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 the New York City skyline while sheets of unrelenting rain threatened to drown its inhabitants. Slick streets reflected the eternity of lights flickering throughout the busy metropolitan, all the brighter due to the pressing darkness of the coming evening; it truly was the city that never sleeps. It inspired a dull yet desperate kind of living amongst its denizens. One of soul-crushing productivity and relentless movement in the hopes of survival.
Ana might've fallen for the grift 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 two additional espresso shots in her typical dirty matcha latte. The baristas of the cafe she frequented for the past two weeks of her stay in the city already seemed concerned about her thrice a day appearance. She'd either need to find a new haunt soon or throw in a two-hundred percent tip with each purchase for them to look the other way if she ever upped it to four. That was the great thing about the big cities in the west—no one cared once enough money hit the table. You were just another face among the many they encountered on the daily.
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 to matcha and espresso.
The rainwater battered the still-busy streets and swirled around the soles of her black velvet 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.
A glimpse of shimmering hot pink caught her eye.
A pretty girl huddled beneath the awning of a closed bakery, covering only in a short cocktail dress. She shivered 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 shields of nylon. She was Ana's age, perhaps younger. A college student 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, her blonde curls bouncing, and she 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 must have remembered as she hesitantly snatched up the umbrella, opened it, and merged into the passing crowd with her matching pink heels tainted by the muddy waters splashing with each step.
Ana followed soon after.
Not a soul spared her a glance as she slipped through the cracks of the bustling mass to the subway station, untouched by the endless precipitation. The fabric of her boots remained pristine.
She had a comparative politics paper to submit, a throng of emails to sort through, a contract to review, information to organise, and dinner to consume. Her fingers rubbed the growing ache thrumming at the bridge of her nose. She'd require another dirty matcha latte to accomplish a singular task on her list.
The traditional brownstone in Brooklyn wasn't Ana's ideal home. It strayed too close to the downtown core; full of busy roads, active people, and overly enthusiastic noise at all hours of the day. But her eldest paternal cousin, Arnaud Lau, had restored the home built in the early nineteen hundreds and asked her to evaluate its potential either on the market or as an addition to their family's global real estate repertoire. He had requested it of her with such a warmth that 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 which had endeared her more to him.
She, privately, preferred the reclusive English manor in Millburn, New Jersey that their cousin, Celine, acquired at an astonishingly low price. The potential of a daily three hour commute devouring the meagre twenty-four hours of her day, however, filled her with dread.
And if Arnaud discovered her preferences, 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 their paternal grandmother's family. As it was, she wouldn't need it.
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'd need a new umbrella soon unless her hopes for a week of well-deserved isolation were fulfilled. Her maternal family would undoubtedly request for her help or presence at the newest branch of the company within the week.
In the darkened drawing room, a flicker of movement—
Ana's 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 into.
"Bloody hell!" The man regained his balance. "These humans must wish to die by my hands."
Ana leaned against the romanesque wooden pillars capping off a matching walnut-wood partition separating the drawing room and foyer. The man was begrudgingly pretty with smooth skin, tousled locks, and distinctly sharp features. Wisps of chestnut brown hair fell into his dark chocolate eyes bordered by thick lashes.
A haze of pearled ivory surrounded his sinewy and slim figure. She relaxed and closed her eyes.
Fantastic.
"It'll be difficult to accomplish considering you're incorporeal, ghost," she said.
The ghost's head shot up. His wild eyes landed on her with a near-frightening accuracy as 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 to sip at while preparing dinner. If she had known she would return to this, she would have insisted on a whole tray to take home.
"Answer me, girl. Are you a witch?"
"No." Ana paused, considering her words as she entered the kitchen. "Maybe. I've never thought about what I'm called in English. No one asked."
He stepped in front of her and glared. "Then, why can you see me?"
She sighed and walked through him to check on the tall copper stock pot resting on the gas stovetop. A pleasant clear broth, fragrant with toasted spices and free of residual oil or scum. It was a transparent amber brown. Fire flared beneath the metal pot with a snap of her fingers and she turned on the range hood. "That's a long story. Want to tell me your name? Considering you're rudely invading my space?"
"Watch your mouth, human. I've killed people for far less and should I come back alive, I'll remember to return to this city just for you," he said, eyes blackening.
"I'm just visiting New York," she said plainly. "My name is Ana."
His gaze narrowed. "Are you mocking me?"
She ignored him and pulled out the prepped ingredients from the fridge as he bristled and fumed at her. A slab of round-eye beef, brisket, cooked tripe, beef balls, sliced green onion, cilantro, beansprouts, and frozen udon packets for the main dish. She set out the containers of homemade side dishes on the island—kimchi, gat-kimchi, kkakdugi, and blanched garlic yu-choy. The male ghost infringed on every aspect of her personal space, a hair's breadth between them.
