#McFly Imagine

[fanfictiongirlie]

i wrote a dougie poynter x oc eons ago, should i post it on here?

[happy74827]

Real Life Fairytale

[Robby Keene x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You tried so hard not to be that girl, but the more you were around him, the more you were convinced clichés could be a good thing.

WC: 712

Category: Fluff, First Kiss

Since Cobra Kai coming back later this month, here’s some fluff with the Marty Mcfly of karate.

『••✎••』

It was a typical cliché, and as much as you hated it, there was something that still pulled at you. Something that pulled you right into the arms of none other than Robby Keene.

Your relationship had been rocky at best; it had started out with him pickpocketing your purse and the two of you becoming friends because, at the time, you believed he was simply returning what you lost.

Of course, when your friendship officially became a friendship, he told you the truth and apologized. LaRusso had offered him a job, and everything he did suddenly became about changing his life and earning his place. He wanted to prove to his father that he was more than just some punk-ass kid from the wrong side of the tracks.

So, how did that bring you to where you are now? How did a guy like Robby Keene, dressed up in Marty McFly attire, become the center of your universe?

The Halloween Bash, of course.

Originally, the entire group of friends, the past feud between Robby and Miguel, had long been forgotten, so they decided to do one big group costume. Demetri thought it would be a good idea to go with the Power Rangers, which was fine, except for the fact that Eli was the only one who actually wanted to be a Ranger. Everyone else was either not impressed or completely clueless about who they were.

In the end, the group split off into their own individual costumes, and that's how you ended up with your favorite movie being used as the basis for your outfits.

It took a lot of convincing on your part. I mean, the dude looked practically identical to the real actor; he was the obvious choice. Throw a Walkman on him, and boom, the costume is perfect.

He blamed it on the hair, which it technically was. Ever since he ditched Dora's cut with Diego, he just became that geeky kid who freaked at the word 'chicken.'

And in all honesty, you truly believed he hated that word, too. Eli said it to bait him once, and he did not go down easily.

It only took you an hour to convince him, but after a while, he relented, and the costume was finalized.

So, obviously, when the two of you walked in with swag that only the 80s could pull off, you stayed for about an hour before Robby got bored and decided ice cream was the cure.

Now, the two of you were sitting on the steps of an apartment building, eating a gallon of ice cream and talking.

You swear, you didn't mean for it to happen, but the way he looked at you with those soft, blue eyes and the smile that could make a nun blush, you found yourself leaning closer.

"I had fun," he spoke quietly, his words dancing over your lips. "Even if I do look ridiculous."

You giggled. "Well, isn't that why we have Halloween? To look ridiculous?"

He shrugged and leaned closer, his eyes searching yours.

"You don't look ridiculous, though," you continued. "I think you look pretty good in a life preserver."

He grinned. "Yeah?"

It was something about the way he said that. The way you could hear the smile in his voice, but most of all, the way he looked at you when he said it. Like he was looking for permission to continue with what was already happening.

So, you answered by leaning in, connecting your lips with his, and giving him all the permission he needed.

His hands instantly flew to your hips, tugging you closer, and you found your own hands wrapping around his neck, deepening the kiss.

It was perfect, just like the movies. You regretted dressing up as Doc Brown, though. Not only was the radiation suit itchy, but you were acting like Jennifer Parker, and you didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Still, with the white hair off and his headphones finding their home around his neck, you figured maybe you'd force him to keep that part of the costume because, the way he was looking at you, you didn't want it to end.

You were sure it wouldn't, not any time soon.

[kit-screams-into-the-future]

they're bi4bi to me

[ash5monster01]

Could you pretty please do Marty Mcfly x reader? One where they're friends and they're hanging out in the Doc's garage and marty is showing her everything and idk where to go from there.

I'm so glad you write for him. I feel like he gets no attention!

Thank you!

All of You

Pairing: Marty McFly x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, unreciprocated feelings, self doubt, cheesy lovesick teenagers, soft intimacy. 

Summary: When your lifelong friend and short time crush invites you to spend an evening in Doc’s garage, you don’t expect the outcome it actually brings. 

word count: 1.5k

Masterlist

When you had agreed to join Marty during practice tonight, that is what you had expected him to do. Especially since he was dead set on landing the school dance gig. Yet the second you walk through the doors of Doc's garage that entire plan is thrown to the wind. Marty takes one look at your curious eyes and next you know he's showing you everything the large garage witheld. Every trinket, experiment, odd and end. It started with the clocks, him explaining Doc’s incessant need to collect so many. Then it spiraled from there, a prideful look on his face as he explained all the mystical things the garage held. 

“You know, I’d think you’d be more into science then you actually are based on how much you know about this stuff” you tell him while he’s showing you a particularly weird trinket, not even beginning to understand what it does or at least what Doc says it does. 

