Ermmm this is the 80s how did they have Snapchat back then 🤨 *cough* idk man i wanted to hop on an old trend and join the fandom long after s5 ended (something about being fashionably late or whatever)
I also made this just to post in general because I haven't posted anything for a while
summary: (porn w/ small plot) after countless days of breathless moans and whispered praises with sirius, you finally took it upon yourself to study. you had a final coming up on none other than advanced muggle studies, which you dreadfully had to look forward to. but sirius? he’d do anything to keep you from it, even if it meant ‘studying’ you himself.
a/n: this is my first time writing smut so any kind criticism is appreciated. i’m always looking to improve <3 just to be clear, i’ve turned this into a hogwarts university type au, which is where the “advanced muggle studies” comes in + sirius and reader both being above 18.
w/c: 3k but i swear 70% of it is smut, starting from under the cut, so enjoy!
! content warnings (MDNI): p in v sex, a lot of teasing, flirting, dirty thoughts, graphic imagery, slight fingering (if you squint), semi-public sex, creampie, softdom!sirius, slight degradation, a lot of sirius mocking you through it and calling you petnames.
lily had been the one to get you to finally open your notes after you had been wrapped around sirius for the past week—her gentle but pointed reminders being: ‘you don’t really wanna fail, do you?’ and, ‘he can be left alone for one second without your attention, he’s not a dog! well—you know what i mean.’
but it was nearly impossible to get away from him—him being your boyfriend, sirius black, of course. you decided to let him join you in the library for study help, the only rule being that he were to keep his eyes on your precious book of advanced muggle studies and nowhere else, no matter how much his brain didn’t let him. no matter how much he wanted to look at you.
you in that skirt that rode up slightly whenever you sat down, revealing your soft thighs that were pressed together. he so badly wanted to part them, to slide his hands up and sink into you—warm, wet, home to him.
you were completely oblivious, mindlessly twirling your quill between your fingers, the feather brushing your bottom lip every so often. it only made sirius look more perversely, his stare growing darker.
his gaze trailed down, finding the little beauty spots dotting your thighs, the ones he wanted to trace with his tongue until his mouth was pressed right to your core. then, to your lips, plush and glistening when you licked them—those very lips that had wrapped around his cock days ago so perfectly, that he still thought about it every night.
a sound escaped him—a slight groan sirius couldn’t hold in, feeling the heat rush immediately to his abdomen and even more down under. you mistook the groan for boredom, as sirius shuffled slightly in his seat and leaned back to try and meet your beautiful eyes.
“sweetheart, how much longer must i suffer from these…” he took one glance at the words on the textbook and squinted like it was written in runes, “mikro waa-ves?”
you snorted, and peered past his shoulder. “microwave?”
the scent of your perfume drifted to him immediately—a mix of all delightful things like jasmine, amber, citrus, and whatever that sweet woody note was that he could never place, but always felt in his chest like a punch. it hit him the way a scent of a pie cooling on a windowsill might hit a starving man.
he blinked himself back to reality, mouth quirking. “yeah those godric-awful spinny heat box things.” and with a dramatic sigh, he dropped his forehead right on the textbook. “you could’ve been very nicely taken care of in the broom closet, but noooo—we had to bloody study!”
“i know…don’t think i’m that thrilled either. trust me,” you murmured and gently rubbed his back in slow circles out of comfort. your palm was warm through his shirt.
something spiked in him. just your touch, warm and inviting, made his cock twitch, strained against his trousers. combined with that sweet smell of your perfume? it was torture. any mere contact with you always got him hard. he wanted you all the time just to ruin you over and over again.
that’s when you sensed it, the rigidity of him. the way his back muscles tensed, the flick of his head upward. his eyes locked onto you in a way that made your breath hitch. you could tell he was practically begging, and merlin help you, you were just as gone for him too.
