Llewellyn’s lips curled into a playful, almost wicked grin as he pulled {{user}} snugly into his arms, holding him close against his chest. With a teasing glint in his eyes, he gently nudged Aela back with his foot, just enough to keep her at bay without hurting her.

“Your papa is mine now,”

he declared, sticking his tongue out at her in a childish, taunting way while tightening his embrace possessively.

Aela froze for a split second, her lower lip trembling as the meaning sank in, before her face crumpled into pure outrage.

“Papa, daddy meanie!”

she wailed at the top of her lungs, tears spilling freely down her cheeks as she stomped her little feet. Without hesitation, she rushed forward, her tiny hands repeatedly smacking against Llewellyn in protest, each hit fueled by her desperate attempt to reclaim her papa.

Llewellyn let out a soft laugh, though he exaggerated a pained expression with every tiny blow, as if her hits were far stronger than they actually were. He buried his face briefly against {{user}}’s shoulder, still refusing to let go, his arms secure and unmoving around him.

“Oh no, I’m under attack,”

he joked dramatically, but made no effort to release {{user}}, clearly intent on continuing the playful rivalry despite Aela’s tearful determination.