welcome—
hi there! welcome to my little (18+) blog! my name is Heather and I'm a brand-new wolfstar writer. you can read my works on ao3 and chat with me here or on discord. if you like anything I've written please please please consider leaving a comment, it puts a huge, stupid smile on my face.
as of now I only have a few fics posted, and they are quite smutty. so mind the tags!
my fics—
The Weight of the Moon ☆ explicit | 40k | 7/7
Sirius Black has been quietly helping werewolves for twenty years. When Remus Lupin’s supplier disappears the day before the full moon, leaving him one dose short, he desperately turns to Sirius’s black market apothecary for help. Relying on others is a risk Remus can’t afford, and safety is something Sirius has never been able to guarantee, but somewhere between all the potions and plants, they start to build something that feels like home. Until Greyback resurfaces and threatens to tear it all down. Tonight, some wolves howled at the moon with their packs, some clawed at their own skin from inside their iron prisons, and some slept soundly with their minds intact. And he couldn’t save any of them.
No Notifications ☆ explicit | 3.8k | 1/1
It’s one in the afternoon and Remus checks his phone for at least the tenth time since the beginning of his lunch break. No notifications. Not even a promotional email or a coupon he doesn’t give two shits about. Nothing. Today is Tuesday, March 10, and Remus’s friends have forgotten his birthday. (or: Remus eats a sad birthday cupcake, is confronted with red lacy lingerie, and has mind-blowing birthday sex.)
Been An Awful Good Boy ☆ explicit | 9.3k | 1/1
When James organises an impromptu karaoke night on Christmas Eve, Remus is already teetering on the edge, struggling to stay in control. He’s spent years perfecting his balancing act, being Sirius’s best mate and flatmate but never crossing the line into something more. Then one ridiculously sexy performance pushes him a little too close to Sirius, and staying in control becomes the last thing on his mind.
Turning the Page ☆ explicit | 8.7k | 2/2
Remus was stretched along the sofa completely naked. His bare shoulders were resting on a large throw pillow, one leg was bent and leaning against the back cushion, and the other was extended, toes barely reaching the opposite armrest. He held a tattered old copy of a paperback in his left hand while his right hand idly wandered. His hand drifted first to his stomach, running his fingers through the coarse hair that led downward from his navel. He followed the trail and ghosted the tips of his fingers gently between his thighs. When he reached the soft skin of the h✦ad, he touched and teased its ridge with his thumb, the way one might absently fiddle with a button or a ring on a finger, and he turned the page.
Doing It Wrong ☆ explicit | 6.7k | 1/1
The man was a bona fide Greek god—carved from veined marble, anointed by the heavens, worshipped by the masses. Silky black hair hung past his shoulder blades, but was now rumpled and stuck to the back of his neck in messy loops. Remus knew his eyes were the most striking glacier-blue, but he was turned away now, head thrown back and eyelids tightly closed. And his body, oh, his body. His biceps bulged as he gripped the backrest in front of him, his back and shoulder muscles rippling with each movement. His thighs were thick and strong as they lifted his body up and down. And his arse, two perfect bulbs of muscular flesh, was being squeezed and spread apart by someone else’s hands. Remus’s blood pulsed in unison with the thrusting in front of him and sweat beaded and rolled down his forehead. Thick heat pressed on his skin until the cedar wood felt soft under his palms. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the spot where the men were joined, at the h✦le stretched tight and pink, being hammered relentlessly.
