Turkish Love Sucks [Teacher!TurkeyXStudent!Reader]

Chapter Summer: We make fun of the teacherXstudent kink with Sadiq!

Warnings: Strong Language, Sexual References, and total sexy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea that reader inserts need to be ridiculous.

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~A Turkish Teacher's Love Sucks~

Let's just say that you were not having a very good day. Today had to be considered the worst day in the history of bad days. When you arrived home that night, you were sure that The Guinness Book of World Records was going to be waiting there to record it. It was so bad, not even a hefty dose of My Little Pony Magic could make this day seem remotely good.

And you weren't even a bronie!

It had all started when your alarm clock slept in and woke you up two hours late. In a hurry, you ended up putting on two different shoes and running the whole way to your crummy school. You ended up missing an important test that you were up all night studying for. And now you were going to have to go into Mr. Adnan's class and explain to him that you left your essay on your desk at home.

Mr. Adnan was the school's mysterious world history teacher. His classes, though not easy, were a lot of fun. He told his lessons in an understandable manner, even going as far as to call some countries (and the occasional student) "jackasses". Still, one could not slack off in his class. Every week he assigned an essay, usually involving the Ottoman Empire, and had students read them aloud to the class.

But his oddity did not end there.

Every day - without fail - he wore a vivid bright white mask. Urban legend had it that no one - not even his own mother - has seen his face. There were many theories as to why. You had a few friends who believed that Mr. Adnan was deformed, a permanent outcast from society. Many boys claimed that he was truly a Turkish assassin, running from the law for killing some high standing sultan. You and many of the love struck girls believed that it was because he was handsome.

Oh yeah, you and every straight girl in school had a total crush on him. But unlike them, you knew that yours was true love. Every time you saw the teacher, your heart would fight against your ribs, beating painfully against your chest. Last Valentine's Day, you even sent him a box of chocolates and an anonymous love note. Of course, so did everyone else, so you highly doubted that he noticed. You often found yourself daydreaming during his class of him and you together in kinky sexual situations.

So it was a pretty big deal when you left your essay on the international cultures at home.

"He'll never forgive me for this," you thought, standing at the entrance to your doom, also known as the classroom door. Armed with nothing but a flimsy white late slip, you were sure that Mr. Adnan was going to skin you alive. Feeling the hot blood drain from your face, you considered just skipping the class for the day. "But then he'll just be even more upset." Bravely, you placed a hand on the doorknob. "Here we go. . ."

Pushing the door open, you were immediately faced with the usual, colorful classroom. On every wall were international flags, world maps, and posters of famous landmarks. There were so many that even the windows were covered in a thick layer. You always had to stare in awe every time you entered. It always looked as though a rainbow had puked skittles everywhere.

"Miss ___, you're late." Sitting a few feet away was Mr. Adnan. The dark Turk was perched coolly on his desk, a clipboard on his hand. He sported a crisp black suit that perfectly matched his vivid white mask. Your stare transferred to him. He looked so beautiful . . . "Well, Miss ___?"

You snapped back to reality. "Huh? What?" The class snickered. Blushing, you closed your eyes and wished that you were dead.

"I was asking why were late, Miss ___?" Mr. Adnan repeated, patient but irked. The class continued their immaturity. Growling, he slapped his clipboard on the desk. "Enough of that! Do you brats want to write standards?"

The class turned dead quiet. There was never any nonsense in his history class. Glaring at the class, he drummed his fingers on the clipboard. "Thank you. So Miss ___, why are you late?"

Another flustered blush stained your cheeks. The terrible lighting of the fluorescent lights made his eyes glimmer. They reminded you of the sparkling stars hanging in the night sky. You almost forgot to answer.

Almost.

The impatient drumming of his fingers brought you back to reality. "M-my alarm didn't go off," You explained, nervously tapping your foot. He was going to be so mad . . .

Mr. Adnan respectfully nodded. "That's fine. Make sure you get a new one after school today," he advised. You blinked. He didn't rip your organs out and drag them across the floor.

The hell . . .

Trying not to look awkward, you quickly nodded started to make your way to your desk. "Oh, Miss ___?" You paused and turned redder. What now? "You essay on world cultures is due today," he stated. "Do you have it?"

A disappointed breath escaped your mouth. "No sir."

Even without looking you can tell that the teacher was glaring at you with irritation. "Stay after class," the man ordered.

The idiots of your class gave a collective "oooh~"

"Shut it or you'll join her, jackasses!" It was a wonder that administration had not fired him for inappropriate behavior yet.

They grew silent. Silently groaning, you slumped into your chair and cursed your unlucky stars. That was the single most embarrassing things that ever happen to you. You could imagine the whole incident spreading like wildfire on facebook. More than anything, you just wanted to sink into the cracks on your chair.

