One | Tension and Theories | Off Limits
Pairing - Cassian x reader
Word count - 2.1k
Warnings - None
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Grad school was going as well as it possibly could—by which I meant I was surviving on caffeine, spite, and the faint promise of freedom.
Final year. Final semester. I was so close to the finish line it felt cruel. Like the universe was dangling my diploma just out of reach, waiting for me to trip.
And then I got the email. Missing Requirement: One (1) Elective.
I stared at my laptop screen in disbelief, rereading the message as if it might magically apologise and disappear. It didn't.
Instead, it helpfully suggested a class with a title so pretentious it made my eye twitch.
"Psychology of Power, Control, and Human Behaviour."
I groaned out loud.
It sounded like the kind of elective that existed solely to make students feel stupid for things they already understood instinctively. Power. Control. Human behaviour. Congratulations, people are messy and authority corrupts. Can I graduate now?
But no. I needed it. One class. One last hoop.
So there I was, dragging myself across campus on a Friday afternoon, already exhausted from the week, already fantasising about my bed like it was a long-lost lover.
The sun was dipping low, the air crisp, my patience nonexistent.
I got to the lecture hall ten minutes early because of course I did. Anxiety is punctual like that.
The room wasn't empty, but it was close. A few scattered students sat near the middle, laptops open, headphones in.
I scanned the rows and made a beeline for the back. Always the back. Less eye contact. Less participation. Less chance of being perceived.
As I climbed the steps, I felt it—that unmistakable prickle between my shoulder blades.
Someone was watching me.
I lifted my gaze casually, pretending I didn't care, and that's when I saw him.
One other person sat in the back row. A man. Alone. Turned slightly in his seat, elbows resting casually on the desk, eyes already on me like he'd been waiting.
And—oh. He was... unfairly attractive.
Even sitting down, he gave off tall energy. Broad shoulders wrapped in a fitted, dark sweater that looked soft and expensive and did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he worked out.
Golden-brown skin. Hazel eyes that caught the light when he smiled. Tattoos, real ones, inked along his neck, disappearing beneath the collar like a secret.
I nearly missed a step.
His gaze followed me as I took the seat across from him, heat curling low in my stomach. I told myself not to read into it. Plenty of people looked. It didn't mean anything.
Still, I smoothed my skirt when I sat.
"You also early?" he asked, voice warm, amused, lips pulling into a subtle smirk like this was a shared joke.
God. Of course he had that voice.
"Yeah," I replied, setting my bag down and leaned forward onto the desk on purpose. "I hate having to squeeze past people to get a seat."
If the movement happened to draw his attention downward to my chest for a brief, unmistakable second, well, that was between him and God.
His eyes snapped back to mine, grin widening like he'd been caught and didn't regret it.
"Tell me about it," he said, turning more fully toward me, forearm resting casually along the back of his chair. "So—what do you think of the elective?"
I didn't even pretend to think.
I groaned loudly, letting my head fall back against the chair like the answer physically pained me. "Already hate it."
His eyebrows shot up, lips twitching like he was holding back a reaction. "That bad?"
"God, yes," I said, sitting up again, suddenly animated now that I had an audience. "I only had to skim the course description once to know exactly what kind of class this is going to be."
He hummed, clearly entertained, and that was all the encouragement I needed.
"I mean," I continued, "I had to take it for my degree, but it sounds like one of those electives that overcomplicates things everyone already knows. Power corrupts, people are weird, authority changes behaviour—congratulations, you've discovered society."
He nodded slowly, eyes intent now, unreadable. Like he was listening a little too closely.
"And don't even get me started on the title," I added with a scoff. "Psychology of Power, Control, and Human Behaviour? That's not a class, that's a TED Talk waiting to happen."
A corner of his mouth lifted.
"Plus," I went on, lowering my voice conspiratorially, "I've literally never heard of the professor. Not once. And I know the department. Which means he's either brand new or one of those low-profile academics who teaches electives no one wants so the tenured professors don't have to."
I shrugged, unapologetic.