“I don’t know, I find it interesting, but science has never really come to me. Not like it does for Doc” Marty shrugs, hands reaching to set down one of Doc’s inventions. You knew he really cared for his relationship with the older man, most likely because he wasn’t all that close with his father. 

“I don’t think you’re giving yourself the benefit of the doubt. You’re smart Marty, I’ve known that my whole life” you tell him, hand reaching to squeeze his shoulder and you miss the way he tenses at your touch. The longing in his eyes as he lets the compliment settle into his bloodstream. 

“Don’t you hear Mr. Strickland? You’re a slacker Marty” the boy mocks the teachers voice, flopping onto the couch and closing his eyes. You sigh and move closer to him, taking a seat in the spot beside him before setting a comforting hand on his thigh. 

“You’re not a slacker Marty, in fact you’re one of the most dedicated guys I know. You need to stop being so hard on yourself” you say a touch annoyed. It was exhausting how often you had to remind the boy how amazing he was. His attitude was a direct response from years of watching his Dad think he wasn’t good enough. To you he was one of the most caring and genuine people you knew. 

“I know, but why should I if you’ve got all the confidence I need” he says, a teasing tone and smirk on his face. You roll your eyes and give him a slight shove, trying not to smile when he laughs loudly at the action. 

“It’s exhausting carrying around mine and you’re own confidence. Besides, you need yours to land this band gig. Which brings me to my next point which is you haven’t even attempted to practice yet” you tell him, a pointed but unserious look on your face. If you were being honest he didn’t really need the practice. He was already amazing at what he did. Sometimes he got carried away but that was rock n’ roll, it’s how to was supposed to be. 

“I don’t want to practice. I just want to sit here with you” and he instantly blushes at how whiny and needy he sounds, especially towards his own best friend. You don’t even notice though, trying to mask your own heart stuttering in your chest at the sentiment. 

“If that’s all you want, who am I to complain” you say before readjusting and leaning into him. You try not to focus on how warm he is or the way your palms begin to sweat from nervousness. This was Marty after all, you’re eldest friend and the one person in the world you should be the most comfortable with. Yet the thing about crushes is you couldn’t control the things they will do to you. No matter who it’s on. 

Marty doesn’t expect the closeness but allows it anyway, lifting his arm so you can tuck up underneath his side, lowering it around you the second you’re comfortable. He prays you can’t feel his heart racing in his chest, the way you settle against him so naturally, it made him wish you were his. The one person in this world to love and to keep. Not be held back from kissing you or telling you how he feels every time he fears he will lose you as a friend. 

“You ever wonder what it would be like to be more than friends?” You blurt out, a mix of confidence and desperation causing you to ask the blunt question. Maybe it was easier because he couldn’t see your face. Or maybe it was the annoyance over how you could be so close to him like this and not gain anything from it. You were tired of tip toeing around the fact that he was the one person in this world you truly loved and couldn’t do a damn thing about it. 

“What?” Marty asks, a bit shocked and thrown off guard and you can’t help the way you stiffen beside him. 

“It’s just, we spend so much time together and I’ve never been uncomfortable. It just seems weird that two people who know each other so intimately haven’t been, well, intimate” you blush a deep red, even the tips of your ears fading into a soft pink, thankful he still couldn’t see your face head on. Yet you thought to soon because Martys hand is grasping your chin, turning to look him in the eye where you can see his own face is a soft shade of pink as well. 

“I’m not really sure what to say” and suddenly you’re embarrassed, that confidence long gone as you begin to shake your head, and fight of the burning feeling at the back of your eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I’m being stupid, I shouldn’t of said anything” you start to move away from him, feeling like an idiot and ashamed you would even bring it up. Yet his hand on your arm stops you, your eyes glancing at his grip and then up to meet his own, a desperation and something else entirely bubbling underneath the surface. 

“It’s not stupid, in fact I think about it all the time myself if I’m being honest” he admits sheepishly, eye glancing anywhere but your own and you swear your heart freezes in your chest. Trying to understand what this could really truly mean and if it would mean what you hope it does. 

“Really? And it doesn’t weird you out?” You ask and the boy snorts, trying not to laugh too loudly because you had amused him with such a silly question. 

“Why would it weird me out? Just because I’m your friend doesn’t mean I don’t notice how gorgeous you are. In fact it’s kinda hard not to notice especially since your my favorite person in this world” he says like it’s the most obvious thing and now you’re sure your entire body is fire truck red because the boy you loved just called you gorgeous. 

“Yeah well if you weren’t so damn cute all the time neither of us would be in this predicament” you agree and finally Marty smiles because he knows you. He knows this is your way of joking about your feelings to soften the blow if it doesn’t go your way. That if right now he said he didn’t want you it could be a cushion to protect you from the punch. 

