Will Julep Writes

Gay fantasy author & monster connoisseur🫦🥛🥀 Find my erotica here: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0DP5HVNFQ

[willjulep]

Knights and princes and werewolves, oh my! Erotica commissions are now open! 🥂‧˚⊹ The details, short and sweet:

Public Commissions | $25USD / 1,000 Words Private Commissions | $40USD / 1,000 Words Open To | M/M & F/F. Fantasy, historical, and urban paranormal settings (typically knight kink, royalty kink, and/or monsterfucking)

Slip your desires under my door at [email protected], and we shall soon get you sorted 💛

[willjulep]

You're just a paladin who lands his final smite with a kiss looking at a wizard casting evil spells who's been allowed to live for far too long.

[freckled-king]

"Satisfying the Demon Lord" (18+) Another commissioned lil' gay smut novella cover for the wonderful Will Julep! Read it here!!! (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPJFJQWH)

I'm available for all sorts of fun projects! Share yours with me right in my mailbox: [email protected] or shoot me a DM here on tumblr 😋

[willjulep]

"There is no one else but you."

Red swallowed, staring down at Wolf's grip on his thighs. The meager candlelight flickering around the room cast everything in shadow, but Red knew the shape of him well, even in the dark. "It was a silly thought, that's all. The locals are nothing to look at, and I would bet my right hand that none of them are adventurous enough to stand out in the bedroom."

"It wouldn't matter if they were."

"No, even then, they'd likely be too dull to see your merit. I told you, I'm a man with a king's taste trapped in a sty with pigs."

Bed-Ridden is the Big Bad Wolf

[willjulep]

Sexualizing the type of faerie that people ward their homes against. Eroticizing their trickery, malice, and ill intent. Helplessly enchanted by their complete disregard for your health and well-being as they comb through your darkest desires to twist them to their advantage. Removing all the iron from your home and sleeping with the windows cracked. You agree.

[willjulep]

"You mentioned a word."

"Yes, for safekeeping. It is simple: Choose one word to speak that will end any act, at any moment. You may pretend that it is magic."

It wasn't magic, though. Beast would not be bound to his word by an arcane promise; he would be bound only by his integrity.

Beauty's eyes opened slowly as Beast's heat disappeared, golden eyes dark with intent despite the distance. "It won't be restricted to more... creative play. It is your word to use in all circumstances."

Red, White, and Beauty: A Beastly Collection

cover art by the unparalleled @freckled-king

[vyvilha]

love when werewolf transformation is shown as painful. hell yeah baby i want to become my true self and i want it to hurt

[willjulep]

Hi! I absolutely love your work! I hope this isn't inappropriate but was wondering if you have any reccommendations for authors in a similar vein that focus on F/F relationships?

Hey! Thanks very much for asking! While I don't currently have any sapphic monsterfucking/knight erotica recommendations, I have quite a few sapphic horror/thriller recommendations to give! Here are a handful:

"The Haunting of Hill House" by Shirley Jackson "Girl Falling" by Haley Scrivenor "My Darling Dreadful Thing" by Johanna van Veen "The September House" by Carissa Orlando "We Used to Live Here" by Marcus Kliewer

[willjulep]

"You were made to be devoured."

It's hard to know which is more enticing: the Alchemy Professor's intoxicating scent, or the way he responds to my attention.

Most vampires tend to look down on werewolves, but he's always been perfectly courteous. Even when my advances turn him into a blushing, pheremone-heavy, pulse-pounding mess, he remains civil. It makes me want to rough him up all over his pristine laboratory.

I've never been into the shy ones, but his scent has me howling at the moon. And when he lets his body do the talking for him, it's clear that he plays hard, not hard-to-get. Staking my claim on him may take all night, and I'll make sure that once I'm through, he won't be able to think of anything but me.

This erotic short features breeding kink, knotting, and the answer to the age old question: Vampires or werewolves? (Both, together.)

cover art by @freckled-king!

[willjulep]

For @vals-lente's Monstertober 2025 prompt:

༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･

Winged | Cathedral | Curse

Devil / Angel (of shoulder fame)

"You know you don't have to answer a dare."

"What do you mean?" he asks, wandering down the center of the aisle. You know that as he meanders, spinning on his heel as he goes, that he's taking in the state of the place without much dismay. It might be a little sad for him to see a place where humans once congregated in the name of God, but when you are older than the dawn of time, a ruined building holds little value. Even on consecrated ground.

It's been a very long time since this rickety pile of kindling was consecrated, you can say that much. Crossing the threshold didn't even make your atoms creep.

