The Agreste Princess

When Adrien Agreste returned from winter break, the entire school did a double take. He was... different. His blonde hair was longer, styled in soft waves that framed his face. His eyes, still that striking green, were lined with dark eyeliner and mascara. Pink gloss shimmered on his lips. He wore a pleated plaid skirt over sheer black tights, a fitted white blouse, and heeled ankle boots. A red lacy bra was visible through the thin fabric of his blouse. The whispers started immediately: "Is that Adrien?" "He looks like a girl!" "The Agreste princess..."

Adrien walked through the hallways with a slight sway to his hips, glancing at the students who stared. He smiled softly, almost demurely, and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. He felt their eyes on him—curious, hungry, judgmental. It made his heart race, but not in a good way. He needed the attention, craved it, even if it came with a shiver of dread.

In class, he sat beside Luka Couffaine, who looked at him with polite confusion. "Hey, Adrien. You look... different." Luka's tone was neutral, but his eyes held no spark of attraction. He saw Adrien as a friend, nothing more. Adrien's chest tightened. "Do you like it?" he asked, voice higher-pitched than usual. Luka shrugged. "If it makes you happy." It didn't make him happy. It made him feel exposed, but he didn't know how else to be heard.

During break, a group of boys from the football team crowded around him. One of them, a stocky blond named Marc, reached out and flicked the strap of Adrien's bra. "Nice threads, Agreste. You going for a new look?" Adrien flinched but forced a giggle. "Do you like it?" he asked, batting his eyelashes. Another boy, dark-haired and lanky, slid a hand up Adrien's thigh under the skirt. Adrien's breath hitched. He wanted to push him away, but the touch was warm, and it made him feel seen. He let it happen, even as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. They laughed, called him "princess," and wandered off. Adrien stood there, shaking, a sob caught in his throat.

He went to the restroom and locked himself in a stall. He pressed his forehead against the cold metal door. "I hate this," he whispered. "I hate this, but it's all I have." His father, Gabriel, had become almost suffocatingly protective since the break. He'd bought Adrien the skirts, the bras, the makeup. "You're safe with me, Adrien," he'd said, stroking his hair. "As long as Daddy's here, nothing can happen to you." But things did happen. Every day. And Gabriel wasn't there to stop it.

Adrien returned to class, walking softly in his heels. He sat down and crossed his legs, the hem of his skirt riding up. He caught Luka's eye and gave a weak smile. Luka frowned but said nothing.

At lunch, Adrien sat alone at a table. The cafeteria buzzed with gossip. "Did you see her?" a girl whispered. "He's not a girl, he's just weird," another replied. Adrien picked at his food, his stomach in knots. Then Gabriel appeared at the entrance, tall and imposing in his dark coat. He scanned the room until his eyes landed on Adrien. He strode over, his expression cold. "Adrien, come. Now." Adrien stood, his heels clicking on the floor. As they walked out, Gabriel's hand rested on the small of his back, firm and possessive. "Those boys," Gabriel murmured, his voice low. "I saw them touching you. I'll make sure they never come near you again." Adrien felt a mix of relief and shame. He leaned into his father's touch, letting himself be led away.

In the car, Adrien stared out the window. "Father, I... I just want someone to love me." Gabriel's jaw tightened. "I love you. That's all you need." But Adrien knew it wasn't true. He needed more. He needed Luka to see him, really see him, and not just as a friend. He needed the boys to stop, but he also needed them to keep looking. It was a cycle he couldn't break.

That night, Adrien stood in front of his mirror, wearing the red lacy knickers and the bra that molded his chest to look like a woman's breasts. He turned sideways, tracing the curve. He looked like a stranger. He looked like someone worth wanting. He sobbed silently, tears smudging his makeup.

Days passed. The boys continued to touch him—a hand on his leg, a finger under his bra strap, a whisper in his ear. He let them, sometimes crying afterward in the bathroom, sometimes feeling nothing at all. Luka remained distant, kind but uninterested. Adrien flirted with his teammates during practice, wearing short practice shorts that showed off his legs, bending over to pick up balls with exaggerated slowness. They laughed and hooted, but their eyes were hungry. He felt like meat.

One afternoon, Luka found him crying behind the bleachers. "Adrien? What's wrong?" Adrien looked up, his mascara running in dark streaks. "Nothing. I'm fine." Luka sat beside him, not touching, just present. "You don't have to be fine. You can talk to me." Adrien wanted to tell him everything—about his father's suffocating love, about the boys' hands, about the desperate need to be seen. But he couldn't. He just shook his head. Luka sighed. "If you ever need to get away, you can stay on my boat. No one will bother you there." Adrien managed a small smile. "Thank you."

But he didn't go. Instead, he kept dressing up, kept bending over, kept letting them touch him. Because as much as he hated it, the attention was the only thing that made him feel like he existed. And every night, when Gabriel tucked him into bed and said, "Daddy's here, nothing can hurt you," Adrien would close his eyes and pretend it was true. Even as the tears soaked his pillow, he knew the only person who could hurt him was the one who loved him most.