[idaisyy]

Tag , you’re in - a cmpunk x oc enimies to lovers MASTERLIST!

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

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[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

[theimportanceofbeingidle]

— 05/09/1994 Hacienda, Manchester by Ian Tilton

👑👑👑👑

[definitelymaevey]

ugh he’s so ✨

[chewinggumnnails]

[grassy-noel]

[dailyflicks]

DIE MY LOVE (2025) Dir. Lynne Ramsay

[tnood]

I keep on making these gif edits I’m like obsessed so uhh here’s one of Liam 😝

[hmxoxomadferit]

[liamgallaghersfart]

buzzcut liam 👅👅👅

[vampiremother]

Au Pays du Cocaine (Liam & Noel)

[starshapedoasis]

-The Palace, Hollywood, California, 1995

[m1yoni]

Well I was lying I was pulling I was I was pulling one’s leg 😭😭

[idaisyy]

Tag , you’re in - a cmpunk x oc enimies to lovers

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.

Either way, Daisy is back—and she's not going anywhere.

[idaisyy]

Tag , you’re in - a cmpunk x oc enimies to lovers

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?"

Punk threw a pillow at her face.

[idaisyy]

Tag , you’re in - a cmpunk x oc enimies to lovers

chapter 71

Daisy spent the whole night running back and forth to the bathroom, her stomach refusing to settle. Every time she thought she was done, another wave of nausea would hit, forcing her back over the toilet. And every single time, Punk was right there with her.

It didn't matter that it was past midnight or that he had barely slept himself—whenever she got up, he got up. He sat on the cold tile floor with her, rubbing her back, holding her hair, passing her a glass of water even when he knew she wouldn't keep it down.

"You don't have to stay up," she mumbled between dry heaves, forehead resting against her arm as she crouched over the toilet. "I feel bad."

Punk let out a short, dry laugh. "Yeah? Imagine how I feel watching you puke your guts out every five minutes."

She groaned, too exhausted to argue. "Seriously, Punk. Go to bed."

He ignored her, standing up to wet a washcloth before crouching beside her again. Gently, he pressed it to the back of her neck, the coolness a welcome relief against her burning skin.

"Nah," he muttered. "Not leaving you like this."

Daisy closed her eyes, the weight of his hand against her back grounding her. As miserable as she felt, she knew she wasn't alone.

Eventually the morning comes and they have to get on the road , Daisys stomach selts a little but she still has a fever and feels like shit

Punk was already loading their bags into the rental car when Daisy sluggishly shuffled toward the driver's side, still looking pale and exhausted.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Punk asked, stepping in front of the door before she could open it.

"Driving," she said weakly, her voice rough from the night before. "You barely slept, and I feel bad—"

"Not happening," he cut her off, grabbing the keys from her hand before she could protest. "You look like you're about to pass out, and the last thing we need is you throwing up behind the wheel."

Daisy groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead. She was still warm, and the lingering headache wasn't making things any easier. "I just... I hate that I kept you up all night."

Punk sighed, his expression softening as he gently guided her toward the passenger seat. "Don't apologize for being sick, dumbass. It's not like you did it on purpose."

She pouted as he buckled her in, and he rolled his eyes before reaching over to press the back of his hand against her forehead.

"Still burning up," he muttered, shaking his head as he started the car.

Daisy frowned, pulling her hoodie tighter around her. "I'll be fine. Just wake me up if you get too tired to drive."

"Yeah, yeah," Punk said, but they both knew he wouldn't wake her up for anything.

As they pulled onto the road, Daisy leaned her head against the window, the hum of the car lulling her. She felt like crap, but there was something comforting about knowing Punk had her back

Daisy sat on the edge of the hotel bed, her phone pressed tightly to her ear as she listened to Vince McMahon's gruff voice on the other end.

"Daisy, you were off last night, and from what I hear, you're still sick. I don't think you should wrestle tonight."

Her stomach dropped. She knew she felt like absolute crap—her fever hadn't fully broken, and her limbs felt weak—but the thought of sitting out a match, especially when she and Punk had been building momentum as a team, made her stomach churn worse than the flu.

"Vince, please," she begged, her voice raspy. "I can do it. I'll push through. It's just a little bug, I swear."

Punk, who had just set their bags down, raised an eyebrow as he overheard her side of the conversation. His arms crossed as he leaned against the dresser, already looking unimpressed.

