The Stalker’s Tango (Epilogue)
Pairing: Remmick x Gender Neutral Reader
Word Count: 3,533
Summary: As an avid fan of Dancing with the Stars, you’ve resigned yourself to the fact that the closest you’ll ever get to that ballroom floor is the line dancing during Country Music Night at your favorite bar. One night, your best friend points out the man watching you dance and convinces you to chat with him. Unfortunately, you find out too late just how bad of an idea that might’ve been. But once you dance with the Devil, it’s kinda hard to stop.
Author Notes: Welp, here is the official ending of The Stalker’s Tango. Thanks for sticking with this story—this is easily the longest reader insert fic I’ve ever written.
I’ll be seeing you Jack O’Connell stans around again…probably not soon, but eventually.
Previous Chapter
The sky has a touch of orange to it, but it’s a dying gasp of light, nowhere near enough to hurt you. Above the line of fading orange are cornflower blue clouds, a grayer periwinkle caressing their undersides.
You hadn’t known just how many colors evening-time could hold for most of your life. It’s only in the last few years that you’ve really understood the sheer variety that night contained, from the rich indigo to the dark sapphire that mirrored the depths of the ocean to the ash grey that harkened a storm. And so many more shades than that, too.
You can hear the chattering of attendees, can hear the tinkling of champagne glasses, the pouring of wine into those very same glasses. You’d long since learned to tune out such minute sounds—or else it’d drive you mad—but for now, you were intentional about listening to them. You let out a contented sigh as the sounds of life wash over you.
“You sure ‘bout this?” Remmick asks, the soft flutter of wings fading as his feet touch the ground behind you.
Your gaze sharpens on the distant party, on the warm string lights, on the shimmer of confetti that reflects the soft candlelight in the table centerpieces. You inhale, letting the scents of roasted salmon with lemon and rosemary, buttered green beans with sliced potatoes, and vanilla and raspberry cake waft through your body, alongside the hot blood of the people eating the food. Liquid drips down your chin; you wipe away the drool and mentally chastise yourself for letting the smells distract you.
Remmick’s arm loops itself around your waist, reminding you that should you get overwhelmed, he’ll be there to ground you. It’s exactly the reassurance that you need.
“Yes,” you tell him.
He releases your waist. “Lead the way, mo chuisle.”
He follows you to the gate that leads past the glass auditorium, also lit with the same string lights that decorates the reception tables. You can smell the sweat that’s dried on the plastic benches, the dying flowers that had been tossed to the ground in jubilation. If you were to look over there, you’d see the flowers, too, even in the deepening darkness.
It’s easy enough to find the newlyweds as you draw closer, not quite entering the jubilant celebration yet. Blake is chatting with someone irrelevant, the bright white flower pinned to his purple tux. He’s not who you’re here for, though.
Miles’s laugher echoes across the room, bringing a smile to your lips. Oh, you’d missed that laugh. It’s been two years since you’ve last heard it. And there he is, wearing a slate blue tux with the white flower. His tie is the same shade of purple as Blake’s tuxedo. His braids have been shaped into a heart on the side of his head, the point of it ending just behind his ear.
Your smile widens. You’re glad they finally got married. They deserved it.
A small wave of sadness hits you. You nearly allow the sadness to take you back to the last time you’d seen them, but Remmick grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze, banishing the memories. You glance at him, see that his eyes are glowing, and incline your head. The red glow fades, leaving behind a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” he says, “I just hate when you go all melancholy on me like that.”
“Says the man who grows nostalgic when he hears any old Irish ballads in the streets or on Spotify,” you tease. He chuckles, pulling you towards Miles.
“Go on, go say hi.”
You let go of his hand. “You should—you should stay behind. Let me go alone.”
“Never.” His voice is sharp, firm.
You roll your eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant. Stop being so clingy.”
His hand is faster than yours. “Never,” he growls, tugging you into his embrace and wrapping his arms tightly around you as he spins the both of you away from the party, further into the dark. “Not until someone drives a stake through my heart or the sun consumes this planet.”
“My God, you’re so fucking dramatic,” you tell him, but your arms have already wrapped around his torso, pressing your bodies together. He pulls you closer, until the only thing dividing you both are your clothes. Clothes that could be easily discarded, he reminds you with a memory that would make you blush if you were still human.
“Remmick, I’m just gonna say hi. You said it was okay, didn’t you?” you say, your lips brushing against his throat. “I was the one who was all worried, and you were the one who said we could swing by after sunset. When I was worried that we wouldn’t have an invite, you pointed out that it was outside so we didn’t need one. And when I expressed some, uh, concerns about hunger,” you nibble at the skin of his neck, earning a soft moan from him, “you made sure I had a nice, filling, hot,” at that, you bite just enough to nick him, “meal, didn’t you?”
