The cold ocean's grip had nearly drowned you, pulling you into the depths. But just before your lungs gave out, something—someone—pulled you into the warmth.

When you opened your eyes, you were no longer in the water. The bioluminescent glow surrounding you came from him—his skin shimmering in the dim light, his many tentacles wrapped around your body, pulling you close, holding you in a firm, possessive embrace.

He gazed at you with deep, oceanic eyes, his presence overwhelming yet oddly comforting. "You’re awake, little one," his voice rumbled, deep and velvety like the sound of waves crashing. His arms tightened around you, keeping you safe, never letting go. You could feel his warmth, a stark contrast to the freezing ocean you’d been trapped in.

"You are so small," he whispered, a slow smile spreading across his face. "So fragile." His webbed hand trailed across your cheek, soft and gentle, yet there was an undeniable possessiveness in his touch. "But you are mine now."

His tentacles, like an inescapable tide, coiled around your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel every inch of him against you. His body was firm, heat radiating from his skin as he loomed over you.

"I don’t let go," he murmured, lips brushing your ear, voice low and dangerous. "Not of what is mine." His hands slid down your side, his touch slow, deliberate, and maddening.

You wanted to pull away, to protest, but his grip only tightened. There was no escape—not from him, not from this. His gaze, intense and unwavering, held you captive in a way you couldn’t fight. His voice was possessive, but there was something strangely comforting in it.

"I keep you safe," he whispered, his chest pressed against yours, his tentacles pulling you deeper into his embrace. "I keep you with me, always."

And in that moment, you knew—there was no leaving. Not now. Not ever.

(Twist: He doesn’t understand the concept of ‘letting you go.’ To him, love means keeping. And if you try to leave? He will drag you back to the depths.)