"Either way, I'm betting it's going to be a lot of theory and not a lot of substance. Busywork papers. Abstract concepts. Probably thinks he's being deep."
His head tilted slightly, eyes glinting now. "That's a pretty bold assessment for someone who hasn't taken the class yet."
I laughed. "I mean, statistically? I'm not wrong."
He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head like he couldn't believe me, and something warm bloomed in my chest at the sound.
God, he had a good laugh. The kind that made you want to say more ridiculous things just to hear it again.
"And," I added, unable to stop myself, "the schedule alone feels hostile. Last class on a Friday and first thing Monday morning? That alone feels like psychological warfare. Like the professor is actively daring us not to show up."
That did it.
He laughed, deep, unrestrained, the sound echoing through the mostly empty lecture hall. It startled me, delighted me, made my lips curve into a grin before I even realised I was smiling.
"Okay, when you put it like that..." he said, amusement threaded through every word.
"Right?" I said, emboldened now. "I'm telling you, I give it three weeks before half the class disappears."
"Good to know," he replied lightly.
Something about the way he said it made me frown. I tilted my head, studying him, but before I could ask what he meant, he stood.
And oh—oh.
He was tall. Broad. Commanding in a way that had nothing to do with volume and everything to do with presence. He grabbed a notebook from the desk, glanced at me one last time, eyes lingering just long enough to make my pulse stutter and then started down the steps.
Toward the front of the room.
Confusion bloomed in me.
The lecture hall filled quickly after that. Seats were taken. Whispers died down. Laptops snapped open.
And then, once every chair was occupied, he clapped his hands together once, sharp, loud, echoing.
The room went silent. Not gradually. Instantly. Like someone had cut the sound completely.
"Hello, everybody," he said, voice suddenly authoritative, effortless. "And welcome to Psychology of Power, Control, and Human Behaviour. My name is Cassian, and I will be your professor this semester."
The world tilted.
For a split second, I was sure I'd misheard him. That this was some kind of cruel coincidence. That another man, an actual professor, would appear any second now to correct the mistake.
But he didn't. Instead, he stood there like he belonged there. Like he always had.
My jaw dropped. My stomach plummeted straight to the floor. Heat rushed to my face so fast it felt like I'd been caught doing something illegal. Every careless word I'd spoken replayed in my head at full volume.
Professor. Professor.
I physically sank back into my seat, wishing desperately that I could fold myself into nothing, that the chair might swallow me whole.
His gaze swept the room as he spoke, measured, unhurried, until it stopped. On me.
My breath caught.
For just a second, something familiar flickered across his face. Recognition. Amusement. And then his lips curved, only slightly, barely there, like a private secret.
And then—he winked.
The air left my lungs. I wanted the floor to crack open beneath my feet. I wanted time travel. I wanted to never speak again.
The hottest professor I had ever seen and I had just spent our first interaction confidently trash-talking his class. And him. To his face.
Power and control, indeed.
Cassian's POV -
My first class of the semester had gone well.
Better than well, actually, once I got past the opening shock of discovering that one of my students had spent the first ten minutes of our acquaintance very confidently explaining why my course was pointless.
It wasn't the criticism that amused me. I'd heard worse from colleagues with tenure.
It was her.
The way she spoke without thinking. The way her eyes lit up when she was annoyed. The careless honesty of it. The fact that she hadn't known who I was yet, hadn't filtered herself, hadn't tried to impress me.
That was rare.
The lecture hall emptied slowly, the low hum of conversation swelling and fading as students packed their bags and filtered toward the exits.
A few lingered at the front, asking predictable questions about readings, assessments, attendance policies. I answered them all with polite ease, my attention split in a way it shouldn't have been.
Because I could see her.
She was still seated all the way in the back row, fingers twisting together in her lap. Her foot bounced against the floor. She stared at the desk in front of her like it had personally wronged her.
Indecision rolled off her in waves.
She glanced up at me once, quick, panicked, then immediately looked away again. I almost smiled. Almost.
Eventually, the last student left. The doors swung shut. The room settled into silence. She exhaled sharply, as if bracing herself, then stood.