“you think i don’t want you right now?” you whispered in that smile, biting your lip with that teasing tone, before remembering your so-called studying duties.
you left it with a sigh and turned back to the book. “but unfortunately we have mikro waa-ves to take care of.”
sirius snorted at your mock-pronunciation, the corner of his mouth curled up like he couldn’t decide between laughing or just kissing you senseless. then, without warning, he reached for your textbook, shutting it with a thud, as his other hand found the bare skin of your thigh—playing with the hem of your skirt.
“so?” his voice was low, rough around the edges, and you swear you could melt in his touch right there.
you loved when he used that voice on you, but somehow you also loved it more when it didn’t come with academic consequences.
“how about we take a very fulfilling break? you deserve it, dove.” his head tilted, eyes that darkened with something far more desperate than his casual tone suggested.
just the sight of it made your thighs clench together, feeling the wetness beginning to pool already. and the worst (or best) part? you had no underwear.
none at all. you’d dressed this morning knowing full well sirius would find a way to have you. you’d made it so easy, like a little reward—that was, if he had helped you study.
sirius knew that look that you bore, he knew it so well that he cocked his head to the side again, like a predator sniffing prey and licked his lips in a feral grin.
he got up in a stretch and had a hand already down your arm, pulling your wrist into a playful tug.
“sirius.” you tried to sound stern, eyes narrowing up at him. “you promised you’d help me study.”
“i promised many things sweetheart.” he flashed that cocky grin with a heat that made your stomach flip. “filling you up is one of them.”
you wanted to roll your eyes, but the ache between your legs was pounding. he gave a wink, and still managed to bring you up to your feet.
much to your excessive grumbling and the sheer concern of getting caught, sirius somehow had you back against a shelf in an abandoned section of the library, his body caging you in.
his mouth was on yours—starving, hungry and desperate, kissing you like he’d been holding his breath all week and you were the only air left. his tongue pushed past your lips, swallowing your small gasps, his hands gripping your hips like he needed to hold your squirming body in place or he’d explode.
you let out the smallest whimper, high and soft, feeling that burning ache right in your core. that’s when sirius pulled back to grin wickedly at you, his ears perking up at the sound.
“there she is.” he coo’d in a murmur. “what happened to my grumbling girl from before, hm?”
“shut up. it’s your fault for kissing me like that.” you were breathless, flushed, already arching toward him.
clearly the way you looked wasn’t helping, and neither was how he did.
sirius looked even hotter like this. his pupils were full blown, chest rising and falling in small rapid breaths. he had that cocky smirk, still unbelievably hot—even when he was practically mocking you for being so needy.
“someone’s being a brat.” he said back in that teasing tone with a sharp glint in his eyes—fixated and starving.
before you even had the chance to answer again, sirius sank to his knees, his hands roaming up the soft curves of your thighs right under your skirt.
your fingers instinctively found his hair in a tug and he groaned right into your inner thigh like it was instinct. you whimpered incoherently, hips squirming, your clit so untouched and throbbing that it was just begging for his mouth or fingers—anything to relieve it.
his hands pressed down on your thighs to spread them apart firmly, skirt bunched up—and that’s when he froze. his eyes widened, jaw slack.
“fuck me…” his words were reverent.
a mixture of disbelief and awe in his voice as his eyes roamed your soaked core. no underwear, he’d finally noticed. his gaze flickered back up to you, a smirk curled on his face, all slow and dangerous. you knew you were in trouble.
“oh you bad fuckin’ girl.” he drawled, and looked back right at your cunt, before taking two fingers and sliding them along your soaked folds, his rings clinking and cold against your heat.
“shit…you’re drenched. all from listening to me talk? about muggle studies?” his laugh came out low and filthy, like he already knew the answer.
you let out the softest mewl, hips bucking just slightly. “sirius—please,” you whimpered.
he brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking his fingers clean without breaking eye contact. his moan vibrated around his fingers so shamelessly at the taste, and you could only imagine those moans vibrating through your cunt instead.
you tasted like sin to him and you watched while biting your lip, trembling at the sight of him worshipping you.
with a soft pop, he pulled his fingers free, gripping your thighs as he straightened up again. you whined at the loss of contact.
