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guiltyandashamed · 15 days ago

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headcannons: insecure about yourself after seeing someone else (brothers + side characters)

(2.7k words) It happens on one of those rare, quiet afternoons when the two of you are out in the Devildom, The conversation is easy. Until it isn’t. She passes you like she owns the street, tall, poised, beautiful in a way that feels otherworldly. A succubus, maybe, or a siren, or some other kind of woman with an enchanting beauty, with the kind of confidence you’ve never had. Her smile lingers on them for a second too long, and though they barely glance her way, your stomach sinks. You know it's irrational, but suddenly you're hyper aware of everything you're not. You laugh a little too quickly at his next joke. You nod without really hearing. You hide it well, at least, you think you do.

Lucifer

He catches the shift in you almost immediately. The falter in your tone, the way your gaze drops to the ground, hands suddenly too still. He’s attuned to subtle changes, he’s had to be, as the eldest, the one who notices when things go unspoken. And when he sees you look at that passing woman with something quiet and sharp in your eyes, it clicks. He doesn’t comment right away. Instead, he adjusts his pace so that you’re closer to his side. The back of his hand brushes yours.

“You know,” he says softly, “I’ve spent centuries surrounded by beings who try to manipulate attention. But I’ve never once been distracted from what I choose to keep close.” He pauses, turning his head to look at you. “And that’s you.”

Lucifer isn’t always good at emotional tenderness. But when he sees you shrinking into yourself, it rattles him more than he shows. He doesn’t press for explanation. He simply gives you his steadiness, his presence, and a hand that lingers a little longer when he reaches for yours.

Mammon

At first, he doesn’t get it. You go quiet, your smile fades a bit, but you’re still walking next to him, still laughing at his dumb jokes, just a little less like yourself. Then it hits him. He remembers the look you gave that other woman, the way your eyes followed her, then dropped away like you didn’t want to be caught comparing. Mammon isn’t the best with emotional nuance, but when it comes to you? He notices everything.

He panics a little internally. Did he say something wrong? Did someone look at you weird? Why’re you suddenly not smiling the way you usually do when you’re with him?

So he stops walking, right in the middle of the street. “Oi. What’s with the face?” he asks, softer than usual. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.” You try to wave it off, but he shakes his head. “Look, I don’t care who walks by. You think anyone else even exists when you’re around?” His voice cracks a bit from the sincerity. “You’re it, alright? You’re my favorite damn view.”

Then he grabs your hand and keeps walking like nothing happened, but his grip stays firm the rest of the way.

Leviathan

Levi doesn’t catch on at first. He’s too in his head, muttering about a limited-edition figurine he spotted in a shop window. But when he looks over and you’re not reacting like you normally would, he stumbles. “Did I… say something weird?” he asks, immediately assuming it’s his fault. Then he remembers her, the siren who walked past with all the self-assured grace he thinks he’ll never have. And he sees how you looked after her, the quick withdrawal into yourself. His stomach turns. He knows that feeling. He lives that feeling. Being second-best. Invisible. Not enough.

So he sidesteps his usual awkwardness. “Hey, um… if you’re feeling... y’know, weird or off or like, not... good enough or whatever... can I just say—that’s a total crit fail on your perception roll.” You blink, caught off guard, and he rushes on, red in the face. “You’re like... S-tier. I mean that. You’re the only one I feel like I can be this version of me around.” He offers you his sleeve to hold instead of his hand, because he’s still Levi. But the sentiment couldn’t be more real.

Satan

It’s a fleeting moment, but he sees it. The stillness in your expression after the woman passes, the way your voice flattens ever so slightly. You think you’re hiding it well, but Satan knows you too intimately not to notice the cracks. And what really cuts is how you don’t say anything. You just swallow it down like it’s not worth bringing up. He walks in silence for a beat, processing. Then, softly: “She wasn’t even half as radiant as you are when you talk about something you love.”

You glance at him, surprised, and he meets your gaze without flinching. “I know you won’t tell me what you’re thinking. But I want you to know... I saw it. And I see you.” He reaches for your hand, not to pull you along, but just to hold it in his own. “You don’t have to be louder, or flashier, or anything other than who you are when you’re with me.”

He doesn’t push the topic, doesn’t ask you to explain. He just slows down his pace, like he’s willing to match your mood and walk with it for however long it takes.

