could you pretty please do dating headcanons for elijah mikaelson?
Dating Elijah Mikaelson Would Include
A/N: so sorry it took so long; took me so long to write it, but i'm incapable of writing short stuff... hope you enjoy 💕
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-you meet Elijah on a night that feels slightly wrong - the kind where the air is too still. He steps between you and danger before you even register what’s happening. His first instinct isn’t violence. It’s concern. “Are you harmed?” he asks, voice calm but eyes burning
-he insists on walking you home, not out of arrogance, but because it physically pains him to leave you unsettled. He keeps a respectful distance, hands clasped behind his back like he’s restraining every instinct he has
-he introduces himself simply as “Elijah,” watching your reaction closely. When you don’t flinch at the name, something in him relaxes - like he expected fear and found… curiosity instead
-you see him again. Not by chance - Elijah doesn’t do “chance.” But he appears in the quiet moments, the in-between places, always with a polite greeting, always with that soft electricity in the air
-he listens when you speak. Fully. It’s disarming, how present he is. Most people listen to reply - Elijah listens to understand. It makes you feel seen in a way you didn’t know you were missing
-the first time he hears you laugh, his composure falters. He goes still, like the sound hits him somewhere unguarded. You don’t catch it - but he spends the rest of the day replaying it in his mind
-he notices everything. Your favorite drink. The way your expression shifts before you speak. The tiny crease between your brows when you’re concentrating. He memorizes these things quietly, like collecting little truths about you
-Elijah doesn’t flirt - not intentionally. But his version of it is subtle: stepping slightly closer than necessary, lowering his voice when speaking only to you, offering his jacket before you even realize you’re cold
-he says your name with a kind of reverence. Not dramatic - just careful. Like it’s something he shouldn’t rush
-he shows up right when something almost goes wrong. Always composed, always calm, but there’s a sharpness to him that appears only when you might be in danger. He tells himself it’s coincidence. It isn’t
-he tries to keep emotional distance. Truly tries. But he gets drawn in by the way you look at him - without fear, without judgment, without the weight of his past. It unsettles him in the best way
-he watches over you even when he says he won’t. Elijah frames it as “caution,” but the truth is simpler: he cares. And it terrifies him
-the moment you get even a small injury, Elijah’s mask cracks. Just for a heartbeat. His hands hover, unsure whether to touch you or restrain himself. His voice goes softer: “Please. Be careful”
-you begin seeking him out too - a steady presence in a chaotic city. He notices. He tries not to react, but the faint smile that tugs at his mouth gives him away
-a simple touch - your hand brushing his - throws him. His breath actually stalls for a second before he clears his throat and tries to recompose himself
-he softens around you in ways he doesn’t around anyone else. His posture loosens, his sleeves roll up, his voice loses that formal edge. With you, he lets himself exist without performance
-Rebekah sees it first. Kol teases. Klaus mutters something about “inevitable attachments.” Elijah ignores them all, but the slight tension in his jaw says they’re not wrong
-he starts telling you small things - preferences, memories, thoughts he doesn’t share with others. It’s unintentional. You ask gentle questions, and he finds himself answering before he can stop
-the truth comes out violently, suddenly - not through confession, but necessity. Something attacks, too fast for human eyes, and Elijah moves even faster. One blink and he’s no longer beside you but in front of you, all impossible speed and strength, ending the threat with terrifying precision
-when it’s over, he doesn’t look triumphant. He looks… worried. Like he knows you saw everything he never meant for you to see
-he faces you slowly, hands raised as though approaching something fragile. There’s no mask now - just honesty, heavy and unhidden. “This is what I am,” he says, voice low, careful. “I understand if your feelings… shift”
-but when he meets your eyes, there’s the faintest tremor of hope - like he wants, more than he’ll ever admit, for nothing between you to change
-after learning the truth, you expect Elijah to keep his distance. Instead, he becomes even more present - not hovering, not smothering, but quietly available
