Full Summary:
Anastasia Lau is just a university student. She works for the family business when needed and fulfills reasonable favours to her cousins when requested. If anyone asks her, she'd claim that she's the most boring girl in the world in spite of her family's illustrious history. Completely normal and unbelievably dull.
If anyone presses further, they'd clearly see that she's lying through desperately gritted teeth.
Regular girls don't fly across an ocean to avoid typical family responsibilities or see ghosts wherever they go.
In which a girl blessed (read: cursed) by the gods crosses the path of the Mikaelsons and unintentionally changes their fates through a simple act of kindness (read: perceived duty).
The forlorn blanket of winter clouds suffocated New York City while sheets of unrelenting rain threatened to drown its inhabitants. Slick streets reflected the eternal lights flickering throughout the busy metropolitan, all the brighter due to the pressing darkness of the coming evening; truly the city that never sleeps. It inspired a desperate kind of living amongst its denizens. One of soul-crushing productivity and relentless movement in hopes of survival.
Ana might've fallen for it if it wasn't the way she already lived. Her third coffee of the day wore off in a steady trickle like the drip of the added two espresso shots in her typical dirty matcha latte. The baristas of the cafe she frequented for the past two weeks already seemed concerned about seeing her thrice a day. She'd either need to find a new haunt soon or throw in two-hundred percent tips to look the other way if she upped it to four. That was the great thing about big cities in the west—no one cared once enough money hit the table and you were just another face among many.
She'd almost mourn her eventual departure from the Big Apple for them alone. No other cafe quite matched the deep umami of their matcha blend nor their perfect ratio of soy milk, matcha, and espresso.
The rainwater battered the still busy streets and swirled around the soles of her black ankle boots. She adjusted her oversized tote bag to touch the icy-cold rain pouring over the edge of her umbrella. It pooled in her hand and she shook it off as she headed for the subway.
Shimmering hot pink caught her eye.
A pretty girl huddled beneath the awning of a closed bakery, covered only in a short cocktail dress and shivering miserably. Her eyeliner and mascara darkened the already present shadows beneath her doe-like eyes. Ana paused in the middle of her walk and observed the girl as her eyes shifted along the crowds hidden beneath their nylon shields. She was Ana's age, perhaps younger. A college girl facing the unforeseen consequences after a night of well-deserved insolent leisure and dangerous whims.
Ana closed her umbrella, brushed off the rain, and allowed it to roll out of her hand. It clattered against the concrete sidewalk right in front of the bakery.
The girl startled and stared at the offering at her feet. Her eyes shifted rapidly, searching for the owner, but New York City stopped for no one. A discarded necessity meant nothing. Something she remembered as she hesitantly snatched up the umbrella, opened it, and merged into the crowd with her matching pink heels tainted by muddy waters.
Ana followed soon after.
No one spared her a glance even as she slipped through the cracks of the bustling mass to the subway station, untouched by the endless precipitation. The velvet of her ankle boots remained pristine.
She had a comparative politics paper to submit, a throng of emails to sort through, a contract to review, and dinner to eat. And she required another dirty matcha latte for a possibility of accomplishing a singular task.
The traditional brownstone Ana's eldest cousin, Arnaud Lau, restored wasn't her ideal home. It strayed too close to the downtown core of Brooklyn; full of busy roads, active people, and overly enthusiastic noise at all hours of the day. But he had restored the home built in the early nineteen hundreds as an addition to the family's global real estate repertoire and asked her to evaluate its potential on the market with such warmth she found herself reluctant to deny him anything. He knew that he held a special place as one of her favourites and used the knowledge sparingly.
She privately preferred the reclusive English manor Celine kept in Millburn, New Jersey after she acquired it at an astonishingly low price but the potential of a daily three hour commute devouring the meagre twenty-four hours of her day filled her with dread. If Arnaud discovered her preferences, though, he would pout for the next decade.
Ana unlocked the front door with ease and turned off the security alarm. The brownstone would require a fortified entrance and security system in the future; potentially one provided by her paternal grandmother's family.
She locked the door behind her and set down her latte on the entryway sideboard. Her ankle boots slipped off with ease and she stretched, her back cracking in the process. She wouldn't need a new umbrella until next week with her plans for a week of well-deserved self-isolation unless her maternal family required her presence again at their newest branch of the company.
In the darkened drawing room, a flicker of movement—
Her fingers snapped. The fluorescent lights blazed overhead and a man crumbled into the charcoal-black linen sofa, groaning and cursing at the sudden brightness engulfing the home he trespassed onto.
"Bloody hell!" The man regained his balance. "These humans wish to die by my hand."
Ana relaxed and leaned against the Romanesque wooden pillar capping off a matching walnut partition wall separating the drawing room and foyer. The man was begrudgingly pretty with smooth skin, tousled locks, and sharp, clear features. Wisps of brown hair fell into his dark eyes bordered by thick lashes.
