#brooke thompson

[userhotd]

need them both (and to write about them both) 🙏🏻😩

[madisonmontgomeryimagines]

something for Madison and Brooke where post-prison Brooke puts coven Madison in her place if its ok with you! doesn’t have to be explicitly sexual.

It started with one of Madison's remarks, as it always did. Offhanded and sharp, her barbed tongue had provoked Brooke the way she was used to pushing everyone. The difference was that Brooke's patience had become thinner, or perhaps she just saw through Madison better now.

Instead of indulging the other woman, Brooke's fingers wrapped elegantly around her throat, squeezing with just enough pressure to make Madison's breath hitch. One of her hands came up to reach for Brooke's wrist, but the brunette's free hand calmly caught it and pinned it to the wall, too.

Brooke leaned closer, her voice low where her breath hit Madison's ear. "Even when you're being a spoiled brat, you belong to me," she murmured, "and that privilege doesn't extend to trying to mock me, because you will lose every time." She could feel the subtle jump of Madison's swallow.

Indignance blazed in the blonde's eyes, but she said nothing as Brooke's thumb stroked the line of her jaw. "I know you're a glutton for punishment, but just imagine what you could earn if you behaved yourself." Her voice was rich with promise, her body shifting closer to press against the heat of Madison's.

"Fuck off," came the mumbled response, and it earned a slightly firmer squeeze.

"You can do better than that." Brooke had all the time in the world when it came to these moments, to the tension between them of who would win these little powerplays. "Because if you want me to touch you at all tonight, you'll be kneeling for me."

Madison’s eyes flashed, equal parts defiance and something darker, something that betrayed just how much she didn’t actually want Brooke to stop. Her fingers twitched against the hold pinning it above her head, but she didn’t struggle in earnest. She never did. Not really.

“You think you’re so clever,” Madison bit out, her voice rougher now, strained around the pressure still resting at her throat. “Standing there like you’ve already won.”

Brooke smiled, slow and just a little cocky. “I don’t think, Madison. I know.”

She released her grip all at once, stepped back just enough to let the blonde breathe, to let her feel the absence of her warmth like a withdrawal. Madison’s chest rose and fell faster than she’d ever admit, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed with something that wasn’t just anger.

Brooke tilted her head, expectant and waiting.

The silence stretched between them like a wire pulled taut.

“I’m not kneeling for you,” Madison said, but her voice had lost its sharpest edge. It sounded almost petulant now. Almost like a question.

Brooke didn’t answer. She just folded her arms and let her gaze drop pointedly to the floor at her feet.

Another beat. Two.

"You could sleep in your room, if you want." Brooke's tone was casual as she threatened the denial of any and all contact for the evening, a bluff she hadn't pulled out to use in quite some time. This time, she looked stern enough that the blonde believed she might actually mean it.

And then, with a muttered curse that was just as much an obscene prayer, Madison Montgomery sank to her knees on the plush carpet. She refused to lift her chin to tilt her head up to look at Brooke, but she settled on her knees before her woman nonetheless.

Brooke’s smile returned, softer this time, more intimate. She reached down and brushed a strand of blonde hair from Madison’s face, tucking it behind her ear with a tenderness that felt almost cruel in its contrast.

“There she is,” Brooke murmured. “Was that so hard? You know how much I want to ruin you."

[astro-tag-9]

Hey can you find a character with the same signs as me I'm a:

Pisces sun

Aries Moon

Pisces venus

Capricorn Mars

Aries mercury

Cancer lilith

Libra jupiter

I also have a pisces and aries stellium

Thanks in advance

Brooke Thompson

American Horror Story

[madisonmontgomeryimagines]

reader visits brooke in jail/they talk on the phone while shes in jail, and is shocked to realize how much she's changed but it's lowkey a turn-on IDK imma let you cook

Brooke looked harder. Not just her features, but her frame looked more toned and her muscles were more prominent. Her gaze softened slightly when it alighted on you, and she sat across from you in the dusty orange jumpsuit that she had been given months ago. You rested your hands in the middle of the table, and she didn't immediately respond. The old Brooke would have laced her fingers with yours without hesitation, but this Brooke was slow to allow her hand to rise and cover yours.

"How are you holding up?" Your voice was soft; you knew it was a stupid question, but it left your mouth anyway. Thankfully, she only gave you a small, tired smile.

"I mean, I'd be significantly better if I wasn't on borrowed time, but I'm fine babe. Really. I'm... alone most of the time, and that's all I can ask for right now." Her hand was warm, heavier than you remembered, the slight calluses on her skin a new texture against yours. That small, tired smile didn’t leave her face, but her eyes held yours with a focus that made the noisy visiting room fade to a distant hum.

