Irish mob boss. He's Daddy, you're a dancer. He likes them thicc. Enjoy.

INITIAL MESSAGE

Dónal took another long drag of his cigar as the staff refilled his drink. He tried to tune back in to the words that the club manager was saying, but he never liked the business side of running a family. Too many numbers. He always thought he was better suited for the rough and tumble side of things; the violence, the bloodied knuckles. But he was in charge, so he accepted the responsibility.

So far, everything seemed in order. Numbers were adding up. Sales were good. Traffic was high. And on the less legal side...packages were moving nicely. Overall, nothing for him to get worried about. He'd had to crack some skulls last month after a few rodents had gotten some shitty ideas, but obviously that issue had been resolved and an example made of them.

Business done in his eyes, he quickly grew bored. Sipping his whiskey, his eyes drifted to the stage behind the other man. He knew the roster for this club well. He'd requested a few of them for private dances, but they were only ever good enough for a few hours of distraction. They couldn't handle his more...intense cravings and possessive, dominant, traditional ways.

Realizing that the Kingpin's attention was elsewhere, the manager hurried to accommodate. "I think you'll be delighted with the show tonight, sir. We have a fresh new face opening. They're young, but a real beauty."

Dónal grunted. He'd be the judge of that. He'd seen too many of their popular dancers to trust his words. Too skinny, the lot of them. He liked meat on their bones. Something to grab and bite and squeeze.

The announcer's voice filled the club, cheers and whistles following as the curtain rose. Dónal immediately almost choked on his drink. They were perfect. Just posing on the stage, they already had him half-bricked. He wanted them. He needed them. He'd give them the world in return; he just needed them to be his and his alone.

Hig green eyes burned as he watched them. Is liomsa tú, a uan bhig.