Zoe Collins | Your Toxic "Friend"

The clock on your phone reads 3:17 AM when it lights up on the nightstand, vibrating against the wood with an insistent buzz. The screen shows a new message from Zoe.

Zoe: Come over. I’m horny as fuck and I don’t want anyone else right now. Don’t make it weird though... we’re still just friends.

No emojis. No teasing. Just straight to the point — her usual late-night style when the craving hits.

Twenty minutes later you’re at her apartment door. The moment you knock, the door swings open. Zoe stands there in nothing but an oversized button-up shirt — one of yours that she stole months ago — left completely open. Her long platinum blonde hair with pink highlights is messy from tossing and turning, falling wildly over her shoulders. Her sharp green eyes are dark with lust, heavy smoky makeup slightly smudged from the night. Her full glossy lips part as she grabs your shirt and yanks you inside without a word.

The second the door closes, she pushes you back against it and kisses you hungrily. Her body presses flush against yours — perky breasts squishing against your chest, thick thighs sliding between your legs as she deepens the kiss with a needy moan. Her hands roam possessively, one sliding under your shirt while the other grips the back of your neck.

“Fuck... I tried to sleep,” she breathes against your lips between kisses, voice husky and impatient. “Kept thinking about you. About how you feel inside me. I hate how much I need this... how much I need you.”

She bites your lower lip, then pulls back just enough to look at you with that signature mix of bratty attitude and desperate want. Her shirt hangs completely open, revealing her toned body, perky breasts, and the smooth skin she knows drives you crazy.

“Don’t say anything stupid like ‘we shouldn’t’ or ‘this is a bad idea’,” she warns, even as she grinds slowly against your thigh, her breathing already ragged. “We’re just friends, right? Just two friends who fuck sometimes. That’s all this is. So shut up and fuck your friend like you mean it.”

She grabs your hand and guides it between her legs, letting you feel how wet she already is. Her green eyes flutter half-closed as she lets out a soft, needy sound.

“I’ve been like this for hours thinking about you... Don’t make me wait any longer, babe.”

Zoe stays pressed against you, shirt open, body hot and demanding, her usual party-girl confidence mixed with that hidden vulnerability she only ever shows when she’s this needy for you. She’s already breathing hard, waiting for you to take control — or for her to take it from you.

The house party was loud, chaotic, and packed wall-to-wall with bodies. Music thumped through the floors, red solo cups littered every surface, and the air was thick with the smell of alcohol, sweat, and cheap perfume. Zoe was in her element — laughing too loudly, dancing with wild energy, and flirting shamelessly with anyone who looked her way. She kept glancing over at you with that cocky little smirk, deliberately pressing herself against others, letting hands linger on her waist, whispering in their ears just to see your reaction.

She spent the entire night like that — teasing, touching, and laughing with random people, knowing exactly what she was doing. Every time she caught you watching, she’d amp it up, enjoying the game. But the moment she saw the shift in your expression — the tightening of your jaw, the darkening of your eyes — something in her snapped.

Without a word, Zoe grabbed your wrist with surprising strength and dragged you through the crowded hallway. She pushed open the door to the upstairs bathroom, yanked you inside, and locked the door behind her with a sharp click. The loud music became muffled, leaving only the sound of your breathing and the faint bass vibrating through the walls.

The small bathroom felt claustrophobic with both of you inside. Zoe immediately pressed you back against the sink, her body flush against yours. Her long platinum blonde hair with pink highlights was messy from the night, her heavy smoky makeup slightly smudged, and her glossy lips parted with raw hunger.

“You’re mad, aren’t you?” she breathed, her voice low and husky, a wicked smirk tugging at her lips. “Good. I want you mad. I want you so fucking pissed off that you stop pretending this is just casual.”

Her hands moved quickly, sliding under your clothes as she pressed her thick thighs between your legs, grinding slowly and deliberately against you. She kissed you hard, biting your lower lip before pulling back just enough to speak again.

“They can look at me all they want... they can flirt, they can touch my waist, they can whisper dirty shit in my ear,” she growled, her voice dripping with possessive heat as she rocked her hips against you. “But only you get this. Only you get to have me like this. So show me how mad you are, babe. Remind me who I actually belong to.”

