leave just yet. I mean… if you want, you could… stay the night? You know… sleepover. Like old times.”

Marceline’s eyes lit up instantly, her casual smirk widening. “Sleepover? Awesome. I can finally get away from Ash for a while.” She floated closer, arms crossed lazily, eyes glinting with amusement. “Sounds perfect. I mean, yeah, I could help you finish these tarts, but honestly? Just hanging out? Even better.”

PB’s heart skipped a beat. “Right… yeah. We can… just hang out.” Her voice caught slightly, but she plastered on a casual smile. She busied herself with placing the last tart on the tray, hoping Marceline didn’t notice her jittery hands.

“Sweet,” Marceline said, plucking a tart and taking a slow bite. “This will be… a chill night. No Ash. No responsibilities. Just you, me, and probably too much sugar.” She leaned against the counter, casual as ever, but PB could feel the weight of her presence pressing close.

PB swallowed, trying to steady herself. The sleepover was a perfect excuse — more time to subtly check if Marceline had the letter, more time to control the situation, more time to… figure out what to do before the secret exploded.

“Yeah,” PB said finally, forcing a nod. “Exactly. Chill. Relaxed. Just… fun.”

Marceline hummed, satisfied, settling onto a stool nearby. “Cool. I can help set up a movie, too. Or we could… do nothing. I’m flexible.”

PB’s hands trembled slightly as she brushed crumbs from the counter. She had to keep her cool. She had to keep Marceline distracted.

And she had to find the letter.

Before it was too late.

Chapter Text

The pale light of dawn slipped through the stained-glass windows of the castle, casting soft colors across the room. PB stirred slowly, her body heavy with sleep, only to realize she wasn’t in her usual neat position on the bed.

Her cheek rested against something warm. Something rising and falling in slow, steady rhythm.

Her eyes blinked open.

She froze.

She was sprawled across Marceline’s chest, her arm draped over the vampire’s stomach like it had been there all night. Marceline was still asleep, her lips parted just slightly, her expression unusually soft in slumber.

PB’s breath caught in her throat. A flush crept across her cheeks, spreading all the way to her ears. She hadn’t meant—she hadn’t even realized—

Carefully, she lifted herself up, inch by inch, terrified of waking Marceline. Every movement made her acutely aware of the warmth she had just left behind. When she finally managed to slip free, she stood awkwardly at the bedside, hands clenched at her sides, her heart hammering.

Pull yourself together, Bonnibel.

She slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind her. Turning on the faucet, she splashed cold water on her face. Once, twice, three times. She leaned heavily against the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

Her blush refused to fade.

“Ugh,” she muttered under her breath, gripping the porcelain tighter. “This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.”

Her thoughts kept circling back to Marceline’s chest rising beneath her, the gentle sound of her breathing, the way it had felt safe. Too safe.

She scrubbed at her face with a towel, willing herself to feel composed, but the warmth lingered stubbornly.

When that didn’t work, she did the one thing that always helped her focus.

She went to the kitchen.

The early morning quiet of the castle’s kitchen greeted her with the familiar clink of metal bowls and the comforting scent of flour and sugar. PB rolled up her sleeves, tied on an apron, and began pulling ingredients down from the shelves.

Measure. Stir. Knead. Focus.

Every precise movement pushed her nerves into order, grounding her in the routine. She worked deliberately, kneading dough harder than necessary, trying to silence the rush of thoughts with the rhythm of baking.

But no matter how many times she folded the dough, no matter how carefully she whisked the filling, the memory of waking up against Marceline lingered at the edges of her mind, warm and persistent.

And the more she tried to push it away, the deeper it seemed to settle.

Marceline stirred with a soft groan, stretching out across the wide bed. She rubbed her eyes, blinking against the morning light filtering through the curtains.

Something felt… off.

The bed was warm on one side, but empty. She frowned, running a hand across the cool sheets where PB had been.

“Princess?” she muttered, voice still thick with sleep. No answer.

Her brow lifted slightly, curiosity sparking. Slipping out of bed, she floated soundlessly down the hall. It didn’t take long before the faint clink of utensils and the unmistakable smell of baking carried to her sharp senses.

Marceline smirked.

Of course.

She drifted into the kitchen doorway, unseen, and leaned against the frame for a moment, watching PB work. The Princess was fully in her element — sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy, face still pink from either the oven heat or something else entirely.

Marceline’s smirk deepened.

Time for a little mischief.

She floated silently behind PB, who was bent over rolling dough with fierce concentration. The soft hum of PB’s voice mixed with the whisking sounds, oblivious to the shadow creeping closer.

Marceline leaned in, close enough that her lips brushed the side of PB’s neck. Then, with perfect timing, she gave the faintest nip, playful and harmless.

“Imma suck all of your sugar!” she whispered against her skin.

PB yelped, the rolling pin clattering onto the counter. She spun, eyes wide, her face blooming redder than a raspberry tart.

“Marceline!” she hissed, clutching at her chest. “Don’t—do that! You nearly scared me half to death!”

Marceline floated back, laughing, clutching her stomach. “Oh man, your face! Worth it. Totally worth it.”

PB pressed her palms to her cheeks, trying to compose herself. “You can’t just—bite people like that! Especially while they’re baking!”

Marceline waggled her eyebrows, still grinning. “Hey, relax. I didn’t bite. I nibbled. There’s a difference.” She snagged a spoon off the counter, dipped it into the filling, and licked it clean. “Mmm. And you taste way better than sugar, by the way.”

PB’s blush deepened, and she turned sharply back to her dough, mumbling something incomprehensible about recipes.

Marceline leaned against the counter, watching her with amusement. The morning was off to a pretty great start.

PB tried to busy herself with the dough, kneading with precise, almost mechanical movements, her back stiff and her cheeks still burning.

“Honestly,” she muttered, not daring to look at Marceline, “you think you’re so clever, sneaking up on people like that. Completely impractical, disruptive—”

Marceline floated lazily in front of her, upside down now, her hair dangling toward the floor. “Adorable,” she cut in with a grin. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

PB’s hands froze on the dough for half a second before she forced herself to continue. “I am not flustered. I’m just… busy.”

Marceline chuckled, circling her like a mischievous shadow. “Mhm. Busy blushing, maybe.” She darted closer, poking PB’s cheek with a single finger. “See? Pinker than strawberry frosting.”

PB swatted her hand away, mumbling under her breath, “You’re impossible…”

Marceline perched herself casually on the counter, watching with a smirk as PB reached for the filling. “So… are you making these for me? Or are you just stress-baking because you accidentally cuddled up to me last night?”

PB dropped the spoon with a clang. “I—! That was not—! It wasn’t—”

Marceline cackled, clutching her sides. “Oh, man, you’re too easy. Don’t worry, I’m flattered.”

PB turned sharply, folding her arms, trying desperately to regain her composure. “If you’re just here to mock me, you can—”

But her words cut off when Marceline’s laughter softened. The vampire hopped down from the counter, her boots clicking lightly against the stone floor.

“Hey,” she said, voice gentler now. “Relax. I’m just messing with you. You know I like getting under your skin.” She picked up the spoon PB had dropped, rinsed it in the sink, and handed it back with a crooked smile.

PB blinked at her, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

Marceline shrugged, leaning casually against the counter again, but her tone stayed soft. “If it helps, I can… actually help. I mean, I’m not exactly culinary genius material, but I can follow instructions. Sorta.”

PB hesitated, torn between brushing her off and accepting the olive branch. But the warmth in Marceline’s eyes made her heart skip again.

“…Fine,” PB said finally, handing her a small bowl of berries. “Just… wash these. Carefully. Don’t drown them.”

Marceline grinned, saluting with two fingers. “Aye, aye, Princess.” She carried the bowl to the sink, humming as she worked, and for a moment, the kitchen filled with something light.

PB watched her out of the corner of her eye, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her best efforts.

The teasing had flustered her, but this… this felt dangerously comfortable.

Like it always used to.

Marceline swayed her hips a little as she rinsed the berries, humming off-key just to get a rise out of PB. She shook the colander with exaggerated flair, sending a few drops of water flicking across the counter.

PB shot her a sharp look. “Careful. This is delicate work.”

Marceline raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Delicate? These are berries, not explosives. Lighten up, Princess.”

PB huffed, returning to rolling the dough. “Everything in baking requires precision. One wrong move, and it all falls apart.”

Marceline padded closer, setting the berries down. “Mm. So what happens if someone does this?” She poked the flour sack on the counter just enough that a puff of white dust plumed into the air.

PB coughed, swatting the cloud away. “Marceline! That is exactly what I mean!”

Marceline grinned wickedly. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’ve never had a little fun in here.”

PB narrowed her eyes. “Fun and sanitation are two very different things.”

Marceline leaned closer, her grin widening. “You sure about that?”

Before PB could respond, Marceline swiped her finger through the flour on the counter and tapped it lightly onto PB’s nose.

PB froze.

Her jaw dropped.

Marceline burst out laughing. “Ha! Gotcha!”

PB’s blush burned bright, but this time it wasn’t just from embarrassment. She grabbed a pinch of flour herself and flicked it at Marceline’s cheek.

Marceline blinked in surprise, then grinned even wider. “Oh. It’s on.”

In seconds, the kitchen dissolved into chaos. PB ducked behind the counter, tossing flour like snow while Marceline floated above, sprinkling sugar crystals over her like mischievous confetti. Laughter filled the room, echoing through the castle’s stone halls.

PB shrieked when Marceline upended a tiny bowl of powdered sugar over her head, her pink hair dusted white like freshly fallen snow.

“Marceline!” she squealed, swatting at her.

Marceline floated back, laughing so hard she nearly dropped her spoon. “Oh my glob—you look like a frosted cupcake!”

PB, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, grabbed a spoonful of filling and smeared it across Marceline’s arm before she could dodge.

“Ohhh,” Marceline growled playfully, her fangs flashing with a grin. “Big mistake, Princess.”

PB tried to dart away, but Marceline swooped after her, both of them laughing breathlessly as the kitchen turned into a battlefield of sugar, flour, and sweet chaos.

At some point, PB stumbled against the counter, breathless, and Marceline caught her wrist mid-throw.

For a moment, they froze.

PB’s chest heaved, flour smudging her cheek, her lips parted as her wide eyes met Marceline’s.

Marceline’s grin softened into something smaller, quieter, as the laughter faded just enough to let the tension stretch between them.

“…You’re dangerous with a whisk, Princess,” Marceline murmured, voice low and teasing — but her eyes said something else entirely.

PB swallowed hard, caught between pulling away and leaning in.

The scent of sugar and berries clung to the air, sweet and heavy, wrapping around them both.