Mr. Adnan tapped his clipboard, calling for everyone's attention. Loudly, he brought the class back on track. "As I was saying earlier, we're going to do the same routine as always. When I call the name of one of you brats, come to the front of the class and read your essay out loud. You are going to be graded on the actual work and your public speaking skills." He brought the clipboard over his face, reading, "First up we have Miss Da . . .er . . . Laru, I mean, Xiph- Mia, can you please get an easier last name?"

The cute girl notorious for having multiple boyfriends and being an overall slut stood. "Sorry Mr. A, I blame my dad." she said, hopping from her seat and to the front. Every person who was not dating her (about two-thirds of the class) groaned.

The teacher rolled his eyes, ordering, "Just read it, Miss Mia." He wished he didn't.

Any guess to what she wrote?

Well the report was titled, "The Acceptance of Harems in Arabian Cultures." Her prime example was - for extra credit points - Turkey. By the end, Mr. Adnan was massaging his temples and red with embarrassment. It was no secret that he took pride in his homeland. Mia smiled brightly at him, unaware of the pain she caused him. "How was that?" she asked.

The teacher mimicked the class's groan. "Study hall for the rest of the period," he ordered, sounding worn and tired. A second later, he introduced his masked face to the desk and did not lift it for a long time. You frowned. You really did hope that he was okay.

For the rest of the period, every student sat on their desks and chatted more than girls at a shoe store. You talked to your best friends, explaining the crappy morning you've been having. Like the good people they were, they laughed at your face and told you to suck it up.

As you scowled, your thoughts drifted back to your crush. What was going to happen at the after class meeting? It probably was just going to be a long scolding about your lack of responsibility and suitability to work at McDonalds, but you couldn't help but to fantasize something more.

You mental theater gave you a lovely romantic scene. Mr. Adnan, sitting on his desk, would cup your face, huskily whispering romantic sweet nothings. Closing your eyes, you would smile contentedly as he would softly kiss your lips. His arms would wrap around your frame, drawing you closer to his heart. Then his hand would start wandering . . .

Ring~! Ring~! Ring~!

In a blink of an eye, every student stood, took their bags, and migrated to the halls. Now it was lunch and you were stuck with Mr. Adnan for a whole period.

Alone.

Dumbfounded, you sat in your desk, twiddling your thumbs. The rhythmic tapping of your foot only reinforced the fact. Your heart was ever jumping around in your bosom. "Why I am so nervous?" You wondered. "Nothing's going to happen here. Nothing-"

"Miss ___?" You eyes shot to the teacher's clean desk. The Turk of your dreams was sitting professionally behind his desk, organizing his stack of ungraded reports. "Pull up a chair, please." You continued stared at him. "And while you're at it, can you also turn off the lights? Those jackasses gave me headache."

The lights? Wouldn't that mean that the two of you would be in the dark? Alone? The perverted thoughts in your mind brought you back to life. Hastily, you flicked the lights off and pulled up a silly plastic chair to the front. The posters in front of the windows blocked out all of the lights, leaving you feeling isolated in an unfamiliar place.

But even in the dark, the closer distance allowed you make out his gorgeous stubble. A blush tinted your cheeks.

Mr. Adnan's honey eyes looked at you, scrutinizing every feature you have. They seemed like the brightest thing in there. "Miss ___, are you doing alright?" he asked. "How are things okay at home?"

You blinked, mind going blank. The strange setting made the routine question confusing. Playing with your ___ hair, you asked, "What do you mean?"

"Your grades are dropping and you're not paying any attention in class."

Again, your blush deepened. "You noticed?" You asked, realizing that he knew that you were daydreaming. The embarrassment from that nearly matched the mockery the class gave you earlier.

"Of course I did." Mr. Adnan nonchalantly walked around and sat on the desk edge in front of you. "You are, after all, a very beautiful woman; you must be used to all the attention boys give you."

"I am?" You swore that all the blood in your body was concentrated in your face. That was the first time someone has ever called you "beautiful" or a "woman."

"Yes you are." Mr. Adnan leaned in, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Which brings me to my second question: are you experiencing any boy problems, ___?"

"Boy problems?" You squeaked, squirming uncomfortably in your chair. The teacher seemed so much bigger as you tried to make yourself smaller. He was so close- did he realize that he was in the perfect position to kiss you? The situation was awkward and made butterflies flutter in your chest.

The only solution you saw was to change the subject. "Mr. Adnan, is there anything I can do to make up my report grade?"

He smirked and leaned in closer, saying, "It depends; What do you think you can do?"

Your hormones got the better of you. You did the one thing your body had been yearning for this whole time. You leaned forward and kissed your teacher softly on the lips.

A shock of euphoria slicked over you. It was just as your mind theater made it out to be. For once, you felt as though you actually did something right that day. But, for some reason, your dream did not feel fulfilled. "Why?" you wondered.

Then you realized that he wasn't kissing you back.

"Maybe he's not much of a kisser," you figured. "I guess he just likes the sex."

