I'm late to the fandom, and I know it's been overdone. But here's my whack at it. Possible continuation.
It wasn't fair.
And she knew the word 'fair.' She was a fair ruler. She knew that life wasn't as sugarcoated as her kingdom.
There were compromises. There were losses.
Sacrifices.
But situations can't be told 'no.' Conditions can't be argued with. States will not be pushed away.
So Marceline took the brunt of it. And so did Bubblegum, even if the vampire hadn't seen it that way. Still didn't see it that way.
She had to have today, though. The Door Lord had—unwittingly, the butt—dragged it all back out.
She stared at the black shirt in her hands. Faded and old, with two dead marshmallows and one dead snake. And shouldn't all of it be? Faded and old, and dead?
And she would never let herself think of the night she had been gifted it. It wasn't the least bit appropriate if she wanted to put it behind her again.
That night out on the road, through the desert with 'The Screams.' No, it couldn't be recalled. Wouldn't be.
Masochistic? Possibly, for lack of a better word. But remembering the nights after those was safer.
It was better to think of the guilt and of the frustration. The gut eating pain.
The nights her round and royal bed felt too big, and how, despite herself, she would pull that shirt over her head and wish that it was somehow taking her back in time.
As if she could put it on, as she was doing now, and it would magically tumble her mind and heart and soul back into her body then. Back to when she first pulled it on.
As if it were just a seam in time she could tip toe across.
It was better to lie on her back with the light off, buried under a den of blankets, the sheets crisp on her bare legs, and think of how she had cried then.
Cried as if she had lost a limb.
I'm just your problem.
"Oh Marceline," she whispered, feeling the same guilt erupt that she had earlier today. She crumbled around the feeling, fingers curling into the t shirt's fabric.
It had hurt her too. Did the blush on Marceline's face mean she saw that?
Holy math, it had been something stolen along with BMO's charger. Something that little console couldn't live without. The Door Lord took things that were precious. Did anyone need it spelled out more than that?
Did she know she hadn't forgotten her? That she wasn't just some mean, awful thing telling her she was being distasteful?
I'm going to drink the red from your pretty pink face.
No, it hadn't been fair for Marceline to say that, of all things.
And it wasn't fair for her to say she didn't know why she had been "black listed," or that she wasn't "perfect" or "sweet" enough—
Anger clashed down like lightning, zig zagging off her ribs, and she shoved at the churning thoughts. Marceline knew perfectly well why she was 'blacklisted.'
Maybe anger was good. Maybe anger would let her feel selfish again. At least enough to decide that the vampire had done it all to herself.
Because of what? Her nature? Oh just stop already.
Bubblegum pushed up, padding over to her window and sliding it open just a smudge. Cool air gently toyed with her hair.
And ugh, no, she wouldn't let evening breeze be nostalgic either!
Groaning, she pulled away from the window sill. Defeated, she lay back down on her bed.
Sleep meant tomorrow, and that meant a passing of time. And nothing patched up old locks and closed doors better than that.
Sleep came in the nature of slowly walking down stairs.
And halfway down and out, she did tip back in a way. Dreams couldn't be told 'no' either.
Her eyes took in the tent, her and Marceline's things piled around her sleeping bag.
The dry, cool night air smelled like dust and rain, and it clung to her skin in thin sheet of sweat and grit.
The desert was WAY more than one 's' from dessert, and the sand and cacti made her miss home.
She pulled the loose shirt down, shimmying the hem down to her hips where her underwear sat.
She looked up, finding Marceline's face. The girl was hovering over her, bent at the top of the tent. Her gray lips parted, but nothing came out.
"Does it look that ridiculous?" Bubblegum snorted, still euphoric from the concert. There was something just so wild and free about it. So raw and emotional, a roller coaster of sound. Her ears were still ringing.
And as much as she hated to admit it, as much as it surprised her, she wanted Marceline's approval at the moment. That yes, she did belong. Even though she was 'three cups of sprinkles with a crown' or whatever that was supposed to mean.