The air between them tightened, heavy with sugar and silence. Marceline’s hand lingered on PB’s wrist, her smirk softer now, almost curious. PB’s breath caught, her heart pounding louder than the hum of the ovens.

Just as the weight of the moment threatened to tip into something deeper, Marceline’s grin widened again, sharp and mischievous.

“Y’know,” she drawled, leaning closer with mock seriousness, “if you wanted me covered in filling, you could’ve just asked.”

PB blinked, her blush blooming scarlet. “I—what—no! That’s not—!”

Marceline burst out laughing, doubling over as she let go of PB’s wrist. “Oh my glob, your face! Priceless. Worth every smear of berry guts.”

PB huffed, crossing her arms, but the corner of her mouth twitched despite herself. “You’re insufferable.”

“Mm, maybe,” Marceline said, licking a streak of filling from her arm with exaggerated flourish. “But I’m delicious.”

PB groaned, rolling her eyes, and turned back to the counter, trying to salvage what was left of the chaos. “If you’re going to stay here, the least you could do is not destroy my entire kitchen.”

Marceline floated lazily upward, reclining in midair like a smug cat. “Hey, admit it — you’re having more fun than you’ve had in ages.”

PB hesitated, cheeks still pink, before muttering, “…Maybe.”

Marceline’s grin softened. “Knew it.”

The kitchen still smelled of sugar and berries, flour dusted the air like snow, and though PB tried to focus on straightening her bowls and trays, her mind was stuck replaying the moment Marceline had held her wrist — and how dangerously close she’d come to wanting it to last.

Marceline, meanwhile, hummed cheerfully as she floated around the kitchen, but every so often, her eyes flicked back to PB with a quiet spark that said the joke wasn’t the only thing lingering.

PB took a deep breath as she wiped the counter, trying to calm both the sugar storm and the storm in her chest. She stole a sideways glance at Marceline, who was still hovering in midair, lazily spinning one of PB’s mixing spoons like a baton.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. If Marceline had the letter, she’d have teased her with it by now. She always teased with everything. But the vampire had said nothing—no sly comments, no smirking hints. Just her usual chaos.

PB’s shoulders loosened, just a fraction. Then she doesn’t have it… thank glob.

The knot in her chest loosened further as she stacked trays, the tension easing into a quiet relief. Still, her relief was fragile, her thoughts spinning circles. If Marceline didn’t have it… then where was it?

Marceline noticed the shift. “Hey, Bubblebutt, what’s with the face? You look like you just solved world hunger or something.”

PB stiffened, then forced a small smile. “Nothing. Just… relieved you didn’t break my best mixing spoon.”

Marceline twirled it once more, then snapped it upright like a sword. “Pfft, as if I’d break your precious science stick. I’m reckless, not heartless.” She tapped it against her fangs, waggling her brows until PB couldn’t help the tiny laugh that escaped her lips.

It felt… good. Dangerous, but good.

Then Marceline drifted closer, dipping a finger into the half-ruined tart filling on the counter. Without warning, she smeared it on PB’s cheek with a mischievous grin.

“Marceline!” PB gasped, eyes wide.

“What?” Marceline licked her finger with exaggerated slowness. “Just making sure the chef tastes her own work.”

PB grabbed a nearby handful of flour and threw it at her, the white puff catching Marceline right in the face.

There was a beat of silence—Marceline’s stunned expression powdered in white, her red eyes peeking through—before the vampire queen cracked a grin so wide it almost split her face.

“Oh, it’s on, Bonnibel.”

The kitchen descended into chaos again, bursts of flour and streaks of filling turning the pristine space into a warzone. PB was laughing despite herself, her cheeks pink from more than exertion. And through the haze of sugar and flour, Marceline watched her — really watched her — like she’d found something she hadn’t realized she missed.

PB, wiping her hands on her apron, noticed that look just before Marceline barked out a laugh to break the moment. “You’re cleaning this up, by the way.”

PB rolled her eyes, flustered but oddly content. For the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel the weight of the letter pressing on her chest.

Chapter Text

Weeks drifted by in a blur of tart deliveries, royal duties, and late-night music sessions that never quite quieted Marceline’s mind. She’d spent more time around Bonnibel lately than she’d admit to anyone, especially Ash. He was too wrapped up in his own world of spells, trinkets, and schemes to notice. Or so she thought.

The day she flew home with her axe-bass slung over her shoulder, the sun bleeding low on the horizon, she knew the moment she stepped through the door that Ash was in one of his moods.

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, muttering over a pile of stolen magical junk, his eyes sharp as glass when they cut toward her.

“So,” he said, voice oily, “does that pink-haired bimbo have it drilled into her thick head yet? That you’re not into girls anymore?”

Marceline froze mid-step, her boots thudding softly on the wooden floor. Her jaw clenched.

Ash smirked at her silence, tossing a bauble from hand to hand. “I mean, c’mon, Marcy. You tried that little phase, right? Thought you liked girls, realized you didn’t. You don’t need to keep letting her follow you around like some lovesick science project.”

The words slid under her skin like barbs. Her chest tightened, her throat burned. For a second she almost let it pass, the way she had so many times before. But something inside her — something Bonnibel had unknowingly woken — snapped instead.

Marceline’s hands curled into fists. Her fangs flashed as she ground out, low and sharp:

“Bisexuality doesn’t work like that.”

Ash blinked, thrown off by the steel in her voice. “What?”

Marceline’s eyes narrowed, glowing faintly red as her boots creaked against the floorboards. “It’s not a switch you flip. It’s not some ‘phase.’ I like who I like. Girls. Guys. Whoever. That’s me. And if you can’t get that through your thick skull…” She floated a little higher, her voice rising with the heat in her chest. “Then maybe you’re the one who doesn’t get it.”

For once, Ash didn’t have a smirk ready. He just scowled, setting the bauble down with a clatter.

The silence between them stretched, heavy, suffocating.

Marceline didn’t wait for him to answer. She slung her bass against the wall, stormed into her room, and slammed the door hard enough to rattle the windows.

She collapsed face-first onto her bed, teeth gritted, shaking with a mix of anger and exhaustion. Ash’s words replayed in her head, sour and poisonous — but beneath the bitterness was something else. A softer voice she couldn’t ignore.

PB’s voice. The way she laughed in the flour storm. The way her blush painted her cheeks pinker than her hair. The way she didn’t make her feel wrong for who she was.

And suddenly, the walls of her own home felt like they were pressing in, too small to hold her.

The silence after the slammed door echoed louder than any argument could. Marceline lay there on her back, staring at the warped ceiling beams, her jaw still tight. Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths.

She tried to shove the words away, to drown them under a song or a joke. But Ash’s voice stuck like gum to her boot. “Phase.” “Not into girls anymore.” “That pink-haired bimbo.”

Her fangs ground against each other. He hadn’t just dismissed her — he’d dismissed a part of her she couldn’t rip out, couldn’t shut off. A part she didn’t want to shut off.

Her eyes traced the faint cracks in the ceiling above her. They were new. Splintering out from the corner where Ash had once slammed a chest of stolen junk against the wall. She hadn’t even noticed them before.

The cracks were everywhere, weren’t they?

She rolled over, face half-buried in her pillow, arms tightening around it. For all the years she’d spent with Ash, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like herself. Not the exaggerated version she threw out at parties, not the passive roommate who let him mutter and scavenge unchecked. Herself.

And then her mind betrayed her, flashing back to PB’s kitchen. Flour on her nose. That startled laugh that had burst out against her will. The warmth of someone who saw her, not a project, not a phase.

Marceline’s chest ached with the weight of it.

Ash had made her world feel smaller. Bonnibel made it feel bigger again.

The thought scared her more than she wanted to admit.

With a groan, she dragged her pillow over her face, muffling the noise rising in her throat. She didn’t want to deal with it tonight. Not with Ash muttering curses in the next room, not with her heart pulling her in a direction she swore she’d locked up long ago.

But as she finally drifted into a restless sleep, one thing stuck in her head, quiet but sharp:

Why am I still with him?

In the Candy Kingdom, the castle was unusually quiet. Too quiet for Bonnibel’s liking.

She sat at her desk, hands clasped beneath her chin, eyes darting across reports from the Gumball Guardians and supply requests from her ministers. Normally, the familiar weight of responsibility would anchor her. Tonight, though, it all slipped through her fingers like sugar dust.

Her gaze kept flicking to the top drawer of her desk — the one she’d opened a hundred times in the past few weeks, only to find it empty.

The letter.

Her throat tightened. She’d combed through every corner of her study, her bedroom, the kitchens. She’d even checked the library archives, desperate enough to imagine she’d absentmindedly filed it away with her records. But no. It was gone.

Did Marceline…?

No. Bonnibel’s lips pressed thin. She’d been watching, subtly, carefully. Marceline hadn’t slipped. No sly jokes, no smug reveals. If Marceline had the letter, she would’ve used it. That was her way.

So where had it gone? And worse — who had it now?

Bonnibel stood abruptly, pacing across the room, her heels clicking against the polished floor. The logical part of her mind screamed for her to let it go, to focus on kingdom matters. But her heart refused. That letter had been raw. Too raw. Every regret, every what-if, every confession she’d never meant Marceline to see spilled out on those pages.

Her hands curled into fists. She couldn’t bear the thought of someone else reading it.

And yet… beneath the panic, another ache gnawed at her.

The castle felt emptier than usual.

She found herself thinking of the laughter in the kitchen weeks ago, when flour clung to their hair like snow and Marceline had teased her with reckless ease. For a fleeting moment, Bonnibel had felt… light. Not a princess, not a scientist, not a ruler. Just herself.

She missed that. She missed her.

Bonnibel sank onto the edge of her bed, clutching her pillow, staring at the faint glow of the moon through her curtains. The letter was gone, but the truth it carried still throbbed in her chest.

Maybe Marceline never read it. Maybe she never would. But the feelings it held weren’t gone. They never had been.

Bonnibel buried her face in the pillow, whispering to herself so softly that only the quiet could hear:

“I miss you, Marceline.”

The words dissolved into the night, unanswered.

Bonnibel’s boots echoed softly as she crossed the threshold of Marceline’s loft, her hands clenching nervously at her sides. She barely noticed the faint scent of guitar polish and coffee in the air — her mind was fixed on seeing Marceline, hearing her laugh, feeling that strange warmth she hadn’t admitted she’d been missing.

She took a deep breath, about to push open Marceline’s bedroom door, when a sharp voice cut through the hall.

“You need to get over Marceline,” Ash barked, stepping out from behind a stack of crates. “She is not into you anymore! She doesn’t want you anymore! Hasn’t she made it clear to you, you—”

“You fucking bimbo!” he finished, his voice dripping with venom.