"I mean," you say, oiling up his spine and around his shoulders like a stole, "when human children dare you to enter abandoned buildings, you don't have to do it."

He readjusts the gaudy halo strapped to his head. "That wouldn't be sporting."

"And what do you care about that?"

"How's that?" he says, distracted by a smashed up window depicting some saint or other in stained glass. Likely not one of the fun ones.

"Being sporting. What do you care about that?"

"I'm a good sport," he retorts, finally turning his attention to you. Satisfaction simmers within you at the divot in his brow.

"Sure you are."

"I'm here with you, aren't I, nemesis mine?"

"Steady on. We have rapport."

"Due to my good sportsmanship and overall easygoing demeanor."

"I don't know about all of that. You are a good sport on occasion, when you are not being pious to the point of nuisance, stuck up, willfully obtuse–"

"Alright."

"– fussy, argumentative, spoilt, prone to misunderstandings–"

"Alright!"

"– ignorant to the ways of the world, and generally quite silly. When you are not those things, one might describe you as sporting. I will give you that much."

He elects to ignore you, which he knows you cannot abide. You disappear from his shoulders and reappear at the rotting old pulpit, stretching yourself into the shape of a man. A priest. Resting your hands upon the pulpit, you do take some pleasure from the gouge marks and graffiti desecrating the surface. As a demon, you're allowed to be petty. It's sort of your niche.

"Hark! An angel approaches."

"And anyway," he says like the conversation never ended, lifting the hem of his white robes to avoid a pile of crumpled soda cans, "even were it not my nature to indulge the meek–"

"Meek? Did you see the nine-year-old's throwing arm? And what of that sweet little pumpkin-garbed baby who smashed the front lock with a brick?"

"– it would not do for any of them to enter this place." He purses his lips in distaste at a rusted metal pipe sticking out from the pews.

"Yes, yes," you say, looming over the pulpit, "your deeds are admirable and righteous, as ever. So you are dragging your mortal body around this tetanus theme park to protect the innocent. Very good."

"Yes, I thought so."

Your lips stretch too far to be a human's grin. "And to illustrate what a good sport you are, you're urban exploring in an angel costume. How very droll!"

The angel you have known for millennia stands before you on rotten red carpet, peering up at you from below a cheap silver halo that wobbles with his every breath. The long white robe, cinched at the waist with a frayed golden belt, skims the tops of his feet. (You convinced him to wear shoes today, and you deserve a reward for that foresight. You had an inkling he would do something ridiculous tonight. It is his way.)

But the most unsightly part of his costume so far must be the wings strapped to his back. Paltry bits of feather stuck together with glue stick out of his back in what appears to be the horrifying result of the world's sleepiest taxidermist – but it probably only seems so macabre to you because you have seen his true wings.

These stiff clumps of feathers turn with his body, and when they brush against anything, it is with an alarming scraping noise. It is nothing at all like the splendor two pairs of full, carefully groomed wings that once trailed behind him. The brittle things strapped to him could not compare to the power, the fluid grace of his wings. They are bleached nearly to fluorescence, sterile and bleak, where his remind you of the white paper flowers. Of attic dust. Of a newborn lamb after its first bath in a cold stream.

"Well," he says, clasping his hands, "it's Hallowe'en, after all."

In your mind, you see them. And you smile.

"Don't put emphasis on the 'we'en', you lunatic."

"Whyever not?"

"Alright, do. And do it often. See how the meek treat you then."You'll return his wings to him. You will. It's only a matter of time.

༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･

If you enjoyed this, you will likely enjoy its progenitor: The Devil On My Shoulder Keeps Giving Me Mixed Signals 💛

[big-moss-inc]

If I was a knight would you let me swear oaths to you be honest

[big-moss-inc]

Pleaaase bro just let me be your blade

[lokaror]

*holding you close as you bleed out*

Yeah man... it was a good bit... it was a really good bit... really funny....

[willjulep]

How do I even start to explain the flashbacks I've gotten from your "knights are coconuts" post?

Well this is just adorable!

[willjulep]

Prince whose noblest knight keeps insisting that he would throw himself upon his own blade to bleed himself dry of sin should his liege request it has to reassure concerned citizens, "I've never asked him to do that."

[willjulep]

A bitter pill to swallow: The knight/liege dynamic when romanticized is but the prototype of the mall couple.

[willjulep]

A seer offers to read the crown prince's love fortune, takes one look at the threads of fate connecting him to the bloodied hands and heart of his most loyal knight, twining and knotted and binding, and can only rub her temples muttering, "Jesus Christ."

[robobrat]

you are not immune to a psychosexual relationship with your sword