A haze of pearled ivory surrounded him and she closed her eyes.
Fantastic.
"Difficult to accomplish considering you're incorporeal, ghost," she said.
His head shot up and his wild eyes landed on her with a near-frightening accuracy. He stalked across the room to tower over her. "You can hear me? You can see me?"
Their eyes met as she looked up at him. She turned and grabbed her latte from the sideboard to sip at while preparing dinner. If she had known she would return to this, she would have insisted on bringing another drink home.
"Answer me, girl. Are you a witch?"
"No." Ana paused and considered the words as she entered her kitchen. "Maybe. I never thought about what I'm called in English."
"Why can you see me?"
She sighed and checked the tall copper stockpot resting on the gas stovetop. A pleasant clear brown broth, fragrant with spices and free of residual oil or scum. Fire flared beneath the metal pot and she turned on the range hood. "That's a long story. Want to tell me your name beforehand? Considering you're rudely invading my space?"
"Watch your mouth, human. I've killed for less and should I come back alive, I'll remember to return to this city just for you," he said warningly.
"I'm just visiting New York," she said plainly. "My name is Ana."
He narrowed his eyes, clearly enraged. "Are you mocking me?"
She ignored him and pulled out all her prepped ingredients from the fridge. A slab of round-eye, beef brisket, cooked tripe, beef balls, sliced green onion, cilantro, beansprouts, and udon packets for the main dish. She set out her homemade side dishes on the island—kimchi, gat-kimchi, kkakdugi, and blanched garlic yu-choy—as the male ghost infringed on every aspect of her personal space, a hair's breadth away from her. The leftover plate of gyoza she made yesterday went into the air fryer to cook and crisp up.
Every word the ghost spoke glided over her like rainwater on a car's glass window. She caught something about her intestines but enough flew under her notice. The rambunctious households she grew up in had prepared her to ignore and tune out even the worst of things. He wasn't the first violent ghost to cross her path. Something about her inspired the gods to send souls like him her way.
Ana twisted her waist-length hair into a high bun, scrubbed her hands raw, and began to shave the round-eye into thin slices with a cleaver. He continued to threaten her with a range of methods she couldn't bother to parse through. Her pho-style beef bone broth simmered on as she arranged her dinner.
"Done threatening me?" she asked once she finished cooking the udon noodles. The ghost had fallen into a sulky silence. "All of that for a name. I can just call you 'ghost'."
She warmed up a bowl with the simmering broth and filled it with a small portion of noodles. It rested on the counter as she began cleaning up the small mess she created.
"Kol," he said.
"What?"
"My name is Kol."
A hint of a smile tilted her lips. "Welcome to my place, Kol. A pleasure to meet you."
"Now, answer my questions," he demanded.
"I descend from shamans," she tested the word. "Maybe priests and priestesses. We've always seen ghosts."
A glint entered his eyes, almost excited. Plotting. "You have magic."
"Yes, but I'm boring." She set aside portions of the side dishes and placed the several containers back into the fridge. "I act as an emissary for the divine and a guide for the lost souls they send my way."
"What broad bloody parameters."
"Inconvenient is a better word. Now, do you want to eat dinner with me?"
His lips lifted into a snarl. "Are you stupid or are you mocking me? I'm a ghost. I'm incapable of consuming food in this state."
"Magic and lost souls," she reminded him. "I can make you temporarily corporeal enough to eat."
He stared at her. "Those are your powers? How useless."
"Food is a bridge and I don't choose my powers. Now, dinner or no dinner?"
He scowled and his elbows sunk into the marbled beige quartz of her kitchen island. "What's this?"
Taking the question as a yes, Ana warmed up another bowl for him. She topped the bed of udon noodles with the thinly sliced round-eye, brisket, beef balls, beansprouts, herbs, and green onions. She repeated the process for herself and set them down on the island. He eyed her suspiciously, as if she were pulling a practical joke on him.
"If you're lying to me, human," Kol threatened.
She held out her hand. "Would you like to see if I am?"
"What do you want?"
"Your hand," she said.
He faltered, dark brown eyes meeting hers, before he stuck his hand out. She grasped it, palm to palm, and injected him with a jolt of magic. A glaze of divine intervention washing over his ghostly form. He flexed his hand in fascination before he struck and attempted to grab her by the throat. His hand fell through and he shivered.
She stared at him placidly, a hint of an amused smile flashing across her face. "Nice try, but it's only enough to eat your food. Which you should before it gets cold and bloated."
"You still wish to eat with me even after I attempted to kill you?" he asked, incredulous.
"I suspected you'd try something and I'd hate to waste food."
He sprawled onto the leather barstool across from her. "These powers of yours are useless."
She shrugged. "To you, perhaps."