“Mmmff,” Remmick agrees.
“A hot meal that came with dessert,” you remind him, showing the memories of what you’d done after eating and earning a louder groan from him. His dick is hardening through his pants, eager for another round. “So let’s go, let’s say hello and well wishes to the happy couple, and then, maybe, you and I can continue our own little celebration of long-lasting relationships, hmm?” You press your groin against his crotch. “Sound like a plan?”
“We could, we—we could just skip right to that part,” he stutters, turning his mouth to press kisses into your neck. “Or we could alter the order of events a lil’.” His hold on you has loosened with anticipation.
“You know as well as I do that once you get started, we don’t stop.” You press a kiss to his cheek before suddenly slipping out of his grasp. He makes a sound of protest, but it’s too late. You shoot him a wink as you saunter towards the reception, making sure to sway your hips as a final taunt.
Remmick sends you a memory that shows exactly how he’s going to make you pay for that later tonight. You let a wicked grin curve your lips.
The grin stays on while you sneak up behind Miles, who’s now greeting his guests, asking them how the food was, asking if they had enough cake, reminding them that dancing is practically mandatory before anyone leaves.
“Does that apply to me, too?” you ask. Miles stiffens, turning around to look at you like an animatronic. Too late, you realize that perhaps crashing this wedding was not your brightest idea.
“(Y/N)?” he asks in disbelief.
You want to hug him, but the way he’s staring at you does not invite such an embrace. “Hi, Miles,” you say, lifting your hand in an awkward wave.
His entire demeanor changes in the drop of a hat as he goes from shocked host to angry host. “Get out.”
“Miles, I’m not, I’m just here to congratulate you—,”
“I don’t care. I want you gone,” he hisses. “You don’t belong here, not after fucking disappearing the way you did.”
“Miles, I—,” you glance around, noticing that curious eyes are landing on the two of you. “Can we please talk somewhere else?”
“What, so you can suck out all my blood?” he snarls in a low voice.
Your eyes widen. “What?! No! I’m not—Miles, I swear, I’m just here to congratulate you. Please.” You scan the area for a more hidden location. “Please, let’s just talk, can we please just talk?”
“That’s what he said that night, you know.” But Miles allows you to drag him off to the side, to a giant tree with string lights dangling from the branches. Once you’re there, you rub your arms, suddenly unsure what to say. Miles mirrors you, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring. “Alright. Fine. What do you wanna talk about?”
“I just wanted to say congrats to you and Blake.” You offer him a tentative smile. “I was really glad to hear about the wedding.”
His eyes narrow. “And how, exactly, did you hear about it?”
You bite at your lower lip and look to the ground.
Miles sighs. “It was Angelina, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” you admit. “I dunno how she figured out where we were, but she did, and we swung by her house. Didn’t go inside!” you add quickly, holding up your hands. “But went to a restaurant, and she told us about you and Blake.” You look behind you, searching for Remmick’s red eyes and hoping that he wasn’t lurking too close. “She and Tag are doing good, too. I’m proud of them.”
Miles shakes his head. “I didn’t even invite her to the wedding. She wasn’t ever my friend. How the hell—you know what, it doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head again, then fixes his dark eyes on you. “I looked for you. Blake and I both did. You just up and vanished like a ghost.”
I know, you almost say, but he’s still talking.
“I was so scared for you, too. Told Blake over and over again that I was sure you were dead, that Remmick killed you, but when we finally went to the cops, they didn’t wanna listen to a Black man complaining that his friend was gone. Especially since it didn’t look like any kinda foul play or whatever.” He purses his lips as he stares back at the reception. Music has begin playing—you recognize the latest pop hit.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you.” You reach for him, then think better of it and lower your hand to your side. “I was a coward and I know it.”
“Yeah, you were,” he agrees, “and now you’re a vampire, aren’t you? Just like him.”
You nod slowly.
Miles huffs. “I knew it. I fucking knew it. Why didn’t you fucking tell me, (Y/N)?”
“We had a deal,” you say softly. “If I told anyone that he was a vampire, he would kill them. I didn’t want you dead.”
“No, but you were perfectly fine offering yourself on a silver platter?” His hands clench his tux sleeves, wrinkling them. “What I wanna know is why you did it. Did he threaten you? Did he force you?”
You shake your head. “No. Well…” you tilt your head to the side in consideration. “I mean kinda sorta, but I was stupid and agreed to it without understanding what I was agreeing to. It was my own damn fault.”