“baby no— i was ready—” you formed a pout on your pretty plump lips, missing the emptiness already.
“shh i know baby, i know.” he murmured, cupping your face with both hands as his thumbs grazed your cheeks lovingly. that teasing smirk lingered long enough to torment.
“but good girls would have their panties on, wouldn’t they?” he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as his hands slid down your sides, voice dripping with mocking arousal. “you’ve been walking around like this all day—no bloody knickers—just begging me to lose my mind?”
his lips planted soft kisses along the curve of your neck, his dark cologne mingling with the faint smell of cigarettes that always made you infatuated. “merlin, i’ve been half-hard since breakfast.” his voice was a low rasp, and it only made you wetter.
you were falling apart already, a soaring heat coiled low in your stomach that almost made it too much to bear.
“please! m’sorry—” you whined, back arching off the wall, just for your chest to press more against his, like a desperate plea.
he let out a breathless laugh, more like a groan. “yeah you will be.” he said with a growl against your skin, breaths coming out in quick pants.
he pulled back to fumble with his belt. the metallic clink of his buckle that hit the ground had made your pulse spike. he shoved his jeans down in one rough motion, flashing you with a wicked grin like you already knew how wrecked you were. the dark fabric of his boxers clung to him, a damp patch spreading right over the thick outline of his length straining against it. he hooked his thumbs in the waistband and dragged them down slowly, bearing himself to you.
your gasp turned into a soft moan as his cock sprang free, flushed and angry at the tip. the head of it glistened, beads of precum leaking from it, veins so prominent, like it was meant to be lined with your tongue—like his cock was meant to mold right within your walls, to be slotted in you seamlessly.
he kept that smug infuriating grin, drinking in the way your eyes fixated on his cock. he lifted your hips effortlessly, your legs clung around his waist as he lined himself against your dripping entrance, nudging it teasingly with his tip. “such a pretty thing…you’ve been aching for me all day, haven’t you?
his voice was husky, just laced with filth. you let out a shivery sigh at just the prod of his cock, clenching around nothing. you nodded with heavy lidded eyes, your voice high-pitched.
“oh sirius, you don’t even know—”
you managed to utter, and he cut you off with a low disbelieving groan. “oh i do know. been thinking about it all bloody day. thinking about stretching you out…feeling you squeeze around me until i can’t think straight.” a growl slipped out. “gonna take me in so deep you’ll milk me dry, yeah?” his eyes fluttered at the thought, before they snapped back to yours.
the head of his cock slid along your folds and you let out a strangled moan, both from his filthy words, and how badly you craved him.
sirius was just as desperate, you could feel the tension within him—but still he kept drawing it out, a deliberate punishment for hanging around with nothing under your skirt all day.
“now beg, baby. make it pretty.”
your fingers were curled at the nape of his neck, tugging onto the strands just to make him hiss. you brought yourself to meet his eyes, shivering.
“please- hmmph sirius-”
he clicked his tongue condisendingly and it made you flinch because you knew you were wrong.
“please what? gonna use that pretty little mouth for me sweetheart? because you were talking an awful lot before i got you here.”
his smile was all teeth, eyes gleaming with lust as he leaned in to brush his lips barely against yours in a ghost.
you squirmed even more, locking your legs tighter around his hips. “please—please fuck me, fill me up—” you babbled.
“good girl.” he groaned, finally pushing into you, a single deep thrust that stole air from your lungs. he didn’t even give you time to adjust, already moving with his hands groping your ass.
