[Transformers Mpreg] Be Fruitful
Title: Be Fruitful
Series: G1, mostly cartoon
Characters: Dr. Susan Hoffman/Onslaught, Hot Spot, Blades, the Constructicons
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2100+
Summary: Onslaught is pregnant. He doesn't understand how that can be, since he hasn't slept with another Transformer in millions of years. What with being locked in a box and all.
Author's Notes: For those of you who don't keep track of obscure comics characters, Dr. Susan Hoffman is made of awesome. Also, this fic proves that I love Dr. Hoffman/Onslaught like whoa.
For the purposes of this fic, I am assuming an established relationship between the two of them.
Be Fruitful
***
Some part of the expedition equipment was burning; Onslaught could taste the hungry scent of gasoline, hear the crackle of flames. He crouched behind a partially excavated temple wall, trying to come up with some magnificent plan to destroy the Protectobots.
Nothing. There was nothing elegant and masterful now, just the relentless demand of the situation around him. Vortex and Brawl were back at the ship, Swindle dealing in Libya with his contacts. Blast Off high overhead was the only reason he didn't have to deal with Defensor alone - Blast Off had almost taken Streetwise through the lasercore.
According to his intelligence, First Aid was working to keep his fellow alive. That left three Protectobots for Onslaught. Ordinarily, he would be delighted, but...
Susan- Dr. Hoffman- Dr. Susan Hoffman huddled in the scant shelter of the temple's Holy of Holies. He caught scant glances of her through the smoke and laserfire. Her white-knuckled hands held the gun Swindle had procured for her, and that unpleasantly expressive face was betraying her fear.
Someday, he vowed once again, he would have his lady put in the body of the species she belonged in.
Which wouldn't happen if she died because of these little fools! How dare they interrupt one of his few chances to be with her!
"Onslaught!" Hot Spot shouted. "Come out and fight me! Only a coward would hide behind the humans!"
Onslaught up-cycled his visor. Honestly, did the boy think he cared what the Protectobots thought of him or what happened to any of the meatbags? His lady was the only important one.
"Got him!" Blades suddenly yelled, and Onslaught threw himself to the side as a blade whisked through the space where he had been. Not that it would have hurt terribly much, but his battle instincts were powerful. For good reason. He snapped off a shot at the helicopter, sending the witless fool spinning into a ruined wall. Honestly, even Wildrider understood the concept of sneaking. Not that anyone would believe it of the Stunticon.
Feh. Children.
The fires leapt hotter, and Onslaught braced himself for Hot Spot's charge. At the last moment, he shifted his stance, caught the boy by his shoulders, and tossed him over his hip. Hot Spot skidded facefirst, one shoulder knocking into the Holy of Holies hard enough to rain dust down on Susan. Onslaught hissed in vexation; they would not hurt her!
His kick caught the boy in the chin, snapping Hot Spot's head back with an audible crack and denting metal. The boy snarled and leapt to his feet, his punch making Onslaught's audials ring.
In the slight moment of disorientation, the boy summoned his fireball cannon. The blast of flame smashed Onslaught back through the Holy of Holies; he felt his armor melt and run, rubble prickle against his back, and Susan's small hands on his.
"Onslaught!"
She was so brave. Ah, she would be lovely and fell when he had her as she ought to be.
There was a great flash of light, and distantly he heard the roar of his troops over the comm-bands.
***
Onslaught returned from leave with unpleasant but quickly repaired damages. He noted an odd exchange between the two Constructicons attending him at the time, but thought nothing of it. Hook and Bonecrusher always squabbled over the most meaningless things.
After their third mission, Swindle handed him a thumb-drive filled with bomber specifications and some of the more basic texts on shell-building. The little rotter was doing it to keep himself from receiving a bit of Motormaster-style leadership. Perhaps he didn't entirely deserve it for that little scheme with the Stunticons, but he did deserve it for being so careless as to get his accounts frozen.
Still, Onslaught was a magnanimous leader. After assigning Swindle scutwork to keep him occupied, he wandered down to the messhall to fetch his ration and peruse the data.
His cube seemed smaller than it ought to be. He hnhed, then tapped the dispenser's info-screen.
He'd just had a cube sixteen hours ago? That couldn't be right. He felt like he hadn't fueled in forty-eight. Even including standard battle-drain, that was excessive.
