The word that Eight can give to describe Dwight at the moment is desperate and aroused. He's, metaphorically, drooling over (Y/N), as she speaks to him with a soft, sensual tone, her body leaned against a wall once more.
The two are leaned in close. If any saw this, Dwight would have his head caved in. However, only the light of the moon through the windows shows that behavior taking place, (Y/N) teasing the man excessively. His dirty hands, grip her dress tightly, as if it isn't enough on her body.
"Come on, maybe we could take this back to my room? I'd love to see the rest of you," Dwight whispers softly, his hand gradually moving to her rear, groping it.
"I'd love to, but I need to get back to Negan, baby boo. Soon, you can see what you've been missing." (Y/N) kisses his lip softly, lingering a moment before walking away, a previous smirk growing as she walks off. Dwight can only gaze until her figure disappears, turning to walk back to his room.
He closes his door softly, taking off his equipment and placing it on his bed. As Dwight goes to grab his keys, he feels no metal. His brows furrow, fingers moving frantically to feel the metal of his keys.
"You got it?"
"You owe me, fucker," she responds, a chuckle coming from the other side of the door. Her fingers move skillfully before she pulls the door open. "You owe me a damn bottle of tequila."
"I'll give you moonshine later," he grins, walking out of his cell. "Hand it over." she pulls a gun from the inside of her jacket, handing it to him before taking one for herself, one of the many things she took during this four-day planning period. She had gone back to her room to get the jacket and other equipment, including replacing her heels with a pair of boots. " Ready to go, sunshine?"
"You and that sunshine shit, Daryl," she rolls her eyes, before the creaking of the floor instinctively makes them aim their guns.
•••
The crackling of fire echoes in the small cabin, neither Daryl or (Y/N) feeling they need to break the silence, their heavy breathing seems to already do that.
Three days on the run, and it still seems like an eternity before the two reach a safe zone. Both covered in walker blood, dirt, and sweat, with little food, both have a reason to breathe heavily.
(Y/N), thanks to her having a dress, her legs are covered in wounds from low plants and branches. Despite wrapping some of it up with ripped pieces of her jacket, she can feel the infection taking over, her body growing tired, eyes slowly shutting in their own.
"Stay up, sunshine," Daryl mumbles, looking up from the fire at the female across from him.
"Trying," she sighs, forcing her eyes to open.
"Just stay with me a little longer. We'll be alright."
"You said that last night," (Y/N) sighs.
"I'm gonna keep saying it 'til we get somewhere safe." A half-assed chuckle pushes past the female's lips, shaking her head tiredly.
"Can you come over here?" she asks, Daryl responding by raising a brow. "I want to be close to someone." The latter doesn't respond for a few moments, contemplating if he should. It doesn't take long for him to mumble 'Fuck it' before moving to sit beside her, both leaned up against a decimated couch. " Thank you, Daryl."
"Don't mention it," he responds, growing stiff when (Y/N) allows her body weight to lean up against his, her head laying on his shoulder. A heavy breath pushes past his lips, allowing his own head to lay on top of her's.
The two sit, staring at the fire, waiting for sleep to hit them. As Daryl allows his eyelids to shut, he feels a hand atop his own, incoherent sounds passing her lips before he falls victim to the Sandman.