-he checks in on you without announcing it, appearing with that composed calm of his, asking if you’re alright in a way that suggests he’s bracing for you to say no. You don’t. And something in his shoulders loosens every time
-he doesn’t try to convince you to stay in his world, but he does give you information piece by piece - history, rules, dangers. He speaks softly, deliberately, as if he wants you to understand everything before you decide anything
-he treats your opinions with the same seriousness he gives thousand-year-old politics, and it’s… disarming
-the tension between you shifts. It’s no longer uncertainty but something quieter, more deliberate. He stands a little closer when he talks to you
-you catch his eyes drifting to your lips before he looks away, composed so quickly you might think you imagined it - except you didn’t
-whenever you’re alone together, the air feels charged. He’s hyperaware of every sound you make - your breath catching when he steps close, your laugh, the way you say his name
-Elijah doesn’t flirt openly; he doesn’t need to. He looks at you like you’re a question he’s almost afraid to answer
-Klaus notices. “You’re staring mate,” he says, amused. Elijah doesn’t dignify it with a response, but he shifts slightly away from you, jaw tightening. That reaction alone tells Klaus everything, and he smirks as he walks off. You pretend not to hear the muttered “finally”
-Elijah starts showing small cracks in his composure when it’s just you - humor sneaking into his voice, a smile tugging at his mouth, a softness in his eyes that no one else seems to get from him. It’s subtle, but unmistakable. He lets himself relax around you
-sometimes when you speak, he watches you like he’s memorizing the moment. “You have an extraordinary way of seeing the world,” he says once, almost to himself. You don’t know how to respond. He doesn’t seem to expect you to
-there’s a night where danger comes close again - not directly at you, but close enough that Elijah returns to the compound tense, stained with someone else’s blood. You rush to him without thinking. He freezes, visibly startled by the sudden closeness, by the worry on your face
-he tries to pull away emotionally even as you stand before him. “This life isn’t meant for you,” he murmurs. “I should keep my distance.” His voice doesn’t sound like someone who wants distance. It sounds like someone terrified of losing you before he even has the right to call you his
-you tell him, gently but firmly, that you’re not afraid. That you chose to stay long before he ever asked you to. Elijah closes his eyes as if the words physically hit him - a mixture of relief, longing, and something more dangerous
-when he opens his eyes again, he looks at you like he’s already lost the battle he’s been fighting with himself for weeks. His hand lifts, hesitating halfway - fingers brushing your cheek with a gentleness that makes your breath stutter. “You should not want someone like me,” he whispers. But he doesn’t pull his hand away
-the first kiss happens in the quiet that follows - not planned, not restrained, not cautious. One moment you’re standing close, breathing the same air, and the next his lips are on yours, warm and fierce and impossibly tender
-Elijah kisses like he’s terrified and relieved all at once, like he’s been holding back a dam that finally cracks under its own weight
-when he pulls back, he’s breathless - composed on the surface but absolutely undone behind the eyes. “I shouldn’t have…” he starts, but you shake your head before he can finish. His gaze flickers to your mouth again, betraying him completely
-after that night, things shift. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just quietly, naturally. Elijah starts reaching for your hand without thinking; a brush of fingers, a light touch on your back, the kind of affection he offers instinctively rather than consciously. It surprises him every time
-he’s still cautious. He still overthinks. But he stops pretending he doesn’t want you. He stands closer, speaks softer, looks at you longer. The tension between you is no longer sharp - it’s warm, steady, something that breathes instead of presses
-you begin to see the private side of him - the one that relaxes his shoulders when you walk into the room, the one that allows himself small smiles that never reach anyone else
-Elijah’s affection is subtle but constant: offering you his jacket, checking your pulse after danger, touching your cheek like it’s sacred
-he starts trusting you with things he never shares - stories from before the family fractured, memories that shaped him. He doesn’t talk about feelings directly, but he lets you see the parts of him he usually hides beneath centuries of discipline
