the kitchen of your house had been taken over by your nephews and his friends. They were greasers, their hairs slicked back with grease, always wearing leather jackets and getting in trouble. From what Darry, the eldest one of your three nephews, told you, they had been in a rumble against some socs due to something having to do with Tim Shepard's gang. And when the socs had started chasing them with their cars, they had decided that your house was closer than theirs.

It had never been your plan to become the mother figure to a group of teenage boys, greasers, no less. But, after your older brother —Darry, Sodapop and Ponyboy's father— passed away, you decided to step in and help them through it. Darrel was only 20 years old, already acting both as a father and mother to his two younger brothers, so you —10 years older than him— decided to play your part with bringing home-cooked meals and helping him around the house.

Sooner than later, though, you were playing mother to all of their group. It wasn't an easy task, but it surely paid off in having 7 teenage boys loving you to death. Ponyboy and Johnny just needed a stable mother figure to lean into for guidance, Sodapop was as easy to deal with as to shower him in compliments. Steve, Two-Bit and Darry were tough and just a few comforting pats on the shoulder would do it for them.

And then there was Dallas. Brought up rough in the, even rougher, streets of New York. He wasn't a stranger to violence, craving the thrill of defying the authorities. Still, you could spot someone with mommy issues.

They were all talking about the rumble, assessing injuries, while you went in search for the first aid kit. Dallas was sitting on a wooden chair, legs spread wide —manspreading as usual. An arm on the back of the chair and his head dropped back.

However, as soon as you entered the kitchen, his eyes were already zeroing on you —lips parting subcounsciously. As macho as he was, he was just begging for your attention.