“godric—you’re perfect.”
you could feel a delicious stretch as your walls caved in around his cock in a squeeze, fluttering around him. sirius groaned into your lips. “so fuckin’ tight—” he mustered as he finally bottomed out.
his pace was then relentless, every thrust slamming into your sweet spot instantaneously as he swallowed every whimper that left you.
your head fell back against the bookshelf in a thud, breaking the kiss. “oh—yes!” you managed to moan in a surprised gasp, already dizzying at his furious pace. the shelf behind you creaked, but you didn’t care.
with your neck on display, he pressed hot sloppy kisses to your skin all the way up to your jaw, hands squeezing at your ass and hips in a bruise.
you clenched around him, keeping him in as much as possible as he readjusted his grip.
“fuuuck—yeah do that again.” he managed to gasp out into your neck, his voice gravelly.
you whimpered, clenching again which only made sirius stutter in his movement, muttering the filthiest of praises to you between each thrust.
“you’re squeezing me here—fuckin’ slut for my cock huh?” he gritted his teeth, words spilling out in half babbles as he kept his pace, relentless and pushing.
you nodded with half lidded eyes, just your mind breaking apart with every push. he was stretching out your spongy walls, burying himself right to the hilt. his voice, deep and husky reached your ears.
“say it.”
you managed to muster out, squeezing him again. “yes—i am!” you tugged on his hair harshly which only made him hiss more.
“yeah, my greedy little cockslut.”
one of his hands finally lifted from your thighs just to press tight circles to your neglected bud.
that spurred you on, the coil inside you pulled hot. you let out a gasp, the feeling of ecstasy reaching you.
and sirius knew, he was attuned to every part of your body. “come on, baby, give it to me. cum all over my cock.” he rasped against your ear in a grunt, hips losing their steadiness, his thumb still working your clit. “soak me, sweetheart.”
his voice, uncharacteristically gentle, was all you needed. the pleasure snapped, flooding you as you screamed out his name. you clenched around him so harshly that sirius started praying to whatever entity there was in the sky to thank them, as his cock pumped thickly in and out of you.
you were still fluttering, still in a daze when you finally found your voice.
“baby cum for me, right inside me—yeah? wanna be full of you.” you whispered weakly back to him, cupping his cheeks and carefully trying to brush the hair from his eyes.
and that finished him. sirius lost it as curses tumbled out of him, his thrusts turning ragged. “ah shit—fuck, fuck fuck—”
he groaned, wanting to keep you full so badly, until you felt his cock twitch deep inside. you felt spurts of thick hot ropes of warmth filling you up, and you let out a moan at the feeling. his hips finally stilled, forehead pressed to yours.
“so good f’me…” he mumbled in a sigh, sweating.
you both were in breathless pants, heat still humming in your veins. when he finally pulled out, you clenched at the loss and he let out a low chuckle. “still greedy, huh?”
a book thudded to the floor from behind you, startling you both in a freeze, before you dissolved in soft shaky laughter.
“merlin, you’re the sexiest thing ever like this.” he traced lazy circles into your thigh. “bet you’re not gonna remember a thing in your notes.”
you scoffed, knowing he was right but didn’t want to admit it regardless. he pulled away to lower your legs gently, an arm firm around your waist as you wobbled. “you okay, dove? not too much?”
you shook your head softly, still feeling the warmth of him. “m’ fine.” you murmured, grinning. “don’t think this bookshelf is though.”
“eh, nobody reads books anyway.”
“you mean you don’t read them.”
he rolled his eyes, mimicking your voice before dragging you toward the desks. “speaking of books…let’s get you learning some of that cursed wi-fairy.”
“wi-fi.” you corrected and his grin widened.
“yeah yeah, same thing.” he drawled as he collapsed on the chair beside you, not before helping you first.
he leaned back, hands behind his head in a smug manner. “and since i did steal ten minutes of your study time, i’ll make it up to you.”
you arched a brow at him, crossing your arms. “by actually helping me?”
“by quizzing you shirtless. educational and motivational.”
