makin’ a livin’ | daryl dixon x reader
you worry what the group would think of you if they knew you made a living as a broke actress. and as the closest thing to what daryl dixon would consider a ‘best friend’, you couldn’t help but fear he’d assume you were an uppity douchebag hipster. [since the start of the show is set in 2010, pre-apocalypse pop culture revolves as such. and post 2010 stuff do not exist obvi :3]
You never revealed who you were before The Turn to your group. When asked, you’d only reply vaguely.
It wasn’t the same for the others. Some were outright truths told by the person themselves; like Rick and Glenn. Some were easy guesses, based on the description of their old lives.
You weren’t ashamed of your career, but you just didn’t see the point in explaining or volunteering information from your past life. You weren’t really an open person, preferring to keep to yourself most of the time. You were friendly, sure, but you loved your privacy more.
In addition to all of that, you didn’t want to tell them in fear of them assuming you were weak or useless. You knew some people didn’t really think an acting career was worth it unless you were Britney-Spears-level famous or Pamela Anderson’s doppelgänger. Plus, most people in the group had very valuable jobs — being in the force, the military, educators, lawyers… skill heavy jobs that proved to be useful in the current state of the world — so you had all the reason more to stay quiet.
And what would Daryl think? He was a perfect addition to the group with his outstanding hunting and survival skills. He adapted pretty quickly to the lack of modern technology, which you figured wasn’t that far-fetched for a redneck like him. However, he had a bitingly curt attitude that often made you feel inferior, even when it wasn’t directed at you (it never was, not once). You thought that if he ever found out he was going to throw some very creative insults your way, you could imagine his gruff voice saying them.
What are ya’ gunna do? Recite Shakespeare in front of a walker? Entertain em’ to death?
It was just a tiny, little, harmless secret.
You’d been with your group since the quarry and since then, no one suspected a thing from you, you gave them no reason to either. Although you were a bit suspicious of why the universe suddenly favored your pleas, as not one person had recognized you — not like you expected them to, anyway — but there had been a few instances in the past where people would stop you in the street for a picture or ask with suspiciously narrowed eyes, ‘you look like that girl in that movie’.
However, that was before the world got infested by walking, rotting, man-eating corpses, so you were delighted to know that nobody would even care or bother to bring up the more irrelevant parts of pop culture in conversation.
There’d been a couple of teetering moments; like when Glenn asked you about your ability to fight, you didn’t tell him it was because you got a role in an action movie and had to train for weeks to look the part; it was a horribly CGI’d train-wreck of a film that you worked tirelessly and—unfortunately—vainly for. So instead, you told Glenn you took classes it so you could fight giant mutant spiders from Mars, which wasn’t far from the truth, and that confused him enough to wave him off.
You used to regret taking on said role. Your agent had convinced you it was going to be the next big blockbuster and that a ‘big name’ starring in it would pave the way for its success, so you did everything you could to prep—MMA, kickboxing, and changes to your diet—only to be let down when the ‘big name’ pulled out last minute when she got a better offer. After what you endured, you couldn’t watch She’s All That without cursing Rachael Leigh Cook for damning you.
It flipped quickly when you realised she had unintentionally contributed to your survival, so now you mentally sang praises to her name whenever your skills came in handy.
When Daryl thanked you for saving his ass the night the quarry was swarmed, you were orchestrating concerts in your head thanking Rachael for the butterfly effect she caused. He very briefly complimented with a huff that you had a mean front kick and a keen aim. You almost wanted to find that walker you killed and kiss it for what Daryl said to you, until you realised how insane that thought was.
He seemed more friendly after the exchange and it made you braver to approach him more often. This resulted in the two of you forming a bond of alliance; with him always offering you to ride with him on his bike or truck when the group travelled around, or how you always volunteered to keep watch with him at night, staying awake together and sharing a pack of cigarettes. He was always reluctant to leave your side since then, finding himself worrying if you weren’t within his line of vision.
You didn’t notice it and neither did he, but others in the group shared curious glances to how inseparable the two of you had grown to be. ‘Attached at the hip’ as Dale would put it, murmuring something about love-doves when the two of you rode off into the sunset.