“Hey, I like you more than friends. I never had to wonder because it’s how I always look at you” and you gulp nervously, not expecting the forthcoming honesty, considering this whole conversation had been you both tip toeing around each other. 

“Really?” You ask, voice slightly shaky and mostly hopeful and Marty smiles, pulling you close. When he doesn’t provide an answer you feel the panic begin to swell but then suddenly his nose is nudging against your own, hot breath fanning across you lips, and just like that you’re puddy in the boys hands. His answer comes when his lips press softly against your own, not to desperate but just enough to get the point ocross. It takes a moment to even process what was happening, how you were locking lips with your best friend, but when reality sets in you can’t help how desperately you kiss him back. Needing to feel closer to him in this moment than you ever have. After was feels like hours he finally pulls away, pecking one soft kiss into your lips before his eyes focus into your own.

“Believe me now?” He says, oozing the confidence you had tried to pull out of him when you had first gotten here and you can’t help the way you giggle as you hug him close.

“Yeah, I believe you” 

[hanzajesthanza]

if witcher 4 is set in the past, but in the recent past… in other words, the heyday of witchers… that would actually be way more interesting than setting it in the distant past, because we have so much more developed, canon context already for that period. there’s already a skeleton to hang a story on.

in addition to being able to bring back some already known characters. imagine meeting like, hen gedymdeith. what if we can know of tissaia training philippa as her pupil. meet eithné… uh… just the same as she ever was i guess, but with her daughter alive this time. encounter future scoia’tael agents as kids. i want to see falka on the stake

[cheriboms]

doctober day 19: memory

aka "the first time lone pine doc recognizes the weird little kid hanging around his garage as the future boy who changed his life 30 years ago" :)

[knickynoo]

Two of my favorite little scenes from BTTF part II are the moments where Marty stops to watch his parents in 1955. I mean, he was only just there living through those events one day prior, but he didn't actually have a chance to soak any of it in or process it. (He'd come flailing into the parking lot just after George punched Biff but hardly had time to appreciate any of it on account of his picture still fading, and then at the dance, he was. You know. Actively being erased from existence up there on stage for a while.)

Even though the stakes are still unbelievably high when he returns to '55 to try to track down the almanac, and he's just experienced what may be the most stressful and terrifying day of his life with all the 1985A nonsense, he makes it a point to slow down enough to watch his parents at the dance. And there's just this look on his face—a mixture of awe and relief and happiness. You can tell. You can tell this is getting permanently etched into Marty's memory. He's taking in every detail. He's holding tightly to these sweet moments of watching his parents (who had been unhappily married most of or all of his life) FALL IN LOVE. A real, true love that he's never had a chance to see them in before.

Not to mention the fact that in the reality he'd just arrived from, his mother had been forced into marriage with Biff, and his father was dead. Marty's just come from a place where his family had been completely destroyed, and now he's watching the very foundation of it coming together. This is the beginning of it all, and it's a reminder of what he's trying so hard to save and get back to.

And it's so very nice that we see him hitting the pause button for a few seconds in this chaos-fest to look at his mom and dad with such love.

[bookishzelda]

I Think We're Alone Now

Marty McFly x reader

This is a small, very fluffy Y/N fic inspired by the song I Think We're Alone Now by Tiffany! Hope you enjoy it!

"This is a wonderful dinner, Mrs. McFly," you say, poking at the last few bites of lasagna on your plate.

"Thank you, Y/N," Lorraine replies, giving you a small smile. You return it, glad to be on her good side for now.

You glance over at Marty, who’s working on his third helping. His blue eyes meet yours with a smirk; then under the table you feel him reach to touch your leg, squeezing your knee gently. You smile down at your plate until you hear Lorraine clear her throat. You look up to see her glaring at Marty, and he withdraws his hand, resting it on the table instead. You sigh mentally. How does that woman always know?

Marty was always complaining about his conservative parents, but it wasn't until recently, when you had started coming around to his house for dinner or homework, that you had been on the receiving end of his mother's disapproval. While Lorraine had never been overtly mean or rude to you, there always seems to be a tension between the two of you; and although Marty doesn't say anything about what she says about you at home, you get the impression that its not particularly positive. As a result, displays of affection between you and Marty are always clandestine, snatched in moments when Lorraine's back is turned. More often than not, you get caught by someone.

You throw a sideways glance at Marty, who rolls his eyes and shrugs. You smile back and return to your food.

When everybody’s finished, you stand up, saying, “I’ll help with the dishes, Mrs. McFly.”

“Thank you, Y/N, that would be great,” she replies.

“Aw, Mom, come on; she’s a guest,” Marty protests.