Hsr boys (caelus, Jiaoqiu pre-injury, jing yuan and aventurine) x reader who has shrunk to the size that could sit in their palm and now they can do any little silly things to their s/o like feed them a now large version of their favorite sweets, taking photos of them nibbling it away, tucking them into their pocket when traveling, making miniature stuff for them to use and finally tucking them away in a big fluffy flower to sleep, awaiting the day they turn normal sized
—🍭
The Tiny Heart Chronicles
Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Caelus x Reader, Jiaoqiu x Reader, Fluff, Romance, Caretaking, Domestic, Gentle Humor, Comfort, Wholesome, Lighthearted.
When you first wake, the world feels impossibly vast. The tabletop beneath you stretches like an open field, the mug beside you a mountain of porcelain. Then you look up—and there he is.
Caelus’ silver-gray hair glints softly in the light as he leans closer, his eyes wide with surprise and quiet concern. His hand hovers above you, uncertain, until he finally lets it settle, palm open in invitation. You step into it, and his fingers curl protectively around you, their warmth steady and familiar.
“You’re… tiny,” he murmurs, a flicker of a smile touching his lips. “But you’re still you.”
The first days are gentle chaos. He builds you a nest from cotton and scraps of soft cloth, placing it on his nightstand so he can keep you near. When he travels, you ride in the breast pocket of his jacket—your world reduced to the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing, the muffled beat of his heart beneath the fabric.
He finds creative ways to make you laugh. A strawberry becomes a boulder of sweetness; he cuts a piece small enough for you and offers it on the tip of a fork. When you nibble at it, he grins and quietly snaps a photo with his device.
“For proof,” he says. “That the universe can be kind.”
At night, he sets a single bloom—a broad, downy flower—on his bedside table. Its petals fold gently, forming a cradle of fragrance. He tucks you within and watches until your breathing steadies.
“One day,” he whispers, brushing a fingertip along your tiny hand, “you’ll be back to your usual self. But until then… you’ve got me.”
You think you see the stars reflected in his eyes, or maybe it’s just the lamplight. Either way, you feel safe—small, but never fragile, because Caelus holds you like something precious he’s vowed to protect.
Jiaoqiu finds you on his workbench, nestled between his inkstone and a pile of half-finished notes. You’re curled up, dazed and bewildered, no larger than the porcelain figurines decorating his shelves.
He blinks, tilts his head, and his fox ears flick in surprise. “Well,” he murmurs, voice lilting with calm amusement, “this is certainly new. Did one of my tonics go wrong—or did fate decide to test my precision?”
He lifts you gently with both hands, as if you’re made of glass. His eyes gleam with curiosity and care, studying you from every angle before offering a reassuring smile.
“No harm done,” he says softly. “Just… a change of perspective.”
From then on, Jiaoqiu becomes both caretaker and companion. He repurposes an old teacup as your bath, filling it with warm, scented water and a sprinkle of crushed herbs. Your “home” becomes a little wooden box lined with silk from his robes.
His creativity flourishes—he crafts you a spoon from a sliver of bamboo, a plate from the lid of a spice jar. And when he cooks, the scent of broth and stewed fruits fills the air.
One evening, he sets a dish on the table and places you beside it. “You always liked these sweets,” he says, cutting one into a petal-sized piece. He lifts it toward you on the tip of a chopstick, his tail swaying behind him in quiet contentment.
You take a bite, and the taste is overwhelming—sugar, spice, warmth. Jiaoqiu laughs softly. “Careful,” he warns. “Even sweetness can be dangerous when the scale tips.”
Later, he sits by the window with you resting in his palm, the moonlight silvering his hair. You can feel the faint tremor of his heartbeat under your feet.
“You remind me,” he says quietly, “that healing isn’t only about mending wounds. Sometimes it’s about protecting what’s fragile until it can grow strong again.”
When sleep calls, he places you inside a large white flower from his garden, its petals curled like a cradle. He strokes your head gently with a fingertip.
“Goodnight, my little remedy,” he whispers. “Rest well. The world will fit you again soon.”
The first sound you hear after shrinking is laughter—low, melodic, and far too calm for the situation.