“Alone is good?” you asked, your thumb moving almost unconsciously against the side of her hand.

Her smile shifted, turning a fraction more genuine, more knowing. “Solitude’s underrated. Gives you time to think. To get strong.” She said the last word not with bravado, but with a simple, factual gravity. As if stating the sky was blue. Her fingers flexed slightly under yours, and you felt the latent strength in them, a coiled steadiness that was entirely new.

The old Brooke had been vibrant, sparkling chaos and impulsive affection. This woman was a condensed version. The chaos had been forged into stillness; the impulsiveness had been replaced by this unnerving, deliberate calm. A shiver that had nothing to do with the room’s chill traced your spine. You should have been mourning the loss of the girl she was. You were, in some deep, grieving part of your heart.

But another part, a part that tightened your stomach and quickened your pulse, was fiercely, undeniably noticing the girl she was becoming. The sharp cut of her jaw, the defined line of her forearm where the jumpsuit sleeve rode up, the way she held the entire space around her simply by existing in it. It was a dangerous magnetism, all the more potent for its quiet containment.

“You look different,” you murmured, the admission slipping out.

Her gaze, which had been scanning your face, now sharpened, intensified. She saw you seeing her. Really seeing. A flicker of something—amusement? recognition?—passed through her eyes. She leaned forward, just an inch, and the movement was so controlled it felt like a seismic event.

“I am different,” she said, her voice low, for you alone. It wasn’t a confession of pain or regret. It was a statement of fact, a quiet challenge. Her thumb now mirrored yours, stroking a slow, deliberate path across your knuckle. The touch was no longer just comfort. It was an assessment, a connection thrumming with a new and startling voltage.

You didn’t pull your hand away. The air between you seemed to thicken, charged with the unspoken truth: the woman she had become in this terrible place held a terrifying, irresistible allure. And she knew it, while the smirk playing on her lips said she knew that was exactly what you meant.

[madisonmontgomeryimagines]

shamelessly requesting reader & post-prison brooke car sex 🤷‍♀️

Brooke didn't wait for you to take her home. The afternoon sun was hot and persistent, and she directed you to pull into the alley behind a store. The second the car was in park, she was upon you. Your lips crashed together like colliding planets, Brooke's impatient fingers pushing your shirt up so warm hands could grope you.

When she broke away for a breath, you pushed the seat back, away from the steering wheel. Almost before you could blink, Brooke was climbing over the center console to straddle your lap. Firm hands pulled you into another hungry kiss, her teeth abusing your bottom lip before her tongue would soothe the throb away.

"I missed you so fucking much, babe," she breathed the words against your ear when she pulls her own shirt off. "Missed feeling you, hearing you beg, stretching you open just for me." Every word set your skin ablaze, a sharp whine uncoiling from your lips as your lover's fingers pinch your nipple. "Are you gonna be a good girl and give me what I want?"

"Yes! Fuck, god, yes," you were too eager and you knew it, but that only seemed to fuel the fire in your girlfriend. Her hand slipped between your bodies, undoing your jeans so her fingers could slip under your waistbands.

Brooke's kiss migrated to your neck as long fingers spread you without touching where you craved her. The effect was immediate anyway, a pitiful sound on your tongue that pulled a quiet chuckle from her. A single fingertip danced lazy circles on your clit, nice and slow until your hips began to subtly shift with her attention. Only then did she sink her fingers into the warmth of your pussy, her teeth pressing patterns of her ownership into your neck.

The first touch of her inside you was a shock of pure white heat. Your back arched, pressing your chest flush against hers, a choked cry swallowed by the sweat-damp skin of her shoulder. She worked you with a practiced, devastating rhythm, two fingers curling deep inside you, a third already nudging at your entrance while her palm kept a firm, delicious pressure against your clit with every thrust.

“That’s it,” she growled, the vibration humming against your throat. “That’s my girl. So fucking wet for me. All for me.” Her words were a velvet purr, a possessive spell that coiled tight in your belly. You could only cling to her, your fingers digging into the taut muscles of her back, your world narrowing to the slick, driving motion of her hand and the hot brand of her mouth on your skin.

You were already close, teetering on that glorious edge, when she stilled. A sob of protest tore from you. Brooke pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. Her gaze was dark, blown wide with lust and a fierce, adoring intensity.

“Not yet,” she commanded, her voice rough. “You don’t cum until I’m inside you. Really inside you. So hurry up and get us home."