-sometimes, when he thinks you’re asleep, he studies your face like he’s trying to memorize every detail. Like he still can’t quite believe he gets to be close to you. He reaches out, brushing your hair back with a tenderness that almost hurts
-he’s protective in a way that’s quiet but absolute. Not possessive, not controlling just deeply aware of your safety. He always positions himself between you and danger, even unconsciously. Even more telling: he listens when you tell him not to worry
-the beginnings of the relationship feel soft, steady, unspoken. No grand declarations - just two people choosing each other over and over in a world full of sharp edges. Elijah isn’t used to happiness, but he looks at you like he’s learning it for the first time
-Elijah is gentle to the point of reverence when it comes to intimacy. Not shy - never that — but intentional. Every kiss, every touch, every moment feels like he’s asking a silent question: Is this okay? Do you want this too? And every time you answer yes, something inside him melts
-he’s more affected by desire than he ever lets on. You learn it in the way he pauses when you whisper his name, the way his jaw tightens when you brush your fingers along the back of his neck, the way his self-control frays just a little when you kiss him first. Elijah kisses like he’s starving, even when he tries not to
-the first night you spend together isn’t about urgency. It’s slow, warm, full of whispered promises and gentle touches - deeply emotional. Elijah treats you like you’re not something to conquer but something precious to hold. Afterward, he rests his forehead against yours and murmurs, “I never imagined I could feel this… whole"
-he’s incredibly respectful of boundaries. He asks what you want, listens, adjusts. His protectiveness never crosses into control - it’s simply the instinct of a man who has lost too much and refuses to lose you
-Klaus is intimidating at first. He circles you metaphorically the way a wolf circles something new in his territory. He asks pointed questions, invasive ones, trying to see what you’re made of. Elijah is tense the whole time, ready to intervene - until you answer him calmly and confidently. Klaus raises a brow, impressed. “Well. At least you’re not dull, darling"
-Rebekah takes to you almost instantly. She drags you into her orbit with an ease that surprises even Elijah. She tests you once - a subtle gauging of loyalty - and when you stand firm, she beams. “You’re good for him,” she says, linking arms with you. “Finally someone who doesn’t bore me to death”
-Kol, on the other hand, pokes at you for sport. He teases, taunts, pushes buttons just to see how you react. When you don’t scare easily, he looks almost offended - then entertained. “Oh, I like you,” he grins. “No wonder Elijah does.” Elijah groans in the background
-the family dynamic becomes part of your life whether you want it or not. Klaus storms in at random hours, Rebekah brings champagne for no reason, Kol “borrows” things from your room. Elijah apologizes constantly, but you see the small smile he hides when he notices how naturally you fit in
-Elijah never forgets - not for a second - that you’re human. It’s not fear or condescension, but reverence. He watches your hands move, your chest rise and fall, the soft warmth of your skin… and it hits him each time: you are fragile, mortal, breakable. He treats that fragility not like a flaw, but like something sacred. He holds you as if you’re life itself
-Elijah’s protectiveness is quiet but absolute. If someone raises their voice at you, he’s suddenly at your side. If danger lurks nearby, his hand finds your back. He doesn’t forbid you from doing anything - he simply ensures he’s there, a shadow and a shield
-your mortality terrifies him in ways he’ll never fully admit. The first time you get a small cut, he’s instantly at your side, checking the wound like it’s far more serious than it is. You laugh, try to brush it off. He doesn’t. “You only have one life,” he says quietly, thumb brushing your uninjured skin. “I intend to protect it with everything I am”
-you learn he’s incredibly sensitive to your emotions. If you’re upset, he notices even before you speak. If you’re scared, he stands closer. If you’re happy, he softens in a way that looks like a man remembering what peace feels like
-being human means you get tired - and Elijah absolutely adores it. He’ll find you asleep on the sofa after a long day, curled into a blanket, and something in him just… softens. He carries you to bed with impossible gentleness every time. And though he doesn’t sleep often, he stays beside you, listening to your heartbeat like it’s the most comforting sound in the world
