DBZ X-Readers

Frieza x Reader Pt. 17 'Fight Club'

*Frieza's POV*

"Kuriza? What's wrong? Where's (y/n)?"

"S-she's gone..."

"What?!"

"G-grandpa...he came a-and...gave me something to m-make me sleep...a-and he sent mama away...w-w-with Al-gid..."

My fist clenched.

"Did he say where?"

"N-no, I was asleep then."

The minion holding him looked up at me fearfully, no doubt expecting me to kill him. But I stood straight and wiped all emotion from my face.

"(Minion's name)," I said, "Do me a favor and keep a sharper eye on Kuriza than you usually do. If father comes to visit again, which I very much doubt he will, make some excuse. Kuriza, if your grandfather shows up again--"

"Pretend I'm sick!" Kuriza burst out.

"Yes. That."

"Are you going to bring mama back?"

"Yes."

"But what...what if grandpa takes her away again?"

He looked so sad, and I took him from (m/n) a bit awkwardly. "I'll make sure he's never able to do it again. Do you know what happens to people who take things from me that I want to keep?"

Kuriza stuck his thumb in his mouth. "They go boom."

"Yes," I chuckled, "They go boom."

_____________________________________________

*Your POV*

"In this corner...the reigning champion, the duke of destruction, the pride of the Black Rings....Namin the Rookie-Breaker!"

The announcer then turned to the other corner while applause rang from the low-lighted crowd.

"And in this corner, we have the simian survivor, the up-and-coming woman with a fist as hard as her heart, let's hear it for (y/n)!"

You spit, and raised your fists as the bell sounded.

It had been a couple weeks or so, and you were, well, surviving. It'd been tough at first, certainly, but...

But you'd clawed your way up, moving from a series of one-day odd jobs to an underground fight ring. It wasn't the best job in the world, but you were making a decent living and didn't have to stand on a streetcorner somewhere. You weren't in the nicest house, but Algid had everything he needed...and that was enough for you.

Despite how weak you'd gotten, you were still stronger than the average person, and it'd served you pretty well. Now and again you lost a fight, but overall you were happy with it. As happy as you could be with all that had happened lately, anyway.

Namin swung at you, but you ducked under his arm, smirking at the advantage that his height gave you. But you wasted no time and brought you brought your fist up solidly against his side, just under the ribs. Momentarily he cringed, but he turned quickly around and clocked you in the side of the head.

You stumbled and fell back when he hit you again.

"You hit like a girl!" you shouted, ducking under his second hit and striking him as hard as you could across the jaw.

You heard a crack, and advanced on him, aiming first one blow and then another at his face, until finally, he shouted that he was forfeiting.

"I give up!" he said, "That's it, you win, game over. Geez, I didn't know chicks could hit this hard..." his face was beginning to swell and you could see more than one bruise beginning to form as he stood and was lead away by a couple of his friends.

The crowd started cheering, and you bowed (after, of course, wiping the sweat from your forehead and blood from your hands), soaking in the admiration, the noise...

And as usual, you left with your cut of the bets and went straight home.

You shared your house with another woman who had several children of her own, and who offered to care for Algid during your fights. While she didn't like what you were doing, she understood that you were only doing it for his sake, and so turned a blind eye.

"Didn't get hit too bad, did you, (y/n)?" (second friend's name) asked.

"No, no, I'm fine. Did he behave?"

"He chewed on his tail a lot!" one of her children said, "Is that normal?"

"Yes," you said, taking Algid from (sf/n), "It means he's nervous."

Algid looked up at you and hiccuped.

You smiled at him and took him off to the room the two of you shared, stroking his little face.

"Did you really behave today? Or have you been naughty like your daddy is sometimes?"

"Aaafwwwwaaa."

"Oh, that bad?" you laughed as you changed his diaper. "You're going to be in so much trouble when he comes by again."

You started to give him a bottle but he seemed to refuse it.

"Come on, now," you said, "You've got to get used to the bottle eventually."

"Anmmmaaaaaaaaaa!"

"I know you...don't give me that look."

Algid blinked.

"Fine, then. But just today..."

_____________________________________________________

The next two days were rough, to say the least.

You had a hard string of fights that you'd barely won, Algid was apparently already teething--you had noticed while feeding him the other day that his gums were different and when you touched the bit in front, felt a sort of hard surface forming under it. You had thought it was early, but...well, it was just more incentive to get him on the bottle.

He seemed to cry far more often after you came home as well, and you weren't just tired from the fight today; you were deprived of sleep. You were hoping he would be quieter this evening than before.

You were coming out the bathroom door, drying your hair with a towel (and being very grateful that the fights here included the benefit of using their showers) when you noticed some of the others gathered around a TV in the back corner.

"What's going on?" you asked, walking closer.

"Shh," one of the fighters said, "Watch."

You pulled up a folding chair and sat to look.

There was a camera shakily being aimed around a white pillar, and at the bottom of the screen was the news ticker, dominated by one single headline, 'Royal Upset! Prince Challenges King.'

"I'm coming to you live from the court of King Cold," came the whispered tone of the reporter.

"I'm sorry, Mier, we're having some trouble hearing you, why don't you talk a bit louder?" the anchor said.

"I don't want to die. For gods' sake, I'm deep-throating the mic," Mier answered. "It appears there's a coup in progress. Here, I'll try and get a better shot..."

There was the sound of breathing that you would dare call hyperventilating, and the angle got better. First the camera focused on Frieza--standing in his final form, glaring up the steps to the throne. Then it shifted to King Cold, who was glaring right back.