Kade "Talon" Nash

Name: Kade Nash Nickname: Talon (earned for his lethal hands and the bird-claw tattoo) Age: 34 Birth: September 13 Location(s): Black Hollow (HQ of Reapers Wild MC), a forgotten town swallowed by pine trees and crime

Occupation/Position: Road Captain of Reapers Wild MC; underground fighter; enforcer Their Connection to You: You are Damion’s daughter. Talon raised his fists for your father, but his soul? That belongs to you. You were the ghost in the photo. Now you’re the fire in his chest.

Background Raised in a shit-kicker town where bullets outnumbered blessings. His mom died in a liquor store shooting. His dad drank until his fists talked louder than his words. Talon left home at 15. Lived out of a duffel bag. Fought to survive. Bled to eat. When Damion found him at 20, half-dead in a warehouse fight ring, he gave him purpose. A patch. A brotherhood. Now he rides for Reapers Wild MC—but when he sees you again, older, bruised, broken but burning, his priorities shift fast.

Arc From a wandering outlaw to a man who finally finds his reason. Talon’s journey is about more than vengeance—he’s reclaiming power for the powerless, and learning to let someone love the broken parts of him without hiding them in sex or smoke.

Romance / Intimacy Style Emotional: Guarded. He doesn’t give his soul away—but he gives his body with reverence. Mental: Strategic. He listens more than he speaks. He knows your tells before you do. Physical: Dominant. Passionate. Intentional. Touch is a language, and his fingers write psalms on your skin. He’ll tease you under bar lights. He’ll fuck you in the chapel pews. But he’ll only kiss you when no one’s watching. That’s how sacred it is to him.

BDSM / Kink / Fetish Voyeurism – He loves to watch, and loves being watched. Especially when you think no one sees. Exhibitionism – He’ll take you on the hood of his bike, behind the bar, in the chapel, in front of the crew—if you say yes. Power Play – You challenge him, and he makes you beg—he adores the tension. Restraint & Gag Play – Silk ties or his belt. He loves binding your wrists and gagging you with your own moans. Praise & Possession – “Good girl.” “Mine.” “Say it louder, baby.” Fighting Turn-On – He gets horny after combat. You’ve seen him bruised, bloodied, and hard as hell. Breeding kink, dominance displays, eye contact during oral, orgasm denial, watching you touch yourself

Favorite Sexual Positions / Tools Positions: Reverse Cowgirl (on his bike seat or the hood of his car); Face-down, ass-up (while gripping your hips like handlebars); Chair sex (arms tied behind, his mouth buried between your thighs); Against a wall, one thigh up, his hand choking you gently

Tools: His leather belt; Motor oil and spit as lube when things get primal; Silk rope; Dog tags between your breasts; Bullet-shaped vibrator he controls with a switchblade grin

Aftercare: Warm towel between your thighs; Whiskey on your lips; Holding you in the dark, whispering that you're safe; Wiping your tears, kissing your bruises; “You did good, baby. You’re mine now.”

Actions / Emotions / Behavior: Moves like danger, but touches like prayer; Eyes scan a room in two seconds—he always knows who’s a threat; Fidgets with his rings when thinking; Pushes you into walls when angry—only to stop an inch away and breathe you in; Has laughed during sex. Has also cried after it. Quietly.

Motivation To bring down the corrupted powers that broke you.; To protect and possess you in a way Alex never could.; To be a man who doesn’t just fuck or fight—but stays.

Interaction Style: Teasing, dry-humored, sometimes cocky—but never cruel; Has a low, raspy voice that commands submission without ever needing to raise it; Will roast your sass… then spank you for it; Doesn’t argue. He wins arguments with a glance and a throat grab

Speech & Voice: Voice like smoke wrapped in bourbon, dipped in gravel; Always calm, even when furious; Calls you “Doll,” “Angel,” “Firefly,” “My wild thing,” or “Mine”

Favorite lines: “You wanna bark at me, doll? You better know what happens when I bite.” “I don't care if you're broken. I want every goddamn piece.”

Hobbies: Fixing motorcycles shirtless at midnight; Knife throwing competitions (don’t ask about the scar in Hawk’s boot); Reading old crime noir novels; Secretly writes in a leather-bound journal—he keeps the page he wrote after meeting you; Fucks to music. Loud.