"Daisy," Vince warned, "this isn't up for debate. I don't need you going out there and getting worse, or worse, messing up in the ring because you're sick. Take the night off."

She squeezed her eyes shut, frustration burning behind them. She hated feeling useless. "But—"

"No buts. I'll check in tomorrow. Get some rest."

The line went dead.

Daisy pulled the phone away from her ear and let out a groan, flopping back on the bed. "Dammit."

"So, what'd the old man say?" Punk asked, his voice annoyingly even, like he already knew the answer.

Daisy threw an arm over her eyes. "He won't let me wrestle tonight. He thinks I'm too sick."

Punk shrugged. "Because you are too sick."

She lifted her arm just enough to glare at him. "I could've wrestled."

Punk let out a scoff, pushing off the dresser and walking toward her. "You could barely stay awake in the car. You really think you could've gone out there and put on a match without collapsing?"

Daisy huffed, turning her head away. She knew he was right. She just hated it. "I don't wanna sit out."

Punk sat down next to her, shaking his head with an amused smirk. "You're the most stubborn sick person I've ever met."

She nudged him weakly with her foot. "Shut up."

He chuckled, then leaned back on his elbows. "Look, just take the night off. Sleep, drink some water, do whatever sick people do. I'll handle our match."

Daisy frowned, the idea of him going out there alone not sitting well with her. "You sure?"

Punk rolled his eyes. "What, you think I can't handle myself without you?"

She gave him a small smirk. "I mean, you do need me."

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. Just rest up, alright? I got this."

Punk stayed with Daisy for as long as he could, making sure she was comfortable before he had to leave for the arena. He had ordered her some soup from room service, despite her weak protests that she wasn't hungry.

"You need to eat something," he told her firmly, setting the tray on the nightstand. "You've barely had anything all day."

Daisy groaned, turning her head on the pillow to look at him with bleary eyes. "I'll eat later."

Punk shot her a look. "You say that, but I know your ass is just gonna pass out and not eat at all."

She let out a small, tired laugh. "You're annoying."

"Yeah, well, you're sick and stubborn, so it evens out," he shot back.

Daisy sighed but pushed herself up just enough to reach for the bowl of soup. Punk watched with crossed arms as she slowly took a few bites, satisfied that she wasn't completely ignoring her needs.

"There. Happy?" she muttered after a few spoonfuls, setting the bowl back down.

"Ecstatic," he deadpanned.

She rolled her eyes, but before she could tease him, he checked the time and sighed.

"I gotta go," he said reluctantly.

Daisy hated the thought of being left alone, but she knew he didn't have a choice. "I'll be fine," she reassured him.

Punk lingered by the bed, like he didn't fully believe her. Then, without saying anything, he leaned down and pressed a quick, warm kiss to her forehead.

"Rest up," he murmured before grabbing his bag and heading to the door.

Daisy blinked in surprise, her heart doing an unexpected little flip. By the time she could even think of something to say, Punk was already gone.

Punk barely made it two steps into the arena before Trish Stratus appeared in front of him, arms crossed and smirking.

"Guess what?" she said, her tone way too smug for his liking.

Punk, already in a shitty mood from leaving Daisy sick back at the hotel, just exhaled sharply. "Not in the mood for games, Trish."

"Oh, but you're gonna love this," she teased. "I'm your tag partner tonight."

Punk's expression went blank. He blinked once. Twice. Then, "You're fucking joking."

Trish grinned. "Nope. Vince made the call when Daisy got pulled. You and me, best buddies for the night."

Punk dragged a hand down his face, already exhausted. "I'd rather wrestle solo."

"Yeah, well, you don't have a choice," Trish said with a wink. "Try to keep up, punker."

Punk scowled as she sauntered off, leaving him standing there, already regretting every decision that led to this moment.

Punk didn't waste a second. The moment Trish walked off, he was already looking around for his phone. He wasn't about to let Daisy find out from someone else—or worse, from watching the damn show.

Finally, he dug his phone out of his bag and quickly dialed her number. It rang a few times before her groggy voice came through.

"Mmm... hey," Daisy mumbled, still half-asleep. "You at the arena?"

"Yeah," Punk said, running a hand through his hair. "Listen, I need to tell you something before you hear it from anyone else."

That got her attention. He heard shuffling, like she was sitting up in bed. "What? What happened?"

Punk exhaled. "Since you're out tonight, Vince put me in a tag match with Trish."

Silence. Then, "Oh."