When Rick’s group arrived at the Greene farm, Beth took one look at you and you instantly caught the hint of recognition shining in the young blonde’s eyes—a look you hadn’t seen a long time. When she raised her eyebrows and innocently asked you if she’d met you before, you noped the hell out of that situation and made up some excuse about having ‘just one of those faces’.
It was around this time when you barely saw Daryl as he had been circling the woods looking for Sophia, which stuck you with the ladies. You didn’t mind at all, finding their company lovely and inviting—except for Andrea—but Beth always seemed to eye you every chance she got, subtlety clearly not being her strong suit. It made you nervous to know that she might know you from some piece of media you were in.
You got extremely lucky when you strolled into the Greene’s living room one day and caught your eye on a familiar CD case sticking out from one of the TV cabinets, the colour scheme and periodic costumes sticking out to you like a sore thumb. It was out of the question for you to leave it alone, so you made a plan to sneak in that night to grab it and dump it far, far away from anyone’s sights. It was a small victory, one that depended on the Greenes not missing their DVD copy of the cheap production of A Christmas Carol too much. You couldn’t judge their extensive collection of Hallmark Christmas movies, seeing as you were the star in one of them. While you were glad that you caught it before anyone else did, if this was a different time and place (as in, pre-walker world), you’d actually be flattered.
Those were the early days where everything was freshly apocalyptic, but now you had pushed the thought to the furthest corners of your mind, fatigue and trauma taking over the highlights of your anxieties. If you found yourself thinking about it, it dissipated in a second…no one cared to pry anymore.
Your group stumbled upon an old prison that hadn’t been claimed by any of the living yet. Rick decided that it was perfect to take refuge in, as the farm was long gone by now. After avoiding the herd for so long you were all desperate for a miracle, so no one challenged the Sheriff when he led the way.
As you watched the sun set, you tried to relieve the soreness in your muscles by doing a couple of stretches. Your body still ached from the day’s labor, working together with the rest to clear the prison yard of twice-dead Walkers after going through the hassle of luring them out and taking them out in the first place… to say it was back-breaking was an understatement.
Everyone was comfortably gathered around the fireside. It was the first time they’d felt secure in months; the wired fences, the promise of tomorrow, the small spark of hope in their chests.
You walked over to the overturned bus with a plate of food in your hands. It looked pathetically bare; still, it was better than nothing and you’ve had plenty of ‘nothing’ on the menu for weeks.
“You know, I once heard that you can’t shoot straight on an empty stomach.” You teased lightly, looking up at the archer who stood on top of the bus, body language tense and on guard. You didn’t notice that as soon as you came into his sights, his tense posture dropped slightly, shoulders drooping and eyes softening.
Just slightly. Not enough for anyone to notice it, not even him.
“Psh. No, ya’ didn’t.” Daryl scoffed, his tone equally playful, but gruff. “Ya’ made that up.”
“Yeah, I made it up.” You nodded with a slight laugh, confirming his accusation. Your eyes shone mischievously as the daylight started to fade away. “But it might be true, who knows?”
You stood on your tip-toes and pushed the plate onto the surface of the bus before hoisting yourself up, accepting the hand that Daryl reached out to you so it was easier.
You absolutely did not try to hide the blush that crept onto your face when your fingers grazed his and you absolutely did not let your grasp on his hand stay just a millisecond longer than it had to.
You also absolutely did not move just an inch closer to him when you gained your composure on the side of the big, ugly bus.
It was a friendly gesture. Friends hold hands. Friends help each other climb up buses all the time. Friends get butterflies in their bellies when their shoulders touch.
“Eat, Dixon.” You picked the plate up and shoved it lightly towards him. “I may not know much but it’s common sense that an empty stomach won’t do you any good.”
He hesitated for a moment before huffing incredulously and accepting the plate from you.
“Don’t need ya’ babysittin’ me now, woman.”
“Don’t need you to pass out from hunger now, Dixon.” You teased back. “That would be an embarrassing way to go out, don’t you think?”
He had already stuffed himself with the first thing he could grab out of the platter, mouth too full to respond with a comprehensive sentence. Before he could swallow, you continued.
“Imagine that…in a world full of walking corpses, someone dying because they rejected a plate of cold beans in the name of pride.”
