Survivor - TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Chapter 39 - The Next World

Nelly

Two Months Later...

The softness of his rough fingers trails along my cheek, stirring me awake as my eyes flutter open. The warmth of the morning sun peeks through the window, but all I see are his blue eyes gazing down at me, soft and full of something I can't quite put into words. 

A smile tugs at my lips, slow and lazy, matching the peaceful rhythm of our breaths. I hum, content, and close my eyes again, sinking deeper into this moment—the warmth of the sheets tangled around our bodies, his legs woven with mine, my head resting on his bare chest, rising and falling with the steady beat of his heart.

He hums back, a low, soft sound that vibrates through his chest, and I feel it more than I hear it. It's like we're in our own little world, just the two of us. No walkers, no threats, no looming shadows from the past. Just us and the quiet.

And then, of course, the obnoxious, relentless thud of Carl's damn tennis ball slamming against the wall breaks through our bubble.

I groan loudly, my frustration echoing in the room as I sit up, already feeling the peacefulness of the morning slip away. "Carl and this fucking tennis ball," I mutter, banging my fist against the wall with more force than necessary.

Daryl huffs a laugh next to me, and I turn to glare at him, even though I know he finds this whole situation hilarious. He always does. His lips twitch, barely holding back a smirk, and I resist the urge to smack him upside the head.

"Where does he keep getting these stupid tennis balls?" I ask incredulously, narrowing my eyes. I've hidden at least three of them, and yet here we are, the rhythmic thud continuing like a metronome, slowly driving me insane.

Daryl snorts, trying and failing to hide his amusement. I swat him on the arm, but it only makes him laugh harder, his chest shaking under the covers. I can feel the heat of him still lingering on my skin, the intimacy of the morning wrapped around us, but Carl's relentless thudding is killing the vibe fast.

I sit up on my knees, clutching the sheets to my chest, and start banging even harder on the wall, my patience long gone. "Carl! Cut it out!" I yell, frustration lacing my voice.

Finally, the thumping stops, and I sigh in relief, collapsing back into the bed, sinking into the pillow with a groan. I let my eyes drift shut, hoping for just a few more moments of peace. But no sooner have I settled in than the thud of the tennis ball starts up again.

"That's it," I mutter under my breath, ready to storm out there and give Carl a piece of my mind. But before I can get far, Daryl's hand reaches out, wrapping around my wrist, and with one swift tug, I collapse back against his chest.

His other hand cups my jaw, guiding my face toward his, and then his lips are on mine—slow, soft, and sensual, like he's trying to pull me back into the calm we had before Carl started his nonsense. And it works. For a second, I melt into the kiss, forgetting about everything else, sinking into him.

When he pulls back, his eyes meet mine, warm and lazy, and he murmurs, "I should probably get ready."

I groan dramatically, pressing my forehead against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him—sweat, leather, and something purely Daryl. "No," I whine, not wanting him to leave just yet. 

"I told Rick I'd go," he reminds me, his voice rough but gentle, and I know he's right. He always keeps his word.

I roll off him with a sigh, reluctantly pulling myself from the warmth of the bed. The thudding of Carl's tennis ball continues, grating on my nerves, and I throw on a shirt and pants, ready to march out there.