Epilogue Extended
December 25th, 1989
(Christmas Day)
Abruptly, another contraction hit her, urging her to pass the afterbirth and she numbly went along with it, expelling the bloody clumped mess of nerves before passing out from her understandable exhaustion.
The clump of dark red and pale yellow veins and hormone-producing sacs dribbled from his mate’s gaping snatch, falling bloodily into his waiting hands that fumbled to catch the organ in its entirety. Crimson dripped from his fingers and he moaned at its warmth, raising the placenta to his red painted mouth and biting into the juicy flesh.
Flavor exploded in his mouth and he sucked on the bitten piece, ensuring that not a single drop found its way outside his sharp-toothed maw. His knife-like incisors shredded the chunk of nerves away from the soft mass, and his head lurched back to swallow fully, his deadlights preening with eagerness and hunger as they set to work on slowly metabolizing his mate’s rejected organ, the organ that his young fed from.
Oh, yes, he could feel their lingering feedings of glucose and hormones, their watery breaths echoing within the visceral blood inside each of the four chambers’ membranes. In fact, he could taste each child’s respective tubes and pick them perfectly.
Hugo’s was currently in his mouth, the scent of maleness, peaches, and what felt similar to Hermione’s magic buzzing around his deadlights, exciting them, urging him to feast further, to channel Saturn as he feasted on his children, consuming them to keep them from usurping his authority.
However, this felt different. He awaited his young’s arrival for so long, and now that they were here only a mere few meters away, he wanted to consume what he coveted, so that it would never be apart from him again. He knew his young would grow, and deep down, he felt there was no better way to keep a piece of them inside him than to eat the thing that tethered them to his mate, allowed them to feed, and allowed them to grow.
Blood and saliva dripped down his chin, dropping provocatively onto his hardening cock and writhing tentacles. Their cooling droplets decorated the pale bumpy flesh and slipped down to the folds of his sheath to ornament his deflated knot.
The placenta made a squishing sound between his teeth, gushing more blood with every bite. He moaned at the depravity, not even considering his unconscious mate as he sucked on the peach-flavored organ. Jagged teeth shredded another piece into his mouth and his head fell back to swallow, the clown’s adam’s apple lurching fulling along his esophagus as it accommodated the nerves’ descent into his bright gullet.
Again and again, sucking, shredding, and swallowing became a pattern for him over the following minutes, his own blood singing to rut again after such a successful breeding. He’d done what every male eldritch abomination wanted to do: sire a clutch with his mate, and now he was reaffirming his connection with his young by eating a piece of their link to their dam.
To Pennywise’s immense disappointment, the rest of the placenta was gone before he knew it, leaving him to sulk with only his bloody skin to remind him of what he’d done. His dark, dexterous tongue lapped at his guilty digits, pulling them into his mouth and suckling on each one until the pure untainted flavors of his mate and children were gone from him.
Chasing the red drops along his skin, the clown tuned out the sound and feeling of his bones snapping and cracking as he bent part of his back forward, using his tongue to wrap sinfully around his blood-covered cock. He whined at the taste, arching himself further and beginning to lap as his genitals like a cat, sticking his leg up into the air and curling around himself.
His hips jerked wantonly, a result of his mounting arousal. Moaning, he began to thrust into his mouth, sucking on the reddened skin with his eager painted lips. The bed shuddered underneath his jerky movements, making his mate twitch in her sleep, spreading her legs wider as they fell open before him.
Pennywise froze, his nose flaring, catching the source of the flavor. He grinned, unfurling from his impossible position and feeling his bones snap back into place. Hermione was completely unconscious, and likely would remain so for the rest of the night. Aside from being very injured, he couldn’t see the possibility of her waking under his tongue’s lashing at her hole.
Eagerly, he stroked the length of her battered entrance with a gentle swipe of his tongue, leading himself up into the cropped blood-stained hair hiding her little clit from him. Pennywise suckled on the little bud, making the witch’s pelvis jump. He held her down as he cleaned around her little pearl, nibbling on her skin and kissing the newly-cleaned areas. Hermione whined in her sleep, leaking a bit of clear fluid as it mixed with the remaining blood in her channel.
Pennywise immediately noticed, kissing his way to her opening and sticking his tongue inside. He swirled his appendage around her innards, cleaning her channel of blood and assisting his mate with contracting it back to its original tight size. Hermione whined once more, rolling her hips and finding that her innards became less and less painful as her mate worked his tongue up into her womb, sucking up the remaining blood and fluids left over by their young.
His large hands gripped her youthful hips as he continued to harass her genitals with his tongue, lips, teeth. Hermione slept on, twitching and whimpering as he worked her further and further into pleasure. He could almost taste her oncoming flood of clear filmy arousal.
“Yes, my Hermione… Our family has grown tonight, and I want to reward you for being such a good mate, a good mother… Now come for me,” he cooed against her clit, flicking it erratically with his tongue as Hermione’s unconscious body arched in pleasure. His own arousal had also finally had enough, spitting dark tar onto the sheets underneath them.
