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“Come on, please, baby?” you pout. Adrian crosses his arms stubbornly.
“I love you so much, but absolutely not,” he says. “No glitter on my face. That shit is so hard to get off. What if I accidentally leave it behind at a crime scene and someone discovers my secret identity?”
“Okay, okay,” you relent, seeing his logic. “Flower crown, though?” You turn your best puppy dog eyes on him.
He smiles. “I will allow the flower crown.”
You grin as he bends down, letting you place the woven circlet of green leaves and blue flowers on his head, careful not to dislodge the little fairy ears you’d put on him a few minutes prior. You’ve got your own pointy ears to match, plus a flowy ethereal dress and sparkly wings. Standing next to him in his old-fashioned leather boots and loose-fitting white shirt, you look like you’ve sprung right out of a fairy tale storybook.
You’d wanted to go as pirates, originally, but Adrian had shot you down, insisting he would not dress up like a criminal of any kind, even if they looked cool and had hooks for hands that would be super useful for killing people with. So faeries it is.
“Perfect,” you say, patting the crown in place. Adrian lifts his head back up, pausing right in front of you to peck you on the lips.
“Shall we go, my lady?” he asks with a surprisingly good English accent, holding out his elbow. You giggle and loop your arm through his, letting him lead you away.
The instant you walk into the faire, Adrian gets distracted in the marketplace by all the weaponry, which you really should have anticipated. He makes a beeline toward the massive medieval weapons, and you grab him by the back of his shirt and redirect him swiftly.
“Absolutely not,” you say firmly. “Vigilante does not need—what even is that?”
“I think it’s called a flail,” Adrian says, looking longingly at the long stick attached to three chains with spiky metal balls dangling on each end.
“No,” you repeat, and he sighs forlornly, but perks up when another booth catches his eye.
“Oh my god, babe, we have to get matching ones,” he says, dragging you over to look at some fancy knives. He points at a tray of glittering blades with bejeweled hilts. “Look at those! The gemstones are teal!”
“They are really pretty,” you concede, but the price tag makes you wince. Vigilante shit does not pay the bills.
“We’re getting them,” Adrian says, matter-of-factly. “Come on, babe, next time we go on patrol, we can stab people with matching knives! That’s hashtag couple goals!”
“Keep your voice down!” you say, elbowing him in the side, but he looks so excited, eyes absolutely sparkling, that you hand over the cash with a smile.
When you walk down the activity lane, Adrian makes you stop at every single station, and he accrues a crowd of admirers along the way. It starts with a little boy in a plastic golden crown who gapes up at him when every single one of Adrian’s arrows thunk right into the dead center of the targets at the archery station.
“How did you do that!” he gasps, and Adrian, in his defense, only gets a little bit cocky about it.
“I practice a whole lot, buddy,” he says, cheeks flushing with pride. He even stoops down to give the little guy some pointers, giving him a high-five when he finally sinks an arrow into the target.
Adrian gets to throw ninja stars next, then axes, then knives. All things he is really fucking good at but does not get to do in everyday life because it will make him look suspicious, because busboys have no reason to be proficient in this kind of shit.
But at the Renaissance Faire, it just makes him look cool as fuck, and he loves showing off, to the crowd, but mostly to you. He looks back at you after every bullseye like he’s waiting for your approval, and you gladly give him a wide smile every time.
Your eyes narrow when you see a group of women at the axe-throwing station staring and giggling, looking your boyfriend up and down like he’s their next target. Listen, you get it. He’s hot, he’s talented. But he’s also yours.
“Hey baby,” you murmur to Adrian, sauntering up to him right before he makes his next toss. He beams down at you, having the time of his life. “Hit the center with that next toss and I might reward you with a kiss. That’s what princesses do for their knights, isn’t it?”
His pupils dilate and he licks his own lips as he stares down at yours. He throws the axe in his hand without even looking at the target, and it strikes dead center.
“Can I have my kiss now, fair maiden?” he asks, and he yanks you toward him before you can even answer, lips moving against yours so fiercely that he knocks his flower crown askew. He kisses you so thoroughly you forget about the people watching at all until a few wolf whistles make you pull away, blushing furiously but pleased.
Adrian doesn’t seem to mind. He simply looks around at the crowd that has amassed and shouts “Huzzah!” while you bury your face in his shirt and laugh.
Afterward, you sit in the spectator stands and munch on a massive turkey leg together while you wait for the jousting event to start. Mostly, Adrian munches on the turkey leg while you pull off tiny pieces and try not to make a mess of your dress, not an easy feat with the long, flowing sleeves.
“I could totally win a joust,” Adrian says with his mouth full. He’s got grease all over his face, and you pick up a napkin and wipe him off.
“I love you, Ade, but you absolutely could not win a joust.”
“I could too!”
“Babe, you literally have never even ridden a horse before,” you point out, and he scoffs.
“It can’t be that hard,” he says, just as the trumpets sound and the knights ride out.
You cheer loudly with the crowd as they toss out flowers to their chosen maidens, gasping with delight when one of them locks eyes with you and throws you a carnation. Adrian makes a face.
“That’s not very noble or chivalrous of him,” Adrian complains. “He can see very clearly that you are here with me. Your boyfriend. Who you love very much. His armor isn’t even sexy. It’s all clunky. He looks like the Tin Man.”
“Are you going to challenge him to a sword fight for my hand?” you joke, and Adrian says, with all seriousness, “I would kill him before I let him take you from me.”
“I know, honey,” you say, patting him on the cheek.
The knight loses the joust, and you catch Adrian looking smug out of the corner of your eye.
Later on, he buys you a flower crown in the marketplace to match his, and says, “See? Much better than that wimpy carnation. You’re my beautiful flower fairy queen. You deserve nothing less.”
Adrian gets bored after a song or two from the stage performers, and he’s not at all impressed by the fake fighting in the human chess match.
“That doesn’t even look a little bit real,” he mutters as the man playing Robin Hood takes a swing at Sheriff Nottingham with a wooden sword and misses by at least a foot, but the bad guy pretends to go down anyway, flailing around on the ground like he’s been got while the crowd oohs and aahs.
“Yeah, let’s go try something else,” you suggest, and you wander around the entertainment area until the sound of snapping whips peaks Adrian’s attention and he yanks you in that direction.
On a small stage, a man is just finishing a routine performing tricks with his whip.
“Maybe I should get a whip,” Adrian says thoughtfully. “I could find a place for it on the utility belt. I’d look like Indiana Jones. But cooler.”
“A bit noisy,” you point out. “Not a very stealthy weapon. And hard to use in close quarters. And also, you have no idea how to use one.”
“All true,” he acknowledges, just as the performer holds up three swords and starts to juggle them. He nudges your shoulder with his. “Bet I could do that.”
“Oh god, please don’t,” you say with a wince, imagining coming home one day to find Adrian handless or headless among a pile of swords. Then the performer ups the ante, lighting the swords on fire one by one. “Really. Please do not do that. No flaming swords. What the hell was I thinking, bringing you here?”
“You were being the best girlfriend ever, and thinking we would have a lovely and amazing and super fun day,” Adrian says, looking at you and squeezing your hand.
You look back at him, craning your neck to meet his eyes. His flower crown has gone a little crooked, and he lost a fairy ear at one point, and he’s dirty and sweaty and exhausted, but also…really, really happy.
“Thank you for coming with me,” you say softly, because you’re really, really, happy too. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” he says. “And I promise I won’t light any of my weapons on fire.”
You sigh with relief.