Obviously some technically-inclined bastard (Starscream) had done something to it. He opened a comm-line to Scavenger, the least objectionable of the Constructicons. //Scavenger, someone has been fooling with the energon dispenser's programming.//
//Okay, we'll look into it.//
Satisfied, Onslaught took his meager cube to a table and settled in to study this data. A bomber would complement the Combaticons excellently, but Earth had so many interesting designs. Besides, he did not think his lady would appreciate Cybertronian aesthetics quite so early in her new life.
Of course, while a Stunticon might find Earth-modes attractive, he was old enough to find the alien ambivalently exotic-
Or not. Oh my. Look at those armaments.
***
Almost a year later, he stormed into the Constructicons' lair. "I have had quite enough of this! Isn't one of you going to fix the accursed energon dispenser?"
The Constructicons blinked at him. Then Scrapper stepped forward and pointed at an exam table. "Sit down, Onslaught."
"Why?" He sat grudgingly, quite willing to obey the engineers when they weren't obviously insane.
Scrapper flipped open his diagnostics panel, plugged in a reader, and ran a quick system-scan. "-You would think you would have noticed you were carrying by now."
"What?"
Scratch 'not obviously insane'.
"I haven't slept with anyone since I was- rightfully imprisoned! I can't be carrying!" Even if it would explain why he seemed to always crave energon these days. Still, it was quite impossible.
"That's not something to brag about." Mixmaster snickered. "Get the kit, Long Haul! It's time for a paternity test!"
Onslaught submitted to the paternity test with dignity. Perhaps knowing who had done this to him would make it more explicable. Then he could try to sic Motormaster on them. Of course, he hadn't ruled out the possibility the Constructicons were playing a sadistic joke on him for their own obscure reasons.
He'd never carried before. He wasn't entirely sure he'd even sired before. They'd all been so busy with the War... He couldn't even remember the faces of any mech he'd tumbled besides Arbiter. But the little motorcycle had been high-class, posh, not the usual mechs of ill-repute or drunken fellow officers. He had courted Arbiter. Or perhaps he had been courted by Arbiter.
This had to be longer than necessary for a paternity test. "Well?"
"The, ah, results don't make sense," Scavenger said, peeking up at him.
Long Haul snapped his fingers. "The human."
Hook look repulsed. "Despite his carrying on with a squishie for... far too long, that is not going to activate his internal factories."
Onslaught folded his hands in his lap and thought happy thoughts of ripping the Constructicons limb from limb. He was used to this talk from people who didn't look past Susan's fleshiness to the true Cybertronian spirit imprisoned inside. They would, of course, suffer when she was properly introduced to her place in the universe.
"Be that as it may," Scrapper said, cutting through the Constructicons' squabbling, "He is carrying five younglings. Since the problem isn't going to solve itself, we'll just have to keep him under close observation."
"An' increase his energon ration," Long Haul grumbled. "You know Soundwave's going to bitch about that."
"Ooh!" Mixmaster giggled. "Can I tell him about carrying policies and procedures? Can I?"
That sounded... worryingly official. "I am capable of reading the manual just the same as anyone else..."
"Which is why there are policies and procedures," Scrapper said drily.
"Capable doesn't mean you will," Mixmaster added almost maliciously. "Don't worry, though! I have diagrams."
***
The next time he had leave, he flew to Susan's dig site in South America. His arrival sent fleshlings scattering, and his lady climbed out of the trench she had been digging in. He took a moment to study her, noting Swindle's gun holstered on her thigh, and the dirt smudged on her clothes and body. She worked, just as any of her minions did. A proper officer, not like Starscream but like himself.
"Onslaught." She pressed her hands on her hips, squinting up at him despite the sun at his back. "Is there any reason you're frightening my workers? You usually call ahead."
"We need to talk," he said then scooped her up and flew off. She was a delicate thing in his hands, delicate and irate.
He settled down on an empty beach and set her on his knee. She cursed and ranted, her heel clanging against his metal when she wanted to particularly emphasize a point. Her expressions were typically human, almost exaggerated to the point of repulsiveness. But her voice, her words, her utter fearlessness-
The gun she carried could hurt him, if she cared to use it. And, he noticed, her right hand always seemed to be in the vicinity of it.
Smart woman.
"I am carrying," he interrupted. "Five, I am told. The father has yet to be identified."
"... You're what?"
"Carrying. I will bear children in a few years' time."
Susan's legs seemed to collapse out from under her, and she wound up seated on his knee, staring up at him with eyes no brighter or dimmer than before. "My evil giant robot boyfriend is pregnant?"
"Yes..." he said carefully. "A human would call it that."
"And you don't even know who the father is? How many people are you sleeping with, Onslaught?!"
He stiffened. "The only being I have... engaged in amatory activities with since I came to Earth is you."
