this is where you will find all chapters of my story!, I will keep adding the chapters here as I go !

Are you guys enjoying it so far ?

Intro

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67

chapter 73

Punk had been driving for about an hour, his focus on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gear shift. Daisy, now fever-free and feeling a lot better, was slouched in the passenger seat, but she wasn't looking at the road.

She was looking at him.

She couldn't help it. Every time she looked over, her eyes were glued to him—the way his jawline looked even sharper now, the way his shorter hair made him seem meaner, more intense, the way she could see the muscles in his forearms flexing as he gripped the steering wheel.

God, he looked so fucking good.

"You know," she started casually, leaning her head against the seat, "I really can't get over how hot you look right now."

Punk scoffed, his eyes still on the road. "You've been saying that since I cut it, Daisy."

"And I'll keep saying it," she shot back. "Because it's true."

Punk sighed. "Are you just gonna spend this whole drive hyping me up?"

Daisy smirked, turning slightly in her seat to face him. "No," she said innocently. "At some point, I'm gonna start telling you exactly what I want to do to you because of it."

Punk's fingers tightened on the wheel.

"Daisy—"

"What?" she said sweetly, leaning in a little closer. "I just think it's crazy how one little haircut made me want to crawl into your lap and ride you until you forget your own name."

Punk choked on absolutely nothing.

Daisy grinned, watching as he shifted in his seat, his grip on the wheel visibly tightening.

"I mean, I always thought you were hot," she continued, tapping a finger against her lips, "but this? Punk, I don't think you understand. I'm feral over this haircut."

"Jesus Christ, Daisy," Punk muttered under his breath, shifting again like he was trying to adjust himself.

Daisy noticed. And it only encouraged her.

"Like, I just keep thinking about how good it would feel if I grabbed the back of your head while you were going down on me," she sighed, tilting her head as if she were just innocently having a conversation. "How rough it would feel against my thighs when you—"

"Daisy, I swear to God—"

"Or maybe," she interrupted, her voice dropping, "I just want to pull on it while you fuck me from behind, you know? Just to see if you'd growl or moan—"

Punk slammed his hand against the steering wheel.

"Do you want me to crash this fucking car?" he snapped, his voice strained.

Daisy just laughed, absolutely delighted by how worked up he was getting.

"Relax, Punk," she teased. "I'm just talking."

Punk shot her a look, his jaw clenched. "You're fucking evil, you know that?"

Daisy smirked, stretching out in her seat. "You love it."

Punk exhaled hard, shifting again.

And that's when Daisy noticed it.

The very noticeable bulge in his jeans.

Oh.

Her smirk grew.

"You know," she said, voice syrupy sweet, "if it's really bothering you, I could always help you out while you drive."

Punk groaned loudly, shaking his head. "Absolutely the fuck not—"

But the way his hands shook against the wheel?

Daisy knew she got him.

Punk sucked in a breath the second Daisy's hand made contact, her palm pressing against the bulge in his jeans.

"Daisy—" His voice was a warning, strained and tight, but it lacked any real conviction.

She just smiled, feigning innocence as she slowly rubbed him through the denim, feeling how hard he already was beneath her palm.

"What?" she asked sweetly, tilting her head. "You seem a little tense. I just wanna help you relax."

Punk's grip on the steering wheel tightened to the point his knuckles were white.

"You're fucking insane if you think you're doing this while I'm driving."

Daisy smirked. "Then pull over."

Punk exhaled sharply, jaw clenching as she applied a little more pressure, her fingers teasing the outline of his length through the fabric. His entire body tensed, and Daisy could feel the internal war happening inside of him.

"Fucking hell, Daisy—"

She giggled, clearly loving how worked up she was getting him.

And then, slowly, she started to undo his belt.

Punk growled, throwing his head back against the seat. "You're gonna fucking kill me—"

Daisy just hummed, her fingers working deliberately as she unzipped his jeans, her knuckles brushing against his skin.

"I told you," she murmured, leaning in a little closer, her breath hot against his ear. "This haircut is making me feral."

