Michael Clifford Imagines

frat boy

michael clifford: frat boy

By: ashtonlolirwin

"Michael, for the last time: no." You turned on your heel, not stopping when he called after you, rolling your eyes. However, Michael caught up to you, matching your stride as he persisted,

"Oh, come on [Name], just one date and after that, if you don't like me, then I'll stop bothering you. Promise."

You stopped, looking up at him. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, he was undeniably cute; charming in his own way. But you didn't want to get wrapped up in guys like him. Your friends had told you horror stories about his frat brothers, warning you to stay away from any and all boys associated with their house, insisting that they're just going to leave after they get into your pants. On the other hand, since when has Michael ever been anything but good to you? Sure he was a bit crude with his remarks and at times a really bitchy drunk, but other than that, he'd showed no signs of wanting to hurt you. You sighed; you were at a crossroads, really.

Fingers wrapping around the strap of your backpack, you addressed him, "How about I make you a deal?"

He chuckled, taking off his hat to ruffle his hair, "I've never been one for gambling, but for you," he looked you up and down, smirk growing infuriatingly large, "I think I can make an exception."

You couldn't believe you were doing this, but you had to stick to your philosophy that everyone deserved a chance, "If you can ace our next exam, I'll consider going on a date with you."

Your conditions were a little harsh, to say the least, considering you'd never seen Michael lift a finger for his grades (part of you wondered how he'd been passing his classes in the first place).

But, to your surprise, his smile widened as his eyebrows raised, "That's it? You're on. But you have to promise you'll go out with me; I don't want any of that 'I'll consider it' bullshit."

You licked your lips. Something in the back of your mind told you that Michael was way too comfortable with the deal, but you agreed anyway, secretly hoping that he'd study his ass off. You two shook on it before he tossed you another assholish grin, stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking away.

For the next couple of weeks, you didn't see Michael, with the exception of class, and even then, he'd bolt right as your professor dismissed you. The days leading up to your midterm were hell; coffee cups had completely taken over the library's trashcans and college students were found passed out with their noses buried in their textbooks, desperately trying to cram with what little time they had left. You were no exception. But when the day of the exam came up, you were highly confident in your knowledge of the subject, your pen flying across your paper, taking down your heavily thought out ideas.

Luckily for Michael, your class was small, leaving the professor with little to correct; he had your results back to you within the next 24 hours.

The next day found you almost falling asleep in class; that is, before Michael showed up. He strode confidently through the doors of the hall, test paper clutched between his fingers. Michael slapped the piece of paper down on your desk, displaying a big, fat, red 'A; nice work Mr. Clifford, I really liked your idea of...'

You were stunned to say the least, but Michael just laughed, raising his eyebrows, "Someone owes me a date. I'll pick you up at 8."

With that, he left to the back of the room, plopping down in his usual seat, as smug as ever. You had to admit, you didn't give him as much credit as he deserved.