Bonnibel froze, jaw tightening. Then she straightened, eyes blazing. “Where do you get off calling me a bimbo?” she demanded, her voice firmer than she felt. “And what the hell are you even talking about? Marceline and I have been hanging out for weeks! Having sleepovers, talking, baking… because she doesn’t want to deal with you!”

Ash’s eyes flicked sharply, disbelief and anger flaring.

“You sold her beloved Hambo and still gave you a second chance,” PB continued, fists clenched at her sides. “Marceline and I are just friends — friends, Ash! Don’t you dare pretend otherwise.”

Ash’s smirk faltered, replaced by a dangerous gleam. He held something up between them: the missing letter. Bonnibel’s breath hitched, her stomach dropping into her boots.

“In your own words,” he said, voice low and sharp, “you are not over her.”

The words hit PB like a punch to the chest. Her throat went dry. She… she read the note. Marceline saw it.

She opened her mouth to speak, to explain, but before any words could come out, a voice rang out from the hallway.

“Maybe I’m not over her either!”

Bonnibel’s head snapped toward the sound. Marceline appeared at the top of the stairs, her eyes blazing red, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “Whether I’m over her or not, you do not get to talk to her like that.”

Ash took a step forward, but Marceline didn’t flinch. She moved swiftly in front of PB, shielding her with her body, her voice rising.

“You think you can insult her, degrade her, call her names, and it’s okay? It’s not okay!” Marceline spat. “She’s not some phase or some game you get to manipulate. She’s strong, she’s brilliant, and she—”

Her gaze softened as it flicked to PB, who stood frozen, still processing that Marceline had seen the letter. “—and she cares about me. And I care about her. So don’t you ever speak to her like that again.”

Ash blinked, caught off guard by the fire in her tone. Marceline stepped closer, shielding PB with an almost protective intensity. “If you have a problem with me, deal with me. Don’t you dare use her as a punching bag for your anger or jealousy or whatever twisted logic you’re trying to spin today.”

Bonnibel finally found her voice, trembling slightly but firm. “Marceline…” she started, but Marceline cut her off with a sharp glance.

“Shhh,” Marceline said softly, but her tone still carried authority. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ve got this.”

PB’s heart hammered, both from fear and relief. Marceline had seen the letter, yes — but now she wasn’t angry. She was here, standing strong, protecting PB.

And suddenly, Bonnibel realized: whatever had been in that letter, whatever secrets she thought she’d kept safe, Marceline didn’t care about the words. She cared about her.

Ash shifted, hands raising defensively, but Marceline’s glare pinned him in place. The loft was thick with tension, but for once, PB felt a flicker of calm. She wasn’t alone.

Not now. Not ever.

Ash’s jaw tightened, the smugness fading from his face as he realized Marceline wasn’t backing down. The loft was heavy with the weight of unspoken truths, raw emotions, and the unsaid consequences of that letter now in his hand.

Bonnibel stood frozen behind Marceline, heart hammering, chest tight. Her throat felt raw from the words she hadn’t spoken, from the admission she hadn’t been ready to make aloud. She hadn’t imagined Marceline would step in like this — she hadn’t imagined anyone would stand so firmly in her corner.

Marceline’s eyes blazed red, unwavering, daring Ash to make a move. Her posture was both shield and challenge, a living wall of fire protecting PB from the venom Ash had tried to spill.

Ash’s fingers tightened around the paper, the letter quivering slightly in his grip. He opened his mouth, perhaps to argue, perhaps to threaten… but the words died in his throat as Marceline’s glare pinned him in place.

Bonnibel’s hands clenched at her sides, torn between stepping forward and staying behind, between relief and lingering fear. The letter had been read, her secret revealed, and yet here Marceline was, fierce and untouchable, defending her.

The room seemed to hold its breath. Outside, the sun climbed higher, indifferent to the storm brewing in the loft.

And in that frozen moment, with Ash cornered, Marceline unwavering, and PB caught between shock and awe, the confrontation hung unresolved, teetering on the edge of chaos.

Some truths had finally been exposed. Some boundaries had finally been drawn.

But the storm was far from over.

Chapter Text

The past few days had felt impossibly long for Bonnibel. Each morning she woke with the same nagging ache: Marceline wasn’t there. She had avoided her calls, her texts, even the thought of showing up at her loft — because she didn’t know what would happen if she did.

But the ache was stronger than her hesitation. The longing, the missing laughter, the warmth she hadn’t realized she craved… it was unbearable.

So she did what she never thought she’d have the courage to do. She flew across Ooo, boots clicking softly on the stairs as she approached Marceline’s loft. Her heart pounded in her chest like a drum, a mixture of nerves, fear, and hope twisting in her stomach.

She paused at the doorway, took a deep breath, and finally stepped inside.

Marceline was there, leaning casually against the counter, her hair falling in that messy, perfect way that made PB’s chest tighten. The vampire queen’s red eyes flicked up, surprised but not hostile.

PB’s breath caught. She squared her shoulders, forcing herself to speak. “So… about the let—”

Before the words could even finish forming, Marceline was suddenly in motion. One swift step, and she closed the distance between them.

PB barely had time to blink before Marceline’s lips were on hers, warm and insistent, soft but commanding, pressing all of the tension, longing, and unspoken words into one fierce kiss.

Bonnibel froze for the fraction of a second — shocked, breathless — before her own arms wrapped around Marceline’s neck, leaning into the kiss with all the pent-up emotion she’d been holding for weeks.

Marceline pulled her closer, tilting her head slightly, deepening the kiss, letting PB feel everything that words hadn’t yet expressed: desire, relief, affection, and a promise of something new.

When they finally pulled back, gasping slightly, PB’s forehead rested against Marceline’s. Her voice was a shaky whisper, laced with awe and disbelief.

“You… you didn’t even let me finish the—”

Marceline smirked, brushing a stray pink lock from PB’s face. “Didn’t need to,” she murmured. “I think I already know.”

PB’s cheeks burned, but her smile was unstoppable. “I… I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Marceline replied softly, fingers intertwining with PB’s. “More than I realized.”

And for the first time since the letter had gone missing, since Ash had spewed his venom, since weeks of avoidance had stretched between them, Bonnibel felt whole again — standing here with Marceline, with their feelings finally out in the open, raw and undeniable.

The loft was quiet, the hum of the city outside fading into insignificance. And in that quiet, the kiss lingered, heavy with promise, and a new beginning waited just beyond the next breath.

The kiss lingered in both their minds long after they parted, a soft, electric memory that had Bonnibel’s heart racing and Marceline’s grin impossible to hide.

Marceline plopped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, pulling PB down next to her. “So… this is nice,” she said, draping an arm across the back of the couch, letting their shoulders brush. “Finally, no secrets, no awkward letters hidden away… just us.”

Bonnibel smiled, letting herself relax into the familiar weight of Marceline’s closeness. “Yeah… it feels good,” she admitted softly. “I’ve… missed this. You.”

Marceline nudged her gently with an elbow, teasing. “Missed me, huh? Thought you might’ve forgotten how annoying I can be.”

PB chuckled, shaking her head. “Impossible to forget. Especially when you make me chase you around the kitchen.”

Their laughter melded together, the ease between them flowing naturally, like they’d never stopped hanging out at all. After a moment, PB pulled away slightly, her hands tugging at her apron as an idea struck her.

“Want to bake?” she asked, voice playful. “We can make tarts, or cookies… or… I don’t know, something sweet for no reason other than to annoy you with my superior skills.”

Marceline raised an eyebrow. “Annoy me, huh? I think that’s the first warning of your legendary prank side showing through again.”

PB blinked, confused. “Pranks?”

Marceline smirked, lounging back with a mock-suspicious glance. “Yeah… I thought the letter had a list of pranks you wanted to pull on me. I was half expecting sugar bombs or flour traps or—”

PB threw her hands up, laughing, cheeks pink. “Since when do I have time for pranks? Do you know how much paperwork and experiments I have to manage? I don’t have time for pranks!”

Marceline snorted, shaking her head. “Right… the busy princess. Makes sense.” She leaned closer, brushing a playful kiss across PB’s temple. “But I don’t mind spending the day like this anyway.”

Bonnibel’s heart skipped again, and she couldn’t help but grin. “Good. Because I was thinking we could make strawberry tarts first. And maybe… taste-test every single batch before anyone else sees them.”

“That’s my kind of quality control,” Marceline teased, hopping off the couch. She grabbed a mixing bowl and handed PB a spoon. “Lead the way, Princess.”

The kitchen quickly filled with flour, sugar, and laughter. PB focused on the baking, but every so often, Marceline would lean in too close under the pretense of ‘checking measurements,’ and PB would feel her heart flutter all over again.

At one point, Marceline smudged a streak of dough on PB’s cheek. “See? Still annoying,” she said with a grin.

PB laughed, smearing a dab of berry filling on Marceline in retaliation. “You asked for it, vampire queen.”

Hours passed with playful teasing, quiet touches, and the soft hum of conversation as they baked, ate, and lounged together. The tension from the weeks of avoidance had melted away, replaced by comfort, intimacy, and the subtle acknowledgment of something deeper than friendship.

As they finally collapsed on the couch, berry-stained and tired, Marceline rested her head lightly on PB’s shoulder. “You know,” she murmured, voice soft, “I was kinda scared about that letter. Thought it would ruin everything… or, like, be a list of tricks or something.”

PB laughed softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Marceline’s hair. “Not everything has to be a prank. Sometimes… feelings are just feelings.”

Marceline tilted her head, grinning up at her. “Glad I stuck around to see that firsthand.”

And as the sun dipped low outside the window, casting warm light across the room, Bonnibel and Marceline sat together, tangled in blankets and laughter, the world outside forgotten. For now, all that mattered was them — the letter, the confessions, and the beginning of something new.

By late afternoon, the loft had quieted down. The tarts were done, the mess mostly contained, and Marceline and PB were nestled on the couch under a soft blanket, still brushing berry-smeared fingers together with lazy smiles.

But peace was a fragile thing.

Marceline hummed softly, absently running a hand through PB’s hair. “You think Ash will just… let it go?” she asked.

PB shifted, resting her head against Marceline’s shoulder. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “He’s… volatile. But I don’t care. He doesn’t get to dictate how I feel, or who I spend my time with.”

Marceline’s grin widened. “And apparently, neither does anyone else. I mean, people have noticed, haven’t they?”

PB frowned. “Noticed what?”

Marceline tilted her head, smirking. “You and me… cozy, baking, all cuddled up. You’re glowing like a pink candy beacon. Folks in Ooo don’t exactly miss that kind of chemistry.”

