Michael Clifford Imagines

Snapback Michael

Snapback Michael

By: hellaclemmo

You remember the first time your dad told you to stay away from your neighbor Michael Clifford.

You were 14, and they were moving in across the street. Your dad scoffed and told you that a kid with a fringe that long could only bring trouble.

Ever since he got a haircut, motorcycle and multiple dye jobs, your dad changed the warning saying that a boy his age who dyed his hair bright pink/blue/green/red+black/black+purple/etc. could only bring trouble.

He explicitly banned you from even talking to him when he got a tattoo and an eyebrow piercing the same week he threw two parties until late in the AM at his house.

"Y/N, stay away from that Michael Clifford. He's bad news." Your dad told you whenever he could.

But at school, he didn't seem like bad news.

Everyone liked him. He was that genuine popular from the fact he happened to get along with everyone. He was friends with the jocks (namely Calum Hood), the nerds (namely Luke Hemmings), the band geeks (namely Ashton Irwin), and practically everyone else.

You had a couple classes with him, but you never talked. You always wanted to, but your dad's warning was always in the back of your mind whenever you had the impulse to say hi to him when you walked out of your classes. But that didn't stop you from staring at him. You always blushed like crazy if he ever caught you, but that never really stopped you. He's just so... attractive.

You were 17 when you first talked to Michael Clifford.

Still obeying your dad's orders, because he told you to stay away from Michael Clifford. He didn't say anything about Michael Clifford staying away from you. You're a good girl, you follow the rules.

It started earlier today, a Friday, when he bumped into you as you were walking out of history, one of the classes you had with him that year.

"Shit, sorry." He said, almost knocking you into the wall. He gently grabbed your wrist and helped you resituate yourself.

"It's alright." You stammered out, taken aback by how amazing his speaking voice is. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"Neither was I. Guess we're even." He joked, winking at you. "Wait, you're my neighbor. Y/N Something." He pointed at you.

"Y/L/N. And you're Michael Clifford." And then you grimaced at how enthusiastic you sounded. God, you're an idiot.

He looked amused, but not like he was about to start laughing at you. Like you pleasantly surprised him. Hopefully. "You doing anything tonight? My mate Cal is throwing a party and it should be pretty fucking awesome." He adjusts his snapback.

"I don't think my parents will let me... Otherwise, I would in a heartbeat." God, you're so freaking eager, why can't you shut your mouth?

His smile dims a bit, then picks back up. "That's a shame. Would've loved seeing you. Later, Y/N." He waved goodbye and walked off to lunch. Leaving you to just stand there blushing like an idiot in the hallway.

It's 10 o'clock at night and you are distracted from getting a head start on your homework by thoughts of Michael Clifford running through your head, especially his hand on your wrist and how his voice sounds and his visible tattoos and his oddly hot snapback and his eyebrow piercing and his everything...

Wow, you're kinda gone, for the one guy your father forbid you from talking to.

That's just so fantastic.