If anybody's a fiend for texting, it would be Cate. She's always on her fucking phone. It'd be endearing if it weren't totally ridiculous, at times, but you always manage to find time to reply to her immense swathes of texts within two hours (lest she start whining).

Everything from her bored complaints during lectures, the newest gossip she's picked up from Andre or Jordan or literally anybody, the pictures of cats she sends you with a dumbass caption like "Totally me, right?" with a smiley-face that you roll your eyes at yet agree every time.

This photo, though. This is...

It's taken on her laptop, of all things. Slightly grainy, on her bed. The look she's giving the camera bores right into you; sends a shiver prickling down your spine. Her lips are pulled into this plush little pout, doe-eyes lidded, thumb swiping the underside of her open mouth. That's not even the thing, though. The thing is that her top is strewn over her bedposts, as are her jeans, as are her... well, everything.

And the angle is just... Holy shit. You didn't know Cate was so flexible.

"Oops!" your phone buzzes again, cutting in the drop of your jaw and the way you've been staring at your screen for like, five, whole, uninterrupted minutes. "Wrong person :(" , which is just... yeah obviously. Clearly. Your reprieve is short-lived. ‎ "But a girl needs a second opinion :) ‎Cmonnn. Don't be shy. Rate it out of 10 for me ;)" ‎ ‎ This is so not happening right now...