PB laughed nervously, glancing down at herself, feeling suddenly very aware of how flushed her cheeks were. “Oh, glob… I didn’t even think about that. I just… I wanted to see you. To finally… I don’t know… be near you.”

Marceline leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to PB’s temple. “Well, you’re definitely not hiding it anymore.”

Just then, there was a faint knock at the door. PB and Marceline exchanged a glance, both stiffening slightly.

“Go on, I’ll handle it,” Marceline said, floating toward the door. She opened it to reveal Peppermint Butler, eyes wide and twitching slightly at the sight of the two of them.

“Oh… uh, hi,” he said awkwardly, hands fidgeting behind his back. “I… uh… didn’t mean to interrupt. Just… wanted to—”

Marceline stepped aside, letting him in with a sly grin. “Come on in, Pep, don’t be shy. But fair warning — yes, we are this close.”

PB’s cheeks flared as Peppermint Butler stammered, “Y-yes, I… uh… noticed. Just… wanted to see if… uh… you needed anything?”

PB waved a hand dismissively, still flustered. “Nope. Just… making tarts and… spending time together.”

The little demon nodded rapidly, muttering something about “noted” before backing out the door quickly, eyes wide as though he’d just witnessed a minor explosion.

Marceline leaned back against the couch, arms draped around PB. “See? Already making waves. And this is just the beginning.”

PB groaned, burying her face into Marceline’s shoulder. “I’m going to get a hundred questions tomorrow. And you know people don’t take subtle hints… they’re going to gossip like crazy.”

Marceline laughed softly, brushing a hand down PB’s arm. “Let them gossip. They’ve got nothing on us. And honestly? I like seeing people squirm when we’re… like this.”

PB peeked up, blinking at her. “You… really mean that?”

Marceline’s grin softened, gaze warm. “I mean it. You’re mine, Bubblegum. And that’s all that matters.”

PB felt her heart soar, the tension from the past days finally giving way to relief. For the first time in weeks, she felt grounded, safe, and thrilled all at once.

Outside, Ooo carried on as usual. Inside, PB and Marceline sat wrapped in blankets and laughter, ready to face whatever fallout would come — together.

And somehow, that made everything feel a little sweeter.

A week had passed since their cozy, flour-dusted day of reconnection, and now PB and Marceline found themselves wandering through Ooo’s infamous Gooses’ Market. The air smelled of fried treats, candles, and the occasional whiff of… questionable magical trinkets. Marceline lazily strummed her bass as they strolled, PB carrying a small basket full of berries they’d picked earlier.

As they rounded a corner, the worst possible sight appeared: Ash, lounging casually at a stall, a new girl draped over his arm, laughing at something he clearly said.

PB stiffened, but Marceline just raised an eyebrow, voice dripping with nonchalance. “Oh. Hey, Ash.”

Ash’s eyes lit up. “Marceline! Fancy seeing you here!” He gestured flamboyantly toward the girl clinging to him. “And meet my new girl! She’s so amazing—beautiful, clever, and…” He leaned in, lowering his voice with a smug smirk. “…so good in bed.”

Marceline tilted her head, casually rolling her eyes. “Mhm,” she said, utterly unbothered, eyes flicking to PB for a reassuring glance. “Ok.”

Ash blinked, taken aback by her tone. “Uh… thanks? Right?” He tried to grin, clearly expecting some kind of reaction, some jealousy.

Marceline’s smirk widened. She leaned in slightly, voice sweet but cutting. “I mean… you were so terrible. Terrible, terrible person, to the point I left you… for another girl. That’s also my ex.”

PB stifled a laugh behind Marceline’s shoulder as Ash’s smug confidence froze mid-smile. His jaw dropped slightly, his ego visibly bruised.

The new girl looked at Ash, her smile faltering. “Wait… ex?” she asked, confusion threading her voice.

Ash’s eyes darted between Marceline and PB, a flicker of panic crossing his features. “I… uh…”

Marceline leaned back, letting the words hang in the air like a dagger. “Yeah. So, maybe think about that next time you try to brag about your conquests. Or… maybe don’t.” She casually picked up a pastry from a nearby stall, taking a slow bite, eyes locked on Ash’s increasingly flustered expression.

PB’s laughter finally spilled out, light and triumphant. “Oh, this is perfect,” she whispered, squeezing Marceline’s hand.

Ash’s face turned crimson, and the girl clung closer to him, clearly reconsidering her choices. Marceline just yawned, stretching, clearly enjoying watching his pride crumble.

PB leaned her head against Marceline’s shoulder, murmuring softly, “You make everything so… easy.”

Marceline grinned, resting her head against PB’s. “That’s the magic, Bubblegum. You just have to let me do it.”

And with that, the two of them walked off together, side by side, leaving Ash and his flustered new flame in the chaos of the market, their closeness unmistakable — and untouchable.

Chapter Text

The past few days had felt impossibly long for Bonnibel. Each morning she woke with the same nagging ache: Marceline wasn’t there. She had avoided her calls, her texts, even the thought of showing up at her loft — because she didn’t know what would happen if she did.

But the ache was stronger than her hesitation. The longing, the missing laughter, the warmth she hadn’t realized she craved… it was unbearable.

So she did what she never thought she’d have the courage to do. She flew across Ooo, boots clicking softly on the stairs as she approached Marceline’s loft. Her heart pounded in her chest like a drum, a mixture of nerves, fear, and hope twisting in her stomach.

She paused at the doorway, took a deep breath, and finally stepped inside.

Marceline was there, leaning casually against the counter, her hair falling in that messy, perfect way that made PB’s chest tighten. The vampire queen’s red eyes flicked up, surprised but not hostile.

PB’s breath caught. She squared her shoulders, forcing herself to speak. “So… about the let—”

Before the words could even finish forming, Marceline was suddenly in motion. One swift step, and she closed the distance between them.

PB barely had time to blink before Marceline’s lips were on hers, warm and insistent, soft but commanding, pressing all of the tension, longing, and unspoken words into one fierce kiss.

Bonnibel froze for the fraction of a second — shocked, breathless — before her own arms wrapped around Marceline’s neck, leaning into the kiss with all the pent-up emotion she’d been holding for weeks.

Marceline pulled her closer, tilting her head slightly, deepening the kiss, letting PB feel everything that words hadn’t yet expressed: desire, relief, affection, and a promise of something new.

When they finally pulled back, gasping slightly, PB’s forehead rested against Marceline’s. Her voice was a shaky whisper, laced with awe and disbelief.

“You… you didn’t even let me finish the—”

Marceline smirked, brushing a stray pink lock from PB’s face. “Didn’t need to,” she murmured. “I think I already know.”

PB’s cheeks burned, but her smile was unstoppable. “I… I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Marceline replied softly, fingers intertwining with PB’s. “More than I realized.”

And for the first time since the letter had gone missing, since Ash had spewed his venom, since weeks of avoidance had stretched between them, Bonnibel felt whole again — standing here with Marceline, with their feelings finally out in the open, raw and undeniable.

The loft was quiet, the hum of the city outside fading into insignificance. And in that quiet, the kiss lingered, heavy with promise, and a new beginning waited just beyond the next breath.

The kiss lingered in both their minds long after they parted, a soft, electric memory that had Bonnibel’s heart racing and Marceline’s grin impossible to hide.

Marceline plopped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, pulling PB down next to her. “So… this is nice,” she said, draping an arm across the back of the couch, letting their shoulders brush. “Finally, no secrets, no awkward letters hidden away… just us.”

Bonnibel smiled, letting herself relax into the familiar weight of Marceline’s closeness. “Yeah… it feels good,” she admitted softly. “I’ve… missed this. You.”

Marceline nudged her gently with an elbow, teasing. “Missed me, huh? Thought you might’ve forgotten how annoying I can be.”

PB chuckled, shaking her head. “Impossible to forget. Especially when you make me chase you around the kitchen.”

Their laughter melded together, the ease between them flowing naturally, like they’d never stopped hanging out at all. After a moment, PB pulled away slightly, her hands tugging at her apron as an idea struck her.

“Want to bake?” she asked, voice playful. “We can make tarts, or cookies… or… I don’t know, something sweet for no reason other than to annoy you with my superior skills.”

Marceline raised an eyebrow. “Annoy me, huh? I think that’s the first warning of your legendary prank side showing through again.”

PB blinked, confused. “Pranks?”

Marceline smirked, lounging back with a mock-suspicious glance. “Yeah… I thought the letter had a list of pranks you wanted to pull on me. I was half expecting sugar bombs or flour traps or—”

PB threw her hands up, laughing, cheeks pink. “Since when do I have time for pranks? Do you know how much paperwork and experiments I have to manage? I don’t have time for pranks!”

Marceline snorted, shaking her head. “Right… the busy princess. Makes sense.” She leaned closer, brushing a playful kiss across PB’s temple. “But I don’t mind spending the day like this anyway.”

Bonnibel’s heart skipped again, and she couldn’t help but grin. “Good. Because I was thinking we could make strawberry tarts first. And maybe… taste-test every single batch before anyone else sees them.”

“That’s my kind of quality control,” Marceline teased, hopping off the couch. She grabbed a mixing bowl and handed PB a spoon. “Lead the way, Princess.”

The kitchen quickly filled with flour, sugar, and laughter. PB focused on the baking, but every so often, Marceline would lean in too close under the pretense of ‘checking measurements,’ and PB would feel her heart flutter all over again.

At one point, Marceline smudged a streak of dough on PB’s cheek. “See? Still annoying,” she said with a grin.

PB laughed, smearing a dab of berry filling on Marceline in retaliation. “You asked for it, vampire queen.”

Hours passed with playful teasing, quiet touches, and the soft hum of conversation as they baked, ate, and lounged together. The tension from the weeks of avoidance had melted away, replaced by comfort, intimacy, and the subtle acknowledgment of something deeper than friendship.

As they finally collapsed on the couch, berry-stained and tired, Marceline rested her head lightly on PB’s shoulder. “You know,” she murmured, voice soft, “I was kinda scared about that letter. Thought it would ruin everything… or, like, be a list of tricks or something.”

PB laughed softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Marceline’s hair. “Not everything has to be a prank. Sometimes… feelings are just feelings.”

Marceline tilted her head, grinning up at her. “Glad I stuck around to see that firsthand.”

And as the sun dipped low outside the window, casting warm light across the room, Bonnibel and Marceline sat together, tangled in blankets and laughter, the world outside forgotten. For now, all that mattered was them — the letter, the confessions, and the beginning of something new.

By late afternoon, the loft had quieted down. The tarts were done, the mess mostly contained, and Marceline and PB were nestled on the couch under a soft blanket, still brushing berry-smeared fingers together with lazy smiles.