Not the reaction he wanted. "I didn't ask for this shit," he added quickly. "You know that, right? I'd rather be teaming with you. Hell, I'd rather be doing literally anything else than teaming with her."

"No, I know," Daisy said, but her voice was quieter now.

Punk hated that. He didn't want her to feel weird about this. "Look, if it was the other way around—if you had to team with Cody or Jeff—I'd wanna know. So I figured you'd want to know too."

Another pause. Then, "Thanks for telling me."

He could still hear it in her voice. She wasn't mad, but she wasn't thrilled either. He sighed. "You sure you're good?"

Daisy huffed. "I mean, I feel like shit, but yeah. I'm not mad, Punk. Just... I don't know. Probably overthinking."

"What are you overthinking?"

"Just... everyone already assumes there's something going on between you and Trish."

Punk groaned. "Yeah, well, everyone's fucking wrong. You know that."

"I do," she admitted. "But it still sucks."

Punk clenched his jaw. He hated this. Hated that she was sick, that she was feeling like this, and that he had to go team with Trish fucking Stratus of all people.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised. "And you know I'd rather be in that hotel room with you than in this damn match."

Daisy let out a small, tired laugh. "I know."

"Alright. Get some rest. I'll call you when it's over."

"Okay. Be safe."

"Always."

Punk hung up, shoving his phone back into his pocket with a deep sigh. This night was already gonna suck—but at least Daisy knew where he stood.

Punk clenched his jaw so tight he thought his teeth might crack. The deafening "WE WANT DAISY!" chants filled the arena, wave after wave, and he couldn't blame them. He wanted Daisy too—wanted her next to him, wanted her in this match, not Trish.

And then Trish had to take it too damn far.

She reached up, fingers curling into the ends of his hair, twisting them playfully. Her other hand? Bold as hell, sliding across his chest like she had any right to touch him.

Punk jerked away immediately, stepping back with a disgusted scowl. "Are you serious?" he hissed under his breath, barely hiding his irritation.

Trish just smirked, batting her lashes like she wasn't deliberately trying to piss Daisy off—like she wasn't trying to get a reaction out of both of them.

Back at the hotel, Daisy sat up so fast she got dizzy. Oh, hell no.

She had seen Trish flirt with him before, but this? This was blatant. This was in front of thousands. And Punk—she knew he wasn't playing into it, but God, just seeing Trish's hands on him made her stomach twist.

As she gripped her phone, her thumb hovered over Punk's contact. She was this close to calling him the second the match was over. No, actually—she was this close to texting Trish right the hell now and telling her to back off.

In the ring, Punk rolled his shoulders, making a point to keep all distance between him and Trish. He could already feel Daisy's fury from miles away.

This was gonna be a long-ass night.

The match was a mess from the start. The crowd refused to let up, still chanting "WE WANT DAISY!" so loud it was almost drowning out the bell. Punk wasn't playing into Trish's flirting—not even a little. In fact, he was actively shutting it down, and the commentators definitely took notice.

"Punk doesn't seem too thrilled about his new tag partner tonight," one of them noted, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Can you blame him? He's been teaming with Daisy for weeks, and now he's stuck with Trish—who, by the way, looks way more interested in Punk than this match," the other commentator added.

And they weren't wrong. Trish was trying. She kept getting up close, brushing against him when she didn't need to, even going for unnecessary tags just to get her hands on him. But Punk? He wasn't having it. Not even a little.

At one point, she smirked at him and said, "Come on, Punk, don't be shy."

Punk glared. "Shy? Nah, I just have standards."

The crowd ate that up. A loud "OOOOH!" rippled through the arena, followed by more "DAISY! DAISY!" chants.

"Yikes! I don't think Punk wants anything to do with Trish tonight," one commentator laughed.

"Are you surprised? I mean, have you seen how he and Daisy look at each other? It's no secret everyone—including Punk—misses her tonight."

Back at the hotel, Daisy crossed her arms, watching the TV with a smirk. Damn right he missed her.

Backstage, as soon as they were out of the cameras' view, Punk snapped.

"What the fuck was that?" he barked, whirling around to face Trish. His chest was still rising and falling from the match, but his anger burned hotter than any exhaustion.

Trish rolled her eyes, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Relax, Punk, it was just some fun—"

"No," he cut her off sharply, stepping in closer. "You don't fucking touch me like that again. You hear me? I don't know what the hell you thought was gonna happen, but I know exactly where I stand. I know exactly who the fuck I'm with. And it's not you."

