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He lounges on his throne, presiding over the court of Arrancar from on high. As is his wont, Aizen leans his cheek upon one hand, his elbow resting on the bone white stone. On the other hand, he holds a length of black leather. The leather trails down beside his leg, where it attaches to a metal band.
This steely band is without apparent opening, designed by him for this use alone. It is eternally closed around the throat of the frail little figure who kneels becomingly at his feet. The lovely little creature is clad in a short, silken nightgown. It, too, is black. While the ruler of Hueco Mundo wears white, as do his Espada, the soul reapers he took captive upon the fall of the Soul King are allowed only unrelieved black. It is the color of their uniform, after all, and what they wore when they stood against him.
Of course, not all is exactly as it seems. The Soul King is not dead, but held somewhere Sousuke alone knows.
And while darling little Momo looks to be his demure pet, she hates him with a passion borne from the purest love turned sour.
He doesn’t mind. It makes her submission all the sweeter.
Long fingers comb through her loose, dark hair, and she turns to favor him with buried loathing in eyes the brown of fertile soil. Everything about her speaks of femininity, from the curves that are only beginning to soften her slight form, to the proportions of her finely hewn features. Once she had loved him so unconditionally she’d have thrown herself at his feet or in his bed, if that’s what he wanted.
It amuses him to remind her of that with her new position as his pet, and he wonders if it rankles her to see the Inoue girl in his bed. There’s a ripe beauty. Though Momo has her on years in the technical sense, Orihime has recently come into adulthood, and was curvaceous from a surprisingly young age. His pretty little princess high up in her tower.
How long has she been kept by him, now? She, having come to him of her own foolish volition, wears the black-lined white of his court, though it’s more of a joke than anything. However, she fills out her uniform rather nicely. It’s what had first drawn him to the idea that, in the future, she could be more than a silly little schoolgirl.
He has his Cuatro Espada to thank for her willingness. Sousuke doesn’t know exactly how Ulquiorra won Orihime’s devotion, but she would do anything he asks of her, and if he wants her to bow to Aizen’s whims, then she will gladly do so.
As a reward, Aizen ensures she spends some moments with his most trusted servant.
Struck with a sudden urge to see his pet stained by mortification, Sousuke stands. She knows better by now to attempt the same. The first three months of her captivity were spent in training for this purpose, and she has endured many punishments whenever she forgot, or, more often, acted out.
The things Momo would do to avoid his rougher Espada…
He begins to descend the stairs, the leash pulling taut before a soft sigh sounds from behind him and his pet follows. She loathes crawling down, from the way the silk clings and rides up her body, to the awkwardness of descent on all fours, but she has learned it’s better to do it before he commands it of her. Or before he tugs her along, choking against the unyielding metal that renders her a powerless pet.
He isn’t always cruel; for now, his footsteps are unhurried through the echoing halls of his palace. This allows Momo the chance to keep up despite being more than a foot taller than her. Occasionally, they pass an Arrancar in the halls. There is Nnoitra, the flicker of his prehensile tongue at the sight of Aizen’s pet sending a notable shiver from Momo up the leash. He is one of the more perverse Espada, but only one of the top three of whom Momo is afraid.
When she realizes just where they are headed, she knows she will be seeing at least one of the other two.
Szayel Apporo turns to welcome Aizen when he enters the laboratory. Sousuke surveys the room to see what experiments the scientist is working on, and a soft smile crosses his features when he spots the other of the three who terrifies his pet.
Which of the two she fears most is up for debate. Luppi is perverse, and his tentacle-like appendages make for interesting torment, but Szayel Aporro Granz has a sadism honed by curiosity and a lust for knowledge. He has commented perhaps once in a way that implies he has the same desires as other men, but Aizen suspects he thinks of them as a weakness of the flesh.
Whether he has ever indulged, the king of Haueco Mundo doesn’t know.
Sousuke stands near a wall as Szayel Aporro begins going over his experiments, but he pays only cursory attention. The purpose of his visit is mostly to toy with Momo, who wraps an arm around one of his calves and half-hides against him.
Luppi rises from his seat and saunters toward master and pet, kneeling down to favor Momo with a catlike grin. He is all tooth and claw as he says, “Why, if it isn’t my favorite little mouse. Don’t you look cute today, Momo.”
She turns her face against the cloth.
“Momo,” Aizen admonishes in his ever-patient, ever-gentle voice. “It’s rude to ignore others.”
She gazes up at him, eyes wide and cheeks stained crimson, and so pathetically scared is she that she forgets to pour her hatred behind her expression. She really is adorable like this. How many times had he envisioned it when she was still his trusted lieutenant?
Whenever the girl would come to him, batting those doe eyes, begging for his attention, he had the desire to wrap something around her throat— his hands when in particular moods, a collar in others— to put her in her place. It was almost a shame he had to kill her.
He’s glad that particular aspect of his plan failed. It had been an attempt at kindness, since long after his betrayal, she had still loved her former captain. He hadn’t wanted her to suffer more than necessary (that was a lie; Aizen reveled in her suffering despite his intention), so had orchestrated to put her down more than once. More than once, he had failed.
It happened that the price of his failure this time is to keep his dear girl exactly where she belongs.
“I’m sorry, captain.” He nearly purrs, hearing the rank fall from her lips. It’s an indulgence he readily allows himself, making Momo call him by the title by which she loved him.
He tangles his fingers in her loose hair, relishing how it has grown since he collared her. “It’s not me you should apologize to, dear.”