-you get cold easily, and Elijah notices. He drapes his jacket over your shoulders without being asked, wraps an arm around you when the night wind bites at your skin, warms your hands in his with such tenderness it almost hurts. “Forgive me,” he teases softly one evening, “I forget not everyone is built to withstand the centuries”
-Elijah has a lover’s quiet pride. When you enter a room, he straightens slightly. When you speak, he gives you his full attention. When someone interrupts you, he cuts them off with a single calm look. It’s subtle, but everyone sees it: you matter to him
-morning intimacy becomes a favorite: you tangled in sheets, Elijah half-awake, kisses soft and slow, his voice rough with sleep when he murmurs, “good morning, my love.” He’s never been more relaxed than he is in those stolen moments
-your laughter becomes his weakness. The first time you laugh at one of his dry comments, he stops mid-motion, eyes warming instantly. After that, he tries - subtly - to make you laugh more often. Klaus catches him doing it and nearly chokes on a drink
-Elijah becomes hyper-aware of time in a way he hasn’t been in centuries. To him, decades pass like seasons - but with you, every hour feels fleeting. He memorizes everything about you with quiet desperation: the way you tilt your head when you’re curious, the cadence of your footsteps, the warmth of your laughter. He’s lived a thousand years, but you make every moment feel suddenly, painfully precious
-your pulse drives him insane - not as bloodlust, never that, but as a reminder that you’re alive in a way he hasn’t been for centuries. Sometimes you rest your head against his chest and he goes still, listening to the steady rhythm of your heart. He doesn’t tell you how grounding it is - how it pulls him back from the edges of his own darkness - but you feel the way he holds you tighter
-you catch glimpses of his guilt. He’ll hold you close after something dangerous happens, then pull away with regret shadowing his expression. “You shouldn’t have to live like this,” he says quietly. But when you cup his face and tell him you choose him, his resolve falters every time
-Klaus becomes fiercely protective of you - almost comically so. He threatens anyone who looks at you wrong, warns enemies that harming you will unleash consequences “unlike anything the world has ever seen.” Elijah pretends to be annoyed. Secretly, he’s grateful
-Rebekah starts treating you like a sibling - borrowing your clothes, giving you relationship advice you didn’t ask for, threatening Elijah jokingly whenever he overthinks too much. “If you hurt her,” she says sweetly, “I’ll dagger you myself”
-Kol calls you “little human” until you outwit him at something - then he stops abruptly and mutters, “Alright, you’re less boring than I expected.” In Kol language, that’s the highest praise imaginable
-you get sick one week - nothing serious, just a human cold - and Elijah reacts like you’re on your deathbed. He appears with soups, medications, blankets, and a level of hovering that shocks even Rebekah. “Brother, she merely sneezed,” she groans, but Elijah doesn’t care. He wipes your forehead with a cool cloth and mutters, “humor me.” You’ve never seen him so flustered
-intimacy deepens in small ways: Elijah brushing your hair back when you’re reading, you fixing his tie when he’s lost in thought, the two of you sharing quiet moments that say more than words. He has centuries of restraint, yet with you, he lets himself be soft
-and somewhere in that mix of passion, danger, affection, and chaos, the relationship settles into something steady - something real. Elijah watches you interacting with his siblings one evening, warmth softening his features. He steps beside you, fingers brushing yours, and whispers, “I never imagined a life like this… but I’m grateful beyond words”
-he moves through the world differently with you now. You notice the subtle ways he softens around you: the tilt of his head when he’s listening, the almost imperceptible exhale when you touch his arm. Being with him is like seeing the centuries in his eyes, tempered by the rare calm of someone choosing to be fully present
-Elijah’s love for you is patient, intense, and unyielding. When he holds you, it’s not merely desire - it’s reverence. Hands linger along your back, your hair, your face, with a kind of restraint that says he knows what centuries can do, and he doesn’t want to rush what belongs to him anyway