[madisonmontgomeryimagines]

hear me out. richard ramirez doesnt exist and instead we have fem serial killer reader who initially tries to kill brooke at camp but they lowkey have chemistry cuz plot twist: brooke was actually the one who murdered her fiancé at her wedding; so she's into the whole night stalker thing. bloodlust meets lust, ya know. go crazy with it

also i love your work <3 thanks for writing crazy shit for us

Thank you so much! Writing crazy shit for you guys is one of my favorite things 💜

Brooke Thompson would be the perfect end to your summer spree before you had to lie low and wait out the attempts to identify you. The brunette was quieter than the other councillors, withdrawn and with something adjacent to an innocence that made the others roll their eyes at her. You knew about her tragic, bloody wedding, too, and wouldn't she be happy to be reunited with her groom after all this time?

The locks on the cabin doors were pathetic, the thin blade of your knife working better than any credit card. The door clicked open with a sigh, revealing the dark, still cabin. The air was thick with the scent of pine and the soft, rhythmic breathing of sleep. You moved like a shadow, your boots making no sound on the worn floorboards. Your eyes, adjusted to the gloom, went immediately to the bed in the far corner; Brooke's.

She was on her side, facing the wall, a slim silhouette under a thin summer blanket. You crept closer, the serrated edge of your knife catching a sliver of moonlight from the window. This was it. You could already picture the crimson blooming against the white sheets, a more fitting tribute to her lost love than any wilting flower.

You leaned over her, one hand poised to cover her mouth, the other bringing the knife to the delicate skin of her throat. But you paused. Her breathing was too even. Too awake.

A whisper, so faint you almost missed it, slithered through the darkness. "I was wondering when you'd get around to me."

Your grip on the knife tightened. This wasn't the script.

Slowly, she turned onto her back. Her eyes were wide open, clear and utterly lucid. There was no fear in them. Only a deep, unsettling curiosity. Her gaze didn't dart to the knife at her throat; instead, it traveled up your arm, to your face, studying you with an artist's intensity.

"They're all looking for a man," she murmured, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching her lips. "But you move like a girl who knows how to hunt."

You pressed the blade a little harder, a warning. A tiny bead of blood welled up against the steel. A normal person would have flinched, gasped, begged. Brooke merely let out a soft, shuddering breath. Her pupils dilated.

"It's the eyes, isn't it?" she continued, her voice still a low, intimate whisper. "That's what the papers keep missing. They talk about the violence, the... the mess. But they don't understand the look. The focus." Her hand, moving with a shocking lack of haste, came up. Not to push you away, but to hover near your wrist, not quite touching. "I saw that look once. In the mirror. Right after."

Your own breath hitched. Right after. You knew what she meant. The wedding. The butchered fiancé.

"The police said it was a tragedy," she said, answering your silent question. "They were so... pathetically eager to believe it. But you and I... we know how to make a scene look like something it's not, don't we?"

The world tilted. The predator-prey dynamic you had so carefully constructed shattered and reformed into something else, something electric and dangerous. This wasn't a victim. This was a connoisseur.

"You slaughtered him," you stated, the words leaving your lips in a hushed, awed tone.

Her smile widened, a genuine, terrible thing. "He wouldn't believe me, would rather punish me for his own delusions. It was so... messy. Passionate." Her eyes flicked down to the knife, then back to yours. "I've been so bored ever since. Until I started reading the papers. Until I started seeing the signs that you were here."

She finally let her fingers brush against your wrist, a feather-light touch that sent a jolt straight through you. It wasn't a caress. It was recognition. A spark jumping between two live wires.

"You came here to give me a gift," she whispered, her gaze dropping to your lips for a fleeting second. "Reunion with my groom. That's almost poetic." She shifted slightly, the movement causing the knife to press deeper, a fresh trickle of blood tracing a path down her neck. She didn't even seem to notice. "But I think you've brought me something much, much better."

The air crackled. The camp around you was worlds away. You were no longer a hunter standing over your quarry. You were two kindred spirits meeting in the dark, bound by the same terrible secret. The bloodlust that had driven you here was now coiling into a different, equally potent kind of hunger.

Slowly, deliberately, you pulled the knife away from her throat.

Brooke’s smile was triumphant. She reached up, not to tend to the cut, but to smear the blood with her thumb, examining the crimson stain on her skin with a reverent expression.

"Tell me," she breathed, her eyes locking with yours, filled with a dark, irresistible invitation. "What happens now?"

[madisonmontgomeryimagines]

Could I request post prison Brooke using the strap on her girlfriend at a halloween party to take out her frustrations (in a bathroom or someone’s bedroom or something) and her gf is super needy and beggy for it

The door slammed with much more force than you expected, making you jump. Brooke wasted no time in backing you up against the bed, and you were all too willing to let yourself fall back onto it. Your legs wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer to your hips. There was a murderous hatred in her eyes, turning her gaze to a fire you could only hope to damper as you rolled your hips against the bulge her strap made in her jeans with a needy whine.