Pennywise caught her before she fell or awoken, gliding her back down to the mattress and cleaning her of the mess she’d made. He licked all around her sloppy hole, erasing all traces of blood and cum, including her shapely arse. Then, he took a quick shower, taking only enough time to sterilize his skin so he could hold his children without risking their health. Since he also had the time, he carefully dabbed Hermione’s skin with a sponge, cleansing her of lingering sweat, blood, and tear tracks.
The sheets were cleaned, sent down to the laundry along with all the other ruined towels and cloths he wished he would have spent the time cleaning with his tongue. Although, Hermione’s comfort meant more to him in that moment. It felt satisfying to lay her down on the fresh and warm linen sheets, watching her croon and curl herself into a little ball as she took in the smells of detergent. What could he say? She’d taught him to be human rather well. He moved to join her but a little whine caught his sensitive ears.
Pennywise strode over to the cribs across the room, head swivelling to catch which of his pups was becoming unhappy with their current conditions. Rose immediately stood out to him, her face scrunched and limbs trying to break free of their blanketed confines. The clown immediately began to purr, trying to express feelings of calmness through his torso as he plucked her out of her crib and held her to his naked chest with both hands.
“It’s okay, pup,” he rasped, nuzzling her temple with his red-tipped nose and brushing her brown wisps of hair with his fingers, “Daddy’s got you.”
Rose whimpered and wiggled, urging her father to unwrap her from her towel. Pennywise did so, immediately focusing on her tiny hands as they balled into fists up near her head. He sat, laying the towel over his bent legs and laying her on top along his thighs. The clown leaned forward, watching his eldest child silently discover his face in the dimmer lighting of the room.
“There we go… Now, you can move all you want,” he grinned at Rose’s sudden kicking against his lingering hand, “Easy, easy, little one. You don’t have to fight me…”
Her little eyes were still so vague in color, but he knew they would darken into the shade of her mother’s whisky irises. Nevertheless, they widened as they traced the red paint on his face. Hermione had told him that red is the first color babies recognize. She’d gotten that piece of information from one of her baby books she’d been reading obsessively over the last few months. He doubted Rose could even decipher red at her age, but soon enough, she’d get to know the hue very well.
“Let’s get a look at you, now… make sure you are healing alright… Mummy would be very upset if I let you get sick.”
Unbuttoning her onesie, he checked on her snipped cord, noticing nothing out of the ordinary and buttoning her back up. The temporary chill seemed to break Rose’s fascination with her father’s face, as she immediately began whimpering again.
“Oh, no, no, no… Shh… Hush, little mouse. Let’s get you fed again,” Pennywise shushed her, using his mind to conjure one of the many bottles Hermione had purchased for their young.
Gingerly, he filled it with the milk he’d wrangled from his mate and placed a rubber nipple onto the top, angling towards Rose’s mouth. Like before, she immediately latched on, suckling eagerly and reaching for the edges of the bottle with uncoordinated hands. Pennywise chuckled quietly, bringing his dark fingers to her grasping ones and brushing them against her palms. Reflexively, Rose gripped her father’s long fingers, locking them inside her balled fists. His thumb rubbed along her tiny knuckles, delighting in their smoothness and warmth. He bent down to kiss them both, happy with his daughter’s contented mood.
Another emerging wail came from the other crib and he jerked his head to the side, allowing his other four limbs to emerge fluidly like dark tentacles from his back. They curled up around the rim of the crib and climbed in to wrap around the conscious baby and bring him out to lay against the clown’s chest.
“Shh… Junior… This is unbecoming of a little eater of worlds,” he joked, stroking his son’s fingers and head with his silky tendrils.
Robert sniffled and coughed against his father’s tentacles but ultimately calmed once he began to purr. The vibrations worked their way into the boy’s core, soothing his deadlights to the point where his endless thirst was managed for the moment.
His little eyes were a shining amber, glinting hungrily in the dark in a startling reflection of his father’s. When he yawned a second later, a little bit of light emerged, momentarily shedding more brightness onto the clown’s pale fissured chest before closing his mouth and whimpering, seeking the same freedom given to his older sister.
Pennywise kissed his son’s head, using his secondary set of arms to unwrap him from his confines and check on his naked torso. The lack of a belly button threw him off at first, as Robert looked so human at first glance, but being born from an egg sac changed such things. As with Rose, he brought a second bottle of milk to his wavering mouth, only having to brush his cheek once before his son got the idea to start rooting for his mother’s fulfilling milk.
“There we go, my little cub… Feast on your dam’s sweet milk and satisfy your hunger for fear… It doesn’t get any better than this, Junior. When you get your own mate and make them leak, you’ll understand,” Pennywise winked, soothingly running his fingers over his son’s bare tummy.
With two of his pups laying against him, he couldn’t help but shed a tear, using one hand to feed them and another to pet them. He felt bad stealing this essential contact from Hermione, but he couldn’t bear waking her up while she was in such an exhausted state. After all, he was more than happy to spend more time with their brood.
Hugo began to cry a few minutes later, and Pennywise eagerly reached into his crib with his tertiary set of arms and curled around him, molding the smaller boy to his back and cocking his head around one-hundred-eighty degrees to survey him.
