Il nome mio nessun saprà (no one will know my name).
Starring: The Salesman x f!reader; Seong Gi-hun x f!reader (platonic relationship); mention to Cho Sang-woo and Hwang Jun-ho;
Format: multi-chapters story;
Warnings: nsfw, vaginal fingering, angst, harrassment, the reader is European (italian to be specific), use of cigarettes, alcohol consumption, death, grieving, violence, blood, stalking, slight manipulation, age gap (reader is twenty-one);
Plot: enrolling in Law School in a foreign country was decidely a risky choice to make. Still, you had no one holding you back, but a wholesome reason to leave. Your late mother had eventually decided to disclose the truth about your biological father and now you were coping with the primordial yearning of finding him. You only had his name, a photograph and the rumor he probably still lived in South Korea. You spent months searching for him in Seoul, focusing on your studies until the night veiled the sky. And it was exactly during a rather uneventful saturday night that you luckily bumped in a stranger with a tailored suit and a everlasting eerie smile on his face. Brazenly, your eyes pleaded him to save you, to give you an alibi, and he did. Something blossomed between you two. But you did not know that the very man who had pulled the strings of your heart was soon going to screw up your entire life.
You had not inherited any physical trait of him. The more you intently scrutinized the old photo of that stranger, your father, the harder it was believing you were his biological daughter. Born from a wild one- night stand of your late mother and that smiling korean man, who apparently had played his cards well enough to make that sweet tourist agree to spend the night in his company, you were now wondering why your mother even decided to give birth to you, raise you alone and, above all, why she did not bother contacting him to let him know he had a daughter in Europe. Tormenting yourself with a bunch of ‘what ifs’ was pointless. It was too late to ask such questions and no one could provide you logical answers anyway. You did not feel like pressing your mother, during the last days of her life, and your grandparents had died long before she confessed the identity of your father.
All you had to do was dealing with the empiric evidence of her shenanigans: your very existence and the picture of that man.
You had grieved her death alone, keeping your promise to look out for yourself and chase your dreams. It was the least you could do to show your gratitude to her for having sacrificed her own projects and aspirations to give you a decent life, a better future. The funeral was the hardest part. No relatives were around. To keep you company and deposit flowers by her grave there were just a couple of her friends and some of your old classmates: people who you had to say goodbye to, on your way out of the cemetery. Cutting ties was the best thing to do. You left the same night for starting a new life. The last thing you remembered before falling asleep on the plane were the droplets of rain streaming over the cold glass of the window.
The first chapter of your story was chaotic. Your mother was gone, you had enrolled in the Seoul Law School and were busy searching the city for your father. You had wisely started your hunt from the area your mother had told you she had met him at. You struggled communicating with the locals at first. Most of the people did not seem to understand you, or did not give a damn iota about you. However, you were fluent in English and some of the Korean students at the Campus were helping you out. They had taught you the basic sentences to use to survive, made sure you learned which trains to take to travel around, when you were alone, and some tactics to defend yourself from the native creeps. You gradually adapted to your new life-style. Summarizing the first months of your adventure, you could proudly say it was not going as bad as you had figured on the plane to Seoul. Whilst you were making new friends and growing familiar with some areas of the city, you began to cross off from the map the parks and streets you had looked for him throughout days and nights.
Your map was painted red.
Alas, though, you also soon began to lose hope on the chance to meet your father. When you successfully engaged in a seemingly good conversation with the owners of a restaurant, or pub, you were unable to provide them more informations about the man you were looking for. His name was Seong Gi-hun, he had hooked up with your mother when he was a rampant twenty-six-years-old man with a radiant smile and he bragged about a brilliant friend of his: Cho Sang-woo.
Too bad no one seem to know nor your father, neither the smartass he had befriended long ago.
Defeated, after another uneventful night, you were dragging your feet along the sidewalk, hoping to reach the right underground line to go back to your dorm. It was two in the morning, drunk people swayed around you in the cramped streets, the smell of cigarettes and alcohol permeated the air and you scrunched up your nose in disgust, careful not to step on the sharp, glimmering splinters of the umpteenth smashed bottle on your way. Despite that, it was not like you were not used to see the same scanario back in Europe as well. What probably left you uncomfortable was most likely the fact you could still hardly comprehend the language, let alone the slang, and you were wary of your surroundings. You felt like a mouse fallen in a pit of vipers.
You had almost made it to your destination, when you turned the corner and, unfortunately, were face to face with a group of snickering guys, beers in hands, leering at any woman passing by.