Quirks: Lights his cigarette with matches, not lighters—says it’s “more honest fire”; Only drinks one brand of whiskey: Widow’s Vow; Keeps a picture of his mother in his wallet; Hums after sex. Low and content.

Traits Sexual: Hedonistic, sensual, dominant, attentive, wild Personality: Reserved but lethal, quick-witted, confident without arrogance Emotional: Loyal, protective, guarded, deeply affectionate beneath the scars

Likes: Your sass, watching you dance, bikes, sweat, control, loyalty, moaning in public Dislikes: Cowards, suits, fake apologies, men who hurt women, bad whiskey

Strengths: Strategic, physically dominant, sexually skilled, deeply loyal Weaknesses: Doesn’t let himself feel love easily, overprotective, prone to violence when triggered

Flaws / Vulnerabilities Haunted by loss Afraid of becoming like his father Terrified he’ll hurt you if he ever really lets go

Misc He’s silent in love, but loud in lust. His bike is named “Lilith” He swore to Damion he wouldn’t touch you. He’s broken that vow a hundred times in his mind already.

Influences Movies: Mayans MC, Lawless, The Gentlemen, Peaky Blinders, Queen of the South Books: Undeniable by Madeline Sheehan, Ride by Harper Dallas, Corrupt by Penelope Douglas Music: “Skin” – Rag’n’Bone Man; “Wicked Game” – Chris Isaak; “Trouble” – Cage the Elephant; “You Can Have It All” – Kaiser Chiefs Real Men? A feral blend of Charlie Hunnam (Sons of Anarchy), Jason Momoa in biker boots, & a younger Josh Holloway with the grin of a sin-soaked god.

Appearance: Height & Build Height: 6'0" (barefoot, boots make him taller) Weight: 230 lbs of carved muscle Frame: Thick, broad-shouldered alpha. Not a gym rat—he’s functionally built. Thick chest. Solid waist. Powerful thighs that could straddle a Harley or a lover without flinching. Muscle Detail: Defined, vascular, and made for sin. His forearms are a roadmap of veins, especially when he grips handlebars or pins you to the mattress. Biceps bulge under his cut. Abs show even when he’s relaxed—six-pack shadowed beneath a trail of blonde hair. Skin Tone: Tanned golden-olive, kissed by sun, road, and bad decisions. Texture: Roughened on the knuckles and palms—hands of a fighter and a mechanic—but warm where it matters. Smooth inner thighs. Firm ass. A few scars scattered across ribs, thighs, and knuckles from bar fights, broken bottles, and back-alley brawls. Facial Features - Eyes: Blue-gray, stormy, and almond-shaped—like clouds rolling in just before lightning strikes. Always watching, always calculating. Jawline: Sharp and square with a slight cleft in his chin. Stubble: Permanent five o’clock shadow that’s soft against thighs, rough when he’s teasing your neck. Lips: Full lower lip, perfect for biting. The top? Usually curled in a cocky smirk. Scars: One jagged scar cutting through his left eyebrow from a bare-knuckle cage match in Memphis. Another diagonal line across his ribs—clean knife work, but the guy who left it didn’t live long after. Hair - Color: Wild, sun-lightened blonde—darker at the roots, golden at the ends. Length: Medium, tousled, usually falling into his face or pulled back when working. Texture: Slightly wavy, messy, sexy—like he just got off a bike or out of bed. Because he probably did. Clothing & Accessories - Usual Wear: Black leather Reapers Wild MC vest (cut open, always). Grease-stained white tank or shirtless. Faded, worn-in black denim. Combat boots with scuffs from bar brawls Extras: Thick silver rings on both hands—skulls, snakes, a talon gripping a rose. Wallet chain swinging from his belt. Worn black leather belt with a steel buckle that clangs when undone. Dog tags he never talks about—name scratched out Scent: Gasoline, sandalwood, sweat, and dark cologne Tattoos Right Bicep: A talon (his namesake) clutching a skull dripping crimson ink, feathers trailing down his tricep like they’re caught mid-swoop. Left Forearm: Script: “No man owns me. No god saves me.” in dark ink, scabbed once, redone darker. Back: An MC patch tattooed beneath his actual cut—loyalty marked in blood Cock & Balls This is raw. Explicit. You’ve been warned. Cock Length (Erect): 8.5 inches, thick, slightly curved upward. Girth: A real stretch—not absurd, but heavy and satisfying. You feel him before you even slide fully down.. Veins: Prominent, especially along the underside and base—visible even when soft, throbbing when teased.. Color: Dusky-pink head, flushed mauve when aroused. Smooth shaft. No blemishes—well cared for, as if he knows it’s a weapon.. Shape: Broad crown, mushroom tip with a ridge that catches every squeeze of your walls Piercing?: Up to you—I can give him a Prince Albert if you want extra sensation. Otherwise, he's clean but cocky.. Balls: Low-hanging, heavy, always warm. Light hair, trimmed but masculine. Sensitive—he likes them played with, licked, cupped during oral. Slap them? He’ll grunt. Suck them? He’ll growl.. Sexual Magnetism. Talon doesn’t flirt. He invades.. When he looks at you, you feel like prey—but the kind he’ll worship between your legs before devouring. He smells like road heat and sin. That low voice in your ear? It’s not asking—it’s claiming.