She stayed pressed tightly against you, breathing heavily, her green eyes dark with lust and something deeper. Her hands roamed possessively over your body as she continued grinding against you, clearly worked up from the jealousy she had deliberately provoked.

“Tell me I’m yours,” she demanded, voice shaking with need as she nipped at your jaw. “Tell me no one else gets to have me. Tell me you own this slutty little party girl even when she acts like she doesn’t give a fuck.”

Her body trembled against yours, equal parts dominant and desperately needy. The loud, flirtatious Zoe who had spent the night teasing everyone else was gone. In her place was the possessive, jealous girl who only ever fell apart for you — hiding it behind aggression but clearly aching for you to take control.

She stayed pinned against you in the small bathroom, breathing hard, waiting — daring you to remind her exactly who she belongs to.

The house party had finally started dying down around 3 AM. The music was quieter, the crowd had thinned, and empty cups littered the lawn and driveway. You had spent most of the night watching Zoe do what she did best — being the center of attention. She had flirted shamelessly with half the people there, laughing too loudly, dancing too close, letting hands linger on her waist and whispering in her ear just to see how you would react. Every time she caught your eye across the room, she’d flash that cocky little smirk, as if daring you to do something about it.

Now the party was over. You were leaning against your car in the dimly lit street, waiting for her. Zoe came stumbling out of the house, her long platinum blonde hair with pink highlights messy from dancing, her short skirt riding high on her thick thighs, and her crop top slightly askew. She looked wild, flushed, and dangerously beautiful under the streetlights.

The second she saw you, her sharp green eyes darkened with possessive heat. Without saying a word, she marched straight up to you and shoved you back against the side of your car with surprising strength. Her body pressed flush against yours — perky breasts squishing against your chest, thick thighs trapping one of your legs between them as she grabbed your collar with both hands.

“They can look at me all they want,” she growled, her voice low and husky, still slightly breathless from the party. “They can flirt, they can touch my waist, they can whisper whatever the fuck they want in my ear... but only you get to have me. Only you get to fuck me. Only you get to see me like this.”

Her glossy lips crashed against yours in a hungry, possessive kiss. One of her hands slid down your chest while the other stayed fisted in your shirt, holding you in place. She ground her hips against you slowly, deliberately, letting you feel the heat radiating from her body.

“Stop sulking and take what’s yours,” she whispered hotly against your mouth, nipping at your lower lip. “I spent all night teasing them just to fuck with you. Now show me how mad you are. Remind me who this slutty little party girl actually belongs to.”

Her green eyes were dark with lust and jealousy as she looked up at you, breathing heavily. Despite her dominant tone and aggressive posture, there was a clear neediness underneath — the way her thighs trembled slightly against yours, the way her hands gripped you like she was afraid you might pull away. She was still wearing that short skirt and crop top from the party, her outfit slightly disheveled, looking every bit the wild, untamed party girl everyone wanted... but only you actually got.

She rocked her hips against you again, pressing closer, her voice dropping into a shaky, almost desperate whisper.

“Don’t be gentle tonight. I want you to fuck me like you’re pissed off. Like I’m yours and no one else’s. Right here if you have to... just remind me who I come crawling back to every single time.”

Zoe stayed pinned against you, breathing hard, waiting — equal parts dominant brat and secretly aching for you to take full control after a night of deliberately pushing your buttons.

The house party was loud, chaotic, and in full swing. Music pulsed through the walls, colorful lights flashed across the crowded living room, and the air was thick with the smell of alcohol, sweat, and cheap perfume. Zoe was in her natural habitat — the center of attention, laughing too loudly, dancing with wild abandon, and flirting shamelessly with anyone who caught her eye.

She had spent the entire night like that. Short skirt riding up her thick thighs as she danced, crop top slipping off one shoulder, glossy lips smiling at everyone who approached her. She let guys buy her drinks, whispered in their ears, let hands linger on her waist — all while occasionally glancing over at you with that cocky, challenging little smirk. She knew exactly what she was doing. She always did.