Asmodeus

He absolutely notices the woman. It’s hard not to, she’s practically dripping with seduction magic. But Asmo’s glance is automatic, casual, already forgotten… until he sees the way you tense beside him. You mask it well, but not to him. You go quiet. You stop making eye contact. His heart sinks. “Oh, darling,” he says, suddenly stopping short and turning to face you. “You felt that, didn’t you?”

He can feel the shift in your energy, the way you’re pulling into yourself. His voice gentles, loses the usual lilt. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know. I know what it’s like to feel like you’re not enough. Even I get insecure sometimes.” He offers a small, honest smile. “But when I look at you… there’s no one else I’d rather have beside me.”

Then he does something uncharacteristically quiet: he leans in, rests his forehead against yours, and whispers, “You’re beautiful. In ways she’ll never understand.”He doesn’t need you to say anything back. He just slips his arm around yours and holds on, tighter than before.

Beelzebub

He doesn’t notice the woman at all. He’s too focused on whether you’ve had enough to eat, if your shoes are comfortable, if you’re enjoying the walk. But he notices you, how your energy shifts, how your smile fades into something tight and practiced. You try to hide it, but Beel knows the rhythm of your emotions like he knows the beat of his own heart.

He slows his steps, gently bumping your shoulder. “You okay?” he asks, voice low and careful. You nod, of course. You always nod. He stares ahead for a while, chewing on the silence like it’s something hard to swallow.

“I don’t really care what anyone else looks like,” he says eventually. “I care about you. I care about how you laugh, and how you sit beside me even when I’m eating enough for five people. That means more than anything." Then, in that gentle, unwavering way of his, he takes your hand and carries the silence for you. No pressure. No expectations. Just warmth. Just Beel, anchoring you when you start to drift.

Belphegor

He sees her. He sees you seeing her. And he sees you instantly pull away from him in that quiet, invisible way: how your hand doesn’t quite brush his anymore, how your expression dulls like you’ve slipped into some private shadow you don’t want to name.

Belphie gets angry about it, not at you, but at the world that made you feel like you had to compare. That made you feel like less. His hand finds yours again, firmly. “You thinking dumb shit again?” he murmurs, voice heavy with sleep and something else… something protective.

You try to brush it off, but he doesn’t let go. “You’re not allowed to hate yourself around me,” he says simply. “That’s the rule.” He tugs you just a little closer, leaning his head on your shoulder as you walk. “If you’re gonna shut down, I’m still staying right here. Might even take a nap standing up just to prove a point.” It’s his way of saying: I see you. And I’m not going anywhere.

Diavolo

He notices the other woman, sure, but only because your hand suddenly feels smaller in his, your steps a little slower. You don't say anything, but Diavolo's joy dims as he watches you retreat into yourself. He’s not oblivious. His life has been full of people trying to catch his eye, but yours is the presence he’s grown to crave.

“Hey,” he says gently, stopping the both of you. “Look at me.” When you do, reluctantly, quietly, he leans down a bit to meet your gaze. “There is no spell, no charm, no allure that compares to you.” His tone is softer than usual, reverent even. “Do you think I fell for you because of some illusion? I’ve ruled a kingdom for centuries. I’ve seen beauty in a thousand forms. But no one has ever made me laugh the way you do. Or made me feel understood.”

He brushes a hand against your cheek with heartbreaking gentleness. “You don’t have to say what you’re thinking. Just… let me remind you of who you are to me.” He tucks your hand into his arm like it belongs there and walks on, making the whole Devildom feel like it orbits around you.

Barbatos

He senses the change in your mood before you even feel it fully. Your steps become measured, your energy tight. Barbatos is deeply attuned to the unspoken, and though he notices the woman too, he’s far more focused on how you subtly retreat into yourself. He doesn’t draw attention to it immediately. He simply shifts his body closer to yours, not pressing but present.

Then, after a quiet beat, he speaks. “It’s interesting, isn’t it?” he muses aloud. “How easily we mistake someone else’s flash for our own dimness.” You glance at him, startled, but he offers only a small, knowing smile.

“You shine differently. Not loudly. Not demanding. But with depth. Grace. Thoughtfulness. Anyone can catch the eye, but not everyone holds the heart.” Barbatos pauses, as though considering time itself. “And you hold mine.”

He doesn’t say much more, he rarely needs to. But when he offers you his arm again, you feel the strength of it, a quiet anchor reminding you: he chose you. And he always would.