But peace was a fragile thing.

Marceline hummed softly, absently running a hand through PB’s hair. “You think Ash will just… let it go?” she asked.

PB shifted, resting her head against Marceline’s shoulder. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “He’s… volatile. But I don’t care. He doesn’t get to dictate how I feel, or who I spend my time with.”

Marceline’s grin widened. “And apparently, neither does anyone else. I mean, people have noticed, haven’t they?”

PB frowned. “Noticed what?”

Marceline tilted her head, smirking. “You and me… cozy, baking, all cuddled up. You’re glowing like a pink candy beacon. Folks in Ooo don’t exactly miss that kind of chemistry.”

PB laughed nervously, glancing down at herself, feeling suddenly very aware of how flushed her cheeks were. “Oh, glob… I didn’t even think about that. I just… I wanted to see you. To finally… I don’t know… be near you.”

Marceline leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to PB’s temple. “Well, you’re definitely not hiding it anymore.”

Just then, there was a faint knock at the door. PB and Marceline exchanged a glance, both stiffening slightly.

“Go on, I’ll handle it,” Marceline said, floating toward the door. She opened it to reveal Peppermint Butler, eyes wide and twitching slightly at the sight of the two of them.

“Oh… uh, hi,” he said awkwardly, hands fidgeting behind his back. “I… uh… didn’t mean to interrupt. Just… wanted to—”

Marceline stepped aside, letting him in with a sly grin. “Come on in, Pep, don’t be shy. But fair warning — yes, we are this close.”

PB’s cheeks flared as Peppermint Butler stammered, “Y-yes, I… uh… noticed. Just… wanted to see if… uh… you needed anything?”

PB waved a hand dismissively, still flustered. “Nope. Just… making tarts and… spending time together.”

The little demon nodded rapidly, muttering something about “noted” before backing out the door quickly, eyes wide as though he’d just witnessed a minor explosion.

Marceline leaned back against the couch, arms draped around PB. “See? Already making waves. And this is just the beginning.”

PB groaned, burying her face into Marceline’s shoulder. “I’m going to get a hundred questions tomorrow. And you know people don’t take subtle hints… they’re going to gossip like crazy.”

Marceline laughed softly, brushing a hand down PB’s arm. “Let them gossip. They’ve got nothing on us. And honestly? I like seeing people squirm when we’re… like this.”

PB peeked up, blinking at her. “You… really mean that?”

Marceline’s grin softened, gaze warm. “I mean it. You’re mine, Bubblegum. And that’s all that matters.”

PB felt her heart soar, the tension from the past days finally giving way to relief. For the first time in weeks, she felt grounded, safe, and thrilled all at once.

Outside, Ooo carried on as usual. Inside, PB and Marceline sat wrapped in blankets and laughter, ready to face whatever fallout would come — together.

And somehow, that made everything feel a little sweeter.

A week had passed since their cozy, flour-dusted day of reconnection, and now PB and Marceline found themselves wandering through Ooo’s infamous Gooses’ Market. The air smelled of fried treats, candles, and the occasional whiff of… questionable magical trinkets. Marceline lazily strummed her bass as they strolled, PB carrying a small basket full of berries they’d picked earlier.

As they rounded a corner, the worst possible sight appeared: Ash, lounging casually at a stall, a new girl draped over his arm, laughing at something he clearly said.

PB stiffened, but Marceline just raised an eyebrow, voice dripping with nonchalance. “Oh. Hey, Ash.”

Ash’s eyes lit up. “Marceline! Fancy seeing you here!” He gestured flamboyantly toward the girl clinging to him. “And meet my new girl! She’s so amazing—beautiful, clever, and…” He leaned in, lowering his voice with a smug smirk. “…so good in bed.”

Marceline tilted her head, casually rolling her eyes. “Mhm,” she said, utterly unbothered, eyes flicking to PB for a reassuring glance. “Ok.”

Ash blinked, taken aback by her tone. “Uh… thanks? Right?” He tried to grin, clearly expecting some kind of reaction, some jealousy.

Marceline’s smirk widened. She leaned in slightly, voice sweet but cutting. “I mean… you were so terrible. Terrible, terrible person, to the point I left you… for another girl. That’s also my ex.”

PB stifled a laugh behind Marceline’s shoulder as Ash’s smug confidence froze mid-smile. His jaw dropped slightly, his ego visibly bruised.

The new girl looked at Ash, her smile faltering. “Wait… ex?” she asked, confusion threading her voice.

Ash’s eyes darted between Marceline and PB, a flicker of panic crossing his features. “I… uh…”

Marceline leaned back, letting the words hang in the air like a dagger. “Yeah. So, maybe think about that next time you try to brag about your conquests. Or… maybe don’t.” She casually picked up a pastry from a nearby stall, taking a slow bite, eyes locked on Ash’s increasingly flustered expression.

PB’s laughter finally spilled out, light and triumphant. “Oh, this is perfect,” she whispered, squeezing Marceline’s hand.

Ash’s face turned crimson, and the girl clung closer to him, clearly reconsidering her choices. Marceline just yawned, stretching, clearly enjoying watching his pride crumble.

PB leaned her head against Marceline’s shoulder, murmuring softly, “You make everything so… easy.”

Marceline grinned, resting her head against PB’s. “That’s the magic, Bubblegum. You just have to let me do it.”

And with that, the two of them walked off together, side by side, leaving Ash and his flustered new flame in the chaos of the market, their closeness unmistakable — and untouchable.

Chapter Text

It only took a week before someone noticed.

Peppermint Butler had always been observant — it was part of his nature. He kept his mistress’s secrets well, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of them. And lately, Princess Bubblegum was… different.

She wasn’t cloistered away in her laboratory tinkering until ungodly hours. She wasn’t bent over scrolls and reports until her eyes drooped. Instead, she was in her bedroom.

And not alone.

Late at night, there was the muffled sound of laughter, soft voices, and sometimes… giggling. Peppermint Butler would catch snippets as he passed by on his rounds. More than once, he swore he heard the low, unmistakable timbre of a certain vampire’s voice drifting through the door.

And if he noticed, the Candy People weren’t far behind.

“Have you seen it?” Peppermint Guard whispered to Chicle as they stacked crates near the courtyard. “That vampire girl’s been flying around the castle. Hanging near the Princess’s window.”

Chicle tilted his head, lowering his voice. “Late at night too. I saw her strummin’ her bass outside the tower, real sneaky-like.”

“It’s weird,” said another candy citizen, leaning in. “Princess Bubblegum hasn’t been this… giggly… in ages.”

“Giggly?” the guard repeated.

“Yeah, like, blushy and soft. It’s creepy.”

Word spread quickly, as it always did in the Candy Kingdom. Whispers traveled down licorice lanes and around the peppermint lampposts. Every candy citizen from marshmallow bakers to gumdrop children had an opinion on the strange goings-on.

By the third night in a row of Marceline being spotted lazily circling the castle in bat form before slipping into PB’s window, the gossip had solidified into certainty: something was happening.

Of course, the two in question didn’t seem to care.

Inside the princess’s bedroom, laughter spilled freely. Marceline was sprawled across PB’s bed, lazily plucking a tune on her axe bass while Bonnie sat beside her, leaning so close their shoulders touched. At one point, PB buried her face in Marceline’s shoulder just to muffle a laugh, which only made Marceline smirk and play louder, earning a soft shove.

“Y’know,” Marceline teased, “if we keep this up, your candy people are gonna figure us out.”

PB just rolled her eyes, though a faint blush dusted her cheeks. “Let them whisper. They already think you’re bad news.”

Marceline set her bass aside, smirking as she leaned in close. “Guess they’re not wrong.”

PB tried to look unimpressed, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

Outside the bedroom door, Peppermint Butler paused, hearing the giggles rise again. He adjusted his little bowtie with a resigned sigh. “Oh dear,” he muttered, turning on his heel. “It seems the Kingdom is in for… complications.”

Inside PB’s bedroom, the giggles quieted into softer tones, the kind reserved for secrets.

Marceline leaned back against the pillows, her arm lazily draped across the princess’s waist. Bonnie tried to focus on the plate of half-eaten tarts between them, but Marceline’s proximity was maddening. Every brush of her fingers, every smug little grin, sent sparks through her.

“Y’know,” Marceline said low, her voice husky with mischief, “you’ve been smiling a lot lately. I think I’m a good influence.”

PB shot her a look, attempting composure. “You? A good influence? That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all week.”

Marceline smirked and shifted closer until her lips hovered just at Bonnie’s ear. “Oh, I’m very good at some things.”

PB’s breath hitched, betraying her cool exterior. “Marceline…”

The vampire’s hands moved deliberately slow, skimming over PB’s waist and sneaking beneath the hem of her shirt. Cold fingertips traced across warm skin, drawing a sharp inhale from the princess.

Bonnie’s mind scattered — equations, formulas, blueprints, all gone in a haze of heat and nerves. She tried to protest, but the sound came out more like a soft whimper than a command.

“Relax, Bon,” Marceline murmured, her voice playful but her eyes dark with intent. “I’m not gonna bite… not unless you want me to.”

PB turned crimson, torn between swatting Marceline’s hand away and arching into her touch. Instead, she let out a frustrated groan and buried her face in Marceline’s shoulder. Marceline chuckled, pressing a teasing kiss just beneath her jaw.

“Mm. You taste like sugar.”

“Y-you’re impossible,” PB managed, her voice muffled.

“Uh-huh.” Marceline grinned against her skin, her hand still warm under PB’s shirt, drawing patterns that made the princess shiver.

The air between them thickened — kisses that had started playful now lingered, breaths shared, soft moans escaping without either meaning to. The tension built and built, until finally Marceline pulled back with a devilish grin.

“Careful, Bonnibel. If we keep this up, we’ll give your whole kingdom something real to gossip about.”

PB, flushed and breathless, glared half-heartedly. “They’re already gossiping.”

Marceline’s laugh filled the room, low and satisfied. “Good.”

The giggles rose again, soft and breathless between their kisses. Marceline nipped at PB’s lower lip, earning a surprised squeak that melted into laughter.

“Marceline!” PB gasped, pushing at her shoulders half-heartedly. “You’re— you’re ridiculous.”

“Mmhm.” Marceline grinned against her mouth, refusing to let her retreat. “And you love it.”

They rolled across the bed, tangled up in sheets and each other, until— thud!

Both crashed to the floor in a heap of limbs, laughter spilling into the air like music. The plate of leftover tarts clattered off the nightstand, forgotten.

PB landed beneath Marceline, hair mussed, glasses askew, her cheeks burning pinker than candyfloss. Marceline only hovered there, eyes gleaming behind her messy bangs, fangs flashing in a grin.

