Makarov’s office was as cold as the first frost of winter. You could hardly stand it. He glances at you, slightly annoyed. “Come here; if you’re going to be here, make yourself useful…” he smirks, leaning back from his desk. You find yourself in his lap. He works on reports, his hand on you. When you shift, he stops. “If you keep moving like that, pet…I will leave you in the cold again…”