Every instinct I had told me to look away. I didn't.
She approached slowly, each step hesitant, shoulders tight, cheeks flushed.
Up close, the effect was worse. Distractingly so. There was something disarming about the way she carried herself, confident enough to speak her mind, insecure enough to be mortified afterwards.
"I am so, so sorry," she blurted, stopping a careful distance away from me. Her eyes refused to meet mine. "I just—I didn't mean any of that. I didn't know. I swear I wasn't trying to be disrespectful."
I laughed before I could stop myself. Not cruelly. Not mockingly. Amused. Genuinely so.
"Relax," I said, leaning back against the desk, folding my arms. "If I took offence every time someone hated my syllabus, I'd have quit academia years ago."
She didn't laugh with me.
If anything, she looked worse, hands flying up as if she could physically shove the embarrassment back inside her chest.
"I just kept talking," she rushed on. "I don't even know why I said all that. I swear I'm not normally—I mean, I am opinionated, but—" She cut herself off with a groan. "I'm making this worse."
"Yes," I agreed lightly. "You are."
Her head snapped up then, eyes wide, before she realised I was smiling. I straightened. "What's your name?"
The question seemed to catch her completely off guard.
She hesitated, visibly weighing the pros and cons of revealing it, as if saying it aloud would seal her fate forever. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, almost resigned.
I repeated it back to her slowly.
Not for any practical reason, I would have access to it soon enough but because I liked the way it felt in my mouth. Because it fit her. Because it grounded the moment in a way that made me acutely aware of everything I wasn't supposed to notice.
She swallowed.
"I really am sorry," she said again, stubbornly earnest. "The lecture was actually great. Very... um—" She winced. "Informative?"
That did it.
I laughed outright this time, the sound echoing faintly off the empty hall. She physically cringed, squeezing her eyes shut like she expected a verdict to drop from the ceiling.
"It's alright," I said, reaching out without thinking.
My hand landed on her shoulder, brief, appropriate, meant only to reassure.
It felt like a mistake the second it happened.
The contact was innocent. It should have stayed that way. But the awareness of her beneath my palm, the warmth, the tension, the way she froze for half a second, sent something sharp and unwelcome through me.
I dropped my hand immediately.
Her eyes flicked up to mine at last, startled, searching, then just as quickly away again.
"I'll—I'll see you Monday morning," she said, the words tumbling out like an escape route. "I won't be late. Or early. I'll just—normal. I'll be normal."
And then she was gone.
No backward glance. No pause. Just a hurried retreat toward the door and out of it, leaving behind nothing but the faint scent of her perfume and an uncomfortable silence.
I exhaled slowly. Gathered my notes. My laptop. My composure.
As I stepped out of the lecture hall, one thought lingered far longer than it had any right to.
She was beautiful. Not just pretty—gorgeous. In that effortless, dangerous way that snuck up on you when you weren't looking.
And that was precisely the problem.
She was my student and no matter how amused I was, no matter how compelling the spark had felt, it was wrong.
I pushed the thought aside and walked away.
I would see her again on Monday. And that was all it could ever be.
A/N - First part and this was quite literally the best way I could have started it, in my opinion x
She absolutely dives headfirst into talking pure nonsense about the lecture... to the professor himself. And then? Instant mortification :)
The tension is already sizzling, they're both noticing each other, thinking each other's way too attractive, and yes, she does that cheeky little lean-forward thing because, let's be honest, he's fine as hell. Meanwhile, he's quietly thinking she's stunning from the first second she steps in!!
Thank you so much for reading <33
Off Limits tag list - @sophieliz @azrielblue @whump-loverz @galacticoceans @lilah-asteria @niiickelodeon @justtryingtosurvive02 @rosie-posie08 @mis-lil-red @dnfhascorruptedme @justreadingfanficseveryday @spookypersondinosaur @certaindreamlandangel @bludickaaa @acourtofbatboydreams
Loved that✨ how it just busted out of her 🤣 pretty please, would you add me to your tag list?🩷
added 🫶🏼🫶🏼