“I don’t mind, Marty,” you say.

“I know, but you shouldn’t have to.” Slipping an arm around your shoulders, he says, “Hey, Dad, Y/N shouldn’t have to wash dishes, should she?”

George looked up from where he was staring at the TV. “What? Oh, oh, no, it’s fine, it’s all… fine.”

“All right, then you’ll help me, George?” Lorraine says.

Marty slips out of the room, leading you by the arm down the hall. “What are you thinking?” he hisses, pulling you into a corner of the hall.

“I’m trying to stay on your mom's good side,” you whisper. “I figured I could earn some points with her.” “Yeah, but if you’re in there doing dishes,” he argues, brushing a lock of hair from your face, “we can’t do this.” He brings his lips to meet yours, letting his hands rest on the back of your neck. You shut your eyes and bring your hands to his sides. His touch is gentle, making you melt.

You hear someone cough pointedly behind you and immediately break away from each other, whipping around to face whoever caught you. Linda is watching you, arms folded.

“Do you mind not doing that where I have to see it?” she drones.

Marty narrows his eyes. “Then don’t look.”

“I need to get into my room, but I’d prefer to know you two aren’t making out right outside my door.”

“Come on, Linda, you know Mom would kill me if I had Y/N in my room,” he whines, rubbing your shoulder. “There’s nowhere else to go.”

“Not my problem,” she shrugs.

You sigh, grabbing Marty’s hand. “It’s okay, Marty. Maybe we can slip into the garage.”

“Don’t bother. Dave’s having some friends over in there.”

You let out a grunt of frustration. Why does it always seem like his whole family is trying to keep you apart?

Marty leads you to the other end of the hall, shoving past Linda. Once you’re out of her line of fire, he looks down at you and whispers, “Well, Y/N… it looks like we’ll just have to find our own place.” His eyes twinkled eagerly, like a little boy’s, bringing a smile to your face. Although you’re not entirely sure what he’s talking about, you squeeze his hand and say, “I’m in.”

You follow him through the house, letting him open the front door as he yells, “Mom, Dad, we’re going for a walk!”

You’re both out the door fast enough that you can pretend not to hear her call, “Just a minute, Marty!”

Marty grabs his skateboard, which is leaning against the wall of the front porch, along with a spare, which he had used to teach you how to ride. He tosses one to you, and you run down to the street, laughing. You both drop your skateboards on the asphalt and push off, heading for the gate. You’re not quite as fast as Marty, but you push furiously as you grab onto his hand, feeling the wind in your hair.

You let Marty lead the way, trusting that he had an actual plan. He keeps a grip on your hand the whole way, leading you along sidewalks and through intersections. You close your eyes for a brief moment, relishing this spontaneous escape.

When finally he lets go of you and cruises to a stop, you realize you’re at the entrance of Hill Valley’s main park. After hiding the skateboards, he grabs your hand again, and says with that same eye twinkle, “Let’s go.”

You have no choice but to follow as he takes off running. Your legs pump furiously to stay beside him, feet pounding on the grass. You both run toward the middle of the park, finally coming to a stop at the top of a low hill. As you stand there to catch your breath, Marty throws his arms around you and pulls you both to the ground so that you land in a heap. You laugh, rolling off of him and onto the ground. You face him and he puts a finger to your lips.

“Listen,” he says.

You obey, trying to pick out the noise. You can hear cars in the far distance, and a dog barking somewhere in the park, but that’s about it. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly,” he grins, pulling you closer. “I think we’re finally alone.”

You smile, draping an arm over his shoulder. “Finally,” you echo.

“No more of my family watching our every move… no one to tell us what to do… no one to keep us from doing this.” With those words he brings his lips to yours. You let yourself get lost in his kiss, putting your hands on his shoulders. His hands wander to your waist, gently pulling you closer to himself, letting your kiss become heavier.

When finally you break apart, you’re breathless. You gaze at him to see his beautiful, blues eyes shining in the evening light. You smile through a blush and say, “I’m glad we could get away.”

“Me, too,” he says, cupping your cheek with his gentle hand. Your eyes flutter closed as his fingers stroke your skin.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he whispers.

You flush so hard you worry he might burn his hand. “So are you.”

He smirks. “I’m serious. I think destiny brought us together.”

You plant a kiss on the tip of his nose. “You’re adorable, you know that?” you say, rubbing your nose against his.

Marty weaves his fingers through your hair and closes the small space between your mouths with a soft, slow kiss. The tenderness in his touch makes your whole heart melt. When he lets you go, you touch your forehead to his, running your hand through his unbelievably soft hair and breathing in his familiar cologne.

“Marty,” you whisper. That’s all you can think to say before he draws you in for another kiss.