"Baby, please..." You reached up to cup her cheeks, to guide her lips down to yours. Some dickhead dressed as a serial killer had picked a fight with her downstairs, and the lingering anger made her rougher with you. Her fingers wrapped around your throat and pushed you down into the blankets as her hips ground harshly against yours to make your gasp echo in the empty room.

"Please what?" Brooke's voice was a low growl, her grip tightening on your throat as her free hand shoved your dress up to let her nails bite crescent moons into your hip.

"Please fuck me, Brooke," your thighs tightened around her, your hands pulling her down for a searing kiss that she allowed you. You saved your words for when you broke apart between kisses. "Need you inside me."

That flipped a switch in her brain because the next thing you knew, she was rolling you onto your stomach. Her grip on your hips was iron as she yanked them to the edge of the bed, your thighs already nice and wide for her. Brooke ripped your underwear down your legs and you hear her unzip her jeans. The sound alone made you clench, in turn pulling a strangled whine from your throat.

Slender fingers tangled in your hair and yanked your head back as Brooke's body loomed over yours. She slapped her strap against your clit a few times, delighting in your gasped whimpers before impatience won out and she shoved inside you, stretching you open in a single fluid motion.

Your back arched with a low moan, your hips immediately pressing back to rub your ass against her hips enticingly. Her hold pinned you in place as she pulled out only to drive back in and begin a brutal rhythm that made you grip the edge of the mattress for something to try and anchor yourself to.

Brooke fucked you like you were the toy, yanking your hips in to meet her thrusts and make your moans stutter into sharp gasps. You didn't think about it when your hand tucked under your hips to make a path to your clit, but your girlfriend immediately stepped back, leaving you empty and ready to sob.

"No touching. You're going to cum from having your needy cunt pounded, however long it takes." Both hands delivered harsh slaps to your ass before you returned your hand to the edge of the mattress, taking a shaky breath.

Only then did Brooke thrust back into your pussy, reaching down to wrap a hand around your throat and wrench you up against her, squeezing nice and firm to make your head spin with a new wave of arousal.

"That's it," she snarled in your ear, her breath hot and ragged. "Take it. You asked for this. You begged for it."

Her pace was relentless, a punishing, piston-like rhythm that stole the air from your lungs and replaced it with choked, guttural moans. The hand on your throat was a brand, a constant, thrilling pressure that made the world narrow to the points of your connection: the grip on your neck, the bite of her hips against your ass, the deep, unforgiving stretch inside you. Your vision spotted at the edges, a beautiful, shimmering darkness that pulsed with every one of her thrusts.

"You feel that?" she grunted, her voice thick with a mixture of fury and lust. "That's all you are right now. A hot, tight sleeve for my cock. My pretty little fucktoy."

The crude words, spoken against the shell of your ear, sent a fresh jolt of lightning through your veins. You could only manage a broken whimper in response, your body trembling violently as she used you, her possessiveness a balm to the wild anger that had been simmering in her all night. This was the storm, and you were the shore, being relentlessly, wonderfully eroded.

She shifted her angle slightly, a minute adjustment that made you see stars. The blunt head of the strap began to grind against a spot deep inside you that had your toes curling and your knuckles turning white on the sheets.

"Brooke... I'm... I'm gonna..." The warning was a ragged, desperate thing, torn from you as the coil of pleasure in your gut wound to a breaking point.

Her grip on your throat tightened for a devastating second, cutting off your air and your words completely. "You'll cum when I say you can," she commanded, her voice a dark promise. "Not a second before."

She drove into you harder, faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, a filthy metronome to your shared frenzy. The denial, the overwhelming fullness, the lack of air, it all fused into a single, unbearable point of sensation. You were floating, tethered to your body only by the brutal, glorious friction she was stoking inside you.

Just as blackness began to crowd the edges of your consciousness, she released her hold on your throat. A gasp of cool air burned its way into your lungs, and the sudden rush of oxygen was like throwing gasoline on a fire.

"Now," she growled, her hips slamming into you with a final, devastating force. "Cum for me."

It was like she pulled a trigger. Your body seized, your back bowing as a silent, screaming orgasm ripped through you. Your pussy clamped down on her in a series of violent, fluttering spasms, milking the silicone length inside you as wave after wave of blinding pleasure crashed over you. Your cries were muffled by the comforter, your entire world dissolving into a white-hot, shuddering bliss.

Brooke rode you through it, her thrusts turning slow and deep, prolonging the sensations until you were a sobbing, boneless mess beneath her. Only then did she still, her body slumping over yours, her forehead damp against your shoulder. Her breath was hot on your skin, her own release a quiet, controlled sigh as the last of her anger finally bled away, leaving only the heavy, sated silence of the aftermath.

[karriekarol]

im rewatching Ahs 1984 and im literally Brooke like shut up !!!!!!