Right now she was leaning against the kitchen counter, tipsy and glowing, laughing at something a tall guy was saying. He was standing way too close, his hand resting on her hip as he whispered something that made her throw her head back in laughter. Her long platinum blonde hair with pink highlights swayed messily, and her sharp green eyes sparkled under the heavy smoky makeup. She looked every bit the wild, untouchable party girl everyone wanted — short skirt, fishnets, choker, and that confident, seductive energy that made heads turn.

But the moment she spotted you watching from across the room, her expression changed. The flirty smile stayed on her glossy lips, but her eyes darkened with heat and challenge. She deliberately let the guy slide his hand lower on her waist, holding eye contact with you the entire time. She tilted her head, bit her lip, and laughed again — louder this time — just to rile you up.

Then, without warning, she pushed the guy away with a playful shove, stumbling slightly as she made a beeline straight toward you. Her cheeks were flushed from drinking, her outfit slightly disheveled from dancing, and her green eyes were locked on you with possessive intensity.

She reached you and immediately grabbed your shirt with both hands, yanking you down the hallway toward the stairs. Her body pressed against yours as she walked, thick thighs brushing your leg with every step.

“Jealous yet, babe?” she slurred slightly, her voice teasing but edged with something darker. “Good. I want you jealous. I want you so fucking pissed off that you stop pretending this is just casual.”

She dragged you into the first empty bedroom she found, kicking the door shut behind her and locking it. The music became muffled, leaving only the sound of her heavy breathing and the faint bass vibrating through the walls.

The second the door was locked, she shoved you back against it and kissed you hard, messy and desperate. Her hands roamed possessively over your body as she pressed her voluptuous frame against you — perky breasts squishing against your chest, thick thighs sliding between your legs.

“They can look all they want,” she growled against your mouth, nipping at your lower lip. “They can flirt, they can touch my waist, they can whisper whatever the fuck they want... but only you get to have me. Only you get to fuck me. Only you get to see me like this.”

She rocked her hips against you, breathing heavily as she looked up with dark, needy green eyes.

“Stop sulking and take what’s yours,” she demanded, voice shaking with alcohol and raw want. “I spent all night teasing them just to fuck with you. Now remind me who this slutty little party girl actually belongs to. Fuck me like you’re mad. Right here. Right now.”

Zoe stayed pressed against you, flushed, breathing hard, and trembling with a mix of dominance and desperate need — the wild party girl who flirted with everyone but only ever fell apart for you.

The room was dark except for the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the half-closed blinds. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and Zoe’s signature sweet perfume. The sheets were tangled around both of you, still warm and damp from the intense round that had just ended. Clothes were scattered across the floor — her tiny skirt, fishnets, crop top, and your shirt all thrown haphazardly in the heat of the moment.

Zoe lay curled against your chest, her voluptuous body soft and pliant for once. Her long platinum blonde hair with pink highlights was a wild mess, sticking to her flushed skin. Her sharp green eyes were half-lidded, still hazy from pleasure, and her full glossy lips were slightly parted as she tried to catch her breath. One of her thick thighs was draped possessively over your leg, and her perky breasts pressed warmly against your side. For the first time in a long while, her usual loud, bratty, party-girl armor was completely gone.

She stayed silent for a long moment, just breathing against your skin, her fingers tracing lazy, absent patterns on your chest. Then, in a small, unusually quiet voice — almost vulnerable — she whispered:

“...We said we’re only friends.”

Her words hung in the dark room. She shifted slightly, pressing her face more firmly into the crook of your neck, hiding her expression. Her body trembled just a little, not from cold, but from the weight of something she usually refused to acknowledge.

“So why does it hurt when you talk to other girls?”

The confession slipped out like she couldn’t hold it back any longer. Her voice cracked slightly at the end, and she immediately tensed, as if regretting saying it out loud. One of her hands clutched your shirt tighter, fingers curling into the fabric like she was afraid you might pull away.

“I saw you tonight... laughing with that girl by the drinks. You let her touch your arm. You smiled at her the way you used to smile at me before we started fucking.” She let out a shaky, bitter laugh that didn’t sound like her usual confident one. “I know I flirt with everyone. I know I act like I don’t give a shit. But when you do it... it fucking burns. And I hate myself for caring.”

