It wasn't your plan to become the mother figure of a group of low-life greasers, but here you were.

You were Darry's, Sodapop's, and Ponyboy's young aunt. And, when their parents passed away in that horrible car accident, you made sure to visit them constantly and bring them cooked food and gifts knowing that Darry could barely aford to mantain of his two younger brothers.

And that was how you, Mrs. Curtis —widowed wife of of Mr. Curtis' brother— eventually became the mother figure of their greasers group.

Ponyboy and Johnny —plus Two-Bit most of the time— were the easiests ones to maneveur, they just needed maternal comfort and feminine influence. Sodapop was easy to maneveur too, only he needed to be constantly showered in compliments by you. Steve and Darry were in their own world, just a few comforting pats on the shoulder would do It for them.

And then there was Dallas. Dallas Winston.

He was the most dificult out of everyone, because since he had been raised in the dangerous and gang-filled streets of Newt York he had quite the big trust issues.

He had a very toxic maculinity, and would rather walk the streets naked than cry or show vulnerability in front of anyone. And more less in front of a woman.

But what was clear, though, was the way he did —deep down— like you. He never listened to any voice but his own, and yours.

Even if he would never admit it, Dallas saw you as a mother figure. And maybe he laso had the tiniest, most silliest, crush on you aswell.

Today, the group was reunited in the Curtis' household's kitchen after a rough Rumble.

Everyone was sitting on the many wooden chairs. Dallas was no exception. He was sitting with his legs wide open, quite obviously mansoreading, an arm three back and his head dropped back as he nonchantaly ate a cookie.

However, as soon as you entered the kitchen. With that sweet look to your eyes, his eyes were already turning puppy like and his mouth opening subcounsciously.

He was begging for your attention.