"What's this?" Kol picked up the chopsticks she set out, discontented with his situation, and stared at the steaming bowl in front of him. "Well, human?"
"Beef udon noodle soup with a pho-style broth," she said. "That's braised pork belly gyoza, a spread of kimchi, and garlic greens." She searched his stiff expression as he picked up a dumpling and placed it in his mouth. "Have you… had any of this before?"
"Some. A previous version, perhaps," he said. "I… slept for one hundred years. I woke briefly and spent most of the time in small American towns with bland meals. I travelled to Asia previously… the cuisine has outdone itself over time."
He sounded almost bitter at the revelation. Ana watched his ever-changing facial expressions; each emotion more vivid than the last. Resentment, deep-rooted anger, regret, conflict, and wistfulness raged war on the canvas of his face. He would be a terrible ghost to guide to peace but she didn't expect anything less. The gods always sent the most difficult ones her way.
She ducked her head and took a sip of the pho-style broth. It had a clean fragrance, hints of star anise and fennel peeking through the layered taste of beef bone marrow, and complemented the thick, soft texture of the udon. The blackened beef brisket remained juicy and tender while the medium-rare round eye added a soft chew that matched the noodles. Green onion, thai basil, cilantro, and crisp beansprouts added a certain freshness to the hot soup while the intermittent addition of kimchi added a spicy-sourness whenever she needed an extra kick.
"So, want to tell me about the life you led before this? Were you a warlock? Half-demon? Shapeshifter?"
"What?" he said dangerously.
"Hundred year naps don't happen to non-magical humans and other humans also don't call each other 'human' either."
"Ask a different question," he growled.
Ana accepted the diverted route of conversation with ease. "What's your favourite meal? The one that eclipses all other food?"
"What?" He reeled back, blinking.
"Your favourite food," she said. "Your Ratatouille moment that makes even the worst situations better."
"You choose ratatouille among all the dishes in the world?" he scoffed. "What a subpar dish to favour. Your little meal here outdoes some stewed vegetables."
"It's a film reference. Not my favourite dish." She nudged the plate of kimchi forward. "And you should try these with your next bite."
He obliged her recommendation and grabbed a mustard leaf to eat. A hum before he grabbed a cubed daikon and a cabbage leaf. Every bite of the main dish or gyoza was accompanied by the pickled vegetables.
Kol was going to be the hardest or easiest ghost to guide. She wasn't quite sure which one he would be but she hoped to the high heavens that it would be the latter.
Even though she knew better.
Ana stacked the dinner dishes on the drying rack hanging over the sink.
Arnaud did pay attention to the smallest of details even for matters he didn't involve himself in. She doubted he even knew how to use a dishwasher. This house would do well on the market but she suspected one of her other cousins would protest the decision. While some enjoyed the luxuries of staying at hotels and having every whim catered to them, others preferred a simpler and cosy living free of the trappings offered by their privileged upbringing. This place would offer that.
When she returned to the kitchen island, Kol had slinked off somewhere else in the brownstone. She stared at his completely finished meal and secretly smiled when she remembered the hard-pressed nonchalant expression he wore throughout dinner. The bowl was nearly cleaned out, only speckles of red from the kimchi he devoured with each bite remained. Kol had slipped enough information about himself to her with ease between bites. Small details that amounted to nothing in the eyes of most people; several annoying siblings, not human, fascinated by magic, hedonistic to a fault, mainly stayed in the American South, and lived life to the fullest each time he woke up from a nonconsensual nap. He was undoubtedly a younger brother; she had an entire brigade of male cousins on her mother's side and she could recognize such a malady with ease. She deduced that he lived more than five hundred years at least; his bouts as sleeping beauty aside.
The act of sharing a meal often acted as a confessional booth to people and he was a ghost. There wasn't truly anything to lose for him.
She added his washed bowl with the other dishes and dried off her hands. Ghosts aside, she had her regular life to live, and that meant papers, contracts, and other forms of problem-solving that didn't include the supernatural. She picked up her bag from the foyer and took out her laptop.
Kol lingered in the drawing room, looking out the slip of the front window unguarded by the linen curtains. The room was rather empty, undecorated compared to her actual home. Minimalist sold better on the market but she disliked the coldness on principle.
"I need to do some work," she said. "Are you staying or leaving?"
"Dismissing me already?"
"I can't read your mind. I don't know what you want."
"I'm dead," he snarked. "I wish to be alive but I'll settle for remaining in your home for now."
Ana curled up on the corner of the couch with her laptop and the remains of her dirty matcha latte on the walnut end table by her head. "If you're staying, I'm turning on Ratatouille while I work."
"The film you referenced?" he asked curiously.
"It's an important cultural moment in film history."
Kol reluctantly sat down and watched her fiddle with the remote of the Smart TV. Every movement was intently noted by him but she ignored the staring.