You parted and quickly lowered your read face. You were afraid to see his visage. What if it was of desire or disappointment? Trembling in fear and anticipation, you clenched your fist and gathered your scarce courage. You muttered softly, "I-I would be willing to, um, make love with you." For the longest moment, you sat there, waiting for him to get started and rip off your clothes.

But Mr. Adnan did not move.

Timidly, you looked up, still afraid of what you were going to see. The image before you was of the Turk slowly taking off his ivory mask. You gasped at his face. You and the other girls were right: It was the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen.

Even in the dark, his strong, handsome features were a feast for the eyes. It was a shame that it was covered with a stressful look. Massaging his temples, Mr. Adnan testily muttered swears in his native tongue. They sounded beautiful. "Miss ___, I do not want to have sex with you," he deadpanned.

Oh . . .

Well, this was embarrassing.

"You don't?" you repeated, realizing the big mistake you just made. Could a student be arrested for sexually harassing their teacher? You hoped not. "Then what did you mean by-"

"What I meant was what kind of written work you were willing to do!" he snapped, growing more irritated by the second.

A small "oh" marked your realization. You felt like a total idiot and jerk. What in your right mind made you think that the school's strictest teacher wanted to have underage sex? The weight of what you did made tears of shame brimmed on your eyes. "I'm sorry."

Mr. Adnan shook his head. "No, it's not your fault." Huh? "It's the media's portrayal of sex with older men."

An awkward silence quickly settled. That the teacher was trying (with no success) to figure out a way to tactfully rid himself of this misunderstanding. You were wondering how you were going to be able to face your family and friends after this. Even if you did not tell them, you would still feel like a slut. You were afraid of people being able read the slut disease over your whole body.

But even in your incessant worrying, you felt as though the silence was killing you. You felt as though you were going to suffocate if it did not break soon.

Stupidly, you said the first thing that came to your mind. "Mr. Adnan, I love you." That was the first thing; admittedly not the smartest. The weight of that mistake was truly felt the instant they left your mouth. "Crap, not good, not good."

You teacher sighed again as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I understand that, ___," he said, treading carefully. "But I am your teacher and-"

"Sadiq~!" You flinched when the classroom door was slammed open. A second later, the bright, fluorescent lights were switched on. You grimaced, eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. When the black dots on your vision disappeared, your mouth hit the ground.

Standing at the doorway was the ever infamous slut, Mia. Boldly, she pointed an accusing finger at the teacher, yelling, "Have you been cheating on me?"

The Turk smacked his forehead with the clipboard. You feared that your long time crush might be fucking her too, but the frustrated look on his face said otherwise. "Two things. One, I am your teacher, you may not call me 'Sadiq'. Two, because I am your teacher and superior, I will never date you, Mia!"

Relief flooded over you. But then another thought occurred to you: something about the way the two talked to each other suggested that this was a daily routine. Losing what little respect you had of her, you watched as Mia stepped inside and closed the door firmly behind her. She pouted, "But Mr. Adnan, I know you want to."

He gripped his clipboard tightly and growled, "Mia, dating you is against the law."

"Age is just a number."

"And jail is just a room."

Her lower lips trembled pitifully. "But Sadiq-"

He glared at her. "Miss Mia, you are to call me Mr. Adnan!" You jumped at his volume. He was more pissed than that time that foreign Greek exchange student brought a cat to class. That ended with a trip to administration for both of them.

Sighing, Mia finally corrected herself. "Mr. A, we are a match made in heaven-"

You watched as he rolled his eyes, saying, "A heaven that supports illegal sexual activity."

"-I'm smart, you're smart. I'm pretty, you're gorgeous. We both have many admirers-"

"There is a significant difference between silly crushes and slutty harems. No offense, Miss Mia."

She shrugged. "None taken. But that we really have to consider the situation we're in now. The three of us are in an empty room, the lights previously out. ___ is obviously aroused-"

At that point, you had just about enough. Numbly, you abruptly stood and swung your backpack over your shoulder. "Am I dismissed?" You asked angrily, wanting nothing more that to run as far away from this nightmare as possible.

Mr. Adnan raised a concerned eyebrow. He struggled to decide whether or not he should let you go. He did not want you to run away when you were obviously upset, but he knew that things would get worse with Mia there. As said girl leaned forward and started whispering into his ear, the teacher gave a reluctant nod. "Yes you may. Just turn in your report tomorro- Mia, I will not have hate sex with you!"

You left quickly, shoulder brushing the smaller girl's as you hurried out. Once the warm air of the early fall met you, you allowed yourself to cry. Sitting defeated on the concrete ground, you hugged your legs and cried bitterly. Not only did your crush not love you back, but you made a major fool of yourself thinking otherwise. Looking back, you should have known that he had no interest in you. The Turk was probably married and had a child named Sherry. The pain in your heart was too much to bear.

Still, you could not help to blame Mia for all of your problems. "She is such a slut," you muttered, wiping a selfish stream of tears from your face. "Such a stupid slut."

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