The leftover plate of uncooked gyoza she made yesterday went into the airfryer to crisp up.
Every word passing from the ghosts' lips glided over her like rainwater on a car's glass windows. She caught something about her intestines around her neck but enough flew beneath her notice. The rambunctious households she grew up in and around had prepared her to ignore and tune out the worst things. He wasn't the first violent ghost to cross her path and she doubted he'd be the last. Something about her inspired the gods to send souls like him her way.
Ana twisted her waist-length waves into a high bun, scrubbed her hands raw, and began to shave the round-eye into thin slices with a cleaver. The ghost continued to threaten her with an impressive 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. She glanced at the ghost who had fallen into a sulky silence. "All of that for a name. I can continue to call you 'ghost'."
She warmed up a ceramic bowl with the broth and poured back in only to fill it with a small portion of noodles. She placed the bowl back onto the counter and cleaned 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 humble abode, Kol. A pleasure to meet you."
"Now, answer my questions," he demanded.
"I descend from shamans," she tested the word. "Maybe priests and priestesses are more fitting. 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 several containers back into the fridge. "I act as an emissary for the divine and as a guide for the lost souls set in my path."
"What broad bloody parameters."
She shrugged. "Inconvenient is a better word. Now, do you want to eat dinner with me?"
"Are you stupid or are you mocking me?" His lips lifted into a snarl. "I'm a ghost. Incapable of consuming food in this state."
"Magic, lost souls," she reminded him. "I can make you temporarily corporeal enough to eat."
He stopped and stared at her, slight disbelief colouring his features. "Those are your powers? How useless."
"Food is a bridge and we don't choose our powers. Now, dinner or no dinner?"
He scowled and his elbows sunk into the marbled beige quartz of her kitchen island. "What's this?"
Ana took the question as a 'yes' and warmed up another bowl for him. She topped the bed of udon noodles with thinly sliced round-eye, brisket, beef balls, beansprouts, herbs, and green onions before sluicing the boiling broth over to cook the round-eye. She repeated the process for herself and set them down on the island. Kol eyed her suspiciously, as if she were pulling a practical joke on him.
"If you're lying to me, human," he 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 chocolate 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 washed over his ghostly form as a complex magic circle branded itself onto his hand. He flexed his hand in fascination before he struck out 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 and manipulate small inanimate objects for a time. You should eat before it goes cold and bloats."
"You still want to eat with me even after I attempted to kill you?" he asked, incredulous.
"You wouldn't be the first and I suspected you'd try something. I'd hate to waste food, too."
He sprawled onto the leather barstool across from her. "These powers of yours are useless."
"To you, perhaps," she said.
"What's this?" Kol picked up the chopsticks she set out 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 into his mouth. "Have you… had any of this before?"
"Somewhat. A previous version, perhaps," he said. "I… slept for one hundred years. I woke briefly and spent most of my time in boring, small American towns with bland meals. I travelled to Asia previously but that was a lifetime ago. The cuisine has outdone itself over time."
He almost sounded bitter at the revelation. Ana watched his ever-changing facial expressions; each emotion more vivid than the last. Resentment, deep-rooted anger, regret, confliction, and wistfulness raged war on the open 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 and slightly sweet fragrance, hints of the toasted star anise and coriander and fennel peeked through the layered taste of beef bone marrow. The thick, soft texture of the udon complimented the light yet complex flavours. The blackened beef brisket remained juicy and tender while the medium-rare round-eyed added a soft chew that matched the noodles. The green onion, thai basil, cilantro, and crisp bean sprouts added a certain freshness to the hot dish while the intermittent addition of kimchi added a refreshing spicy-sourness whenever she needed an extra kick.
She set down her chopsticks. "So, want to tell me about the life you led before this? Were you a warlock? A half-demon? Shapeshifter?"
"What?" he asked dangerously, hand hovering mid-air.
"Hundred year naps don't happen to non-magical humans and other humans 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 any stewed vegetable dish."
"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. A hum escaped his mouth before he grabbed a cubed daikon and a cabbage leaf. Every bite of the main dish or the gyoza was accompanied by the pickled vegetables.
It was one way to get rid of leftovers.
Ana went back to eating.
Kol was going to be one of the easiest or hardest ghosts 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.
The gods wouldn't let her have it easy.
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 ever 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 their other cousins would protest the decision to sell once she gave her stamp of approval. While some enjoyed wild luxuries and staging at hotels while having their every whim catered to, others preferred the simpler and cosy living, free of the trapping offered by their privileged upbringing. This place would offer that.
When she returned to the kitchen island, Kol had slinked off to somewhere else in the brownstone. She could feel his presence still, among the plenty of ghosts haunting New York. She stared at his completely finished meal and smiled, secretly, 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 other 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 presumably non-consensual nap.
