I Really Think I Love You || Shoto x Fem! Reader
No CW, just cute shoto yearning.
Shoto doesn’t remember exactly how you convinced him to download TikTok.
He just remembers a random day in your third year—your knee bumping his under the common room table while you guided him through the sign-up screen like it was mission-critical and the way you laughed when he stared too long at the username box.
“Okay,” you’d said, tapping the phone with a decisive little nod. “@.halfh0thalfc0ld. Iconic.”
Now, even after graduation, somehow, it had become routine.
Every night, lights off and phone dimmed. He’d scroll for hours with the same detached calm he used during paperwork at his agency —nothing really interesting, just… passing time. He only followed four accounts… you, Asheido— who basically bullied him into it the second she found out, Midoriya— who had appeared on his FYP mid-rant about a collector’s edition All Might figure and somehow earned a follow, and the Class A band page Jiro and Kaminari ran, where they posted practice videos and concert clips.
His algorithm knew him better than he liked, funny cats, soba recipes, and hopecore edits.
And then, occasionally— You.
Your account was popular, you posted often, and many fans had already followed you.
A video of you would slide onto his screen, and his heart would do something annoying and unfamiliar, stutter like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to explode or stop.
Sometimes it was you dancing—usually with Asheido, Asui, or Uraraka. Sometimes it was a “get ready with me” video that made him feel strangely… calm, like watching you exist was its own kind of quiet. But his favorites were the simplest ones. Just you, messy hair, soft lighting, lip-syncing a song you like.
The worst part was what it did after.
He’d spend the next three to seven business days memorizing the lyrics. Not even on purpose—his brain would just loop the words until they were carved into him. Then the dopamine would run out, and he’d be left with a ringing earworm and melodies that haunted his playlist like unfinished conversations.
It was late. Much later than either of you should be awake.
He was halfway through a cat video when a notification popped up.
@.Y/nOnCloud9 just posted.
Shoto stared at it longer than necessary.
It wasn’t like he had to click it. He could scroll past. He could be normal. He could sleep.
Your face filled his screen—soft and close, framed in warm light. A blue cardigan hung off one shoulder like it had slipped there naturally. Your hair was messy, the kind of messy that looked lived in, and you were still… painfully beautiful in a way that made his chest tighten.
You lip-synced slowly to atmospheric chords, eyes half-lidded, voice unheard but somehow still felt. You subtly danced.
Keep my girls protected I'm turned on when I'm respected For my planet, for my daughters Make my music, drink my water
Shoto’s thumb hit pause without him thinking.
Because behind you—your room.
He’d never seen it this clearly. Polaroids scattered across the wall like a constellation of memories. Fairy lights wrapped around your bed frame. A pile of books stacked beside your bed, your room was lived-in. Like a secret you weren’t trying to hide—your stuffed cow plush tucked into the blankets.
Something about it felt… too intimate. Like he’d walked into a space he hadn’t earned.
His throat moved in a quiet swallow.
So I watch you do your magic You're so cool, so charismatic Supernova, sip your soda Yeah, I really think I love you, Lola You were on my mind all night I hope you know that (Lola, Lola) You don't even have to try I want you so bad (Lola, Lola)
Then a third time—because the words weren’t the problem, it was the way your mouth shaped them. The way your eyes softened on I really think I love you like you meant it, even if you didn’t.
Something ridiculous started forming in his head.
He found himself studying your lips like he was analyzing a combat pattern.
He mouthed it quietly along with you, testing the name like it was a code.
But it didn’t sit right. The syllables didn’t match what he was seeing.
He paused. Replayed. Rewound.
“Lola,” his brain insisted.
Your mouth didn’t make an L.
He replayed it again, eyes narrowing, like if he focused hard enough the truth would show itself in high definition.
Yeah, I really think I love you…
Your lips formed a softer sound. A breathier start. A shape he knew too well because he’d heard it said with exasperation and laughter and that casual affection you used like it wasn’t dangerous.
His ears and neck went hot.
His pulse jumped so hard it felt like it knocked against his ribs.
He rewound again like that would fix it.
Because now he couldn’t unsee it.