Punk groaned, eyes squeezing shut for a brief second before snapping back to the road.

"You better fucking hurry," he warned, voice ragged, "because if I have to pull over, I'm not letting you walk for the rest of this fucking trip."

Daisy grinned.

"Good," she purred, slipping her hand inside his jeans. "That's exactly what I want."

You're gonna get us killed," he mutters, though his free hand drops from the wheel to curl into her hair, guiding her.

She laughs softly, the vibration making him suck in a sharp breath. "Guess you'll just have to keep your eyes on the road."

His breathing grows heavier as she takes her time, deliberately slow, teasing him just to see him fall apart. His usual cocky, controlled demeanor slips, and the way he curses under his breath sends a rush of satisfaction through her.

"Fuck, Daisy," he growls, fingers tightening in her hair. "You love knowing you have me like this, don't you?"

She doesn't answer with words—just a soft moan that has his thigh tensing beneath her hand.

"Goddamn it," he grits out, forcing himself to keep steady even as she completely undoes him. "You're gonna pay for this when we stop."

His hips twitch up involuntarily, and he curses under his breath, the car swerving just slightly before he forces himself back in control. "You want me to crash this fucking car?" he hisses, his free hand gripping the back of her head, not pushing, just holding on, like he's barely holding himself together.

She pulls back just enough to look up at him, lips wet, pupils blown. "Then maybe you should pull over," she suggests, her voice dripping with mischief.

Punk groans, dragging a hand down his face. "You're fucking impossible."

But he's already signaling, pulling onto the side of the empty road, the car barely in park before he's yanking her up by the chin, kissing her hard. It's messy, desperate, all teeth and tongue, and when he pulls back, he's breathing heavy, eyes dark.

"Get in the back," he orders.

Daisy smirks, licking her lips as she moves. "Yes, sir."

As soon as Daisy climbs into the backseat, Punk follows, slamming the door behind him. The moment they're enclosed in the small space, he grabs her by the waist and pulls her onto his lap.

"You think you can just do that to me while I'm driving?" he mutters, his voice low and dangerous. His hands are firm on her hips, holding her in place. "Think you can tease me like that and get away with it?"

Daisy smirks, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I don't know," she teases. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Punk exhales sharply through his nose, eyes narrowing. "You're about to find out."

His hands slide up the back of her shirt, fingers dragging over her skin, making her shiver. In one swift movement, he flips her so she's lying back on the seat, hovering over her. His lips trail down her jaw, her neck, sucking a mark into her skin.

"You're mine," he growls against her throat. "You fucking get that?"

Daisy nods breathlessly, arching into him. "Yours," she agrees, and that's all he needs to hear.

His hands push up her shirt, exposing her, and his mouth is on her in an instant, kissing, licking, sucking—worshiping. His pace is slow, deliberate, making her squirm beneath him.

"Tell me how bad you want it," he murmurs against her skin, his voice sending shivers down her spine.

"Punk," she whines, gripping his hair, nails scraping against his scalp.

He smirks against her skin. "That's not an answer."

Daisy's breath hitches. "I need you," she admits, her voice raw and needy. "Please."

Punk groans, dragging his lips back up to hers, kissing her deep. "That's more like it," he mutters before giving her exactly what she asked for.

(I'm too tired to write smut rn I'm so sorry school is beating my ass)

TIME SKIP 2 HOURS

As soon as they step into the arena, the energy shifts. The second people notice Daisy, a wave of excitement moves through the locker room. Wrestlers, crew members, and even the production staff start coming up to her, welcoming her back like she'd been gone for weeks instead of just one show.

"Finally!" One of the crew members grins. "It was way too quiet around here without you."

"Yeah, and Punk was unbearable," another chimes in with a smirk, making Daisy glance at Punk, who just rolls his eyes.

The other wrestlers pile on, some playfully exaggerating how much they missed her, others genuinely relieved to see her back. Even some of the higher-ups nod in her direction, acknowledging her return.