Marceline's dark eyes swept over her, trailing from her toes back up to her pink hair.
And Bubblegum's good natured smile faded.
The vampire's jaw clicked shut, her hair curling as she slowly descended.
And just with a 'tap' of the rocker's red boots to the ground, Bonnibel's heart was pounding. Her pink hands let go of the shirt's hem.
The queen walked towards her slowly, and now the princess was sure the entire band outside would hear her crashing heart and know what was going on.
Whoa, what is going on? Her brain asked. It seemed like a good question.
She opened her mouth to say it, mostly because Marceline was now right there.
Bubblegum swallowed nervously, tucking a loose strand of rosy hair behind her ear.
And Marceline reached over, moving it back.
"You look…" she started, eyes searching her face. "You look…"
It struck the princess that Marceline, the vampire Queen, was looking at her right now the way that others did when she was all dressed up.
Gazing upon her sweaty, grimy, sun baked and messy haired self the way an entire kingdom would swoon when she stepped out in a crown and a frilly, shimmering dress.
Bubblegum's hands curled into the front of the vampire's tank top.
She stepped the rest of the space between them. And standing on her tippy toes, pressed her lips to Marceline's.
And it's only a dream, but it feels so real.
She pulled back, and the vampire's eyes were still closed, the brow over them furrowed. Her tongue licked her lips, and she peered out under heavy lashes.
"Delicious," Marceline finally finished. "You look so delicious."
And it's only a dream, but when they kiss again, she can feel the arms at her sides. She can feel her back on the plush sleeping bag. She could feel Marceline all over her.
She could feel…feel…
Bubblegum's body jolted awake. And she hoped to the fates that she hadn't just kicked off her blankets. That she hadn't opened her window that far.
"Marcy?" she almost pleaded with the dark. And for the first time, she realized how close it sounded to 'mercy.'
A cold hand cupped her cheek, real and solid and there.
"I'm sorry. I just needed to know that you weren't lying," said the breath ghosting her lips, said a quiet, scared voice. Said the vampire pressed to her, here because of the shirt between them and today.
Bubblegum threw her arms around her, burying her face into dark hair.
"No, never," the princess breathed, clutching Marceline as if any moment she was going to disappear.
Like she had clutched her back then too, when the girl's grey hand pressed between her legs for the first time. When anyone's had for the first time.
Only then she was scared and ready for entirely different reasons.
She slid back just to bring her lips to the vampire's again, her legs leaving her bed to wrap around the queen's denim clad hips.
Marceline seemed to understand, because she kissed her back frantically, hands dragging down to pull at the panties Bubblegum suddenly needed off.
Bonnibel shoved herself against her, forcing her to sit back so that she could sit in her lap, still straddling her hips. Marceline's chest pressed just under hers, and she griped the vampire's shoulders, leaning her head down to capture that mouth for her own.
She pulled away to yank the queen's tank top off, feeling her underwear drag down her thighs. The black t shirt lifted up between them, ashen palms dragging behind, but she yanked it back down.
"No—let it stay on," she breathed between their lips locking, and Marceline inhaled as if those words were the air she needed.
Bubblegum felt arms wrap tight around her shoulders and waist, and the vampire lifted her up, laying her back and down to the sheets slowly.
As if she was going to break. As if everything between them was going to break, and she realized nothing that either of them said was going to make that dread unknot.
She kicked her underwear off her toes, her fingers wrestling with a jean button and zipper. They curled through belt loops, yanking the pants down just enough.
Her eyes almost opened at the bare and soft skin under them, but she felt Marceline's lips curl up against her own, and she fought the urge to smile too.
Of course she's not wearing underwear. Did she expect different?
Did she remember different?
Euphoric laughter built up inside, but it was devoured by a hunger so deep that she almost feared it would swallow her whole.