Jing Yuan leans over his desk, chin resting on one hand, golden eyes glinting. “You know,” he says with a smirk, “I’ve seen many peculiar strategies in my life, but becoming pocket-sized wasn’t one I expected from you.”
You cross your arms, glaring up at him, which only makes his smile deepen. “Ah, don’t look at me like that. Come here.”
His palm opens beside you. The moment you step onto it, the teasing fades into something softer. His fingers curl just enough to shelter you, and the warmth of his hand is steady, like sunlight filtered through clouds.
He takes his time adjusting—his office becomes your playground. A rolled-up scroll turns into a hill, a teacup your hiding place. When reports pile high, he perches you on his shoulder so you can “supervise.”
“You make an excellent general,” he teases, voice low. “Smaller, yes—but far fiercer.”
You spend evenings in the garden, where he lays on the grass and sets you on his chest. The rise and fall of his breathing rocks you gently, and sometimes you think you hear him hum—soft tunes from long ago.
When you shiver from the evening chill, he lifts you to his collar, tucking you into the fold of his robe near his heartbeat.
“Better?” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded. “I’d rather not have my tiny commander catch a cold.”
He feeds you pieces of candied fruit, laughing quietly when you struggle with the oversized bites. “Careful,” he says. “You’ll spoil your dinner.”
One night, the clouds part to reveal the stars. Jing Yuan places a broad flower on the table, its petals glowing faintly in the moonlight. “A proper bed for someone so delicate,” he says, arranging the petals around you. His thumb lingers briefly against your cheek.
“Rest now,” he murmurs. “I’ll keep watch. You’ve done enough commanding for today.”
Sleep comes easily in the hush of his voice, his steady presence anchoring your small, fleeting world.
You don’t remember shrinking, only waking up in a world that feels tilted and strange. Above you looms Aventurine—hat tilted, golden rims of his glasses catching the light, a smile curving his lips.
“Well, well,” he drawls, amusement threading through his tone. “Looks like the odds really weren’t in your favor this time.”
You shout up at him to stop joking, and he laughs, the sound rich and fond. “Relax, little one. You think I’d ever let fate deal you a losing hand?”
He lifts you carefully, gloved fingers gentle but sure, and sets you on his card table. Dice, cards, and chips lie scattered like monuments around you. He leans close, resting his chin on his palm, eyes gleaming with curiosity.
From that day on, you become the center of his quiet amusement—and his care. He carries you in the inner pocket of his coat, letting you peek out as he walks through bright corridors or lounges in his office.
He makes you miniature trinkets from discarded jewelry pieces—a tiny ring turned into a table, a chip carved into a plate. One afternoon he places a single sugar crystal before you, grinning. “Your favorite sweet, in the correct proportions,” he says. “Though I suppose it’s more of a feast now.”
When you try to lift it, it nearly topples you over. Aventurine bursts out laughing and snaps a photo with his device, lowering it to show you. “Priceless,” he murmurs. “You’re lucky I adore you. I’d normally charge for something this cute.”
Despite his teasing, there’s sincerity in how he handles you. His touch is steady; his eyes soften when he tucks you into the plush lining of his coat pocket before he heads out. You feel the faint tremor of his heartbeat and the warmth seeping through the fabric.
Sometimes, when the night grows quiet, you catch him looking at you with an expression that has nothing to do with chance or games.
“Strange,” he murmurs one evening, “how something so small can make me feel… grounded.”
He builds you a resting place from a flower he keeps in his office—a pale, fluffy bloom that smells faintly of vanilla. When he lays you within its petals, his hands hover a moment longer than necessary.
“Don’t worry, darling,” he says, voice low. “When you’re back to normal, I’ll expect you to repay me—with interest.”
You laugh, and he smiles—real this time, the gambler’s mask slipping for just a heartbeat.
As you drift to sleep in your petal-soft bed, his voice fades into the distance.
“Sleep well, my lucky charm. The house always wins—but I think, this once, you might have beaten the odds.”