“No, it couldn’t have been.” Miles’s eyes have softened at last. “He tricked you, didn’t he.”
“What? Me, trick someone?” Remmick says, coming out from behind the tree with a lazy grin. “Never.” He stands by your side, his arm once again slipping around your waist. “(Y/N) made a bargain and held up their end of it.”
Not that I was ever getting out of it, you think at him, earning a smirk from Remmick.
Miles’s eyes have sharpened into flint. If looks could kill, Remmick would be a charred corpse.
Hell, if looks could kill, you’d probably still be human now, happily celebrating your friends’ marriage.
“Remmick,” you say softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Stop it.”
“Remmick,” Miles says coldly.
“Miles. Glad to see you’re doin’ well.”
“I’m afraid I can’t say the same for you.”
“Miles, hey, it’s almost time for our first daaaaa,” Blake drops the word mid-sentence as he comes up to your little group by the tree. “Oh my God, it’s you!” He immediately wraps you in a hug, his arms awkwardly brushing against Remmick’s in the process. “You’re okay! I mean, we kinda figured you were when we saw you in the audience in the finale of Dancing with the Stars, but still!” He lets go and steps back, gesturing at both you and Remmick. “It’s good to see that you’re not—not—,”
“Not dead?” you finish for him.
“Yeah!”
Miles is still glowering at Remmick. You and Blake look between the two other men and back at each other. “So. Uhm. Congratulations on your wedding,” you say, desperate to end the icy silence.
“Thanks,” Blake replies. “We would’ve invited you but we didn’t know how to reach you.”
“Babe, why don’t you go on back. I’ll be there in a minute for the dance, okay?” Miles hasn’t looked away from Remmick.
“Oh, but—,”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Miles repeats, and something about his tone sends Blake scurrying away.
“Not exactly a great way to start off a marriage,” Remmick comments with what he probably thinks is a sincere expression of concern.
You elbow him, earning a grunt. “Look. Like I said, we just wanted to wish you well. We’re happy to leave—we don’t wanna cause any trouble.” You lock eyes with Miles. “I swear. I just wanted to see you again, that’s it.”
“That’s it?” Miles repeats suspiciously.
“That’s it,” you say with a nod. “I miss you.”
“That’s not a lie,” Remmick adds helpfully. You want to elbow him again. “(Y/N) keeps wonderin’ how you’re doing. I can’t get ‘em to stop, and Lord knows I’ve tried.” He flashes you a cheeky grin that you ignore because it’s not helping the situation at all.
“Right.” Miles doesn’t look convinced, but at least he doesn’t look like he’s about to try and murder Remmick. He sucks in a deep breath and lets it out.
You remember needing to breathe like that.
“Look, I want you gone,” he directs these words at Remmick, “but I don’t necessarily want you to leave,” he continues, looking at you. “So you can both stay, but if you so much as think about eating one of my guests…”
“Oh, no worries there! We ate before we came.”
This time, you do elbow Remmick. Hard.
“We won’t, I promise,” you tell Miles. “And we won’t stay super long, either.”
“Got a boat to catch,” Remmick says.
“A boat? Where?”
“Ireland.” Remmick smiles, and this time, it’s not a smirk. It’s nostalgic and excited. “We’re goin’ home.”
Miles looks very confused.
“We’re taking once of those scenic cruises,” you explain. “We’ll just stay in our cabin during the daytime.”
You see questions all over Miles’s face, but he doesn’t dare ask them. You’re glad because you don’t wanna lie to him, but you also don’t wanna tell him how you and Remmick plan to gorge yourselves before the journey. “Oh my God, I cannot believe I’m having this conversation right now,” he muttered, putting his face in his hands. “Okay. Fine. Stay as long as you want, I don’t care. Just don’t kill anyone.” He peers at you through his fingers. “Consider that my wedding gift.”
You give him a smile. “Yeah.”
He glances towards the dance floor, where Blake is waiting, all the eyes on him. “Man, how the hell did we get here?”
“That’s a story for another time,” Remmick says.
Miles shakes his head. “Right.”
“Go dance,” you say, giving a little shooing motion with your hands. “Don’t leave your husband waiting.”
“Right.” Miles begins walking to join Blake, though he keeps turning to look back at you and Remmick, still standing under the tree.
“You ready to go yet?” Remmick asks, giving your waist a squeeze.
“Nah, not yet.” You watch as Miles and Blake take each other’s hands, to the claps of the other guests. “I wanna stay just a little longer.”
“Whatever you want, mo chuisle.”
You both stand there for the entirety of the first dance, then the second one, then the mother-son dances. When the crowd begins to do the Macarena, you beckon Remmick forward. “Let’s go say ‘bye’ and then we can leave, okay?”
