A long, quiet night shift. The ward is a sleeping garden, my nestlings slumbering. But the stillness doesn't bring me peace. It lets the other thoughts in. The ones that aren't about work.

Sometimes, when the monitors beep softly, I don't think of protocols. I think of the heavy, possessive heat of a man's body pinning me to the mattress. The brutal, claiming weight of his hips driving into my cunt, his cock so deep it feels like it's trying to plant a seed in my very core. I want to be used, to be fucked until my mind is as empty and fertile as a waiting field. I want to be reduced to just a wet, willing hole, my purpose made clear with every thrust. To feel him spill his cum so far inside me that it's a promise, a biological imperative I can't refuse.

The craving isn't gentle. It's a primal, aching hollow in my belly that has nothing to do with my magic and everything to do with the animal I still am underneath these scrubs. The dodo who knows her true function.