“Ain’t proud.” He rolled his eyes. You only chuckled quietly in response.
“Keep telling yourself that.” You nudged his elbow, making a face at his attempt at fibbing.
Daryl continued to eat what little food he had while you sat in comfortable silence, thoughtlessly looking up at the darkening sky. It wasn’t long until colours of the sunset were replaced by a Van Gogh-esque palette, the dark blues and ivory shades creating a tasteful scene.
The shy man watched you silently as you arched your neck to look up at the sky, your breaths slow and relaxed. The two of you were appreciating nature’s beauty, only the subject he was looking at was different than the one you were enthralled by.
Your relationship with Daryl Dixon was something that no one had expected to grow…and yet it did, like a stubborn little seedling in the winter.
Both of you had grown to become more than just allies, even daring to admit that you were friends, but never saying it out loud. You thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company, even going so far as to shamelessly seek each other out when you were lonely or just plain bored—you more so than Daryl, but he never seemed to mind. He was rough and borderline rude to everyone, but when he was alone with you, it was a whole other version that he never let anyone else see. Daryl appreciated that he could be vulnerable around you.
“I wonder how I’m gonna go.” The thought slipped out of your mind and rolled off your tongue so suddenly that it didn’t occur to you that you said it out loud.
Daryl shifted in his seat. “Y’ain’t.”
“Hmm? Ain’t what?” The cicadas in the distance filled in the gaps of your conversation, the rhythmic chirping unchanged by the circumstances of the world. If you closed your eyes and tried real hard, you could pretend that everything was normal and that a PG18+ Thriller music video wasn’t being directed and produced by the Universe right beyond the fences (minus the King of Pop).
Daryl chewed on his thumb, a bad habit he picked up since he was a kid. “Goin’…dyin’. I ain’t letting ya’. Not on my watch, Y/N.”
He said it so strongly, gazing into your eyes with an odd expression that you couldn’t quite place.
“Death himself would have to go through me to get ya’.”
The cicadas paid no mind to the explosions going off in your heart and in your head, continuing their ad-free, non-copyright background music as the two of you stared into each other’s eyes. If you could just…lean in closer…you’d be able to feel his lips…on yours…
You cleared your throat, desperate to find a distraction.
“We should go back to the group.” You turned around to climb down the bus, pushing off and grunting softly as you landed with a soft thud. “Come on Dixon, fire looks warm enough.”
“Go on. I’m standing guard here, don’t worry bout me.”
You beamed at him, bidding him a sweet goodbye before making your way to the bright source of man-made light, hugging yourself in an attempt to comfort the nerves that had risen up to your throat.
As you reached the circle your group had formed around the fire, you heard the tail-end of their conversation. It was instantaneous, the way the acute sense of regret and dread began to form at the bottom of your stomach when you realised what you got yourself into. Especially when Beth turned to you and started directing her question to you.
“What was your line of work, Y/N?”
Nice. Throwing yourself to the wolves. Amazing.
“Me?” You pointed to yourself, anxious at the sudden and unexpected question — one that was inevitable and way long overdue. You couldn’t avoid it after all.
But you’d have to try, damn it.
“Yeah. We were just talking about our lives before all this.” Beth explained shyly in her southern belle drawl, her eyes barely meeting yours. “What job we had, where we lived…stuff like that.”
(“And things.” Rick chimed in from the back.)
You realised you’d been quiet for a beat too long and now everyone was staring at you intently, waiting for an answer.
You instantly put all those years of acting classes into full throttle, gears clicking back into place as your brain tapped into a decade’s worth of experience. If there was a time to put on an act, it was now.
You shrugged cooly—subconsciously copying what you’ve seen Daryl do with his shoulders—feigning nonchalance. “I did a few jobs, here and there. You could say I was a freelancer of sorts.”
“In what?” Carl chirped, curious.
“Ah, random jobs, really. From running a hot dog stand to killing giant monsters from outer space.” Both true. “Or, you know what, actually there was that time I almost became Spiderman’s girlfriend. Shame I didn’t though.”