-physical intimacy is measured and consuming. A brush of his fingers against your wrist can make your pulse stutter. A shared bed doesn’t just mean warmth - it means the quiet understanding of each other’s rhythm. He values the tension of proximity, the comfort of being near, the almost-spoken promise in a touch or a glance
-there’s an undercurrent of tension. He’s immortal. You’re not. The thought of losing you is quiet but persistent. Occasionally, his gaze darkens, just for a heartbeat, when the fragility of human life reminds him how precious you are and how painfully fleeting your time together might be
-arguments with Elijah are rare and deliberate. He is a man of honor, centuries-honed restraint, and a gentleman in every sense. He never raises his voice, never lashes out. The disagreements that arise are measured, deliberate, spoken in careful tones, each word weighted with thought
-most arguments stem from one constant: your safety. His fear for you manifests in frustration when you take risks, when you face dangers he knows are avoidable. You argue back, fiercely human, unwilling to step aside. His tone stays calm, yet the intensity behind it betrays how deeply he cares. He doesn’t want to control you - he wants to preserve you, and that drives the friction between your hearts
-laughter comes easily now, softer, frequent. He notices it the first time you laugh freely in his presence - it makes him pause mid-step. “I haven’t heard that,” he murmurs, almost to himself. He begins to seek these moments out, wanting to cultivate them like they’re rare gems among centuries of conflict
-Elijah notices the way his siblings respond to you, the comfort you bring into their lives. It reassures him that you are not just an accessory to his world; you are part of it, breathing life into centuries-old routines. He can step back and watch the interactions with a rare ease, seeing you as fully integrated
-sometimes he watches you sleep, the thought of loss simmering beneath his calm exterior. And sometimes, in those long, quiet nights, he allows himself a soft confession of fear - not that you’d ever leave him, but that time might steal you first
-you find comfort in the duality of him - fierce, elegant, dangerous, yet tender, careful, devoted. He kisses differently now: brief touches in hallways, lingering in the kitchen, steady hands that explore and soothe. Every kiss is precise, intentional, full of longing and reverence
-your intimacy expands beyond physicality. You fall asleep in each other’s arms. He memorizes your scent, the way your hair falls over your shoulders. Small touches, whispered reassurances, hand-holding in crowded spaces become anchors. He is no longer just a vampire protecting you - he is a partner, present in every way he can be
-but danger lurks still, and one night it becomes immediate. A threat materializes - lethal, unyielding. You are gravely injured while defending yourself. Elijah’s calm shatters in a flash of centuries-old panic. He holds you, desperate, unrelenting, refusing to let you go. The reality of your mortality crashes into the heart of your bond
-there is no choice left. With a grim, anguished reverence, he turns you into a vampire. The moment is heartbreak and salvation entwined
-he holds you as you awaken anew, watching your eyes adjust to this world, the weight of centuries now shared. This marks the turning point - your bond with him, his family, and the dangerous, immortal life you now inhabit is irrevocable
-waking up is nothing like you imagined. The world is too sharp, too loud, too vivid; your new senses crash over you like a tide. Elijah is there the moment you open your eyes — still, steady, composed, as if he’s been holding his breath for hours. “You’re safe,” he says softly. The calm in his voice becomes your first anchor in this terrifying new clarity
-he talks you through every second of the transition; his voice is low, even, patient in a way that makes you realize he prepared himself for this moment long before you did. He treats you not like something fragile - but like someone reborn
-the first time you feed, your hands shake. Elijah holds them steady without touching you, just close enough for you to feel his presence. “You are not a monster,” he murmurs when you look horrified afterward. “You are still you.” And somehow, when he says it, you believe him more than you believe yourself
-Klaus watches your early days with surprising gentleness. “You’re family now,” he tells you, voice low, a promise disguised as a threat. He teaches you how to fight with the strength you don’t yet know how to wield, while Elijah watches from the side - proud, anxious, endlessly patient
