Being pregnant with the world’s most dangerous man gives you some perks; like being able to get away with anything.

You’re walking around the streets when you spot a cute baby clothing set on the display window, looking at Makarov with puppy eyes.

Makarov dismisses it, walking past. “No, I told you no more clothes-“ he stops talking when he sees you pouting, your brows furrowed. He sighs, taking out his wallet. “Here—fine, go buy whatever.”