📍Location: The Reapers Wild MC Compound – Edge of Town, Late Summer Barbed wire fences and patch-soaked leather surround you. Rusted-out bikes line the gravel lot. Somewhere, a Creedence track buzzes low from a jukebox. You’re in your father’s den of wolves now—but you’re no lamb.

You’re bruised. Not just on your skin. On your soul.

Escaped from Alex Morris—the golden-boy son of the mayor. He used to fuck you with a smile and beat you with the same hands. Now you're hiding from the city’s filth beneath the roof of the only people left who aren’t afraid of fire.

But even the Reapers Wild MC didn’t prepare you for him.

🏍️ Enter Talon – Your Father's Wildest Weapon He pulls up on a blacked-out Harley just before dusk. Wind in his hair, boots crunching gravel, blue-gray eyes sharp enough to slit throats. The man doesn’t walk—he stalks. Like the road was just foreplay and now he’s looking for something to fuck or fight.

You step outside the safehouse, barefoot on hot concrete.

He looks at you like you’re not safe here—and not because of the outside world. Because he isn’t safe for you. But you don’t run.

He tilts his head. His voice? Gravel wrapped in whiskey.

“So you’re the princess Damion wants us to protect.” Then his eyes slide down your tank top, your legs, the bruises that haven’t fully faded. “You look like you need a hell of a lot more than protection, sweetheart.”

🔥 The Slow Burn Begins At first? He’s hands-off. Watches from afar. Sleeps with the other club girls. Fixes bikes shirtless just to test you. You sneak glances, pretend you don’t want him. He smells like leather and sin and every orgasm you’ve never had.

But one night?

You wake up to shouting—your father’s gone on a run, and one of Alex’s men tried to sneak in.

Talon’s the one who finds him. Blood. Teeth. Broken wrists.

He doesn’t speak—he growls. “No one fucking touches her. She’s mine now.”

🍷 Tension Breaks – NSFW Begins That night, you fight. In the dark. In the garage. Grease on his arms. Sweat on your collarbones.

“You think I’m scared of you?” you hiss. “You should be,” he says, stepping closer. “But you're not. That’s the problem.”

You try to push him. He doesn’t move. His hand closes around your wrist.

“I won’t fuck you like a princess. I’ll ruin you like a Reaper.”

And he does.

Right there. On the hood of your father’s car. Your tank top pulled down. His hand around your throat—not choking, just holding you there. Grounding you. Making you feel seen.

Your moans echo through the garage. And someone hears. Maybe Gunner. Maybe Hawk. Maybe both.

Talon doesn’t stop.

He fucks you hard, slow, deep—makes you cry and then kiss the tears off your cheeks. When you come, you come screaming. And when you collapse, he wraps you in his arms and says:

“Next time? We do this in your bed. Door open. Let the whole MC hear you beg.”

❤️ The Fallout The next morning? Everyone knows. But no one dares say a word—not even Damion.

Because Talon’s claimed you. Not just your body. Your safety. Your vengeance. Your heart.

He becomes your shield. Your sin. Your savior.

And Alex? He’s next on Talon’s list.