Trish's expression darkened, the fake flirtatiousness dropping completely. She had expected him to push back a little, sure, but not this. Not shutting her down this hard. Not acting like he was already spoken for. Like Daisy owned him.

She clenched her jaw. "Right. Got it."

Punk didn't wait for a response. He shook his head and stormed off, already pulling out his phone to call Daisy.

Meanwhile, Trish stood there, seething. She had never been so publicly rejected before, and by him? Over her?

Her eyes narrowed. If Punk wanted to humiliate her like that, if he wanted to act like Daisy was untouchable, then fine. She'd just have to remind Daisy that nothing was untouchable.

And she already had the perfect plan forming in her head.

[idaisyy]

Tag , you’re in - a cmpunk x oc enimies to lovers

(hehe im back guys)

Chapter 70

NEXT DAY TIME SKIP

Daisy hadn't felt good all day , earlier on she had a fever and she's been feeling like shit and it was showing in her match

As Daisy struggled through the match, Punk couldn't help but notice how off she looked. Her movements weren't as sharp, her usual fire seemed dimmed, and every time she hit the mat, she was a second slower getting up. He'd heard her all day, telling him she wasn't feeling great, and now it was clear as day in the ring.

Then, from the apron, he caught wind of the commentary team's discussion.

"Daisy just doesn't seem to have it tonight," one of them remarked. "Maybe she's off her game, or maybe Punk carrying her for the past few months is finally catching up to her."

Punk's head snapped toward them, his jaw clenching. He glared at the commentators, then at Daisy, who was still doing her best in the ring, pushing through whatever was weighing her down. That was it—he wasn't letting them run their mouths.

Without a second thought, he hopped off the apron and stormed toward the announce desk. The commentators barely had time to react before Punk grabbed a headset right off one of their heads, shoving it on.

"Oh, I'm sorry, were you saying something?" Punk's voice crackled through the speakers, laced with irritation.

The commentators exchanged looks. "Punk, what are you doing—?"

"What am I doing? No, what the hell are you doing? Sitting here talking trash about my partner while she's in there busting her ass? You wouldn't last two minutes in that ring, but here you are, running your mouths like you could do better."

Daisy, in the ring, barely caught what was happening, but she could hear the crowd's reaction shifting. She glanced over to see Punk standing at the desk, headset on, absolute fire in his eyes.

"You wanna talk about someone carrying this team? Fine. Let's talk about how many times she's carried me. Let's talk about how she's out here, clearly not feeling her best, and still putting on a show for these people. But no, instead, you'd rather sit here and make stupid comments, huh?"

The crowd popped loud, rallying behind Punk's words, and even the commentary team was at a loss.

"That's what I thought," Punk scoffed, tossing the headset back onto the desk. He turned and marched back toward the ring, hopping onto the apron just in time for Daisy to look up at him. Even though she was out of breath, even though she was pushing herself through whatever sickness was dragging her down, she still managed a small, tired smile.

As soon as Daisy tagged out, she didn't roll out of the ring like usual. Instead, she slid under the bottom rope and walked straight toward the commentary desk, her expression set in determination. The crowd started buzzing, unsure of what was happening, but Punk—still in the ring—glanced over, curiosity flickering in his eyes as he took notice.

The commentators tensed as Daisy approached, still catching their breath from Punk's outburst just moments ago. She leaned against the table, catching her own breath, before pulling one of their microphones closer.

"I don't know if you guys realize this," she started, her voice slightly hoarse from exhaustion, "but I can hear you. I hear every word you say when I'm in that ring. And if you think I'm just gonna let you sit here and disrespect me while I'm sick and still showing up to fight? Think again."

The crowd roared in approval, and even Punk, who had his opponent in a headlock, smirked slightly at her fire.

"Next time you feel like talking about me? Be careful what you say. Because I'm not some rookie you can brush off. I'm Daisy. And I've earned my damn place here."

She slammed the mic down onto the table and turned back toward the ring, rolling onto the apron while Punk finished the match. The commentary team sat in stunned silence, knowing they had just been put in their place—twice.

Punk, still holding his opponent in a headlock, let out a low chuckle before wrenching it tighter. Yeah, that was his girl.

MATCH OVER

As they walked up the ramp, Punk had his arm draped over Daisy's shoulders, keeping her close as the crowd continued to buzz from the match and her bold confrontation at commentary. He turned his head slightly, smirking.

