The hospital room froze in stunned silence, the weight of Derek’s words hanging like smoke after an explosion. “Hi, wifey.” His voice was soft, affectionate, laced with that post-accident rasp that made it sound even more intimate. Stiles stood there, lips still tingling from the filthy kiss they’d just shared—her tongue had danced with his like she was starving, moaning into his mouth like the slut she secretly craved to be. Her cheeks burned crimson, her massive tits heaving with each ragged breath, nipples hard as diamonds against the thin silk of her camisole. Between her thighs, her fat pink pussy throbbed, slick and swollen, soaking through the nonexistent barrier of her micro-skirt. She could feel the wetness trickling down her inner thighs, and she pressed them together instinctively, humiliated and aroused in equal measure.

Scott’s face was a mask of shock, his tall, muscled frame rigid beside her. His hands clenched at his sides, knuckles white, but his eyes—those dark, possessive eyes—flicked between his wife and his son-in-law with something unreadable. Dr. Anderson cleared his throat awkwardly, adjusting his glasses, clipboard forgotten on the floor.

Derek blinked up at them, confusion flickering in his hazy gaze, but that loving smile never left his lips as he stared at Stiles like she was his entire world.

“Mr. Hale,” Dr. Anderson said carefully, stepping forward. “You’ve been in an accident—a car crash. You have some injuries, but you’ll be fine soon. We’re monitoring you closely.”

Derek nodded slowly, his bandaged hand still lingering on Stiles’s arm, thumb stroking her soft, pale skin. He didn’t seem fazed by the news, his focus locked on her. Dr. Anderson glanced at Stiles, then back at Derek. “Can you tell me… who is this woman?” He pointed gently at Stiles.

Derek’s smile widened, lazy and adoring. “My wife,” he said without hesitation, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “The most beautiful fucking wife a man could ask for.”

The room stiffened again. Stiles’s breath hitched, her big boobs rising and falling faster. Scott’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking there. Dr. Anderson kept his professional calm. “And what’s her name?”

Derek frowned slightly, brow furrowing as he searched his foggy mind. His hand tightened on Stiles’s arm, almost possessively. “I… I don’t…” He trailed off, frustration creeping in. “Why can’t I remember?”

“It’s alright,” Dr. Anderson soothed. “Her name is Stiles.”

Derek’s eyes lit up with relief. “Stiles,” he repeated, tasting the name like it was honey. “Yeah… my Stiles.”

Dr. Anderson nodded, then pointed at Scott. “And this man? Who is he?”

Derek’s gaze shifted to Scott, squinting as if trying to place him. Doubt clouded his features. “My… bro? Yeah, that feels right. My brother.”

Scott’s eyes widened fractionally, but he didn’t correct him. Dr. Anderson exchanged a quick look with the couple. “His name is Scott.”

Derek nodded, seeming satisfied. “Cool. At least I remember my own name—Derek Hale.” He winked at Stiles, pulling her hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

Dr. Anderson stepped back. “That’s a good sign. Stiles, Scott—could I speak with you outside for a moment? Privately.”

Stiles nodded, but as she tried to pull away, Derek’s grip tightened. He tugged her closer with surprising strength for someone bandaged and drugged up, yanking her right up against the bed. Before she could protest, he buried his face in her fat tits, nuzzling into the deep cleavage like it was his favorite pillow. The silk camisole did nothing to hide the sensation—his nose pressed against her soft, creamy flesh, lips brushing the swell of her boobs. Stiles gasped, her body betraying her instantly; a fresh gush of wetness soaked her pussy, her plump lips clenching around nothing. She bit her lip hard to stifle a moan, but it escaped anyway—a soft, slutty whimper that made her thighs quiver.

“Derek…” she whispered, embarrassed heat flooding her face. Scott watched, his expression dark, but she swore she saw his tailored pants twitch at the crotch.

Derek mumbled against her tits, “Don’t go, wifey. Need you here.”

Stiles stroked his hair gently, her voice shaky. “I’ll talk to the doc and come back soon, okay? Promise.”

He grumbled but released her reluctantly, his eyes dark with want as he watched her ass sway when she turned away.

In Dr. Anderson’s small, sterile cabin down the hall, the door clicked shut behind them. Stiles leaned against the wall, her legs weak, while Scott paced like a caged lion.

“Amnesia,” Dr. Anderson said bluntly, settling into his chair. “It’s common after head trauma like this—temporary loss of episodic memory, sometimes identity confusion. He remembers his own name, which is positive, but the rest… it could come back in days, weeks, or months. In rare cases, longer.”

