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As a romantic, Sansa always thought that every boyfriend she’d brought home to meet her family in the past was going to be the last.
It started with Joffrey and his false promise of forever. She completely bought into his lies, had thought him the perfect partner, so much so that she convinced herself he would be her first and last, only to uncover his cruelty that sent her running.
Cley seemed like the perfect guy after that. Sweet, polite, hardworking - a reliable northern man. Except he’s maybe too hardworking, married to the job as some would say. Things were only good at the start, then he spent more time glued to his phone than with Sansa, He was almost always on some call, sometimes unreachable for days, and would cut their dates short to take care of one work issue to another. Sansa had never felt more insignificant than those six months with him.
Sansa wasn’t as sure with Harry, but she was hopeful. He was a charmer, a sweet-talker. Everything he said sounded so good, sounded promising, and she tried to make herself believe it. She liked that he seemed to like her more than she did him, it made her feel safe. Secure. Except he actually didn’t like her at all, if the girls he cheated on her with were any indication.
She ended up being single for the next two years after that relationship didn’t work out. She still went on dates, but nothing that progressed past the first one. She dipped at even the littlest sign she’d get heartbroken, and insisted to herself she’s only being smart. Afterall, she promised herself that the next person she’ll bring home to her family will truly be the last.
It’ll be someone kind, gentle, and strong. Someone who won’t belittle her interests, someone who will remain loving even when things get tough. Someone who will be there for her no matter what, someone who will be true. It’ll be someone who loves her deeply, someone she loves just as much, and she’ll be so sure of him.
***
Unbeknownst to her, her family made their own promises about the whole thing. They’ve had enough; they’ve stood idly by for too long, watched her bring home one lousy guy to the next. So they swore the next guy she brings home will know what’s coming for them if they ever hurt her.
And so, they activate like sleeper agents when Sansa tells them over group chat that she’s been seeing someone for eight months and that she’ll be introducing him to the family at Sunday dinner.
Three days is a little short notice but Robb is nothing if not determined. He gets to work immediately, getting the whole family involved and planning the whole thing like a man possessed.
He knows he’s not a perfect brother, he knows he has his shortcomings as the eldest of five, but he’ll be damned to all seven hells if he lets another dumb asshole treat his little sister like shit.
Whoever this guy is will know what’s coming for him if Sansa sheds even just a single tear.
“Sansa says they’ll be here in ten minutes,” mom announces, phone in hand.
Robb blows out a breath, turning to inspect the dining room for last minute corrections, then towards his family. “Alright, people, in your places.”
***
Jon would like to say he’s not at all nervous about the whole thing, except he’s near trembling with fear as he and Sansa step out of his car in front of her parents’ house.
He’s never been introduced to anyone’s family as a boyfriend before. He’s only ever been in one serious relationship, and his ex's parents were dead, so he never thought to worry about it, and now he’s not sure what to expect.
“Jon, you’ll be fine,” Sansa assures when she sees his pale face, reaching for his hand to squeeze it assuringly.
He takes a deep breath, giving her hand a squeeze back. He’s not sure he can speak at the moment, his heart beating in his throat. He wants this to go well - no, he needs it to go well. Sansa’s it for him; he’s ready to spend the rest of his life with her if she’ll let him, but he has to get through this first, and he’s not going to mess it up
They make their way to the front door and Sansa frowns at the note taped on the knocker that simply says ‘enter’. She turns to him with a confused frown, but all he can do is shrug in equal confusion.
“Gods,” she mutters under her breath, as if summoning patience, before she twists the doorknob open. “I told them to be normal about this.”
Despite his nerves, he can’t help but snort at that, which earns him a glare from her, and he has to explain, “I just think that’s probably the worst thing you could’ve said.”
She only sighs defeatedly, so she must agree. Still, there’s no other way but through, so they enter the house as instructed, only to find the living room empty.
Jon’s been dreading this day since Sansa told him she wanted them to be official, that she wanted to bring him home to her family. He knows Sansa’s been with shitty guys in the past, he knows her family hated all of them and wished they could’ve done something to keep her from getting hurt, and he knows he’s going to have it rough.
He’s expecting to get interrogated, to be threatened to death by firing squad - what he isn’t expecting is the ominous music coming from the Starks’ dining room as they get deeper into the house.
“Um.” Sansa turns to him again, this time a resigned look on her face. “I’m guessing that’s where they want us.”
And so they make their way to the dining room, and Sansa opens the door to -
“What in the seven hells,” Sansa gasps out in surprise at what Jon could only describe as the most terrifying room he’d seen in his life.
The entire dining room is covered in black cloth from wall to wall, the space only lit by thick candles scattered all over. The table is covered with black cloth as well, with wooden plates filled with what looks to be a wide array of raw meat.
Surrounding the table are six hooded figures, all of them dressed in some sort of cultish garb. There are two empty chairs, though one of them is designed with thorns and above it is a sign that reads, ‘human sacrifice’.
None of them move to acknowledge Jon and Sansa’s arrival, though Jon sees one of the figures bump the one next to them, and the music slowly fades out.
It’s only then that one hooded figure finally stands, and they take off their hood to reveal their face. “Welcome, knave -” Robb cuts himself off mid-sentence, his bloodied mouth going slack at the sight of Jon. “What the fuck?”
One by one, the hooded figures reveal themselves, curious at what got Robb to halt the charade, and Jon almost bursts out laughing at the look on their faces as each one sees him. their faces are painted with gothic makeup and their mouths bloody, almost terrifying if not for the pure shock at seeing his face.
“Hi,” he greets, biting back his laughter.
“You sneaky bitch,” Arya says with a sudden grin. “You told me you couldn’t help us out because you had something important.”
Jon chuckles. “I do,” he points out. Plus, Arya didn’t actually elaborate on this whole thing, all he knew was… “And you asked me to help scare off Sansa’s boyfriend. I didn’t want to, for obvious reasons.”
“Oh, what a waste,” Rickon groans at that, slouching down his chair. He glares at Jon accusingly. “We had a whole thing planned, I was gonna get to scare Sansa’s shitty new boyfriend with a fake chainsaw. Now you’ve ruined it.”
“I’m… sorry?”
“You should be because what the fuck,” Robb bursts, then he turns to Sansa. “You couldn’t have just told us you were dating Jon before we did all this crap? We spent all morning setting this up.”
Sansa makes a sound of protest. “How is that my fault? I told you to be normal about this!”
“That’s exactly why I did all this,” Robb argues. “What kind of warning is that? Why do I need to be normal? Like I need to bow down to your prick boyfriend. I thought it was gonna be another judgy asshole.”
“I told you to be normal because it’s Jon and I knew all of you were gonna be dramatic about us dating. I didn’t think you’d do,” Sansa pauses to gesture all over the room, “all this.”
“So does that mean we can have regular dinner now?” Bran asks, looking bored as hell. “I’m starving.”
Robb huffs, crosses his arms as he sits back down grumpily. “I guess.”
“Or we can just pretend we don’t know him and do as planned,” Rickon suggests, clearly only motivated by this chainsaw thing he mentioned. “Jon, sit on the sacrificial chair and pretend to be a dick so Arya and I can bring out our fake torture weapons.”
“Mine are not all fake,” Arya says unhelpfully before adding, “But I’m not gonna use the real ones on you, obviously.” She pauses at that, the realization making her face sour. “Damn it, Jon.”