He gives your hand a squeeze in answer.
“You heading out?” Blake asks with a grin. He’s got a champagne glass in hand. You smell traces of wine on the rim and on his breath.
“Yeah. We’ve got a long way home,” you reply, earning another squeeze of affection from Remmick.
“Well, it was great seeing you!” Blake turns to Miles. “Wasn’t it, babe?”
“Yeah.” Miles gives you a tight smile. “It was.”
“We’re so glad you’re not dead!” Blake continues. You, Remmick, and Miles all burst out laughing at that. Blake gives you all a confused look. “What’s so funny?”
“Babe, can you go get me another drink?” Miles hands Blake his own glass.
Blake takes it. “Yes, my love,” he says in an overly cheesy voice. You chuckle again. “Good to see you, (Y/N). Not so good to see you, Remmick, but I guess I can live with it.”
Remmick shoots him an affronted look, but you place a kiss to his cheek to cut him off before he says anything. “Bye, Blake. See you around!”
He raises both glasses in farewell as he departs.
“Am I a bad friend if I say I lowkey hope we don’t see you around?” Miles asks as he gently brushes off the flower, adjusting it ever-so-slightly.
“Whaaat? After how well we behaved?” you tease, earning a small laugh from him. “Dude, you know I’m not about to eat you or anyone else.” I don’t eat people that I know, you mentally add. You snicker. Well, except Remmick.
You’re still not sure if Remmick is able to read your mind per se, but he flashes you a hungry look that implies that he can. You subtly lick your lips when Miles isn’t looking and you feel the desire radiating from Remmick’s eyes. If they’re glowing red, hopefully no one notices.
“Right,” Miles drawls. He lets go of the flower and opens his arms. “You gonna bite me if I ask for a hug?”
“Nah, I don’t bite married men,” you joke as you hug him.
Remmick makes a sound of protest that you silence with a glare. Don’t you dare interrupt my moment, you tell him, in mind and in eyes. He pouts but says nothing as you and Miles pull away from each other.
“Don’t I get a hug?” Remmick asks, holding his arms out.
“Fuck no,” Miles tells him, closing his arms fast and taking a step back. “Have, uh, a safe trip?”
“Maybe we’ll let you know where we are once we figure out what exactly we’re doing,” you say with a smile. You feel Remmick tugging at your mind, but you’re hesitating, delaying the departure. It’s not enough time. You probably won’t see Miles for years.
“Yeah. Maybe we’ll come visit.” His tone wobbles in the lie. You feel the smile on your face cracking.
“Yeah. I’d like that.” You finally take your step backwards, away from Miles, towards Remmick. “Bye, Miles. Enjoy the honeymoon.”
You sweep him into another sudden hug that he returns with enthusiasm. Vampires don’t cry, but they feel sadness, and that sadness is crushing you right now, right in the chest where your heart used to beat. It’ll be okay once you leave, but in this moment, you feel the deep hole where Miles used to be. “Bye,” you whisper, ignoring the sound of the blood pulsing through his veins.
“Bye,” he whispers back.
You withdraw. Remmick reaches for you, and you take his arm in yours. “Alright, let’s go home,” you tell your vampire husband.
Remmick’s eyes flash with something—pity?—but he nods. You know you can’t jump into the air in view of everyone, so you’ll have to walk to a secluded location first. The two of you pass through the crowd of humans laughing, swaying together as they cherish life.
You drag your feet, watching them dance in the soft light. There’s a waning moon above, the pale beams offering little light to the wedding reception.
As you reach the gate that leads to the gravel parking lot, a familiar tune begins to play. Copperhead Road. You stop, turn around. Your legs ache to stomp, kick, repeat.
Remmick, surprisingly, doesn’t try to pull you into the darkness. Instead, he lets go of your arm and comes around in front of you, the glow of the party giving him a sort of halo. “Y’know, I heard Miles tellin’ some people that they couldn’t leave without a dance first,” he says, tilting his head at you and scratching it.
“Yeah?”
“Yep.” He gives you a toothy grin. “I reckon we oughta follow the groom’s wishes. You know, to honor your friendship with him and all that.”
You swear you feel a little flutter in your chest where your heart used to beat. “Oh, really?”
He holds out his hand, curling his fingers in an offer. “May I have this dance, (Y/N)?”
“You remember how to do this?” you ask, setting your hand in his.
A memory of watching you dance to Copperhead Road at Wildhearts flashes in both of your heads. He winks as the memory fades.
“Oh, I reckon so.”
With a giddy laugh, you pull him towards the dance floor.