-Rebekah becomes your unofficial older sister, guiding you through the parts Elijah forgets to explain - the messy, emotional, human bits of being a newborn vampire
-Kol is delighted by you in the most chaotic way. “Look at you,” he grins, circling you like you’re a new toy. “Our sweet little fledgling.” Elijah’s stare silences him instantly - but Kol still smirks behind his glass, endlessly amused and unexpectedly protective
-Elijah treats your transition with reverence. He helps you train, but never pushes. He talks you through your instincts, your new senses, your heightened emotions. And each time you falter, he reminds you gently, “you are learning. That is all. You owe yourself patience"
-intimacy shifts after the turning - not rougher, not wilder, but deeper. Passion no longer needs to be restrained; neither of you fear hurting the other. Touch becomes a language, hungry but reverent, like he’s rediscovering you with every brush of his lips. It’s not about power - it’s about finally being equals
-Elijah, who once held himself back in fear of breaking you, now lets his guard fall in ways you’ve never seen. There’s a softness in his eyes when he kisses you now, a kind of awe - like he can’t quite believe you chose eternity with him
-the first time your emotions spike uncontrollably - anger sharp and sudden - Elijah doesn’t flinch. He steps closer, calm as ever, and takes your hands. “Let it pass,” he murmurs. “You’re not wrong for feeling.” His unwavering steadiness becomes the thing that keeps you grounded
-you start sparring with Elijah, and he loves it more than he lets on. He’s impressed by how quickly you adapt, how naturally you move, how your instincts sharpen day by day. “Remarkable,” he says once, breathless - and Elijah Mikaelson is never breathless
-your presence stabilizes the family in ways no one anticipates. Klaus listens to you. Rebekah confides in you. Even Kol begrudgingly respects you when you call him out on his antics. Elijah watches it all with quiet pride - like you were always meant to fit into the cracks of their ancient, fractured world
-the two of you develop this unspoken ritual: after any chaos, any fight, any moment that pushes you too close to the edge, Elijah cups your face gently and rests his forehead against yours. It’s grounding for you - and for him. “You return to me,” he whispers every time, as if he’s still convincing himself
-here’s a night when you both sit on the balcony overlooking New Orleans, feet touching, hands intertwined, city humming below. Elijah says, almost hesitant, “I feared eternity more than death. Until you.” And something in your undead chest aches with how deeply he means it
-your relationship deepens into something quiet but unshakeable. There is no rush anymore, no fear of running out of time. Love becomes slower, richer - something you both savor instead of chase. You learn each other’s emotional rhythms like breathing
-the first time you call him “forever,” he freezes. Elijah Mikaelson - dignified, composed, ancient - actually loses his breath. He cups the back of your neck and pulls you close, resting his lips against your hair. “Then forever,” he murmurs. “With you, I welcome it”
-there’s no dramatic declaration, no extravagant ceremony - but there’s a moment when it becomes undeniable: your love is immortal now. The kind that doesn’t burn out or fade. The kind that centuries will only deepen. The kind that feels inevitable, like gravity
-and one night, long after the chaos has quieted, Elijah looks at you like he’s memorizing your face for the thousandth time. “You realize,” he says softly, thumb brushing your cheek, “we have all the time the world will allow. And I intend to love you through every century of it.” The promise settles between you with the weight of eternity - gentle, steady, unbreakable. Your love isn’t just preserved now. It’s infinite
-loving Elijah Mikaelson is like standing in the eye of a centuries-old storm; where the winds howl with memory and violence, yet the center is impossibly calm. He loves the way ancient trees hold the earth: steady, unyielding, rooted in something deeper than language. His devotion wraps around you like twilight: soft at first, then absolute, until you realize you’ve stopped fearing the dark because he’s made a home for you inside it. Loving him is a vow whispered between heartbeats, a quiet immortality that feels both fragile and indestructible. It’s choosing the hand that never trembles, even when the world does. It’s learning that forever isn’t a curse, not when it breathes in his voice saying your name
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