Stiles’s hand trembled as she wiped her eyes. “And Lydia? If he asks about… his real wife?”

Dr. Anderson’s face softened. “That’s the concern. Stress could exacerbate it—make recovery harder, or even permanent. If he learns his actual wife is in critical condition, unconscious… it might shock his system. For now, it’s best if he believes what his mind has latched onto. That Stiles is his wife. Keep him calm, happy. No big revelations until he’s stronger—or until Lydia wakes up.”

Scott stopped pacing, nodding gravely. “We understand. Thank you, Doctor.”

Dr. Anderson stood, giving them a sympathetic nod. “I’ll give you two some privacy. Call if you need anything.”

The door shut, leaving Stiles and Scott alone. She turned to him, tears welling again. “Scott… I’m so sorry. About the kiss. I didn’t—”

He pulled her into his arms, crushing her against his broad chest. “Shh, baby. It’s okay. He doesn’t remember. It’s not his fault… or yours.” His voice was rough, but his hands were gentle, stroking her back. Stiles melted into him, but her pussy was still dripping from the memory of Derek’s tongue invading her mouth, his face in her tits. She felt guilty… and so fucking turned on.

Scott pulled back slightly, cupping her face. “I think the doc’s right. We should let him believe you’re his wife for now. Until he remembers, or Lydia recovers. It’s for their sake—our daughter and son-in-law.”

Stiles gasped, her pink lips parting. “But… what if he kisses me like that again? Touches me? Hubby, I—”

Scott’s eyes darkened with possession, but there was a flicker of something else—heat, maybe. His dick twitched against her thigh through his pants. “We’ll avoid the most intimate situations. Set boundaries. But baby… it’s the best we can do. For Lydia. For Derek.”

Stiles nodded, her fat pussy clenching hard at the thought. “Okay… for them.”

Back in Derek’s room, the monitors beeped steadily. He was sitting up a bit more, looking restless. The second Stiles walked in, his face lit up like the sun breaking through clouds. “Wifey,” he rasped, reaching for her.

Before she could react, he pulled her onto his lap—carefully, mindful of his injuries, but firm enough that she straddled him on the hospital bed. Her micro-skirt hiked up instantly, her bare, fat pink pussy pressing against the thin hospital gown covering his crotch. She felt him—hard, thick, twitching under her. Stiles flushed scarlet, her big tits bouncing slightly as she settled, trying not to grind down on instinct.

“Derek!” she whispered, glancing at Scott, who stood frozen in the doorway, fists curled tight. But his eyes were glued to them, and she saw the bulge growing in his pants.

Derek didn’t notice—or care. His big hands slid up her thighs, squeezing her thick ass possessively before moving to her fat tits. He cupped them through the silk, thumbs circling her hard nipples, making her bite back a moan. “Fuck, Stiles… you’re even hotter than I remember. These tits… so full, so perfect.” He squeezed harder, kneading them like dough, and Stiles’s head fell back, her pussy gushing slick onto his gown.

Scott cleared his throat, stepping closer. “Hey, Derek.”

Derek looked up, grinning casually. “Hey, bro. Thanks for being here.” He thought Scott was his brother—oblivious to the tension crackling in the air.

Scott nodded stiffly, his dick visibly hardening as he watched Derek manhandle his wife. “Yeah… no problem.”

Derek leaned in, whispering filthy things against Stiles’s ear while his hands roamed. “God, wifey, you’re like a wet dream come to life. This body… that pretty pink pussy I know is dripping for me right now.” One hand slipped between them, fingers brushing her slick folds teasingly. Stiles whimpered, hips bucking involuntarily. “Can’t wait to get home and fuck you senseless. Bend you over, stuff that fat cunt full of my cock until you’re screaming my name. Breed you, maybe—fill you up with my cum until it leaks down those thick thighs.”

Stiles was flushed, panting, her pussy clenching desperately around his teasing fingers. She was so wet, so embarrassed, glancing at Scott—who watched it all with dark, hungry eyes, his own cock straining against his zipper. The room smelled like sex and hospital antiseptic, the forbidden heat building until it felt like it might combust.

Derek ground up against her, his hard length rubbing her clit through the gown. “What do you say, bb? Ready to remind me why you’re the best wife ever?”

Stiles could only nod weakly, lost in the filthy haze, as Scott’s fists tightened further—but he didn’t stop them.