Punk watches as Daisy soaks it all in, her smile growing wider with every person who greets her. It's clear she belongs here, and seeing her light up like this does something to him. He had spent the last 24 hours dealing with Trish, dealing with Daisy being sick and upset, and now? Now she was back where she belonged, next to him, in this chaotic world they thrived in.

Drew McIntyre is one of the last to approach, giving Daisy a once-over. "Feeling better, lass?"

"Much better," Daisy nods, and Drew smiles.

"Good. Hate to say it, but it wasn't the same without you."

Punk, standing just behind Daisy, immediately stiffens. His jaw tenses, and he crosses his arms, giving Drew a pointed look. Drew notices but only smirks.

"Relax, mate," Drew chuckles. "I know where she stands."

Daisy turns slightly, glancing at Punk with amusement, but before she can say anything, one of the producers steps in. "Daisy, Punk—glad you're both here. We need to go over your match for tonight."

Punk places his hand on Daisy's lower back, guiding her away from Drew and toward the producer, ignoring the knowing look Drew gives him as they walk off.

"Jealous much?" Daisy teases under her breath.

"Shut up," Punk mutters, but the way his fingers press into her back tells her everything she needs to know.

As soon as Punk and Daisy step through the curtain and onto the stage, the crowd erupts. The arena is electric with cheers, and Daisy soaks it all in, a smirk tugging at her lips as she walks beside Punk down the ramp.

The fans are chanting her name, their voices so loud that even Punk raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed. Daisy, back in her element, exaggerates her reaction, placing a hand over her heart like she's touched.

Punk shakes his head, smirking as he watches her play up the crowd, but he doesn't mind. He knows this reaction is real—people genuinely missed her, and the energy in the arena is proof of that.

Once they get into the ring, Punk leans against the ropes, arms crossed, watching as Daisy calls for a microphone. The ring announcer hands one over, and she brings it to her lips, waiting a moment as the cheers continue before speaking.

"Well, well, well," she starts, pacing the ring with a playful grin. "Judging by the noise you guys are making, I think it's safe to say you all missed me."

The crowd roars in response, chanting, "Daisy! Daisy! Daisy!"

She nods, pretending to wipe a fake tear from her eye. "I missed you guys too! But I have to know..." She pauses, glancing around the arena. "Who missed me more? You guys... or him?"

She turns dramatically, pointing the microphone at Punk, who immediately rolls his eyes as the crowd erupts again.

Daisy grins as she walks up to him, standing chest-to-chest. "Go on, Punk. Tell them. Did you miss me?"

Punk snatches the mic from her, his smirk growing. "Nope."

The crowd boos, and Daisy puts a hand on her hip, raising an eyebrow.

Punk sighs, running a hand over his newly cut hair before glancing at Daisy. Then, begrudgingly, he brings the mic back up. "Fine. Maybe a little."

The fans pop again, and Daisy smirks in victory, grabbing the mic back. "That's what I thought."

She turns back to the crowd. "Alright, alright, enough of that. Let's get to business. I may have been out sick, but I'm back, and I'm better than ever. And as for our opponents tonight?" She grins mischievously. "They're about to wish I stayed home."

She tosses the mic to the side, and the crowd cheers as she and Punk get ready for their match. Punk watches her, shaking his head slightly, but there's a hint of something softer in his expression. Maybe pride. Maybe something more.

chapter 72

Punk barely had a chance to hit dial before his phone buzzed in his hand. Daisy's name flashed across the screen.

He sighed, already bracing himself. Shit. He knew she'd be pissed.

He answered immediately. "Hey—"

"What the fuck was that, Punk?!" Daisy's voice came through sharp and furious. "I had to sit here, sick as hell, watching that bitch rub her hands all over you? Twisting your hair? Are you kidding me right now?"

Punk ran a hand over his face, already exhausted. "Daisy, I swear to God, I didn't—"

"Oh, I saw," she cut him off. "I saw you stand there and let her feel you up like you're some kind of—"

"I didn't fucking let her!" Punk snapped, his frustration boiling over. "I shut that shit down! Did you even watch the rest of the match? I was a dick to her the whole time—"

"Oh, good for you, Punk," Daisy shot back sarcastically. "You shut it down eventually. Meanwhile, I had to sit here and watch her run her hands all over you like you were hers to touch."