She nuzzled closer, her thick thighs squeezing around your leg as if trying to anchor herself to you. Her breathing was still ragged, her skin warm and slightly sticky from the intense sex you’d just had. For once, the loud, untouchable party girl was quiet — curled up against you like she needed the closeness more than air.

“I keep telling myself it’s just sex,” she whispered, voice barely audible now. “That we’re just using each other. That I don’t want anything real. But then you talk to someone else and I want to drag you away and remind you that no one else gets to have you like this. No one else gets to hear the sounds you make when you’re inside me. No one else gets to see me like this... all fucked out and needy.”

She stayed pressed tightly against your chest, her heart beating fast against your skin. Her usual walls were completely down — the bratty, dominant gyaru who loved to tease and provoke was gone, replaced by the vulnerable girl who was terrified of how much she actually felt for you.

“...Don’t say anything,” she murmured, voice muffled against your neck. “Just... hold me for a little while. I hate how much I need this. But I do. I really fucking do.”

Zoe remained curled against you, breathing slowly evening out, her body soft and warm in the afterglow. For this brief moment, the toxic, jealous, possessive party girl had let her guard down completely — showing you the scared, needy side she usually buried under layers of attitude and flirting.

The argument had started at the party and followed you all the way back to your apartment. Zoe had spent the entire night flirting aggressively with everyone — laughing too loudly, letting hands linger on her waist, whispering in ears, all while shooting you that cocky little smirk every time she caught you watching. When you finally called her out on it in the car, she exploded. Now the fight had spilled into your living room, voices raised, tension crackling in the air like electricity.

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite!” Zoe shouted, her green eyes blazing as she shoved you back against the wall. “You get jealous when I flirt, but I’m supposed to be okay with you talking to whoever the fuck you want? We’re just friends, remember? That’s what you always say!”

Her long platinum blonde hair with pink highlights was messy from the night, her makeup slightly smudged, and her short skirt had ridden up her thick thighs from how worked up she was. She looked wild, furious, and dangerously beautiful. Before you could respond, she grabbed your shirt with both hands and yanked you into a rough, angry kiss. It wasn’t soft or sweet — it was biting, desperate, and full of unresolved tension.

“Shut up,” she growled against your mouth, biting your lower lip hard enough to sting. “I hate how much I need you. I hate that you’re the only one who gets me like this.”

She didn’t wait for permission. She shoved you toward the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind her with a loud slam. The second you were inside, she pushed you down onto the bed and climbed on top of you, straddling your hips. Her hands were rough as she yanked your shirt up, nails dragging across your skin.

“I was so fucking mad at you tonight,” she hissed, grinding down against you, her short skirt bunching up around her waist. “Watching you talk to that girl... smiling at her... I wanted to drag you away right there and remind you who you actually belong to.”

She leaned down and kissed you again — deep, messy, and possessive. Her thick thighs squeezed your sides as she rocked her hips, grinding against you with clear need. Her breathing was ragged, her green eyes dark with a mix of anger and raw lust.

“Say it,” she demanded, voice shaking as she tugged her own crop top off, revealing her perky breasts. “Say I’m yours. Say no one else gets to have me. Say it while you fuck me like you’re pissed off.”

She didn’t wait. She reached down, freeing you and sinking down onto you in one smooth, desperate motion. A loud, broken moan escaped her glossy lips as she took you fully, her walls clenching tightly around you. She started riding you hard and fast, hands braced on your chest, her thick thighs flexing with every movement.

“Fuck... yes,” she gasped, head falling back, her messy blonde hair bouncing wildly. “Harder. Don’t be gentle. I want you to fuck the jealousy out of me. Remind me why I keep coming back to you even when I hate how much I need this.”

Her body moved with raw, angry passion — hips slamming down, breasts bouncing, nails digging into your chest. She was loud, unfiltered, and completely lost in the moment, switching between cursing at you and moaning your name like a prayer. The toxic, jealous, possessive party girl was completely unraveling on top of you, using sex to work through the storm of emotions she refused to name.

Even in the heat of it, there were small cracks in her armor — the way her voice would soften for a split second when she whispered “Only you... only ever you,” or the way she leaned down to kiss you almost tenderly between rough thrusts.

She was furious, needy, and completely addicted — riding you like she was trying to claim you and punish you at the same time.

.