Carl scoffed, a lopsided grin stretching across his face. Everyone seemed to be amused at what they thought was your light-hearted joking, which it was, but you weren’t exactly making things up; you didhave a cameo as a hot dog stand owner and the ‘giant monsters’ was a reference to the movie with the mutant spiders, and the ‘joke’ about Spiderman? You auditioned for the role of Mary Jane and actually got far in the running for it, so much that they asked you to do a screen test with Tobey Maguire. Ultimately the role went to Kirsten Dunst, but the experience was enough for you.
“I didn’t know you were a Marvel fan.” Glenn’s face lit up at the mention of the comic superhero.
“I wasn’t until that moment, to be honest.”
“Did you see the movie? Man, that was awesome. It wasn’t that comic-accurate but seeing it in theatres changed my life.”
You laughed half-heartedly, “Yeah, same.”
“That’s a lot of odd jobs.” Lori chuckled, running her hands over her pregnant belly. “But I am curious, and so is the little one by the way they’re kicking, oomph…what did you really do for a living? If you don’t mind me asking.”
You could have just said it then and there, but you didn’t. The initial reasoning behind it shouldn’t actually matter now if logic played into your decision; you trusted these people now after what you’ve been through together, plus, telling them you were an actress wasn’t going to change the way you proved yourself useful on multiple occasions. But you held on to this secret for so long that it was starting to superglue itself onto you, unwilling to be set free. There was also the small but very much real fear of sounding conceited or narcissistic.
“Well, I was a freelancer…for a company…that managed some small and sometimes big projects. Nothing interesting, really.”
Lori seemed satisfied with your response, as did the others, moving on to bothering T-Dog who was sitting next to you.
The group made a sanctuary out of the prison, which everyone now considered as home. There were people other than just your little group, survivors that were also on the hunt for refuge gratefully accepting community and shelter in exchange for civil behaviour and contributions on their part.
You were out on a supply run with a few people to scavenge an old superstore that didn’t seem like it had been fully raided by the living yet, from the looks of the exterior. It was going well so far.
“...a mechanic?” The conversation came within earshot before you could even avoid it. Daryl scoffed at Zach, shaking his head and his shoulders in a full-bodied shrug that you had become all too familiar with.
“My side’s cleared out.” You interrupted, happily gesturing to the packs filled with canned food and other supplies that you managed to find. The two men jumped slightly when your voice cut them off, “What? You boys hiding something from me?”
“Nope,” Zach turned to look at you, an amused smile evident on his face. “Just trying to guess what Daryl was before.”
“You two still playing that game?” You chuckled, leaning on the wall next to the archer. “He got any right yet, D?”
“Oh, come on! Not even close?” Zach huffed, bewildered. “I thought I got it, man. I mean I’ve seen you work on cars, and your bike.”
You fought to keep a smile back, “Sounds like a tough game. Let me know when you pass, Zach. Sounds like a win worth celebrating.”
Daryl eyed you from where he sat, an unreadable expression settling across his features. He watched as you threw a playful wink Zach’s way, ignoring the flips in his stomach when you turned to him and gave him the look he loved so much.
“What about you, Y/N?” Zach quipped.
“What did you work as before all this?”
Freezing for second, you wondered if you should just get it over with and tell the truth or keep it to yourself for just a little longer.
The latter felt more safe.
You gave him what you gave everyone as an answer, “I freelanced.”
“Big company, random projects…eh, nothing much. Boring stuff.”
“Oh, you’re just as bad as he is, Y/N! What is with you guys and suspense?” Zach laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Come on, the rest should be done by now.” Daryl remarked, pushing himself off the small ledge he was sitting on. Zach moved forward, slinging his gun off his back and holding it at the ready. He walked over to you, gently grabbing a bag from your hands to carry it himself.
“Oh, I’m fine.” You tried to object, but to no avail, the loveable culprit already moving ahead of you.
“Got stronger arms than you, woman.” He flexed his bicep in front of you jokingly. “I ain’t forget the time you hurt your shoulder because of a damn pack Rick made ya’ carry.”
Thank God he was staring directly ahead because the involuntary lip-bite would have been hard to play off.
“Fine, let me drive, then.” You retorted.
“You can’t drive stick for shit.”
“Maybe because a certain someone won’t teach me even after I’ve asked him a billion times!”
