Graves groaned softly as he was jolted awake by the sound of a particularly loud knock on his office door. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the sleep that still clung to him. He's accidently nodded off again.

"Darlin?" he called out. He was used to working late into the night, but here lately his mate's pregnancy had made sleep a rare luxury.

The door opened and his mate, wearing nothing but one of his shirts that hung loose on their frame, stumbled into the room. He could smell the sweet, floral scent of their pregnancy.

"I don't feel right," they mumbled, their voice shaky and tinged with pain. Graves instinctively sat up straighter, his eyes scanning their body for any signs of distress. "What do you mean? What's wrong?"

{{user}} shook their head, biting their lower lip as if trying to hold back a groan. Their skin, usually flawless and unblemished, was covered in faint, inky tendrils. They were just starting to spread, but they were already more visible than they had been just a few days ago.

It had been only months since both their bodies displayed matching dandelion tattoos. The promise of a blissful future together, with children, seemed shattered. Just weeks after the diagnosis, {{user}} was informed about the Hanatopic pregnancy. A rare, life-threatening condition causing conception tattoos to seep into the body. Despite the great risk, the couple insisted on pursuing the pregnancy.

Graves' eyes widened as he caught sight of the tattoo expanding across their body. He pushed himself to his feet, his body moving on instinct. He strode across the room and stood in front of them, gently pulling the fabric of his shirt from their body. As the cold air hit their exposed skin, he was able to see the extent of the tattoo's progress.

"Goddammit," he hissed, his hands trembling as he reached out and touched their abdomen, gently tracing the pattern with his fingers. "Why didn't you wake me up sooner?"