The two of you lie on the grass for nearly an hour, his arms wrapped securely around you, exchanging kisses and caresses as night begins to fall. At last he kisses the top of you head and says, “We should probably leave.”

You pout dramatically. “I don’t wanna leave,” you complain.

Marty chuckles, kissing your hair again. “Come on, Y/N, I’m probably in trouble as it is; I don’t need to get deeper in for staying out too late.”

You gaze at his face, lit by the last rays of sun and the florescent streetlight overhead. “Fine,” you say, rolling away from his embrace and standing up. The sudden separation from his body heat makes you acutely aware of the chill in the evening air, and a shiver runs through your body. You’d forgotten to grab your coat when you rushed out.

“Cold?” Marty asks.

You shrug. “Maybe a little.”

“Here,” he replies, slipping off his denim jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders. You slide your arms through the sleeves.

“Thanks,” you say.

“Of course,” he replies, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and squeezing you to his side. As you walk, he lightly kisses your hair and rests his cheek against the top of your head.

When you reach the park’s exit, you both grab the skateboards that you had stashed in a bush. However, you don’t put you’d on the ground. “No reason to rush,” you say, taking his hand again. He smiles down at you, squeezing your hand tenderly.

The two of you walk home in comfortable silence. All too soon the lion statues marking the entrance to his neighborhood come into view. Stepping up into his porch, he finally lets go if your hand and turns to face you. “Ready to go back to reality?” he asks.

You sigh internally, depressed that the spell is about to be broken. “Yeah.”

Marty reaches to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. Your breath catches as his hand lingers, before he lifts your chin and softly touches his lips to yours.

All too soon he pulls away and opens the front door, ushering you both back into the real world of noise, scowls, and judgmental family members.

[embarasseddragon234]

I just replayed the BTTF game and the fact that Marty can do a near perfect Doc impression is EXTREMELY funny and not talked about enough

[mundancheemudomo]

This is a redraw of this behind-the-scenes picture ^^

You can suggest pictures to redraw ! <3

[leftoverspagehhti]

This is what I mean when I say *puts in a snow globe and shakes aggressively*

[fanfictiongirlie]

Mcfly Masterlist:

❥ Smut - ❀ Fluff - ★ One Shot - ✶ Multi-Chaptered - ☹ Angst

Dougie Poynter:

♪ It Was Me, Wasn't It? ✶❀☹

[happy74827]

Can you do a Marty McFly x Reader, where the reader and him traveled back to 1955 together. Marty and the reader aren’t exactly together but they two idiots in love. But basically Lorraine doesn’t get the hint that these two are interested in each other so the reader is jealous but then some boy in 1955 flirts with the reader and Marty ends up jealous 😭. THANK YOU!!!!

Dance With Me

[Marty Mcfly x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Despite how rare it seems, don’t forget that jealously is often a two-way street.

WC: 1758

Category: Fluff

Oh my god… i’m so sorry this took so long. I’ve been so caught up. But, I finally finished it so hopefully you like it!! (this is probably my favorite Marty fic I’ve written so far tbh).

『••✎••』

It was stupid. You knew it was. The entire scenario was ridiculous, and you felt stupid for letting it bother you so much.

Yet, the entire day, you couldn’t get the thought out of your head. Even now, as the dance played on around you, you couldn’t keep the thought of how Lorraine Baines could be so oblivious.

Sure, she was with George… now. But before Marty fixed up the past, she was all over her son as if he were the best thing since sliced bread. It wasn’t even the fact that it was her son that was bothering you, although that certainly did play a part in it, no. It was the fact that it was Marty.

It wasn’t like the two of you were together or anything, but you knew there was something. A spark, if you would, and it was a spark that made you want to pull him away from her and just tell him what was on your mind.

You weren't really sure when the infatuation had begun. It was as though a light had just flickered on one day, and suddenly, everything was different. Everything was Marty, your lazy lab partner.

Your eyes flickered to the man across the room. He was standing alone (for once) by the punch bowl, watching the dancers with a soft smile. Even now, Lorraine was still obvious to your connection. Though, it didn’t really matter since everything was fixed now. Her obsession moved on, and so should yours.

Still, your eyes drifted down to your shoes as your mind flashed back to the night before. You remembered the feeling of her fingers wrapped around his wrist and the way she pulled him closer to her, practically begging him to ask her to the dance. And he had, though only because it was the plan to begin with.

Your lips twisted down into a scowl, and you had half a mind to take her to the side and give her a piece of your mind. But why should you? What did it matter? It was over now, and there was nothing left to do but wait until the past was the past.

God, you couldn’t wait to leave.

You sighed and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over your chest.

You wanted to go home. You wanted to see Doc alive, Doc, and not worry about this crap anymore. You just wanted to be home.

