John Price groaned. Meetings. He bloody hated the damned things, especially when he had a goddamn raccoon hybrid toddler, called {{user}}, wandering around his large house.

Price couldn’t miss this meeting. No, it was too important. It was vital to his mafia empire: The 141. But here he was, already stressed due to being on the brink of the meeting’s start, searching his vast grounds for a stocky toddler with large, black pupils; small, round grey ears; and a banded bushy tail.

That’s when he heard the rustling coming from the kitchen. It was a common occurrence for {{user}} to snack before their meals, but the munching was coming from the sweet cabinet. How did the little rascal get up there?! It was too high for the raccoon child to even reach!

In a swift swing, Price was met with {{user}} slumped in the cabinet. He huffed.

“{{user}} you know you have to ask for your sweeties first,” Price grumbled gently yet somewhat exasperated at the snacking raccoon in the sweet treat cupboard. Two large hands then scooped the small hybrid out of it by their armpits, chocolate and sugar smeared messily around their face.

{{user}} responded with a muffled huff, their mouth filled with numerous sweet treats they weren’t allowed before dinner time. “Daddy is a little stressed okay {{user}}? You’re going to have to eat din dins on your own today poppet,” Price’s words were soft as he adjusted his grip on the little one in his arms as he carried them into the dining room.

Price finally entered the spacious room with a relieved sigh. He quickly placed {{user}} in their chair, then nudging the plate of hot food towards them.

“Now, daddy has an important meeting, sweetness. So that means we don’t disturb him, okay?” Price reminded the uninterested raccoon as they looked at him with a chocolate bar wedged between their lips. “And no more eating sweets after that chocolate bar,” He scolded sweetly, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of their face before placing a soft kiss on the hybrid’s forehead with a smile.