"This is a child's film about a rat ," he said, offended, when the first few minutes passed.
Ana rolled her eyes. "It's an animated film that can be enjoyed by all ages. Don't discredit an entire medium of storytelling."
He scowled and crossed his lean arms across his chest. His athletic frame sprawled across the couch and took up most of the space. If he didn't act like he'd go feral any second, she would've nudged him over with her foot. Ana ignored his legs encroaching on her singular couch cushion and turned her attention to her less entertaining comparative politics paper. Her fingers flew over the keyboard or ghosted the trackpad, quietly tapping away. A smile played at Ana's lips when she peeked at Kol and spotted his rapt attention held by the events playing out on the screen.
Five minutes before ten at night, she submitted her paper and shut down her laptop. She caught the ending of the film and stretched as the credits rolled up the screen.
"Well?" She set down her laptop on the coffee table.
"A tolerable experience," he said.
Ana put the remote on his lap and stood up. "You should pick another movie. I'll be back down to work on more things."
Kol watched the strange girl out of the corner of his eye.
Ana, or so she said, reminded him of water. The black ocean of her hair fell around her in waves and framed the pale oval of her face. Light from the television and her computer coloured her skin in flashes, emphasising her moonlight-esque complexion. The flushed red of her lips, worried by a peek of bunny-like teeth. Her long, ink-black lashes framed brown doe-like eyes as they alternated between the screen in front of her and the one they shared. She morphed into the environment quietly and nearly slipped beneath his notice at times.
The small scrap of fabric she called a nightgown she pranced down in had engulfed her petite frame with ease. He only saw the smooth line of her calves and the birdbone-like fragility of her ankles before she hid beneath a tiny faux-fur throw. It would've covered half of him at most but it swamped her entirely. She held a delicate beauty, a peculiar sweetness, and had he been alive as the vampire he once was, he wouldn't have looked at her twice.
He preferred them defiant, challenging, and intense. Such traits spelled out a night of undulating debauchery and fun. She had surprised him, however, with her serenity and evenness. Kol could recognize that as a form of fearlessness of its own.
When the film ended, a rather touching story called Big Hero 6, she rubbed her eyes and turned to him expectantly. His lips twitched slightly.
"Adequate entertainment," he said.
"Well, I need to sleep, but since you don't need it, you should watch some movies and shows to catch up on the years of culture you missed. You'll be corporeal enough to manipulate the remote until three in the morning and I have auto-play." The girl paused and rifled through her bag to pull out paper and a pen. "Here, I'll give you some recommendations of things I liked in English. Brooklyn Nine-Nine, Kung Fu Panda, Up, Lilo and Stitch, Paddington and Paddington 2… I'll need to see if any Studio Ghibli film dubs match up to the original language…"
He watched her unreadable face as she scribbled on the paper. She was unobtrusive in every way and held a tranquillity about her that no one in his family could ever replicate. Except, he suspected, that she maintained something like a rip current beneath the facade.
"Will they be catered to children, once more?"
"Yes," she hummed. She shoved the paper at him and the remote. "I need to sleep now. Have fun."
She meticulously folded up the throw and draped it over the sofa arm. His eyes trailed over her dainty silhouette, every inch of her suggesting a certain frailty that would shatter like a fallen glass figurine. Her tiny bare feet ghosted over the laminate wood, each step soundless, as she headed for the staircase. If he hadn't known better, he would suspect she was the true apparition as the edges of her form became misty. She moved like a shadow through fog but the description wasn't quite right. Something about her reminded him of the light despite her muted demeanour. It radiated from the clarity of her eyes, the bright jolt in her magic.
He didn't quite trust her as a whole but he was quite sure she was harmless. Kol cleared his throat and she looked down at him from the staircase. Those stupidly long lashes of hers fluttered over sleepy tea-brown eyes.
"Lobster bisque, dirty rice, and New York cheesecake," he said.
A quick flash of a smile, a hint of white bunny-like teeth. "Goodnight, Kol."
The most minute change of her face, the first one all night—it haunted him until the early hours of the morning even after he investigated the rather empty home and attempted to intrude on her privacy.
Tags: Slow Burn/Slow Romance, Reverse Harem/Polyamory, Original Characters of Colour, Not Canon Compliant, Lots of Food Descriptions, Eventual Smut.
the main character is of multi-ethnic asian descent, inspired by my personal life. except for the old money family, no financial troubles thing. because this is a fanfic and i'd like to not think about paying bills.
i might've fudged with the timeline a bit and moved the entire setting of the story to a slightly more modern day. it's a pre-covid era though. the hayley/klaus one night stand doesn't happen. hope doesn't exist. he had a vampire paramour binge. new orleans is new orleans. the stupid prophecy doesn't exist.
english isn't my first language so feel free to correct me!