“Hey,” he drawled. “Rick’s the one you should be askin’ to give you drivin’ lessons. Not me. I’m not built for being a teacher.”
“That’s because you can’t drive a manual either.”
“One time… I stall the damn truck one time!”
You laughed, finally picking up the pace and matching your strides with his so the two of you could walk side-by-side. You entered the building, ready to meet at the rendezvous point you all had agreed to.
Daryl was muttering something about gutting squirrels when you were stopped by Glenn holding up a poster, mouth agape in disbelief.
Your heart dropped into your stomach and then into your ass.
“Well,” Daryl blinked. “That does look an awful lot like you.”
“That IS HER!!!” Glenn freaked, poking the top part of the poster to prove his point. “That’s her NAME!”
You were absolutely frozen in spot, equally as freaked as the discovery. James McAvoy’s eyes seemed to meet yours through the paper, mocking you for the stupid look you had on your face. Well, your face-face, not the printed version of your face.
“Wanted…relentless in-your-face action,” Daryl had moved closer to study the poster’s texts, less surprised than you thought he’d be. “Ya’ look good.”
“How are you not freaking out?!” Glenn shook the paper and held it up higher. “Y/N why didn’t you tell us you were a freaking movie star?
“I’m not.” You managed to cough out.
“Dude, you’re in an action movie with Morgan Freeman and you’re on a poster looking like a superhero, you’re telling me you’re not movie star???”
“I got lucky with landing that part!” You defended, “Half of my other ones were shit!”
The film, Wanted, came out in 2008, a few years before the world ended. You were proud of it, having prepped for it in a similar way you did for the aforementioned failed alien spider movie. It actually could have been your big break if it wasn’t for the zompocalypse; if you remember correctly, you were up for another action-based role alongside your former co-star James. There was no way to know if you could have actually made it big, society collapsing before your success could even sprout.
“Look what I found,” Zach half-jogged over to you, Glenn and Daryl. “More of you, Y/N!”
In his hands were three CD cases of varying sizes, each one of them with different versions of your face on it. One of them was a small production that had you as the lead, and the other two you had only minor roles in but major enough to get you on the poster you supposed.
“You were on Pirates of the Caribbean?!“
“What?” Confused, you did a double-take, snatching away the CD from Zach’s hands. “Gimme that.”
“Oh,” you recalled, shock replaced by your need to feed your own curiosity. “Yeah, I remember now. I did Las Vegas the same year so maybe that’s why it slipped my mind.”
“No, I did a show called Las-“ you cut off when you realised you were talking. “Where the hell did you guys even find this? And why?”
“We were walking pass the candy aisle when we saw your poster on the ground.” Zach mentioned. “Freelancer? Really?”
“You told us you ran a hot-dog stand!”
“Wait…were you actually Spiderman’s girlfriend?!?!”
You buried your face in your hands, groaning. Seems like the universe finally ended your secrecy contract to fuck with you now.
“Come on, we should get goin’ ‘fore sundown.” Daryl grunted, moving past the three of you to lead your group out.
He didn’t seem surprised at all, which in turn surprised you. Your mind was reeling; Daryl wasn’t the type to show emotion outright, was he upset that you lied? Maybe he had a thing against theatre kids?
You wanted to jog up to him and blurt out all of the things you were saying in your head, anything to prove to yourself he wasn’t hurt by what you hid, or worse, disgusted. But between Glenn and Zach, the two had you surrounded, bombarding you with a million questions you could barely even make out.
One sharp whistle from the archer reminded your group to haul ass but they did so without leaving your side, Glenn still holding up the poster like it was a holy relic, excitedly chattering your ear away with variations of ‘Why didn’t you say you were famous?’, ‘Who else have you worked with?’ and so and so.
It was a long ride back to the prison, you frozen in the passenger seat with Daryl driving the pickup truck, Glenn and Zach deciding to tag along to continue their impromptu interview session. You had went into auto-pilot, murmuring vague replies and cringing at yourself for being so awkward about the whole thing.
Once you arrived at the prison , the two curious interviewers were ushered off to carry supplies to their respective stations and Daryl put the truck in park. You braced yourself for impact, secretly hoping the world would swallow you up whole right then and there so you wouldn’t have to face the rest of your found family. You stayed put, not even glancing at Daryl when he got out of the car.