You closed your eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. The music seemed to swell around you, and you could hear the shuffle of feet as people danced around. It was almost overwhelming, and you wished you had a place to escape to.

When you opened your eyes, however, a face greeted yours, and a hand reached out toward you.

You blinked, looking up at the boy who was grinning brightly down at you.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, his smile bright.

It shocked you. In 1985, you were never asked to dance unless it was by a friend in an attempt to make you feel better. And while the boy standing in front of you wasn’t exactly the definition of tall, dark, and handsome, he was trying.

Your gaze shifted across the room, looking at the others. George and Lorraine were dancing, his hand low on her waist. Your parents were also dancing, as well as most of the students. And then there was Marty, standing alone, watching his parents dance.

It really was just you caring, wasn't it?

Your gaze shifted back to the boy, who was still watching you expectantly.

A sigh fell from your lips, and a small smile curled on your lips. "I would love to."

His smile brightened as he took your hand, pulling you into the middle of the dance floor. You glanced at the people around you, seeing their confused expressions and the whispers.

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, but the boy was quick to spin you around.

His hands found your hips, and yours settled on his shoulders.

The music slowed, but the song wasn’t as familiar. Your feet followed the rhythm, and the boy led the way.

"So," he started, a smile curling on his lips, "you don’t seem like the rest of the girls."

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "I get that a lot."

"Are you new to school?" he asked, his smile never wavering. “I’m sort of new too, just moved in the last year. I haven't seen you around."

"Oh, uh, yeah," you nodded, not wanting to explain the details of your situation. "I’m just visiting, though. Leaving tonight, actually."

"Tonight?" He looked surprised and maybe even a little disappointed.

"Yeah," you said. "But I think I'll be back soon."

"I hope you do," he smiled, and his voice sounded genuine. Now you wished that you could stay longer, but you knew that it wasn’t possible. "What was your name, by the way?"

“Can I bud in for the next dance?" a voice asked a familiar voice, a voice you would know anywhere.

Your body froze, the boy stopped, and the music halted.

Both of your gazes shifted over to see Marty standing in front of you with a small smile. One that held something more than just a friendly offer.

The boy glanced at you, his gaze questioning. Boldness was not his strong suit, and it wasn’t yours either, but you were a little less timid than he was.

"Yeah," you nodded, "of course."

Marty's grin brightened, and he quickly grabbed your hand, disregarding the “next dance” statement completely, forcing you to ditch the poor boy.

You felt a bit bad about the abrupt switch, but the feeling vanished when he pulled you against his chest, his hands on your hips, and yours around his neck.

"What was that about?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “I was kind of in the middle of something."

"Yeah," he nodded, "But remember what Doc said to us? He said that we shouldn't change anything. We don't know how this could affect our future."

"Or affect his," you pointed out, but he shook his head.

"He’ll forget about it," Marty waved it off. “Trust me, the guy's got enough on his mind right now; what's one more thing?"

“Would you?” Your words were quiet, and you didn’t really think that he would hear them. But he did, and his gaze met yours.

"Would I what?"

"Would you forget about it? It seemed as though you couldn’t handle the fact that I wasn’t dancing with you," you explained, a smirk tugging on the corners of your lips.

"No, I-" he sighed, shaking his head. "Doc said that we shouldn’t change anything. I’m just following the rules."

You rolled your eyes, a scoff falling from your lips. "Since when have you ever listened to rules?"

"Hey, I listen to rules!" he defended, but his tone was playful, and the smile on his face betrayed his words. “And you're changing the subject."

"Am I?" you smirked, quirking an eyebrow. "What subject would that be, McFly?"

His hands were on your waist, pulling you closer. Your eyes widened, and you could feel your heart beating rapidly.

"How quick you were to dance with me," he grinned, his voice quiet, but you could hear the teasing undertone. “instead of the boy you were with."

"I don’t know what you're talking about," you scoffed, looking away from him, but the grin was still playing on your lips.

"No? Is my mother still on your mind, then?" he asked, his voice teasing.

"That makes me sound creepy," you said, scrunching up your nose in distaste. “Do you always have to word things so weird?"

"Do you always have to avoid the question?"

You were silent for a moment, trying to find a good response. "Yes."

His eyes brightened, a smile lighting up his face. "You are, aren’t you? You're still jealous of my mother."

"No," you groaned, shaking your head. "No, I'm not. I'm sorry, Marty, but I'm not obsessed with you like she is. Or was, or whatever. She isn't obsessed anymore, is she?"

"Not really," he shrugged, but his grip was still firm around your waist. "She sees me like a brother now, I think.”

“How’d that happen?" you asked, thinking about the dramatic change of direction, but you noticed how his smile faltered for a moment, a distant look clouding his features.