Susan crossed her arms and glared up at him. "That makes no sense."
"Agreed. However, it is unfortunately true."
She patted his metal, and he let the soft taps attempt to soothe him. "How long has this been going on?"
"Twelve months and eleven days, for certain," he replied. "I first began to notice the drain ten months and thirty days ago. Since there is a minimum amount of time in any term where the younglings are first forming and haven't yet started to drain energy from their parent, it was simply a matter of working backwards from there."
Susan nodded. "-We were in Jordan a year ago. Remember that fight with the Protectobots?"
Onslaught nodded, one hand clenching into a fist. Oh, he had repaid the boy a hundredfold for blasting him like that. But another chance to drub him would not be amiss.
"You and Hot Spot destroyed the Holy of Holies-"
"I apologized for that!"
"-dedicated to Nikkal," Susan said, plowing over him, her expression gone all strange. "She's an agricultural goddess, specifically of orchards. 'Great Lady and Fruitful'."
He stared at her.
"You are being fruitful," she murmured, turning her face away.
"But I'm not having a child with Hot Spot!" he protested. "The paternity results don't even make sense for an Autobot!"
Two small hands touched his, and he saw the ends of her hair burning, sensed the stink of her fear. Where was her gun, he wanted to demand of her-
There was light.
"... the Constructicons did say you might be the father."
Susan gave him a dubious look. "Are you sure they're not just crazy?"
"Oh, they're not just crazy. Unfortunately." He exhaled air through his vents in a sigh. "Well, we have two more years before they'll even begin to cut their way out. Who knows, maybe I'll get hit with enough battle damages to kill them."
"Onslaught." She glared up at him. "If you don't want them, can't you just... cancel their programs?"
He did want them. It was stupid and selfish of him with their energon so depleted, but he wanted them. He wanted to see what was being made of him- and of Susan.
"I am a soldier," he said quietly. "These are the risks I must take."
"I despise your war." She buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders shook. He could sense the bitter salt of her tears, and he didn't know what to do. She made him so helpless sometimes.
He wanted to hold her, press his face against her and listen to the subtle pulse of her body's systems. He rather thought she'd shoot him if he tried.
"We will see it ended in your lifetime," he promised. Without confiding in her that he planned for her to live much longer than any filthy human.
-End-
Series: G1, mostly cartoon
Characters: Dr. Susan Hoffman/Onslaught, Hot Spot, Blades, the Constructicons
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2100+
Summary: Onslaught is pregnant. He doesn't understand how that can be, since he hasn't slept with another Transformer in millions of years. What with being locked in a box and all.
Author's Notes: For those of you who don't keep track of obscure comics characters, Dr. Susan Hoffman is made of awesome. Also, this fic proves that I love Dr. Hoffman/Onslaught like whoa.
For the purposes of this fic, I am assuming an established relationship between the two of them.
Be Fruitful
***
Some part of the expedition equipment was burning; Onslaught could taste the hungry scent of gasoline, hear the crackle of flames. He crouched behind a partially excavated temple wall, trying to come up with some magnificent plan to destroy the Protectobots.
Nothing. There was nothing elegant and masterful now, just the relentless demand of the situation around him. Vortex and Brawl were back at the ship, Swindle dealing in Libya with his contacts. Blast Off high overhead was the only reason he didn't have to deal with Defensor alone - Blast Off had almost taken Streetwise through the lasercore.
According to his intelligence, First Aid was working to keep his fellow alive. That left three Protectobots for Onslaught. Ordinarily, he would be delighted, but...
Susan- Dr. Hoffman- Dr. Susan Hoffman huddled in the scant shelter of the temple's Holy of Holies. He caught scant glances of her through the smoke and laserfire. Her white-knuckled hands held the gun Swindle had procured for her, and that unpleasantly expressive face was betraying her fear.
Someday, he vowed once again, he would have his lady put in the body of the species she belonged in.
Which wouldn't happen if she died because of these little fools! How dare they interrupt one of his few chances to be with her!
"Onslaught!" Hot Spot shouted. "Come out and fight me! Only a coward would hide behind the humans!"
Onslaught up-cycled his visor. Honestly, did the boy think he cared what the Protectobots thought of him or what happened to any of the meatbags? His lady was the only important one.
"Got him!" Blades suddenly yelled, and Onslaught threw himself to the side as a blade whisked through the space where he had been. Not that it would have hurt terribly much, but his battle instincts were powerful. For good reason. He snapped off a shot at the helicopter, sending the witless fool spinning into a ruined wall. Honestly, even Wildrider understood the concept of sneaking. Not that anyone would believe it of the Stunticon.