She huffs, but turns that bashful glare toward the small Espada. “I’m sorry, Luppi.”
His grin widens, and Luppi reaches out to tickle under her chin. “It’s alright, Momo. You know I can’t stay mad at you.” He stands, hands behind his back, and asks, “Can Momo and I play, Lord Aizen?”
Sousuke pretends to consider it, then nods and hands over the leash. “You will not leave the laboratory, nor will you disturb Szayel Aporro’s experiments.”
Luppi thanks him, tugging the leash so Momo scurries on her hands and knees to follow. They look like a pair of children playing pretend.
The reason for the dark haired Espada’s presence is revealed to Sousuke when a machine beeps. Szayel Aporro types a few commands, and the opaque cover of a gurney-length machine whirs upward. There, limbs and torso and throat all strapped down, is Rangiku Matsumoto, her large breasts jiggling with the force of her gulping breaths.
Luppi had taken a liking to the soul reaper. Thus, when he was assigning who would be responsible for which prisoners, Sousuke was glad to put him over her. She is an attractive specimen, though he has no particular interest in airheaded lushes.
Well, there is no accounting for some people’s taste.
Take Gin, for instance. His former second in command had crafted his sneaky little plan all out of love for the redhead. Intelligent, handsome, powerful, Gin could have had nearly anyone he wanted. Now, he watches as the only one he loves is used by others.
How pathetic.
“I gather attempts are still unsuccessful.” Sousuke eyes the sweat pooling in the hollow of her stomach, almost tempted to drag a hand through it, to touch her soft, slick flesh.
The scientist pushes up the frame that is the remnants of his Hollow mask, reminiscent of the glasses Sousuke once used to make himself more disarming. So easily manipulated, those soul reapers he now owns. “I’m afraid not. Here I’m attempting to administer the drugs via inhalation, to see if that lowers the likelihood of rejection. I still think that our best chances are using an artificial—”
Sousuke’s lifted hand stops him mid sentence. “If we are still unsuccessful in another two years, I will consider that option. For now, I would rather continue with live hosts.”
Szayel Aporro nods. “As you wish, my lord.” He hesitates, clears his throat, then adds, “We might have more luck with those from the living realm. The Kurosaki man bred with a woman there, albeit using a gigai, but those aren’t known to be fertile either.”
Aizen considers that. It’s true that the former soul reaper managed to beget three children by way of his deceased wife, fairly strong ones for the most part. This boded well for, say, impregnating Orihime himself, should he desire an heir. However, can the same be said for Ulquiorra?
“How many specimens do we have from that world?” he asks, despite knowing as well as the scientist.
Szayel Aporro taps at his computer. “Four. However, I am uncertain of the current childbearing potential of the Kurosaki twins. They are quite young. It has risks, even if they have begun menstruating.”
“Hm.” Beyond the pink haired Espada, Luppi is forcing Momo to participate in some obedience challenges. Heat flares when he sees the girl on her knees, hands in front of her as though she is a begging dog, tongue lolling out of her panting mouth. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of seeing her so degraded. “The weaker one, the blonde. Check her viability first. We will save the stronger one for later attempts. After all, we can acquire more of the living if we absolutely must.”
“Yes, my lord,” answers Szayel Aporro, already gleaning through the information about Yuzu Kurosaki.
“In the meantime, the Quincy boy can attempt with both Arrancar and soul reapers.” This receives a swift nod.
On the table, Rangiku is beginning to stir, wrinkles forming between her pinched brows. Much as he’s enjoying himself, he finds even the woman’s voice detestable.
“Luppi.” His Espada glances up from the game, a put-out sigh heaving his chest before the playful Arrancar drags Momo back to her master. “Thank Luppi for playing with you, Momo.”
Tears of humiliation slip down crimson cheeks. “Thank you,” she grits out. “Goodbye.”
How precious she is when she pouts.
Aizen guides his little lieutenant-turned-puppy toward his chambers. They’re empty at this time of day; Ulquiorra has Orihime, probably taking the languishing girl out for a walk. Momo freezes when the door comes into sight. She doesn’t like his bedroom, where she sleeps either at the foot of his bed or beside it on the floor, where she often sees and hears his carnal delights, where there is no chance of anyone else happening upon them.
Beyond the three Espada, despite her hateful glares, at her heart, she is still his creature. He can see it hovering behind the still lakes of her eyes at times, can read it in the sorrow that flashes across her youthful features. She is terrified of that more than anything.
“Momo,” he says in low warning. The pitiful whimper stuck in her throat is as beautiful as her flash of sorrow that is quick as lightning across her face. She hangs her head a little lower and follows obediently into the room.
Aizen strides to his bed, then gestures at her to sit. It was fun to teach her all of the nonverbal commands a real dog would follow. And Momo kneels, gaze downturned when he reaches to free the leash from her collar. He coils the length of leather and sets it on the small bedside table.
“Did you enjoy your time with Luppi?” The line of her mouth straightens and firms, lashes flutter as she steadily avoids his gaze. He tuts. “I do try with you, Momo, but you enjoy being difficult. Whatever happened to the good little lieutenant who would follow me to the ends of time and space?”
“You killed her.”
There’s that petulant tone that so amuses him. “Indeed.” Sousuke cups her tender jaw and tips her face upward so she’s forced to meet his gaze. He leans forward, his own lips quirked in his gentlest smile. “Shall I show you another kind of death?”
Beautiful Momo, innocent Momo, as pure as the driven snow and once as light and sparkling, trembles in his hand.