“What’s the matter, my sweet little prince? Daddy’s got you, now…”
His eldest son had already curled into himself, whimpering as the clown adjusted him into lying just underneath his younger brother. Now, draped across his father’s torso, he lay peacefully in his large hand, waiting to be freed from the towel he was swaddled in.
Pennywise purred louder, using his free tertiary hand to unwrap Hugo from his towel and check on his frail human torso. Like Rose, he immediately protested the feeling of air on his skin, whimpering until his father buttoned him back up in his onesie.
“Shh… It’s okay, Hugo… Let’s get you fed and warm again…”
Another bottle was dipped into the pail of milk and its rubber nipple gently coerced into his eldest son’s mouth. Thankfully, he drank a few minutes before beginning to cough. Pennywise startled, quickly raising him to his shoulder and patting his back until his coughing subsided.
Hugo whined in his stiff grasp as he was brought back to lay against the clown’s lower torso, his vocalizations growing louder as the bottle was coerced back into his mouth. Taking the offending instrument away, he brought his son up to his face and the baby calmed, staring at his father’s bright worried eyes and sloping features.
A little purr emerged from Hugo’s chest, surprisingly the only physical eldritch characteristic the boy had. Pennywise smiled despite himself, bringing his son closer and resting him against his face. His painted nose explored his son’s tiny neck and twig-like limbs, snuffling humorously at his tiny toes that curled once he brushed the arches of his tiny little feet with his tongue.
Hugo cooed when his father’s tongue brushed the skin of his knuckles and cheeks, cleansed his neck and forehead, and lapped at his brown wisps until they stood up in a tufty cowlick.
Meanwhile, Rose and Robert still sipped from their bottles, the latter’s getting refilled by another of their father’s six hands and placed back in the young boy’s mouth. Pennywise purred at his three young, reaching another arm behind him to gently pluck his silent child from her crib.
He held Penny against his side, looked down at her tiny body and noticing her little eyes open and watching him right back. His smile widened at the sight and he brought her up to press a kiss to her forehead, “Wide awake, my little bug?”
Penny seemed to frown at his patronizing tone, shuffling irritatedly at her confines like her older siblings.
“Okay, pup. Be patient, sweetheart,” he crooned at her, removing the towel entirely and letting her rest fully in his dark hand, “Are you hungry?”
Immediately an image of a full bottle of milk filled his vision and he chuckled quietly, preparing his youngest’s light meal with his thankfully free hand and raising the warm bottle against her pursing lips.
Penny latched onto the rubber nipple, the sounds of her feeding joined Rose’s and Robert’s and Hugo whimpered against his head, grasping his red tufts within his little fists. He raised Hugo’s bottle up to his mouth and the picky boy took a few more sips, suckling periodically before laying passively on top of his father’s head, curled within the fiery locks. Pennywise smiled at him, allowing his hair to come to life and hold him securely inside their blanket-like nest of tendrils.
“Sleep, my son… for you will not be able to lay within my hair for long… You will soon grow to be a big strong wizard with magic just like your dam,” he chittered to his son in his eldritch tongue, bringing the bottle away from him and delighting in his nasally snores.
Rose was slowing in her own suckles and barely even noticed when Pennywise set her bottle aside and brought her to lay in his arms like Robert and Penny. He kissed her little head once more, envisioning her growing into a smaller version of his mate but with just a little bit of him in her. Perhaps she would grow to have his nose, or sense of humor, or even his ability to contort himself. She could become talented in gymnastics, and it would be something positive that he contributed to because try as she might, Hermione wasn’t as flexible as he was.
Pennywise looked over to Robert, wishing the opposite. He hoped his mate’s genes had more of an influence than his did, perhaps shaping his mind and personality rather than his appearance and abilities. He’d still be an eldritch, nevertheless, but that didn’t mean he’d turn out like he did in his own youth. He could be polite, unselfish in his desire to feast on fear, and not let his gluttony consume him.
Now, however, he was a little pup snug in his cradling hand, blissfully unaware of what made him different than his siblings and every other human being. Pennywise booped his little nose, delighting in how it made his son scrunch it up whilst he still fed on his mother’s immensely emotionally charged milk. Hermione had been feeling so many things during their most recent mating and throughout the birth that he’d be surprised if Robert didn’t grow larger over the next day or so. In fact, he couldn’t wait to sample the white creamy liquid himself once his young had their fill.
Penny blubbered around her emptied bottle, clearly ready to be put back to bed. She sent her father an image of a water balloon and he giggled, noticing the similarities between the bloated rubber sac and his daughter’s slightly distended stomach. Pennywise rubbed her cheek before rubbing her stomach in large slow circles, “Did you eat too much, little one? You are just like your mother… always eating too much for her tiny body… You’ll burst like a tick if you do that too much, little bug,” he cooed at her, laughing as she kicked at him in protest, “You’ve only brought this on yourself, you know?”
Pennywise smiled as she fell asleep, looking at his other children and noticing that they’d done the same, curling into him for warmth and comfort in a way he’d never associated with his current form. The clown smiled, shifting between sharp and buck teeth as he eyed the pail next to him and conjured a straw, “Sleep tight, my little bugs.”