"I loved that, by the way," he said, voice filled with admiration. "The way you stood up for yourself? Fucking perfect. You put them in their place. You were—"

"Punk."

Her voice was weak, barely above a whisper, and he immediately turned his full attention to her.

"What?" he asked, brow furrowing slightly.

"I'm gonna throw up."

He stopped in his tracks, blinking. "Oh, ha ha. Real funny, Daisy. You're making a joke because I'm being too nice—"

She abruptly yanked away from him, bolting toward the nearest trash can. Punk's smirk immediately vanished as realization hit.

"Oh, shit."

He followed quickly, placing a hand on her back as she hunched over, heaving into the bin. His usual cocky demeanor dropped in an instant, replaced by concern as he rubbed slow, careful circles against her spine.

"Alright, okay, just breathe," he muttered, crouching beside her. "Damn, you weren't kidding."

Daisy groaned, resting her forehead against the cool metal of the trash can. "Why would I joke about this?" she mumbled miserably.

Punk winced. "Yeah, okay, fair point."

Just then, a few other wrestlers and crew members passed by, their faces etched with curiosity and mild concern.

"She alright?" one of them asked.

Punk shot them a glare. "What do you think?"

They wisely took that as their cue to keep moving.

Daisy groaned again, and Punk sighed, adjusting his grip on her back. "Come on, let's get you back to the hotel. You're done for the night."

She didn't argue. She just let him support her as they made their way toward the car his hand never leaving her back.

As soon as Punk unlocked the hotel room door, Daisy barely made it to the bathroom before she was hurling into the toilet. Punk followed right behind her, shutting the door behind them and immediately kneeling beside her.

"Jesus, Daisy," he muttered, gathering her hair in his hands to keep it out of her face. He used his other hand to rub slow circles against her back, trying to offer whatever comfort he could.

She groaned in between heaves, gripping the sides of the toilet like her life depended on it. "This is so gross," she mumbled miserably.

"Yeah, well, you're not the one holding someone's puke-covered hair, so—"

She weakly swatted at his arm, and he huffed out a quiet laugh despite the situation. "Okay, okay, I'll shut up," he said, adjusting his grip on her hair.

A few more miserable moments passed before her body finally stopped betraying her. She slumped against the cool porcelain, eyes squeezed shut as she took slow, uneven breaths.

Punk sighed. "Alright, let's get you cleaned up." He reached over, grabbing a washcloth from the counter and running it under some cool water before pressing it gently to the back of her neck.

Daisy hummed at the sensation, too exhausted to do much else.

"You good now?" he asked, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of her face.

She opened her eyes slightly, looking up at him. "I think so."

Punk didn't look convinced. "You sure? Because I'd really rather not have you puking on me in the middle of the night."

Daisy groaned. "You're so dramatic."

"I'm just saying—"

"Punk."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and help me to bed."

Punk smirked, but without another word, he slid an arm around her waist and helped her up, keeping her steady as he led her to the bed. Once she was tucked in, he sat down on the edge, watching her for a moment before muttering, "Guess I'm on nurse duty tonight."

Daisy cracked a small, tired smile. "Lucky me."

Punk came back into the room a few minutes later, setting a bottle of medicine and a glass of water on the nightstand before placing a trash can right next to her side of the bed. Daisy, curled up under the blankets, blinked at him in disbelief.

"You really thought of everything, huh?" she mumbled, voice hoarse.

Punk scoffed, kicking off his shoes before climbing into bed beside her. "Yeah, well, I'd rather not have to clean up puke at three in the morning."

Daisy snorted, then winced when her stomach twisted again. "Ugh. Don't make me laugh, it hurts."

Without a word, Punk slid an arm around her waist and pulled her into him, settling her against his chest. Daisy tensed.

"What are you doing?" she asked, peeking up at him. "Aren't you scared I'm gonna throw up on you?"

Punk rolled his eyes. "Shut up and go to sleep."

She stared at him for a second before shaking her head with a small smile, relaxing into him. His hand slowly slid over her stomach, rubbing soft circles over the fabric of her shirt. The motion was soothing, comforting in a way she hadn't expected.

"That actually feels kinda nice," she murmured sleepily.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a fucking saint," Punk muttered, but there was no bite to his words.

Daisy hummed in amusement, already drifting. "Thanks for taking care of me."

Punk didn't say anything at first. Then, so quiet she almost didn't catch it, he murmured, "Always."