AN: cw blood and hans being a manipulative gaslighting douche. tldr at the end
Hans invites you over on Christmas Eve to 'hang'. You're pretty sure you know what that means, and you're also pretty sure that you need to break up with him.
Maybe. Everything feels wrong and it's almost entirely because, even after everything, you still don't feel bad about cheating on him. You feel plenty bad about pretty much everything else, but the actual 'sleeping with someone who isn't my boyfriend and he doesn't know about it' is... not a thing you seem to be able to care about.
You should feel bad. You should absolutely feel completely terrible, but you don't. You even tell that to Kristoff, texting him while you're on the bus. At least he agrees with you, though you know he never really liked Hans to begin with.
It almost feels like you should be stressed about this, but you're not. You've never dated – which means you've never dumped anyone before – but the closer you get to Hans' place, the more confident you are that it is, indeed, the right path to take. Everything you see and hear from him only confirms the fact, like how he still hasn't done anything to make it easier – or like, possible – to get inside without his help. You can't take a shower.
And also you bought him a nice (ish) bottle of scotch for Christmas, and he got you...
...lingerie.
You open the bag and aren't even ashamed to tell yourself you'd wanted something a little... well. Not lingerie. Not this skimpy little piece that covers nothing and reveals everything.
"Go and put it on!" he urges you. "Make sure it fits."
You can't deny that it does feel nice, even if it's so sheer you can see the dark outline of your nipples through it. It's lacy and decorative around the edges, and it even includes stockings! The whole thing fits surprisingly well, which would be great if you actually wanted to wear it for him.
But then he's knocking on the bedroom door, asking if you're done, and you can't even bring yourself to lie to him and say it doesn't fit. That won't fix anything – he would probably just take you shopping for it and you don't want to go shopping with him.
So you wheel out and put on a smile and he looks at you and kind of sighs. "I knew it'd fit." And then he leans down and kisses you and you let him because he's a good kisser and you want to feel something nice before you break up with him.
Maybe you really could get him to pleasure you. Just this once. Now you know it's possible, you want him to do it to you. He's bought you a nice lingerie set and you want him to touch you. You want him to make you finish, and you want him to make you feel beautiful.
Only one person has ever done that– nope. You're not thinking about it.
So you bite your lip and move backwards into his bedroom. Hans is nodding along and you realise this was probably his plan all along – but, it makes it better if you're deciding for yourself what you want, right? So you move to the bed and try to fill your heart with something light instead of this sick feeling that's settled into the pit of your stomach.
He takes his shirt off and he's halfway with taking off his pants, too, when you stop him.
"Wait, Hans," you say, and your voice doesn't shake or quiver or tremble. His face goes hard, and you fight down the swelling tornado of butterflies in your stomach. "I want to try something different tonight."
At that, he lifts an eyebrow. There's a smirk, appearing at the corner of his mouth, and maybe he's actually going to be really into this. Maybe he hasn't offered because he knows how you get about your legs. So you swallow your trepidation and say, as confidently as you can, "I want you to taste me."
He pauses. There's a slight frown on his face, but he doesn't seem upset; he's just thinking. The more you think about it, the more ridiculous it seems because he shouldn't have to think about this; you've already tasted him, as foul as that was, and girls probably definitely taste better, if the smell- nope.
"Uh... why?" he eventually asks, cutting off your thinking better than you ever could. You haven't rescinded your words, haven't offered any explanation, and maybe that's what he's after. It's still your turn to frown, though, because...
"Why not?"
"Anna... you're paralysed. You can't feel it."
Your whole heart just fucking plummets at his words. That's the single most offensive thing he's ever said about your disability and it just feels extra shitty in the wake of months and months of sub-par sex.
It makes you sit up and push him away because... because is that the thought he's had this whole time? He complained about you not being able to finish, like it was some failing on your part, and yet he's never even tried. Never expected you to get off, so why should he actually make an effort?
Sure, your body is a little different, has to be treated a little differently, but...
"So... all this time, it was for you?"
"Hey, I tried—"
"No! You didn't! You haven't taken any notice of me, my reactions of what I need. What, have I just been a- a living doll for you to sleep with?"
"Anna, you're being too sensitive. You're over-reacting."
"Agh!" As soon as he says those words, you're forcibly pushing him away so you can get back to your chair. You're not in the mood anymore. He stops you with an iron grip to your upper arm. "Let go, Hans."
"Anna, stop being ridiculous—"
"Let go!" You rip your arm from him with so much force that you lose your balance, tipping onto the floor with a surprised cry. Your legs are splayed near your chair and you just want him to leave.
He doesn't.
He sighs instead, putting his hands on his hips. "Now look at what you've done. You're being a child, Anna."
"And you're being a prick," you retort. You shift yourself into a more comfortable position, manually moving your legs. One is bleeding along the side of your calf, blood dribbling out like an especially bad shaving cut. You're on the floor in your underwear, bleeding, and Hans is just standing there like you're a child chucking a tantrum.
And then you realise how much you're bleeding and it's getting on his plush carpet and so you look up at him kind of feeling like you need to throw up and all he does is look at you. Does nothing but blink as the seconds stretch and you realise you have no idea what he's going to do.
"Hans!" you cry, and there's definitely some panic in your tone, but that is really a lot of blood for such a little scratch, and there's just the briefest of pauses as you see something in Hans' eyes.
But then he's moving and grabbing your discarded shirt to wrap around your leg, and you wonder if you really saw anything at all.
"God, Anna, look at what you did," he sighs, like all the fight has left him; not that there should have been any to begin with. "This would never have happened if you hadn't been running off so much. And what would you have done if this happened at home and I wasn't here to help?"
His words cut, deeper and harder than the slice on your leg. You look away, blinking back tears. He isn't finished.
"You have to learn to control your temper. Are you on your period or something? Geez."
"I think I should just go home..." you say, very softly. Hans scoffs.
"And be somewhere alone? Where I can't protect you? You obviously need it, Anna." He pulls away, lifting your shirt away from your leg at the same time. The blood is dark and viscous, already beginning to clot. You'll have to throw away your shirt. It's unsalvageable.
And, as Hans stands up, you realise it's just a huge fucked up metaphor for this entire relationship. As Hans looks down at you, lips curling as his eyes rest on the stain on the carpet, you realise you can't break up with him. Not here, not now. But you have to.
But your relationship, or whatever this is?
It's unsalvageable.
tl;dr hans buys anna lingerie for christmas. anna puts it on. asks him to perform oral on her. he refuses, stating that 'she can't feel it'. they argue, hans grabs her arm and she falls off the bed, cutting her leg. he doesn't immediately help. he verbally berates her as he helps her clean up.
okay and now we can promise that there's no more hans content like this. promise.