Back to the Future, Biff/Lorraine, someday
He woke up on the ground with blood in his mouth. All he could think was that wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't entirely sure how he knew that it wasn't what was supposed to happen, but he knew.
After that, everything slipped away from him. His gang, his position in the all-important high school social hierarchy, and not long after that, his self-respect. He tried to make some of it back up by intimidating McFly, but that bastard wasn't having any of it. Then he tried befriending him instead, on the grounds that a punch-up between two manly guys was supposed to build mutual respect. That worked . . . okay. Pretending wore him out, but it meant he got to keep an eye on her.
She was happier with McFly than she had been alone, but that didn't mean she wouldn't have been even happier with him - and occasionally she talked about that Calvin guy like she'd have been happier with him, although McFly thought she didn't really mean it and she laughed about it afterwards. He was sure she watched him, sometimes, when he bent over an engine and his legs flexed just right, and wondered. He only caught her looking once, though.
Sometimes he fell asleep thinking about her and dreamed. Most of the time, the dreams were about a life where he was still in charge and McFly was still a wimp who did his homework for him, even though now that was work for pay. Lorraine was still with McFly, somehow. He wasn't sure how a world where he was still in charge ended up with those two together. That felt . . . less wrong than the life he had, but it still wasn't what was supposed to happen.
Then there was the night he dreamed about wealth and power, a casino so large it blotted out the malls, a mansion of his own and nice suits and big cigars. Somehow Lorraine has still married McFly, but when he'd died - so tragically! - he'd been there, he'd wooed her and seduced her and she was his body and soul, except for that little corner that still belonged to McFly's kids. He could live with that. Let them crawl in the corners of his mansion, testaments to his generosity. He had her, every way he wanted her - on her back, on her knees, in the kitchen, on the stairs, once in front of her kids (that was hotter than it had any right to be, looking at the fear in their eyes).
When he woke up from those dreams, he took himself in hand and remembered her face, her hair, her breasts, her fists.
That was how it was supposed to be.
He throbbed in his own grip and imagined it was hers. "Someday it will be," he whispered to a room that was too damn small for a big guy like him.