He was undoubtedly a younger brother. She had a brigade of male cousins on her mother's side and she could recognise such a malady with ease. She presumed he must have lived for more than five hundred years at least, his bouts as the famed sleeping beauty aside.
The act of sharing a meal often acted as a confessional booth and sanctuary to people. Kol was a ghost and there wasn't truly anything to lose for him.
People too often underestimated the power of comfort and serenity.
She added his washed bowl with the other dishes and dried off her hands. Ghosts aside, she had her regular life to live. That meant papers to write, contracts to sign, and all other forms of non-supernatural problem-solving. She picked up her bag and laptop from the foyer.
Kol lingered in the drawing room, looking out the slit of the front windows unguarded by the linen curtains. The room was a rather empty bore, undecorated compared to her actual home. Minimalism sold better on the market but she disliked the slick coldness on principle.
"I need to do some work," she said. "Are you staying or leaving?"
"Dismissing me already?" He towered over her.
Ana curled up on the corner of the couch, nearly cuddling her laptop. The remains of her dirty matcha latte rested on the walnut end table behind her head. "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 humble home for now."
"If you're staying, I'm turning on Ratatouille while I work."
"The film you referenced?" he asked curiously.
She nodded. "It's an important cultural moment in film history."
Kol reluctantly sat down and watched her fiddle with Smart TV's remote. Every movement of hers was intently noted by him but she ignored the blatant staring.
"This is a child's film about a rat, " he said, offended, when the first few minutes passed.
"It's an animated film that can be enjoyed by all ages." She rolled her eyes. "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 of the day, she would've nudged him over with her foot and disturb his aura. But, as a civilised host, 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 and ghosted over the trackpad, quietly tapped away. A smile played at her lips when she peeked at Kol and spotted his attention wrapped up by the events playing out on the screen.
Five minutes before ten, she submitted her paper and closed her laptop. She caught the ending of the film and stretched as the credits rolled up the screen.
"Well?" She downed the last of her latte and set down her laptop on the coffee table.
Kol cleared his throat. "A tolerable experience."
Ana placed the remote on his lap and stood up. "You should pick another movie. I'll be back down to work on more things."
Kol observed the strange girl out of the corner of his eyes.
Ana, or so she said, reminded him of water in all of its forms. The black ocean of her hair fell around her in waves, framing the pale oval of her face. Light from the television and her computer coloured her skin in flashes, emphasising her moonlight-esque complexion as she reflected everything like the still surface of water. The flushed red of her lips, worried by the intermittent bite of her bunny-like teeth. Her long, inky-black lashes framed her doe-like eyes as they alternated between the screen in front of her and the one they shared. She blended into the environment, quiet and unobtrusive, and nearly slipped beneath his notice entirely at times.
The small scrap of fabric she called a nightgown she pranced down in had engulfed her petite frame with ease, hints of her curves peeking through with each movement. He trailed over 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. She held a delicate beauty, a peculiar sweetness, and had he been alive, he wouldn't have looked at her twice.
He liked his prey and companions defiant, challenging, and intense. Such traits spelled out nights of undulating debauchery and fun. She had surprised him, however, with her tranquillity and evenness. He could recognise that as a form of fearlessness of its own.
When the film she chose ended, a rather touching and unrelatable story called Big Hero 6, she rubbed her eyes and turned to him expectantly. His lips twitched at her searching gaze.
"Adequate entertainment," he said. "I prefer my usual games, however."
"Well, I need to sleep. 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. You could also terrorise the neighbourhood with your ability to throw small things." The girl paused and rifled through her bag to pull out a pad of paper and a pen. "If you're staying, I have some recommendations of things I like in English. Brooklyn Nine-Nine, The Good Place, Kung Fu Panda, Up, Lilo and Stitch, Paddington and Paddington 2, The Addams Family… I'll need to see if any Studio Ghibli film dubs match up to the original language."
He watched her unreadable face as he scribbled onto the paper. She was unassuming in every way and held a serenity 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?"
"Yes," she said, humming. She shoved the paper at him and the remote. "The best movies are. 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've suspected that 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 at dawn, piercing through the dark, despite her muted demeanour. It radiated from the clarity of her eyes. The bright jolt of her magic flowing through him.
He didn't quite trust her enough but he was quite sure she was harmless towards him. His intuition about these things were astounding even if his siblings didn't trust him. Kol cleared his throat and she looked down at him from the staircase. Those stupidly long lashes of hers fluttered over the sleepy tea-brown of her eyes.
He threw caution to the wind.
"Lobster bisque, dirty rice, and New York cheesecake," he said.
A quick flash of a smile crossed her face, the peek of her white bunny-like teeth. "Good night, Kol."
It was the most minute and abrupt change of her face, the first one all night, and for some unknowable reason, 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.
Perhaps, Kol wasn't quite accurate about his assessment on how dangerous she was.
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!