Yeah, I really think I love you, Shoto.
It was insane. It was probably wrong. It was definitely—definitely—just his brain being… weird.
Except his chest felt too full. Except he’d watched it three times and his heart had reacted the same way every single time.
He didn’t just believe you’d sung it about him.
The realization settled in his bones with uncomfortable clarity.
Not in the vague, distant way he’d tried to label it before. Not in a “she’s my friend” way. Not in a “she’s a valuable team player” way.
In a please say my name again way.
His thumb moved on its own and double-tapped the screen.
A heart bloomed bright red.
Because the like count ticked from 0 to 1.
His eyes widened a fraction. His breath caught.
“…Dammit,” he muttered under his breath—too late, because it was already done.
Instead, almost against his better judgment, he tapped the speech bubble.
The comment section loaded—light, bright, and immediately violent.
Asheido’s profile picture popped up near the top like a jump scare.
@.PinkyQueen67: EXCUSE ME????? 😭💗
@.PinkyQueen67: WHO IS LOLA????? 👀👀👀
@.PinkyQueen67: GIRL WHY ARE YOU SINGING THIS LIKE YOU MEAN IT 🫶🔥
Shoto’s thumb went still.
Jiro’s comments were next, merciless in the way only she could be—short, sharp, and aimed directly at the jugular.
@.EarphoneJackOG: “Lola.” Sure. @.EarphoneJackOG: Also your cardigan is literally running from you girl. 🙄
@.EarphoneJackOG: Name drop next time. Be brave.
Shoto felt his face heat up again, like Kyoka had reached through the screen and grabbed the secret out of his chest.
More replies stacked under Asheido’s like a growing pile of gasoline.
@.PinkyQueen67 :(replying to herself): WAIT WAIT WAIT…
@.PinkyQueen67: IS LOLA A CODE NAME??? 😳
@.PinkyQueen67: Blink twice if it’s someone we know 🥰
@.PinkyQueen67: I’m gonna explode. I’m literally gonna explode.
@.EarphoneJackOG: If “Lola” is who I think they are, I’m gonna commit high octane baptism.
@.EarphoneJackOG: jk. but also not jk.
He stared at that line so long the screen dimmed, and he had to tap it to wake it back up.
He scrolled further, and there you were in the replies, trying to play innocent while digging your own grave.
@.Y/nOnCloud9: y’all are so dramatic it’s a SONG 😭
@.Y/nOnCloud9: also stop bullying my cardigan it’s COMFY
@.Y/nOnCloud9: and Lola is… Lola. 🧍♀️
Asheido immediately pounced.
@.PinkyQueen67: THAT ANSWER IS ILLEGAL.
@.PinkyQueen67: “Lola is Lola”??? GIRL.
@.PinkyQueen67: I’m coming to your flat. Unlock your door. 🏃♀️💨
Jiro followed with the kind of comment that sounded calm but carried the threat of a guillotine.
@.EarphoneJackOG: You know we can hear your lies through the screen, right?
@.EarphoneJackOG: Drop the name or I’m telling Kaminari you’re in love.
Shoto’s ears burned so hard he could feel it in his neck.
Because… because what if—
He scrolled back up to the top again, watching your mouth shape the lyric on loop, and he couldn’t stop the thought that kept pushing forward like it belonged.
He wanted—stupidly, selfishly—he wanted you to do it again.
He wanted you to sing it clearly.
He wanted you to say his name without a filter, without a code name, without pretending it was “just a song.”
He wanted you to mean it.
Shoto stared at the comment box for a moment, thumb hovering like it did whenever he was about to do something reckless.
He didn’t know what he could possibly say that wouldn’t explode his life.
So instead he did the only safe thing his body would allow.
He watched the video again.
And somewhere down the hall, he could almost picture it, Asheido storming, driving to your flat, Jiro with her arms crossed, Kaminari beside her, both of them hunting the truth like it had a bounty on it.
Shoto swallowed hard, locked his phone, and set it face-down on his pillow like it had betrayed him.
His heart didn’t slow down. And in the dark, with his ears still burning, one thought repeated like a chorus he couldn’t escape… say it again.
