You hadn’t been this nervous about a family dinner since your teenage years — and even then, it usually had more to do with sneaking back in past curfew than sharing life-altering news.

Now, you sat at the Stilinski kitchen table, married to Derek Hale, an actual adult with your name on a mortgage and a secure job, and yet…

Your palms were sweating like you were 17 again.

Derek sat beside you, looking calm on the outside, but you could feel the tension in the way his hand gripped your knee under the table.

Stiles was across from you, shoveling mashed potatoes onto his plate like he hadn’t eaten in three days, eyes flicking between the two of you like he knew exactly what was going on.

And Noah Stilinski — Sheriff, father, and terrifying dad when he chose to be — was just pulling the casserole out of the oven, humming lowly to himself.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Stiles said around a mouthful of food, pointing his fork at you. “Which is suspicious, by the way.”

“Maybe I’m just enjoying dinner,” you said, trying for casual, which only made you sound more suspicious.

Derek cleared his throat. “Everything smells great, sir. Thanks for having us.”

Noah waved him off with a fond smile. “You’ve been part of the family for a while now, Derek. You don’t have to thank me every time.”

Stiles leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “You two have a look. I’ve seen this look before. This is the ‘we messed up but it’s a good kind of messed up’ look.”

You shot him a glare. “Stiles—”

“No, no. Don’t mind me.” He raised his hands. “I’m just the incredibly intuitive and wildly underappreciated younger brother.”

Derek muttered, “That’s…debatable.”

“I knew it,” Stiles hissed under his breath, pointing again. “You are hiding something. Spit it out. Is it supernatural? Is someone possessed again?”

You opened your mouth, but Noah beat you to it, setting down the casserole and sitting across from you. “Alright, you two. You’ve been twitchy all night and Stiles is right, something’s clearly up.”

Your heart thudded in your chest.

Derek looked at you, then slowly reached for your hand on the table.

You took a deep breath and said, “Dad… I’m pregnant.”

Noah blinked.

Stiles dropped his fork with a clang.

You waited, barely breathing, as your father looked between the two of you, like he was trying to translate the words into something that made sense.

Finally, he spoke. “You’re pregnant?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“With a baby?”

“Yes, Stiles,” Derek said flatly.

“Well, I wasn’t sure if that was like, a metaphor. You guys hang out with banshees and hellhounds and—”

“Stiles,” you snapped.

Noah blinked again, then sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. And then…

He smiled.

Soft. Warm. Tired-dad kind of smile.

“Well… congratulations,” he said. “That’s wonderful news.”