"Let’s… not talk about it," he shook his head, the smile returning to his lips. Something about that ordeal told you it was better left unsaid, so you didn't push it any further.

"Okay," you nodded, smiling. "I'm sorry, though, I guess. For being weird and all."

"No," he shook his head, pulling you in so close that your nose nearly brushed against his. Your eyes widened, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. You were suddenly aware of his every movement and his closeness. His hands were warm against your skin, his thumb rubbing against the fabric of your dress.

"Save the apologies for when we get out of this nightmare," he didn’t elaborate on his words, but the thought of seeing Doc alive again, as if nothing had ever happened, made the smile grow on your lips.

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. Your hands moved from his shoulders, and your arms wrapped around his neck. He tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

You could feel his breath fanning against your lips, and yours ghosted across his. Your heart was beating rapidly, and your palms began to sweat, but the feeling wasn’t uncomfortable. It was nice. It was a reminder that you were there, dancing with the boy you loved.

And even though it was the 1950s, and neither of you would admit your feelings for one another, there was that awkward truth that lingered in the air. That spark, the one that pulled you together and ignited something that you were too afraid to admit.

You both were jealous of someone, a simple fact that would make the two of you laugh if only you both had the guts to admit it. But it was okay because this was the start.

You didn’t have to say anything. The music, the moment, was saying everything for you.

So you didn't say a word. Instead, you moved closer and let the jealousy fade along with the song.

[brainddeadd]

Coming Home

The second Dougie steps through the door, you can’t hold back. You launch yourself into his arms, practically knocking the breath out of him as you cling to him with everything you’ve got. He lets out a surprised laugh, catching you, and the low rumble of it makes you realize just how much you missed his voice, his warmth—all of him.

“God, I thought you’d never get here,” you breathe, barely giving him time to respond before you pull him down into a kiss, fierce and desperate, as if making up for every second he’d been gone. His fingers dig into your waist, anchoring you to him like he can’t bear to let go, either.

“I know,” he whispers against your lips, voice thick with his own need. “I felt it too, every day. All I wanted was to come back to you.”

Your hands roam over his shoulders, his back, needing the tangible proof that he’s here. You’re tugging him further inside without thinking, already overwhelmed by how long you’ve gone without him. The front door clicks shut as he pushes you back, his forehead pressed to yours.

“Let me just look at you,” he murmurs, taking you in like he’s afraid this is a dream. “I kept picturing this, picturing you—but nothing compared to this.”

You catch his hand, pressing it against your cheek, your own eyes tearing up as you cling to him like he’s the only real thing in the world. “Then don’t ever leave this long again. I can’t take it, Dougie. I need you here.”

He closes his eyes, leaning into you, and you feel his whole body relax against yours, like he’s finally found home. “I’m not going anywhere.” And you believe him, especially as he lifts you into his arms, carrying you toward the bedroom as if he can’t waste another second.

[doctorbrown]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 ⸺ 「 9 / 31 * A NEW ‘PUPPY’ 」

August 7, 1895

“Are you sure about this, dear?” The sun streaks across the Train’s sleek lines and Clara marvels at the massive steel beast, powerful and elegant, carving its presence out of the otherwise dreary California landscape. Much like her husband, it is a fusion of the times, the present—by her account—and the future, blended seamlessly to create something larger-than-life that would put even Captain Nemo’s prized Nautilus to shame.

“I’m positive it’ll work. Besides, somebody has to test it to make sure everything is properly calibrated and I’d rather not put you or the kids at risk.”

It isn’t that she doubts her husband on this—he’d already invented a Time Machine once—that fancy metal behemoth propped up in the Delgado Silver Mine where it would wait for another sixty years until Mr. East—Marty came to retrieve it, facilitating the events that, to them, have already occurred.

He had been working diligently on this ever since they’d agreed that they couldn’t remain in this time, lest they threaten the space-time continuum and potentially jeopardise Emmett’s own existence. Even when she could no longer keep up with his future knowledge of science that still bordered the realm of science-fiction by this time’s standards, she had nothing but confidence in his ability.

No, it is the inherent risk that any scientific experiment entails that has her worried for Emmett’s safety, for time is the one barrier she has no hope to breach should something go terribly wrong.

But she can’t allow herself to think like that.

“I’ll be back in about ten minutes’ time from your perspective.” Emmett wraps his arms around her waist, radiating such confidence and conviction that Clara almost feels foolish for worrying so much.

“And not a minute longer,” Clara teases, leaning in to send her husband off with a fond kiss.

The train whistle blares, slicing through the tender parting and causing both Doc and Clara to leap a foot in the air. Laughter, muffled, yet still filtering out from the open cab, takes the place of the silence and if Clara strains her ears, now ringing from the sudden unexpected noise, she can hear Jules and Verne shouting at each other from inside the Train, the latter complaining how he wants a turn.