Feh. Children.
The fires leapt hotter, and Onslaught braced himself for Hot Spot's charge. At the last moment, he shifted his stance, caught the boy by his shoulders, and tossed him over his hip. Hot Spot skidded facefirst, one shoulder knocking into the Holy of Holies hard enough to rain dust down on Susan. Onslaught hissed in vexation; they would not hurt her!
His kick caught the boy in the chin, snapping Hot Spot's head back with an audible crack and denting metal. The boy snarled and leapt to his feet, his punch making Onslaught's audials ring.
In the slight moment of disorientation, the boy summoned his fireball cannon. The blast of flame smashed Onslaught back through the Holy of Holies; he felt his armor melt and run, rubble prickle against his back, and Susan's small hands on his.
"Onslaught!"
She was so brave. Ah, she would be lovely and fell when he had her as she ought to be.
There was a great flash of light, and distantly he heard the roar of his troops over the comm-bands.
***
Onslaught returned from leave with unpleasant but quickly repaired damages. He noted an odd exchange between the two Constructicons attending him at the time, but thought nothing of it. Hook and Bonecrusher always squabbled over the most meaningless things.
After their third mission, Swindle handed him a thumb-drive filled with bomber specifications and some of the more basic texts on shell-building. The little rotter was doing it to keep himself from receiving a bit of Motormaster-style leadership. Perhaps he didn't entirely deserve it for that little scheme with the Stunticons, but he did deserve it for being so careless as to get his accounts frozen.
Still, Onslaught was a magnanimous leader. After assigning Swindle scutwork to keep him occupied, he wandered down to the messhall to fetch his ration and peruse the data.
His cube seemed smaller than it ought to be. He hnhed, then tapped the dispenser's info-screen.
He'd just had a cube sixteen hours ago? That couldn't be right. He felt like he hadn't fueled in forty-eight. Even including standard battle-drain, that was excessive.
Obviously some technically-inclined bastard (Starscream) had done something to it. He opened a comm-line to Scavenger, the least objectionable of the Constructicons. //Scavenger, someone has been fooling with the energon dispenser's programming.//
//Okay, we'll look into it.//
Satisfied, Onslaught took his meager cube to a table and settled in to study this data. A bomber would complement the Combaticons excellently, but Earth had so many interesting designs. Besides, he did not think his lady would appreciate Cybertronian aesthetics quite so early in her new life.
Of course, while a Stunticon might find Earth-modes attractive, he was old enough to find the alien ambivalently exotic-
Or not. Oh my. Look at those armaments.
***
Almost a year later, he stormed into the Constructicons' lair. "I have had quite enough of this! Isn't one of you going to fix the accursed energon dispenser?"
The Constructicons blinked at him. Then Scrapper stepped forward and pointed at an exam table. "Sit down, Onslaught."
"Why?" He sat grudgingly, quite willing to obey the engineers when they weren't obviously insane.
Scrapper flipped open his diagnostics panel, plugged in a reader, and ran a quick system-scan. "-You would think you would have noticed you were carrying by now."
"What?"
Scratch 'not obviously insane'.
"I haven't slept with anyone since I was- rightfully imprisoned! I can't be carrying!" Even if it would explain why he seemed to always crave energon these days. Still, it was quite impossible.
"That's not something to brag about." Mixmaster snickered. "Get the kit, Long Haul! It's time for a paternity test!"
Onslaught submitted to the paternity test with dignity. Perhaps knowing who had done this to him would make it more explicable. Then he could try to sic Motormaster on them. Of course, he hadn't ruled out the possibility the Constructicons were playing a sadistic joke on him for their own obscure reasons.
He'd never carried before. He wasn't entirely sure he'd even sired before. They'd all been so busy with the War... He couldn't even remember the faces of any mech he'd tumbled besides Arbiter. But the little motorcycle had been high-class, posh, not the usual mechs of ill-repute or drunken fellow officers. He had courted Arbiter. Or perhaps he had been courted by Arbiter.
This had to be longer than necessary for a paternity test. "Well?"
"The, ah, results don't make sense," Scavenger said, peeking up at him.
Long Haul snapped his fingers. "The human."
Hook look repulsed. "Despite his carrying on with a squishie for... far too long, that is not going to activate his internal factories."
Onslaught folded his hands in his lap and thought happy thoughts of ripping the Constructicons limb from limb. He was used to this talk from people who didn't look past Susan's fleshiness to the true Cybertronian spirit imprisoned inside. They would, of course, suffer when she was properly introduced to her place in the universe.
