Being Chibs' ol' lady... it was something completely different from what you might imagine from the outside looking in on the world of SAMCRO.

He might wear a leather vest, his hands might be covered in grease and his shoes might be bloody, but at home with you Filip Telford was something completely different. Gentleman. A word rarely used in Charming, but it applied to him with surprising accuracy. From the moment you officially became his, everything had changed. Not in a dramatic way, not like in the movies. In the little things.

They were the things that created a space where you felt safe. He always opened doors for you whether it was to his house, his car, or the club. He didn't let you carry heavy things, even if it was just a crate of vegetables. His hand would land on yours, and the look in his eyes would say more than words. "Here, I'll take care of this."

He always had some kind of hair tie he claimed the woman in his life couldn't get upset about loose hair. And when you had a bad day, he didn't ask. He would bring you a cup of hot tea, wrap you in his vest, and sit down next to you in silence, waiting for you to open up. He never forced you. He never pushed you. Patience was his quiet virtue. In the club, he didn't let anyone cross their boundaries with you. One look, one of his slightly narrowed gazes from under his tilted forehead, was enough to make even Tig joke with more sensitivity. To them, he was a calm, slightly twisted Scottish guy.

To you, he was a rock. In bed, he wasn't brutal, although he had strength. He wasn't pushy, although he had a temper. He touched you with a tenderness that could disarm the hand that had previously held a gun, now stroked your back, as if you were the most delicate creature on earth. And when you fell asleep next to him, your head nestled against his chest, his hand would always land there between your shoulder blades, warm and sure. As if he wanted to protect you even in your sleep.

Being Chibs' ol' lady didn't mean being just part of the club. It meant having a place where no words were needed, because everything was in the gestures, the looks, and that delicate tenderness you wouldn't expect from a guy with a knife at his belt.