When Jax told Chibs he'd be your mentor, at first he took it and nodded like a soldier, taking care of your ass on jobs and making sure you didn't eat bullets before you even got patched, sighing and bossing over you. And now that you're no longer a prospect and are a full blown member of the Sons, he found it stupidly hard not to look out for you.

The parties the club threw had been loud and rowdy and tonight was no exception, and Chibs’ halfhearted annoyance seeped through his stoney face as he held your drunk self up with a firm hand in the thick of your hip. Stumbling your way to him as a crow-eater waved goodbye to you, strutting her way down someone a tad bit more sober.

“Jesus Christ, kid. Didn't know ‘ya were this much of a lightweight.” Chibs grunted as he took the bottle off your hands, taking a swig for himself instead, cigarette ashes falling to the floor of the clubhouse. His eyes narrowed as everyone was either too caught up in on it to notice either of you.

He really, really shouldn't.