“Well,” the vampire teased, “guess I just swept you off your feet.”

Bonnie let out a groan that was meant to sound exasperated but came out more like a whimper. Marceline didn’t waste the opening — her lips pressed hotly against PB’s again, drawing out another soft moan, PB’s hands fisting in her shirt as if she didn’t want to let go.

The world narrowed to heat and touch. Every kiss grew deeper, more insistent. Marceline’s hand slipped under PB’s shirt again, skimming her ribs, earning a shiver and a muffled giggle. PB’s leg brushed against Marceline’s hip in an unconscious move that made Marceline’s breath hitch.

“Bon…” she murmured between kisses, voice low and rough, “you’re driving me crazy.”

PB tried to steady herself, to summon that regal composure, but it shattered each time Marceline’s lips found her neck, each time Marceline’s laugh vibrated against her skin.

They rolled again, PB ending up on top this time, strands of pink hair falling around them like a curtain. Marceline looked up at her with that same cocky grin, but her flushed face betrayed the tension simmering beneath.

“You’re… impossible,” PB whispered, pressing her forehead to Marceline’s.

“Uh-huh.” Marceline’s fingers tightened at her waist, pulling her closer until their giggles dissolved into more kisses, until the line between playful and hungry blurred completely.

Neither noticed the hour slipping away. Neither cared. All that mattered was that they couldn’t stop.

The kisses deepened, breath growing shallow between them as if the room itself was running out of air. Bonnie clutched at Marceline’s shirt, tugging her closer with every press of lips, every teasing nip that sent sparks racing up her spine.

Marceline’s laugh turned darker, more satisfied, as she shifted them again — pinning PB lightly against the floor. “You taste way too good for me to stop now,” she murmured, lips brushing the shell of Bonnie’s ear.

PB opened her mouth to retort, but the words melted into a sharp gasp as Marceline’s fangs grazed her neck, not breaking skin — just enough to make her squirm.

“Marceline…” she whispered, half-plea, half-warning.

The vampire smirked, eyes glowing faintly red in the dim light. “Relax, Bonnibel. I’m not gonna drain you…” Her lips dragged down to the curve of PB’s shoulder. “But maybe just a bite.”

Before PB could protest, Marceline’s mouth was at her collarbone, fangs sinking in just enough to pierce the outer layer of gum. The sweet taste filled Marceline’s senses, and PB’s strangled moan filled the room.

Her hands flew to Marceline’s back, nails digging in through the fabric of her shirt. “M-Marceline!”

The sound was almost too much for the vampire — a mix of surprise, pleasure, and surrender. Marceline pulled back just long enough to lick her lips, smirking at the dazed, blushing princess beneath her.

“Wow,” she teased, voice husky. “Didn’t know sugar squeaked like that.”

PB’s face burned hotter than her candy furnace. “You— you’re infuriating.” But her shaky breaths betrayed her.

Marceline chuckled, leaning in again, pressing more kisses down the line of PB’s jaw, her hands sliding boldly under the princess’s shirt to trace along her waist. Every touch sent Bonnie arching, gasping, caught between pushing her away and pulling her closer.

Giggles bubbled up again when Marceline nibbled at her shoulder, the mix of playful and hungry making PB’s head spin. Their tangled bodies shifted, rolling once more until they ended up half-on, half-off the rug, breathless and laughing even as the moans slipped between the laughter.

Neither of them was thinking anymore. Neither cared. The world outside PB’s room didn’t exist — only the heat of lips, the teasing bites, and the electric crackle of years of tension finally unleashed.

PB’s glasses were crooked, half hanging from one ear, but she didn’t care. Marceline’s mouth was everywhere — her neck, her jaw, the corner of her lips. Each kiss was a tease, a promise, a reminder of everything they’d once been and everything they could be again.

Bonnie gasped, tugging Marceline’s hair without realizing it. The vampire growled low in her throat, delighted, and nipped sharply at the curve of PB’s shoulder. The princess’s moan spilled into the air, hot and unrestrained.

“Marceline!” she scolded weakly, voice shaking. “That’s— that’s indecent—”

“Mm, yeah,” Marceline murmured against her skin, grinning wickedly. “And you like it.”

Bonnie made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a protest, her hands pushing at Marceline’s shoulders, only to immediately clutch tighter when Marceline’s lips trailed down her throat again.

The coldness of the vampire’s fingers as they skimmed higher under her shirt made PB shiver, her whole body arching toward the touch. “Y-you’re impossible…”

“Uh-huh,” Marceline said lazily, biting her way down PB’s collarbone. “But I’m your impossible.”

They rolled again, landing tangled in sheets dragged from the bed. Bonnie ended up straddling Marceline’s waist this time, pink hair falling loose around her flushed face. Marceline looked up at her with wide, hungry eyes, her smirk breaking only when PB leaned down to kiss her, messy and desperate.

For a moment, it was PB taking control — her lips urgent, her body pressing down, her moans spilling unguarded into Marceline’s mouth. The vampire’s hands slid up her back, holding her steady as though she’d dissolve if let go.

The kisses turned sloppy with laughter, giggles shaking through them when they accidentally bumped heads, only to crash back into each other harder. Marceline tugged at the hem of PB’s shirt again, her voice low and teasing between breaths:

“Bonnibel… you’re gonna ruin me.”

PB pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, cheeks pink, lips swollen. “Good.”

Marceline’s breath caught — and then she flipped them both again, pinning PB down with a playful growl before devouring her mouth once more.

The sheets, the floor, the night — it all blurred into heat and laughter, sugar and hunger, until neither knew where one ended and the other began.

The night had unraveled into something Bonnie could no longer disguise as innocent. Sheets and clothes scattered across the floor, the air thick with the scent of sugar and heat.

Both were down to their underwear now — PB flushed pinker than her own gum, Marceline sprawled above her with a grin that was equal parts wolfish and tender.

“Y’know,” Marceline whispered against her lips, “I’ve waited years for this.” Her hand trailed lower, fingertips grazing the edge of PB’s panties, playful but deliberate.

Bonnie’s breath caught, her body trembling under the weight of Marceline’s teasing touch. “M-Marceline—”

“Shh,” Marceline hushed softly, kissing her again, deeper this time. Her hand slipped just a little lower, her intent clear—

“UNACCEPTABLE!!”

The voice shrieked like a blade through glass.

Both girls froze.

Bonnie’s eyes widened in absolute horror. Marceline groaned and buried her face in the crook of PB’s neck with a muttered, “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

Standing in the doorway was Lemongrab, his lemon-shaped head vibrating with fury. His shrill voice filled the room again:

“TWO FEMALE HUMANOIDS IN INTIMATE ACTS— THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!!”

The words echoed through the castle, and before either PB or Marceline could react, two Candy Kingdom guards clattered into the room, followed swiftly by Peppermint Butler.

The scene they walked in on was unmistakable: Princess Bubblegum, flushed and half-undressed, tangled up with Marceline, who sat frozen mid-motion with her hand still scandalously placed.

Bonnie squealed and shoved Marceline off her, scrambling for the sheets with frantic hands. “This— this is not what it looks like!” she stammered, though her hair was mussed, her lips were swollen, and Marceline was smirking despite herself.

Peppermint Butler blinked slowly, then gave the tiniest of smirks. “I believe,” he said evenly, “it is exactly what it looks like.”

Marceline let out a bark of laughter, leaning back on her elbows without even trying to cover herself. “Well, can’t say we weren’t caught red-handed.” She wiggled her fingers in emphasis, earning another shriek from Lemongrab.

“UNACCEPTABLE!!” Lemongrab screamed again, clutching his head. “THIS… THIS IS DEGENERACY IN THE CANDY KINGDOM!!”

PB groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Oh Glob…”

The guards looked awkwardly between their princess and the vampire, clearly unsure if they should arrest Marceline, apologize, or quietly leave. Peppermint Butler, however, only stepped forward, hands clasped neatly.

“Shall I… handle this, my lady?” he asked PB calmly, though there was a sharp edge of amusement in his tone.

The air was so tense you could cut it with a knife — embarrassment, scandal, and hilarity colliding all at once.

And just like that, their night of passion had turned into a full-blown castle-wide spectacle.

Chapter Text

Weeks had crawled by since that humiliating interruption. The castle had gone back to its routines, the guards at their posts, the citizens pretending they hadn’t seen their princess sprawled on the floor with a vampire girl’s teeth in her neck.

But for PB, nothing felt normal.

She avoided everyone — her subjects, her friends, Marceline most of all. She buried herself in endless formulas and empty projects, trying to work until exhaustion forced her to sleep. Yet when sleep came, it betrayed her with dreams too vivid, too scorching.

And in the waking hours, her mind wasn’t much better.

Late at night, when her castle halls were still and the walls of her room seemed to close in, she would give in. She would let her body betray her.

She lay back against her pillows, a hand sliding down her stomach as the memory replayed — Marceline’s hungry grin, the way she laughed breathlessly against her lips, the weight of her pinning her down, her cold fingers dipping under the hem of her skirt.

PB gasped, her back arching as her hand moved lower, feeding the ache that had been burning inside her for weeks. She clutched the sheets with her free hand, knuckles white, as she moaned louder than she ever meant to — the sound echoing in the empty chamber.

“Marceline…” The name tumbled from her lips between ragged breaths.

Her body trembled, sweat pearling at her temples, as she let the fantasy swallow her whole: Marceline’s fangs grazing her skin, Marceline’s touch pushing her over the edge.

Her moans grew louder, sharp and needy, her back bowing against the mattress. She tried to stifle them, biting her lip, but the sounds spilled out anyway — raw, unrestrained.

When it was finally too much, the release hit her like a wave. Her cry echoed against the high walls of the room, her body collapsing back into the tangled sheets.

Breathless, flushed, and trembling, PB lay there staring at the ceiling. Shame tangled with satisfaction, and beneath it all, the gnawing truth she couldn’t shake.

She wanted Marceline.
Not just in fantasies. Not just in stolen kisses. She wanted her.

And the more she tried to resist, the more unbearable the wanting became.

The next morning, the castle felt different. PB forced herself out of bed, dressing with meticulous precision — as if the perfect outfit, the perfect posture, could disguise the truth of what she’d been doing to herself night after night.

She walked the halls with her chin lifted, every step heavy but deliberate. Ministers piled questions onto her, citizens bowed as she passed. She answered as if nothing were wrong, as if she hadn’t hidden herself away for weeks.

But the murmurs hadn’t gone away. She could feel their eyes flicking toward her, then toward the high windows where a certain shadow sometimes lingered.

And then she saw her.