Solomon

He notices everything, the woman, your reaction, the subtle shift in your posture. You’re trying so hard to hide it, but he knows the signs. He’s been around long enough to see that kind of pain wear grooves into people.

He doesn’t call it out directly. Instead, he tilts his head and says, “You know, I’ve met sirens who could stop armies with a single glance. But not one of them has ever made me want to stay.” He lets that hang in the air for a moment before adding, “You do.”

When you blink, unsure how to respond, he offers a rare, genuine smile, less teasing, more honest. “You’ve got a stubborn light in you. The kind that doesn’t need to scream to be felt. That’s what caught me.”

He’ll nudge your hand, light against his own, as if offering you the choice: speak or stay silent. Either way, he’s not going anywhere. “Come on,” he says, softer now. “Let’s go somewhere quieter. Just us.”

Simeon

He notices, not just the other woman, but the way you go quiet. How you withdraw without a word, folding into yourself like a page creased by habit. His heart aches, not just for your sadness but for the effort you make to hide it.

He slows his pace to match yours, letting the quiet settle before saying, “There’s a kind of beauty no glamour can touch.” You glance at him, unsure whether to brush it off. He offers you a gentle smile, the kind that makes it feel like the sun’s peeking through your clouds.

“I’ve lived among angels, watched starlight bloom in the Celestial Realm… but none of it has ever made me feel the way I do when I see you.” His words are soft, unflinching. “And I see you. Even when you try to disappear.”

Then, without asking, he loops his pinky with yours, quietly grounding, quietly sincere. “You don’t need to say anything. But I’m here. Always.”

Mephistopheles

He doesn’t notice right away, too busy monologuing about something minor and theatrical, until you suddenly stop contributing. It takes a few seconds for the silence to register, and then he glances at you. Your face is neutral. Too neutral. “Oi,” he mutters, nudging your side. “Where’d you go just now?”

You give him a practiced smile. It’s almost enough to fool him. He follows your gaze, sees the woman walking away, and instantly connects the dots. His jaw clenches, not out of jealousy, but fury at the self-doubt flickering in your eyes. “Pfft,” he scoffs, too loud on purpose. “Overdressed and underwhelming. Wouldn’t last a second in a real conversation. You? You could destroy me with one look, and that’s before you’ve had your morning tea.”

He says it like a joke, but his eyes betray the sincerity. “Next time your thoughts try to trick you like that… just tell them to shut up. Or let me do it for you.” Then he threads your arm through his dramatically. “Now come along, my love. You’ve got a face worth showing off.”

Thirteen

Thirteen clocks the siren in an instant, and rolls her eyes so hard it’s a wonder they stay in her skull. But when she looks back at you and sees the way you’ve suddenly gone quiet, the light dimmed in your expression, she stops dead in her tracks. “Hey. Don’t do that.”

You blink at her, startled. “Do what?” She squints at you, then squints harder. “That thing where you act like you're fine but you’re actually spiraling over some glittery bitch who couldn’t outsmart a single one of my traps.” You try to brush her off, but she doesn’t let you.

“Seriously,” she mutters, moving to stand in front of you. “I’ve seen you face down demons, chaos, me—and that’s what gets you? That?” She jerks her thumb back toward the siren. Then, more softly, “You don’t see it, but you level me. Every time you laugh. Every time you keep showing up.” She nudges you with her elbow. “You don’t gotta talk. Just… don’t disappear, okay?” Then she throws her arm around your shoulder and grins. “Let’s go cause trouble. Hot people like us can get away with anything.”

Raphael

He notices the subtle shift immediately, your quiet withdrawal, the way your gaze drops when the other woman passes by. He’s always been keen on observing the small details, and this one pulls at something deeper in him. Raphael rarely speaks out of turn, preferring to keep his thoughts measured and precise, but when he senses your mood darkening, he allows himself to be a little more direct. “Is something troubling you?” His voice is calm, steady—a gentle anchor in the swirling discomfort you feel.

You try to brush it off, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he stays close, matching his pace to yours as you walk. “You often doubt yourself,” he says quietly, “but I see strength in you that you don’t even realize you have.”

He pauses, looking at you with unshaken sincerity. “The world might throw illusions of beauty your way, but what matters most isn’t what you show on the surface. It’s the kindness you carry, the care you give, the healing you inspire. Those things don’t fade, no matter who passes by.”

Raphael offers you a small, rare smile, not the serene healer’s smile, but a warmer one meant only for you. “You are more than enough. And I am here, always ready to remind you of that.”

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