Punk groaned, dragging a hand down his face. He knew this was bad, he knew she was upset, but fuck, did she really think he wanted that?

"Daisy, you know I wouldn't do that shit to you." His voice was lower now, calmer, because he needed her to believe him. "You know it. You think I wanted her touching me? You think I liked that?"

Daisy was silent for a second. He could hear her breathing, could hear the way she sniffled like she was trying not to let this get to her, but it was.

"It just fucking sucked to watch," she muttered.

Punk exhaled, his chest tightening. "I know, baby." The word slipped out before he could stop it, but he didn't take it back. "I know. But I swear to you, I told her to fuck off the second we got backstage. I made it clear—you are who I'm with. No one else."

Daisy stayed quiet again, but this time, it wasn't out of anger. Punk could picture her now, curled up in the hotel bed, still feeling like shit, trying to decide if she believed him.

"You really told her off?" she finally asked, voice softer.

Punk let out a short, humorless laugh. "I told her to stay the fuck away from me. And I meant it."

Another pause. Then finally, Daisy sighed. "Okay."

Punk nodded, relieved. "Okay."

"But if she tries that shit again, I'm ripping her fucking extensions out."

Punk grinned, shaking his head. "Fair."

Punk barely had the door shut behind him before Daisy lit into him.

"Oh, look who finally decided to come back," she snapped from the bed, arms crossed over her chest. She still looked pale, her hair messy from laying down all day, but the glare she was giving him was deadly.

Punk sighed, already exhausted. He dropped his bag near the door. "Daisy, don't start."

"Don't start?" she repeated, eyes narrowing. "You're the one who took your sweet time getting back here. What, did Trish hold you up?"

Punk's jaw clenched. "Are you serious right now?"

"I don't know, Punk, am I?" She threw the blankets off her lap and sat up, staring daggers at him. "You're late as hell, and after what I saw tonight—"

"Because of traffic, Daisy!" Punk cut her off, voice rising in frustration. "Jesus Christ, what do you want me to say? I left the second I could. I wasn't with fucking Trish."

"How do I know that?" she shot back. "I wasn't there, Punk, I—"

"Because I just fucking told you!" Punk ran a hand through his hair, trying to breathe, trying to be reasonable, because he knew she was sick, he knew she was upset, but fuck, she was really pushing it right now.

Daisy's lip trembled, but she wasn't backing down. "You let her touch you."

Punk groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I told you already—I didn't let her do shit. I told her off. I told her to stay the fuck away from me. I don't know what else you want me to do."

Daisy was breathing hard now, her fists clenched in the sheets. But Punk wasn't mad anymore. Not really. Not when he could see the way her eyes were glassy, the way her shoulders were tense. She wasn't just mad—she was hurt.

Punk exhaled, his voice softening. "You're mad at me because you feel like shit, and because you had to sit here and watch that, and because I wasn't here when you wanted me to be." He stepped closer. "But, Daisy, I'm here now. I wasn't with Trish. I was in traffic, losing my fucking mind because I knew you'd be mad when I walked through that door. And I still came back to you, didn't I?"

Daisy blinked, her bottom lip wobbling just slightly before she bit it.

Punk sat on the edge of the bed, watching her carefully. "You know I wouldn't do that to you," he said, quieter now.

Daisy swallowed hard, looking down at her lap. Her voice was small when she muttered, "I just hated watching that."

Punk nodded. "I know." He reached for her, his hand finding her thigh under the blanket, squeezing gently. "I'm sorry you had to."

Daisy finally looked up at him, her face still twisted in frustration, but there was something else in her expression now—something softer.

After a long moment, she sighed heavily. "You really told her to fuck off?"

Punk smirked. "You should've seen her face."

Daisy let out a tiny laugh—barely there, but he caught it. She still looked like she wanted to be mad, but it was fading.