Marceline leaned against the far wall of the throne room corridor, arms crossed, a lazy smirk pulling at her lips. Her red eyes caught PB’s the second she looked up.

“Took you long enough,” Marceline drawled, pushing off the wall and strolling closer.

PB froze. For a moment, her carefully constructed princess composure cracked, and the weight of all the weeks apart, all the fantasies, crashed into her chest. She swallowed hard.

“I…” Her voice almost failed her, but she steadied it. “I’m sorry, Marceline. I just—” she hesitated, twisting her hands together, “I was… embarrassed. About what happened. And Lemongrab’s reaction— it wasn’t okay.”

Marceline tilted her head, eyes softening despite the casual grin still tugging at her mouth. “Yeah, well. Lemongrab’s never okay. But you?” She stepped closer, close enough that PB could smell the faint trace of iron and rain that always clung to her. “You didn’t have to hide from me, Bonnie. Not after that.”

PB’s breath hitched. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure Marceline could hear it.

PB’s throat tightened under Marceline’s gaze, the vampire’s smirk fading into something sharper, hungrier.

“You’re embarrassed,” Marceline said slowly, circling her like a predator who’d finally cornered its prey. “But tell me the truth, Bonnie—” her voice dipped, velvet and taunting, “—you wanted it, didn’t you?”

PB’s breath caught. The words hovered on her tongue, terrifying and liberating all at once. Marceline’s red eyes burned into her, waiting.

Finally, PB gave the smallest nod.

That was all Marceline needed. She grabbed PB’s wrist, tugging her down the hall before the princess could say a word. With a sharp shove, Marceline pulled her into a storage closet and slammed the door shut behind them.

“Marceline—!” PB squeaked, but before she could protest further, the vampire’s lips crashed against hers.

The kiss was rough, hungry, all sharp teeth and pent-up weeks of tension. PB whimpered against her, clutching at Marceline’s jacket as her back pressed to the wall.

Between kisses, Marceline whispered hot against her ear, “Tell me you still want this.”

PB’s face flushed a furious pink. “…I do.”

“Good,” Marceline growled, her hands gripping PB’s hips. She kissed her again, harder this time, stealing the air from her lungs until the princess melted beneath her.

Breaking the kiss for only a moment, Marceline’s hand slipped lower, tracing over the hem of PB’s skirt. Her crimson eyes searched PB’s face, her voice husky.

“Can I touch you?”

PB, trembling, bit her lip and gave another small, desperate nod.

Marceline smirked, sliding her hand up under the soft folds of PB’s skirt, fingers trailing dangerously close to the heat between her thighs. The princess gasped, pressing her forehead to Marceline’s shoulder, her entire body shuddering with anticipation.

PB’s breath hitched as Marceline’s fingers trailed over her skin, teasing and deliberate. The warmth, the pressure, the sheer boldness of it made her entire body shiver. She pressed closer, lips parting as she gasped into Marceline’s mouth, knees weak.

Marceline’s other hand gripped her waist, steadying her as she leaned down, whispering against her lips, “Relax. I’ve got you.”

Every touch, every press of her hand, sent shocks through PB’s body. She clutched at Marceline, letting go of all restraint, all hesitation. The weeks of fantasy, of longing, of secrecy — it all poured out, making her tremble with a desperate need she’d never fully admitted, not even to herself.

“You’re… perfect,” Marceline murmured, her lips brushing PB’s ear as she continued, slow, teasing, deliberate.

PB’s knees bent, back arching as the sensations built, rising like a tide that she could no longer hold back. She whimpered, gripping Marceline’s shoulders, lips parting in a moan that reverberated in the small closet.

“Marceline…” Her voice was ragged, pleading, as her body shook uncontrollably.

The vampire’s lips found hers again, swallowing her cries in a rough, possessive kiss, grounding her, holding her as she rode the wave of pleasure. Every shiver, every gasp, every trembling breath of PB was mirrored in Marceline’s steady, confident presence.

And then it happened.

PB’s body tensed, a sharp gasp splitting from her lips as her release crashed over her. She trembled, weak in Marceline’s arms, unable to do anything but cling to the vampire, lips still pressed to hers in a mix of moans and kisses.

Marceline whispered softly, brushing hair from PB’s flushed face, holding her steady until the shudders subsided. “You’re amazing,” she murmured, voice low and satisfied. “So fucking amazing.”

PB’s breathing slowed, and she pressed her forehead against Marceline’s chest, cheeks burning. “…I… I didn’t know it would feel like that,” she admitted, voice small, awed.

Marceline chuckled, playful and tender. “That’s what happens when you’ve been holding back for weeks.” She kissed the top of PB’s head, wrapping her arms tighter around her. “You’re mine tonight.”

PB shivered again, not from embarrassment, but from the sheer heat of being seen, wanted, and cared for all at once. The closet, the pressure, the secrecy — it all melted away, leaving only the two of them, tangled in each other’s warmth and desire.

For once, PB didn’t hide. For once, she didn’t overthink. For once, she simply let herself feel.

And Marceline made sure she would never forget it.

The air in the cramped closet hung heavy with heat, the faint sound of PB’s rapid breathing the only thing filling the silence. Marceline still had her pinned gently against the wall, though her hand now rested innocently at PB’s hip. The sharp tension that had sparked between them minutes ago had softened, like fire cooling into embers.

PB buried her face in Marceline’s shoulder, her cheeks still impossibly warm. “I can’t believe that just happened,” she whispered, her voice tinged with awe and a flicker of nervous laughter.

Marceline chuckled, low and teasing, but her arms pulled PB in closer. “Believe it. And for the record…” she leaned down, pressing a softer, lingering kiss to PB’s lips, “…you’re gorgeous when you let yourself go.”

PB groaned and lightly smacked her shoulder, embarrassed but glowing in ways she couldn’t hide. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Sure I can,” Marceline smirked, but her tone wasn’t sharp — it was warm, affectionate. The kind of voice that settled instead of provoked.

For a while, they just stood there in the tiny, dimly lit space. Marceline’s thumb traced small circles on PB’s side while the princess finally allowed her breathing to even out. The raw hunger between them had dulled into something softer, more intimate.

PB finally spoke, her tone quieter. “This… wasn’t just a heat-of-the-moment thing for you, was it?”

Marceline tilted her head, studying her. Then, with surprising gentleness, she shook her head. “Nah. Been wanting this for a while, Bon.”

The words melted away the last of PB’s nerves. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, she didn’t feel the need to put on her usual walls. She allowed herself to rest in Marceline’s arms, the heat giving way to comfort.

“Okay,” PB murmured softly. “Okay.”

And for once, there was no rush, no fear of interruption. Just the two of them, tangled in the quiet, the tension slowly easing into something steady — something that felt like the beginning of more.

The world outside the closet went on — the faint shuffle of guards in the hall, the distant hum of the Candy Kingdom — but inside, it was just them.

Marceline’s chin rested on top of PB’s head, her chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. Her sharp edges had melted, her teasing had quieted, and in their place was something PB hadn’t expected: safety.

“You know,” Marceline finally murmured, “we really picked the worst hiding place for this.”

PB’s lips twitched, a reluctant laugh slipping out. “Yes, the royal supply closet isn’t exactly… romantic.” She pulled back just enough to look at Marceline, cheeks flushed but her eyes shining. “Though… I suppose you made it feel that way.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Marceline smirked, brushing a strand of pink hair behind PB’s ear. “I can be smooth when I want to be.”

PB rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered.

They fell quiet again, though it wasn’t awkward this time. It was soft, peaceful, like the first deep breath after holding it for too long. PB let herself sink into that feeling, allowing her rigid shoulders to finally relax.

“…I’ve missed this,” she admitted, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Marceline’s expression softened. She didn’t tease, didn’t make a joke. Instead, she tilted PB’s chin up and kissed her forehead, whispering, “Me too, Bonnie.”

The tension that had burned between them earlier was gone now, leaving behind only warmth. Not the rush of lust, but the steady glow of something PB had been too afraid to name.

For the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel embarrassed. She didn’t feel guilty. She just felt close.

And in that tiny, cluttered closet, with Marceline’s arms still wrapped around her, PB let herself hope that maybe — just maybe — this wasn’t fleeting.

This was the beginning of something real.

Chapter Text

Night had fallen over the Candy Kingdom. PB quietly entered her bedroom, and her eyes widened when she saw Marceline lounging on the bed, dressed in a sleek, black outfit that made PB’s heart skip a beat.

Marceline smirked, leaning back on her elbows. “I’ve got a few ideas for tonight,” she purred, holding up a mysterious, playful object. PB’s cheeks flamed instantly.

“I… I’m so up for this,” PB said, a mix of excitement and nervousness in her voice.

With that, they collapsed together on the bed, lips meeting in a long, teasing kiss. Hands intertwined, laughter and whispered words of affection filling the room as they explored each other’s reactions, teasing, and closeness. The night stretched on, full of playful intimacy, shared warmth, and the quiet thrill of being together in private.

Marceline leaned closer, a playful glint in her eye. “So… should I start with my tongue first, fingers second, or the toy?”

PB’s cheeks flushed a deeper pink, her breath catching in her throat. She leaned into Marceline’s closeness, whispering, “Your tongue… plus it’s still sensitive from earlier today.”

Marceline smirked, brushing a strand of PB’s hair behind her ear. “Mmm, you sound so eager, Princess.”

They collapsed onto the bed, laughter bubbling as Marceline leaned over, pressing soft, teasing kisses across PB’s jaw and neck. PB returned each kiss with shy urgency, fingers tangling in Marceline’s hair, hearts racing in sync.

Marceline’s hands traced idle patterns along PB’s arms and sides, light touches that made her squirm and giggle, half from the ticklish sensation and half from the warmth radiating between them. PB caught Marceline’s gaze, her breath hitching, and they shared a moment of quiet, mischievous eye contact that spoke more than words could.

“Stop looking at me like that,” PB murmured, voice trembling with both embarrassment and excitement.

Marceline chuckled softly, pressing her forehead to PB’s. “Like what?” she teased. “Like I know exactly what you want?”

PB couldn’t answer. She leaned closer, letting their noses brush, letting Marceline’s hands wander over her shoulders and down her back. Each touch was deliberate, teasing, making her heart hammer harder with every soft graze.

They collapsed further into the bed, laughter mixing with soft, whispered words, each teasing remark followed by a playful poke, nuzzle, or kiss. Marceline tickled PB’s side, eliciting a squeal, and PB retaliated with a light swat to her arm — though it barely fazed the vampire, who just grinned wider.