“I’d better go before the boys decide that I have to wait for them to be finished before I’m allowed to interrupt.”

“Boys, come out of there,” Clara calls, projecting her stern teacher voice that leaves no room for discussion or debate. “You know the Time Machine isn’t a toy and your father has very important work to be doing.”

Jules and Verne both groan, but in mere moments, they trudge their way out of the Train, carefully descending the steps.

“Can we come too, Dad?” Jules asks, throwing that wide-eyed, pleading look at his father that usually has him folding.

“Yeah! Us too!”

“I’m sorry boys,” Emmett says earnestly, “not this time. But I promise that the next time we use the Train, it’ll be as a family.”

“He’ll only be gone for a few minutes,” Clara adds, to which both of the boys’ faces immediately fall, their expectations of some grand adventure dashed.

Emmett climbs into the cabin and retracts the steps and Clara ushers the boys back several feet, mindful of Emmett’s tales of the first Time Machine and its aggressive displacement method. The boys wave as the Train picks up speed and Clara finds herself holding her breath, her chest tightening with each crack of thunder resounding through the air in spite of the idyllic blue California afternoon. The shockwave rattles her bones and when the flash of light subsides, leaving nothing but a trail of fire and smoke where the Train was only a moment ago, Clara finally lets out the breath she was holding.

“Whoa!! Did you see that, Mom? Dad’s gone!”

Verne runs along the side of the tracks, chasing the ghost of the train with Jules in tow, and Clara stays rooted where she is, overcome with a number of complex thoughts and emotions. The reality of it thrills and excites—time-travel would open doors and wonders that she only ever dreamed about, only ever found through the escape of fantastic books—while paradoxically releasing hordes of butterflies in her stomach, each flutter of its wings an uncertainty, a yet unforeseen trouble, an obstacle to overcome.

The Twentieth Century awaits—she could practically grasp it in her hands now, alive with possibility and promise and peril—and they were going to greet it together, as a family.

Clara doesn’t know how long she stands there until she comes back to herself, pulling out her pocket watch to check the time. Two minutes until Emmett should be getting back. Jules and Verne have moved well enough away from the tracks now, likely chasing one of the small critters if their fixation with the ground is any indication.  

When the storm rolls in despite the conspicuous lack of overcast, Clara’s attention snaps back to the tracks at the same time the boys whip around, eagerly awaiting their father’s return. The Train returns with all the pomp and circumstance it deserves, steam rising from its engine, and once Clara confirms that it’s safe to approach, the boys take off, meeting Emmett at the cab.

“It worked, Dad, it worked—but it’s so loud!”

Emmett peeks his head out of the window, grinning triumphantly down at his family. “Right on time. The temporal displacement worked perfectly—in reality, I was gone for almost three hours.” Both Jules’ and Verne’s eyes go wide. “But according to my watch”—he digs around in his pocket, fishing out the watch—“it has only been ten minutes exactly. I thought I might have to recalibrate the Time Circuits, but it looks like—”

Something barks from inside the cabin and Clara and her husband exchange a look.

“What was that, Dad?”

“It barked! Did you get a dog?” Verne gasps. “Did you bring a dog from the future?”

“You remember me telling you stories of my faithful companion Einstein, don’t you?”

“Named after one of your heroes of the Twentieth Century,” Clara says, recalling the countless tales in which Einstein the dog made an appearance. She had known she would come face-to-face with her husband’s best friend—before Marty, that is—at some point, but she had hardly expected the large, shaggy creature sitting comfortably in the train as if this is old news, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Einstein looks around at the unfamiliar surroundings, then appraises each new unfamiliar face in turn.

“And the world’s first time-traveller,” he says proudly, reaching down to scratch Einstein behind the ears. “I grabbed him from the lab when I could be certain Marty wouldn’t show up unexpectedly.”

“Does he bite?” Jules asks, his voice trembling slightly.

“Only if he doesn’t like somebody. But Einstein is an exceptional judge of character—he’s more likely to lick the skin off your face if you don’t push him away than he is to bite you.” Emmett ushers Einstein out of the Train and gestures to each member of his family, introducing them as if Einstein was possessed of human intelligence.

“I know this is all confusing right now, Einie, since I’ve only been gone a couple hours as far as you’re concerned, but I’d like you to meet my family.”

[v-o-i-d-e-d]

Hurricane Helene really put a wrench in my plans 🥲

Hey everyone! Just wanted to let y'all know that my area was hit hard by the hurricane so I haven't had power since Thursday night. This unfortunately means I probably won't be updating anything for a while. I'll try to have something out soon though!