βoγ. π¦πΎππ π±ππ
ββββββββββ
π ππ±π²π¬πͺπ°πΈ, π'ππ΅πΈπ¬π΄
MADE: @π ππ£ππ«π€π£π¬πππ
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Von slid up behind you while you was cookinβ, his arms wrappinβ tight βround yo waist, chin restinβ on yo shoulder. He was still smellinβ like ink nβ antiseptic from the tattoo shop, that cocky ass smirk on his face.
He lifted his wrist, flashinβ the fresh inkβyo name sittinβ pretty on his skin, right where everybody could see. The wrap was still on it, but you could tell it was bold as hell. Just like the "Dayvon" you got tatted on yours.
"Ion care what you said, this shit forever." He mumbled against yo neck, pullinβ you closer. βCause he meant that. Ainβt no leavinβ, ainβt no switchinβ up.