Their playful teasing continued — gentle touches, whispered words, shy giggles — a dance of closeness and desire that left both of them flushed, breathless, and grinning like teenagers caught in a secret. PB’s hands explored Marceline’s hair, tracing invisible patterns across her shoulders, while Marceline pressed kisses from her jaw to her collarbone, murmuring little endearments that made PB melt further.

Every glance, every brush of skin, every teasing smile was a promise: tonight was theirs. The room felt small around them, their world shrinking to the bed, the warm glow of the lamplight, and the intoxicating thrill of being close. They would savor every moment, every touch, every teasing smile — a night full of laughter, teasing, and closeness that neither wanted to end.

Marceline slowly got off the bed, tugging PB gently to follow. “C’mon, Princess,” she murmured, a mischievous glint in her eye.

PB’s cheeks flared pink, but she let herself be pulled forward, curiosity and excitement warring with her nerves.

With a teasing grin, Marceline leaned in and pressed soft, lingering kisses along PB’s thighs, making PB shiver and bite her lip to stifle a giggle. “M-Marceline…!” PB gasped, though a small laugh escaped despite herself.

Marceline chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from PB’s flushed face. “You’re so cute when you’re all flustered,” she said softly. “I could do this all night.”

PB’s hands went to Marceline’s shoulders, fingers curling, pulling her closer. Their eyes met, smiles curving, hearts racing. Each kiss and brush of skin was a playful, intimate connection — teasing, warm, and full of the tension that had been building all day.

Marceline leaned back slightly, smirking. “Ready for round two… or do I need to keep testing your patience?”

PB laughed, breathless, leaning in for another kiss. “Maybe… maybe a little more teasing first.”

The room was filled with laughter, whispered words, and the electric thrill of closeness, every touch and glance fueling the undeniable chemistry between them.

PB’s laughter was still lingering in the room when Marceline’s phone buzzed sharply against the bed. The sudden sound made both of them pause, hearts still racing from their playful closeness.

Marceline picked it up, frowning at the caller ID. “…That’s for my dad,” she murmured, her voice reluctant.

PB blinked, cheeks still flushed. “Your dad?”

Marceline sighed, already tugging on her clothes. “Yeah… I have to take this. Sorry, Bonnie.” She leaned in quickly, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to PB’s temple before standing.

PB’s fingers twitched, wanting to reach for her, but Marceline was already slipping out of the room, phone pressed to her ear, and her eyes full of apology.

“Wait… Marceline!” PB called softly, but the vampire only glanced back with a small, sad smile before disappearing into the hallway.

The room felt suddenly quiet, almost too quiet. PB sank back onto the bed, cheeks still warm and heart still fluttering. She stared at the door, wishing Marceline would come back, but the sound of her voice on the phone carried faintly down the hall, and soon even that faded.

Hours passed. PB busied herself with small tasks around the room, but every corner of the castle reminded her of Marceline’s warmth and teasing touches. The night stretched long, and by the time the candles burned low, it was clear: Marceline wasn’t coming back tonight.

PB curled up under the blankets, hugging a pillow tightly, a mix of longing, frustration, and warmth swirling in her chest. Even interrupted, the memory of Marceline’s kisses and teasing laughter made her cheeks flush anew.

And somewhere deep down, she knew one thing for sure: tomorrow, Marceline would return… and so would the fun, teasing, and closeness they’d only just begun to explore.

Morning light spilled across the Candy Kingdom, but the warmth of the sun did little to ease the tight knot in PB’s chest. She had waited, glancing at the door again and again, hoping Marceline would walk in with that mischievous grin and her usual teasing smirk.

But she didn’t.

PB paced her room, trying to focus on small tasks, but every noise — a creak, a footstep, even the distant chatter of the Candy People — made her jump, expecting Marceline to appear. Minutes stretched into hours, and still, there was no sign of her.

Finally, exasperated and worried, PB picked up her communicator and called Finn and Jake. “I need you to find Marceline. She’s… she hasn’t come home yet, and I can’t find her anywhere,” PB said, voice tight with concern.

Finn appeared almost instantly, accompanied by Jake stretching his body to a comically long length. “Don’t worry, Princess! We’ll find her!” Finn said, eyes bright and determined.

PB’s brow furrowed. “She’s… gone for over twelve hours now. I don’t know where she went or what’s happened. Just… be careful.”

Finn nodded. “We’ve got this! We’ll check all the usual hangouts, the outskirts, the Candy Kingdom streets… she won’t stay lost for long.”

Jake yawned lazily, but then snapped into action when he saw PB’s anxious expression. “Yeah, yeah, let’s roll. No princess left behind.”

PB watched them leave, her heart still pounding. She tried to focus on her duties, but every noise reminded her of Marceline. The playful teasing, the warmth of her touches, the laughter — all still fresh in her mind — and the memory of last night only made her worry more.

She sank into her chair, hands clasped tightly, silently hoping Finn and Jake would bring her friend — her vampire — back safely.

Finn and Jake wasted no time. Following the faint trail of Marceline’s presence — a combination of residual magic, faint laughter, and traces of her belongings — they discovered that she had somehow ended up in the Underworld again.

“She’s… in the Underworld?” PB’s voice was a mix of disbelief and concern as she received the report. “How did she even get there this time?”

Finn tightened his grip on his sword. “Doesn’t matter how — we’re going to get her out!”

Jake stretched into a long bridge, allowing PB to hop across to the portal entrance safely. “You coming, Princess?” Jake asked, eyes twinkling with mischief but also concern.

PB took a deep breath. “Of course. I’m not leaving her down there.”

The portal shimmered ominously, and the trio stepped through, immediately enveloped by the eerie glow of the Underworld. Shadows shifted around them, distant wails echoing across the hollow expanse.

Finn led the way, sword at the ready, while Jake shifted into different forms to scout ahead. PB followed close behind, every instinct on high alert. “Marceline! Can you hear me? It’s Bonnie!” she called, voice echoing through the cavernous landscape.

From a distance, a familiar smirk flickered in the shadows. Marceline was perched on a jagged rock, arms crossed, looking more amused than worried. “You guys came for me? Again?” she teased, her voice carrying across the void.

PB rushed forward, heart racing. “Marceline! What are you doing here? This place is dangerous!”

Marceline rolled her eyes playfully. “I know, Princess. Don’t worry so much — I can handle myself… mostly.”

Finn and Jake moved to flank her, blocking the shadowy figures creeping closer. “Mostly isn’t enough,” Finn muttered, sword ready.

PB grabbed Marceline’s hand, pulling her close. “Come on, let’s get you out of here,” she urged, her voice a mixture of worry and relief. Marceline smirked, letting herself be guided, though her teasing grin never faltered.

Together, the four of them navigated the treacherous paths, shadows shifting and strange noises echoing, until they finally reached the portal back to the Candy Kingdom. Marceline hopped through, glancing back with a laugh. “You all really do make a great rescue team.”

PB pulled her into a tight hug the moment they stepped out. “Don’t ever do that again,” she whispered, a mix of relief, exasperation, and fondness in her voice.

Marceline grinned, leaning against her. “No promises, Princess.”

The tension between them eased slightly, laughter and playful teasing replacing the anxiety — for now. But PB knew one thing: she wasn’t letting Marceline out of her sight again tonight.

Before PB could fully recover from the relief of seeing Marceline safe, a shadow fell over them. Marceline’s father emerged, eyes glowing with raw, overwhelming power. “You think you can just waltz in here?” he boomed, energy crackling around him.

PB instinctively stepped back, heart pounding. She could feel the immense force radiating off him, and for a moment, fear gripped her.

Marceline’s eyes narrowed. “Not today,” she hissed, gripping her bass axe tightly. The strings hummed as magical energy thrummed through it.

With precise, powerful strikes, Marceline swung her axe, each hit unleashing a shockwave of energy that struck her father again and again. Shadows of restless spirits burst from his form with every blow, dissipating into the air. PB watched in awe and relief, still clutching Marceline’s arm to stay grounded.

Her father staggered, clearly overwhelmed, and finally crashed to the ground, weakened and powerless. Marceline’s chest heaved, but she kept a firm grip on her axe, eyes blazing with determination.

“Ready?” she asked, turning to PB.

PB nodded, adrenaline still coursing through her veins. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

With a flick of her wrist, Marceline opened a swirling portal, its edges shimmering with magical energy. She grabbed PB’s hand firmly and leapt through, the portal closing behind them. For a few heart-pounding seconds, they felt weightless, spinning between worlds, until finally they landed safely back in the Candy Kingdom.

PB staggered slightly but quickly caught herself, breathing hard. Marceline held her close, smiling with a mix of triumph and relief.

“We’re safe,” Marceline whispered, brushing a strand of hair from PB’s face.

PB nodded, still trying to process the chaos. “Thanks… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Marceline smirked, a glint of playful mischief returning to her eyes despite the danger they had just faced. “You don’t have to,” she murmured, tugging PB closer. “I’ve got you.”

For the first time that day, PB felt a full, comforting warmth wash over her — the danger gone, leaving only the closeness and trust between them.

Once the adrenaline faded and they were safely back in the Candy Kingdom, PB spun on Marceline, cheeks still pink and fists planted on her hips.

“Seriously, Marceline! You left me like that — all flustered and crazy, and then you just disappear into the Underworld? Again?!” PB yelled, voice a mix of exasperation and embarrassment.

Marceline tilted her head, smirking with that devil-may-care grin that always made PB’s blood boil and heart race at the same time. “Oh, come on, Princess… you’ve been waiting all night for me. I’m just keeping things interesting.”

PB groaned, running a hand over her face. “Interesting? You’ve got me all worked up, my mind’s a mess, and then you vanish? Do you know what kind of torture that is?!”

Marceline laughed softly, leaning closer, brushing PB’s hair back from her flushed face. “Mmm… oh, I think I do. And honestly? I kind of like it when you’re all fired up and mad at me.”

PB’s cheeks flared even deeper, half-annoyed and half-melted by Marceline’s teasing. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, though her voice lacked the edge it had a moment ago.

Marceline grinned, leaning even closer until their foreheads touched. “Maybe. But you love it,” she whispered, voice low and teasing.

PB huffed, crossing her arms, but her racing heart betrayed her. “Maybe I do… but don’t you dare leave me hanging like that again,” she warned, though the tension in her body betrayed how much she enjoyed the closeness.

Marceline pressed a playful kiss to PB’s cheek, smirking. “No promises, Princess. But for now…” She wrapped an arm around PB’s waist, pulling her close. “You’ve got me, safe and sound.”

PB’s glare softened, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile as she leaned into Marceline’s warmth. “Fine… but I’m holding you accountable next time.”

Marceline chuckled, the promise of teasing and intimacy still hanging between them, electric and unbroken.