Finally, she reached for his hoodie, gripping the fabric weakly. "You still suck."

Punk chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. Scoot over."

She did, and as soon as Punk crawled into bed next to her, she curled into him, her body still burning up from her fever. He let out a deep breath, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Next time, I'm fighting her myself," Daisy mumbled against his chest.

Punk grinned. "I'd pay to see that."

MORNING

Daisy groggily opened her eyes, stretching out in the bed before realizing something was off. The other side of the bed was empty, the sheets slightly cool where Punk had been. She frowned, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. That's when she heard it—water running in the bathroom, the door locked.

She blinked, still half-asleep. "Punk?" Her voice was rough with sleep as she shuffled out of bed, padding over to the door. She knocked. "Hey, you okay? You never lock the door."

"I'm fine," he called back, but his voice sounded weird. Off.

Daisy's stomach dropped. "Oh my god," she said. "I got you sick, didn't I?"

"What? No," Punk said quickly. "Just—do me a favor. Close your eyes."

Daisy furrowed her brows. "What? Why?"

"Just do it, Daisy. And don't open them until I say."

Now she was even more confused, but with a huff, she crossed her arms and closed her eyes. "Fine. But if you're about to pull some dumb shit—"

She heard the door unlock, then soft footsteps approaching. The air shifted in front of her, and then—

"Okay. Open."

Daisy's eyes fluttered open.

And her jaw dropped.

Punk stood in front of her, arms crossed over his chest, looking—different. His hair, which had always been long enough for her to run her fingers through, to grab during their fights, to pull when she really wanted to piss him off—was gone.

Well, not gone, but short. Buzzed at the sides, the top a little longer but still cropped close

Daisy just stared.

Punk shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know you told me you liked it long," he said, his voice softer now. "But I—" He exhaled. "Trish was all over it last night, and I saw how much that pissed you off, so..." He shrugged. "I cut those parts off."

Daisy still wasn't breathing. She couldn't.

Punk mistook her silence for something else because his face twisted slightly. "You hate it, don't you?"

And that snapped Daisy right out of it.

"I love it," she blurted, and Punk's brows shot up.

Her hands twitched at her sides because—fuck, she wanted to touch it. She wanted to run her fingers through the shorter strands, wanted to tug on it while he was between her legs, wanted to see what it felt like against her thighs when he—

"Daisy?" Punk was watching her now, wary, like he wasn't sure what was going through her head.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry. "Punk, you don't understand." She took a step closer, her eyes roaming over him—over the sharp angles of his face that the haircut only highlighted, the way his eyes looked even darker now, the way his smirk would probably look a thousand times cockier with this new look.

"I've never wanted to fuck you more in my life."

Punk choked.

"Jesus Christ, Daisy—"

She grabbed his wrist, pulling him closer, her fingers brushing against the newly buzzed sides of his head. "You look so fucking hot right now, I'm actually gonna lose my mind," she admitted, breathless. "This is the best decision you've ever made, I swear to God—"

Punk let out a strangled laugh. "You liked my long hair—"

"I thought I did," Daisy corrected. "But this? Oh my God, Punk, I don't even know what to do with myself right now."

Punk was staring at her now, his lips parted, his eyes flicking between hers and her mouth. "You're still sick," he reminded her, but it sounded weak.

Daisy's grip on his wrist tightened. "I feel a lot better now."

Punk groaned, tipping his head back. "I knew this was gonna backfire."

Daisy smirked, her fingers now carding through the short strands at the top of his head. "Or maybe it worked too well."

Punk sighed, grabbing her wrist to stop her. "You're still burning up, Daisy. Lay your ass back down before you pass out."

Daisy rolled her eyes but obeyed, flopping back onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. She watched as Punk grabbed his bag, shaking his head like he couldn't believe her.

"Seriously, Punk," she said, her voice teasing. "Be honest. Did you do this just because Trish touched it? Or did you do it because you knew I'd want to climb you like a fucking tree when I saw it?"