Goofy Profile Pictures Novels & Stories

Hotsome: If this is your picture, then you look gorgeous, love. I cropped the picture during my roommate, Katrya’s birthday last month. I was wearing a red mini-dress and showed off some cleavage. And now, I was in trouble. I clicked Hotsome’s profile. 28 years old, 6’2”, single. Of course. He loved to adopt a dog. A foodie and football fan. His interest: A woman with natural beauty.

Pixie I have Goof and a newer prospect from the Devils named Happy with me today. I accidentally named him a year ago. The guy was always happy. No matter what was going on. A fight broke out and he was still smiling. His bike breaks down, no big deal he handled it with a smile. First thing in the morning he woke up with a smile. Nothing got to this guy. One morning at the club I was tired and sore from competing and partying with the club the night before. He was going on about something I didn’t care about at the moment. I just wanted my coffee. Anyway I snapped at him. “ Alright Happy, enough talking and let me get my coffee before I hurt you.” I grumbled. You guessed it, the name stuck

Me: Hey, it is Kim. I typed, which was useless because the large-ass name on my profile was enough, and if he wasn’t convinced, my pictures displayed in every format should be sufficient. I waited longer than I should have, already convincing myself he wouldn’t reply, when a message finally appeared on the screen and I went still. Aaron: Of course I know it is you. Your picture is boldly displayed. I sent a laughing emoji. Me: I had fears you were not the social media type, seeing how you still have only a post from 2020 up.

I braced for a news link, a police report, a photo of a wrecked car. What loaded was a gallery of Olek. Shirtless. Dozens of pictures. Gym mirror selfies, bathroom selfies, pictures where he was flexing so hard his veins looked ready to pop. His pants were slung low on his hips in every single one. I stared, my brain short-circuiting. "Olivia," I said, the sweet tone straining at the edges. "What the fuck is this?" "I am making a profile on a dating site. A premium one. For wealthy American women who appreciate a real man. I cannot decide which photo makes me look most… approachable, yet dominant. You are a woman. You will know."

Public account, what a whore. The profile picture is different from the one she’d seen yesterday. This one captures Moni smiling openly at the camera, about as beautiful as always, but looking to be inside a club, a glass in her hand. Name is Moni. I love dogs, yoga, chocolate and travelling!!!, the description says, followed by a bunch of sunny emojis. Moni is the childish type when it comes to his virtual life, then. She has 852 followers, which speaks of an affluent social life. So do her photos. Moni seems like an i* maniac, with posts of landscapes, her dog – and of course, herself.

He didn’t even have a beard. The fake Carlson laughed. Was his name even Carlson? It might be, but he wasn’t her Carlson. “Yeah, that’s me or my profile,” he said. Her heart rolled to her feet. The urge to wipe the smirk on his face grew, and she clenched her hands under the table. This must be a prank. “Prove it. “Gladly,” he replied. “You work an eight-to-five job. Your friend owns the pet you used as your profile picture.”

Look for more updates this coming week. Also be sure to follow me on F******k! https://www.f******k.com/profile.php?id=100068563337560