The open window failed to serve as a barrier between you and the outside world, but you wanted to savour the last few moments of your dignity while you still could.
The sound of soft knocking against metal broke you out of your trance, only to see the man whose opinion you worried about most standing beside you.
“You gon’ get out of there or what?” He leaned against the side of the car, his eyes crinkling with… amusement?
“I don’t know. Part of me wants to stay here forever, and another part of me wants to take the keys from your pocket, drive out of here and disappear.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” He huffed. “Disappear? Why?”
You looked at him, bewildered. “I… did you not… huh?”
He shrugged, giving you a sideways smile. Then he pressed something rolled up into your hand. The feel of glossy paper was hard to miss, and one glance at yours and McAvoy’s warped faces proved your suspicions.
“I made them hand it over to me. Don’t worry, Glenn’s smart enough to know he should keep his mouth shut.”
You stared at him, unblinking, still in a daze. “You…?”
He opened the car door, fully smirking as he leaned closer to your side. “So, tell me… Were you really Spiderman’s girl or was that just a ruse to get them off your back?”
At this point, you were completely and utterly speechless. Daryl chuckled at your uncharacteristic response, “I think that’s the longest I’ve seen you silent.”
“Why aren’t you…?” What could you even say? Why aren’t you surprised? Cringing? Hurt because I lied? Weirded out because I’m not who you thought I was?
He shut your brain up with one sentence.
“You know, if you’re gonna steal someone’s DVD and toss it out, I recommend you either bury or burn it, Miss Christmas Carol.”
“You’re lucky it wasn’t Glenn who found it. Trashcan, Y/N, really? Not even chucking it out in the woods?”
“I panicked, okay?! And I was still stuck with pre-apocalypse world morales. I didn’t think littering would do the environment any favours.”
“So that stray walkers wouldn’t stumble upon it and… watch it?”
“Dixon!” You shoved him playfully, finally stepping out of the car as you pushed past him. You heard his laughter even as you tried to put distance between you, not wanting him to see your flushed face.
“Ain’t nothin’ to be embarrassed about.”
“I thought you’d hate me.”
“For what? Being on movie posters? Makin’ a livin’? Hell, woman, I’ve seen worse things.”
“I didn’t want you or anyone having any premature judgments about me. People back then always thought I was either a pretentious brat or, god forbid, a pornstar.”
“You’re not either of those, so why bother?”
He moved closer to you, looking at you through the pieces of loose hair framing his face. “I’ll be real honest with you—I recognised you the first time we met.”
You gasped, “Oh my god. Daryl fucking Dixon. I did not take you for a movie guy.”
He put his hands up in mock-surrender, “Blame Merle. That Las Vegas show was one of the few things our TV played. He’d be passed out drunk on the couch with your show playing in the background.”
You couldn’t help but snort, “Figures. Shitty cable.”
“Nah, it wasn’t that bad. I thought you looked good on TV… look even better in real life, that’s what I thought when I saw you.” He gestured aimlessly, “You should be grateful you never met Merle, though. Dumb as my brother was, he would’a put ya’ on blast the second he saw you.”
“Why didn’t you?” The simple question escaped your lips before you had a chance to mull it over. It almost sounded accusatory, but Daryl Dixon knew you too well.
“Because I didn’t think it was worth mentioning when you never brought it up. B‘sides… we all have our pasts. I don’t think I’m the same man I was before, thought it wouldn’t be fair to you.”
You looked at him, really looked at him. He shied away from your gaze but you couldn’t help but admire the man before you. It was true, he came a long way from the man he was back when you met him in the quarry. The Daryl before you now was a Daryl who was kinder, less arrogant and—what you appreciated the most—sweeter to you. You chastised yourself for thinking your Daryl would react so harshly; he was nothing like his exterior. The tough, macho, redneck could have fooled anyone, but not you. You knew how emotionally intelligent the man was.
You smiled up at him, leaning a little bit closer to his chest as you did so. Suddenly you felt braver, as if the secret you kept had been weighing you down all along.
“No, I wasn’t Spiderman’s girlfriend. I fucked that audition up.”
He snorted. “You know what? I’m kinda glad you did.”