"Be that as it may," Scrapper said, cutting through the Constructicons' squabbling, "He is carrying five younglings. Since the problem isn't going to solve itself, we'll just have to keep him under close observation."
"An' increase his energon ration," Long Haul grumbled. "You know Soundwave's going to bitch about that."
"Ooh!" Mixmaster giggled. "Can I tell him about carrying policies and procedures? Can I?"
That sounded... worryingly official. "I am capable of reading the manual just the same as anyone else..."
"Which is why there are policies and procedures," Scrapper said drily.
"Capable doesn't mean you will," Mixmaster added almost maliciously. "Don't worry, though! I have diagrams."
***
The next time he had leave, he flew to Susan's dig site in South America. His arrival sent fleshlings scattering, and his lady climbed out of the trench she had been digging in. He took a moment to study her, noting Swindle's gun holstered on her thigh, and the dirt smudged on her clothes and body. She worked, just as any of her minions did. A proper officer, not like Starscream but like himself.
"Onslaught." She pressed her hands on her hips, squinting up at him despite the sun at his back. "Is there any reason you're frightening my workers? You usually call ahead."
"We need to talk," he said then scooped her up and flew off. She was a delicate thing in his hands, delicate and irate.
He settled down on an empty beach and set her on his knee. She cursed and ranted, her heel clanging against his metal when she wanted to particularly emphasize a point. Her expressions were typically human, almost exaggerated to the point of repulsiveness. But her voice, her words, her utter fearlessness-
The gun she carried could hurt him, if she cared to use it. And, he noticed, her right hand always seemed to be in the vicinity of it.
Smart woman.
"I am carrying," he interrupted. "Five, I am told. The father has yet to be identified."
"... You're what?"
"Carrying. I will bear children in a few years' time."
Susan's legs seemed to collapse out from under her, and she wound up seated on his knee, staring up at him with eyes no brighter or dimmer than before. "My evil giant robot boyfriend is pregnant?"
"Yes..." he said carefully. "A human would call it that."
"And you don't even know who the father is? How many people are you sleeping with, Onslaught?!"
He stiffened. "The only being I have... engaged in amatory activities with since I came to Earth is you."
Susan crossed her arms and glared up at him. "That makes no sense."
"Agreed. However, it is unfortunately true."
She patted his metal, and he let the soft taps attempt to soothe him. "How long has this been going on?"
"Twelve months and eleven days, for certain," he replied. "I first began to notice the drain ten months and thirty days ago. Since there is a minimum amount of time in any term where the younglings are first forming and haven't yet started to drain energy from their parent, it was simply a matter of working backwards from there."
Susan nodded. "-We were in Jordan a year ago. Remember that fight with the Protectobots?"
Onslaught nodded, one hand clenching into a fist. Oh, he had repaid the boy a hundredfold for blasting him like that. But another chance to drub him would not be amiss.
"You and Hot Spot destroyed the Holy of Holies-"
"I apologized for that!"
"-dedicated to Nikkal," Susan said, plowing over him, her expression gone all strange. "She's an agricultural goddess, specifically of orchards. 'Great Lady and Fruitful'."
He stared at her.
"You are being fruitful," she murmured, turning her face away.
"But I'm not having a child with Hot Spot!" he protested. "The paternity results don't even make sense for an Autobot!"
Two small hands touched his, and he saw the ends of her hair burning, sensed the stink of her fear. Where was her gun, he wanted to demand of her-
There was light.
"... the Constructicons did say you might be the father."
Susan gave him a dubious look. "Are you sure they're not just crazy?"
"Oh, they're not just crazy. Unfortunately." He exhaled air through his vents in a sigh. "Well, we have two more years before they'll even begin to cut their way out. Who knows, maybe I'll get hit with enough battle damages to kill them."
"Onslaught." She glared up at him. "If you don't want them, can't you just... cancel their programs?"
He did want them. It was stupid and selfish of him with their energon so depleted, but he wanted them. He wanted to see what was being made of him- and of Susan.
"I am a soldier," he said quietly. "These are the risks I must take."
"I despise your war." She buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders shook. He could sense the bitter salt of her tears, and he didn't know what to do. She made him so helpless sometimes.
He wanted to hold her, press his face against her and listen to the subtle pulse of her body's systems. He rather thought she'd shoot him if he tried.
"We will see it ended in your lifetime," he promised. Without confiding in her that he planned for her to live much longer than any filthy human.
-End-