She pushed her hand past the zipper teeth, feeling her way, and Marceline's mouth disappeared. Her face buried into Bonnibel's neck, her own hand slithering down from up the princess's shirt—our shirt—and finding where she was needed too.
"Oh," Bubblegum gasped, partly because she had forgotten how surprisingly warm and wet Marceline could be, but mostly from the way the queen twisted inside of her. One finger at first, but another immediately joining.
She pushed inside too, almost wanting the pain as Marceline bit down on her lower lip, hissing into their kiss.
And she felt so complete. Felt like something that had been torn from her was right back in place. She blindly moved her tongue forward, pushing against the fangs until they parted.
Marceline moaned, a rolling sound from her throat. Their tongues met, clashing.
They moved against another, a pink hand relearning the vertebrae of a grey back, the muscles that tightened under her nails. Any time their bare skin met and grazed, the princess felt higher and higher.
Higher than she did when she stood on the top of her tallest tower, than when she did riding The Morrow's wings.
She explored every place she could reach of Marceline, and like an old treasure hunt map, things came back.
How much she liked her pointed ears to be cried into, how much the vampire loved it when she moved her hips against her hand. How Marceline liked her hair being held in a tight fist, the flesh of her hips scratched.
How she somehow hadn't forgotten a single place on Bonnibel, dragging her forked tongue up her throat, kissing the hollow of her neck, teasing the hard nipples under the black shirt with fingers calloused over the years from steel strings.
How the crown of the vampire's head smelled like wind after rain, how her dark hair curled down into her own pink tresses, slipping over her shoulders like streams of black silk.
Her head pressed back against the pillows, listening to her heart hammer, riding the intensity between her legs and deep inside. The grind she frantically kept up with, listening to Marceline's steady pant.
The nostalgia was crushing her— the echoes from yesterday washed over her again and again.
Her face contorted from pleasure and pain, and she could almost feel the dry desert night, feel the anxious need to stay quiet so no one else heard.
Feel how it didn't seem surprising at all that she felt safe here. Safe under Marceline, safe in those arms, despite the fangs pressing to the skin of her neck. Safe to fall and tumble into the sort of love she had been told a prince would grant her one day.
"Oh God," she whispered. Her hand fell back, griping the edge of the mattress under her pillows.
She felt Marceline's hand follow, finding it. They locked fingers.
The vampire thrust even faster and Bubblegum was seizing up, jerking her hand back just as strong. Refusing to let up, because it had to be shared. Because they were both so head strong, and they needed the last word, the last move.
Her jaw wrenched open just as Marceline's teeth dug into her shoulder.
The sudden drain of color to her skin toppled her over. Marceline's hips stuttered against her rocking hand.
And then the queen collapsed on top of her, her forehead pressing to Bonnibel's upper arm. They fought for air, everything about them falling limp as they drifted.
Limp, save for their hands, fingers still digging tight into knuckles.
But the waves idled away. And in the afterglow, she realized how dark it was.
Bubblegum's eyes opened. By the sweep of eyelashes against her skin, Marceline's had too.
Things had happened after those nights. Things that hadn't ended as tenderly as they had the first time.
She had cried then, and Marceline had kissed her tears, and had held her all night.
But then came the era where she hadn't.
What were they even thinking now—?
"Let me stay," came a fierce whisper, and even though there was an entire girl pressed to her, it was almost startling.
"Of course," she whispered back, squeezing her eyes shut in a hot sting. "Of course you can stay."
She rolled them over, pushing until they were both on their sides and facing another, noses inches away.
Her hands cupped Marceline's face, and she could feel twin trails of moisture there. There was plenty more hurt in between them than a few stray tears.
She buried her face under the vampire's jaw, pressing a kiss to her cold neck, her fingers curling against the bare shoulders where bra straps had fallen loose.
Marceline held her tight, their legs intertwining. She was stone silent, breathing in where her nose staid buried in pink hair.
"We'll talk tomorrow," Bonnibel said. Her arms slid under the vampire's to hold her back. "I promise."