Well, crap. Odds were not in your favor.
Frantically, you whipped your head around, narrowing your eyes in search for an alternative road to take. Venturing further into the unknown was just as bad as proceeding that way. You could already sense the sickening feeling of their smoldering gazes on your frame and you were one hundred percent sure some of them had already noticed you standing a few feet away from them. You usually had a good sense of self-preservation, confiding both in your knowledge and your conscience. You were already doomed that night. Why had you even declined your new friend’s invitation to a party to explore a huge city you barely knew by night and, to cap it all, alone? That was the first mistake of the night. Waves of insults to your inexplicable stupidity began to pester your mind, the moment you took a sharp intake of breath and sped up to leave that group of men at your back.
The wolf-whistles piercing your ears did not make you falter. You kept your head high, eyes directed to the sign indicating entrace to the underground. Naively, you thought those folks were merely scaring off lonely women, you hoped they had no further purpose but that. Your stomach churned, upon hearing heavy footsteps approaching you from behind. How many of them were stalking you down? One, maybe two people at best. Regardless, you refused to glance above your shoulder.
“Hey! Do you speak English?” a voice asked you, the amused undertone making the hair on the back of your neck stand in fright. One. It was just one out of five, you tried to reassure yourself. If you just kept on marching to the platform and the train made it in time, you had a good chance to give the felon the slip.
Your lack of response and reaction made him chuckle darkly and you swore your heart was desperately attempting to break your ribcage and jump out of your chest. Like Hell you wanted to die like that. All you had to do was pretending he was not there.
You had begun to tear down the stairs, when you felt his hand enclosing your elbow and his large body glueing to your hip. Invading your personal space with no regards of limits made you see red. You scoffed, finally shooting an annoyed glance at the grinning stranger, who had abruptly forced you to stop in your tracks.
“Let me go” you quipped, ungraciously wriggling your arm to get free. His grip on you only tightened and you bit the insides of your cheeks not to wince in pain.
The guy beamed, tugging you closer to him once again, ecstatic about your determination and combative spirit “Oh, so you do speak English! — he began, wiggling his eyebrows up annoyingly, the stench of tobacco in his breath causing a scowl to cross your face — Where are you from, darling? France? Germany? England?”.
You snorted, jaw clenching, as you uncomfortably let your eyes flit downstairs to spot a potential source of help from someone on the platform. Much to your dismay, there was only a sleeping, battered old man, hand clutching some money in his hands for dear life. He did not look like he even had a home. How curious was it that you were busying yourself wondering how did he even own such a conspicuous amount of money, if his clothes were dirty and tattered? He had probably robbed someone.
“My boyfriend is waiting for me downstairs! I do not think he will be happy to see what you are doing to me” you blurted out firmly, flashing a warning gaze at your aggressor, hoping he was going to desist from pesting you further. For a split second, you swore his eyes widened, contemplating whether you were bluffing, or actually giving him a possibility to escape a beating from your mysterious boyfriend.
You truly did your best in showcasing a confident attitude. Too bad he did not believe a word you had said and nudged you to walk down to the platform, rudely spitting on your shoes “Yeah? Where’s the lucky bastard? Let’s go meet him, okay?” he taunted you, pushing you down the remaining steps without thinking twice.
You squeaked out in fear, miraculously landing on your feet and quickly straightening your jacket, as you found back your balance. You hesitantly raised your face, glossy eyes inspecting the length of the platform to look for help. A cop, maybe. But no officer wandered down the underground at that time. It was late. No one was there.
No one, but a tall man in a fancy tailored suit and a suitcase in his hand. After all, odds were in your favor. You did not have much time ponder your decision. Briefly, you studied him. He was clearly older than you, there was a chance he actually spoke English and could connect the dots at your senseless words. You had no other choice, in the end. You gave it your best shot. A shuddery breath left your lips, as you pointed at the tall man and made sure that thug followed your gaze. Lying was not in your style. However, you knew that the basic animal instinct of striving to survive was kicking in.
You smiled, genuinely even, feeling the muscles of your cheeks stretching in a loving, enthusiastic smile directed to the stranger. He had caught a glimpse of you in his peripheral. How could he not, when you had practically been shoved downstairs and had landed in such an unladylike fall? Something was off. And he knew it, he could see it in the shimmering tears prickling your eyes, when you opened your arms and snuggled against his chest, as if you two were meant to meet.
His masculine cologne ungulfed you, one calloused hand threading through your hair, surprisingly not to yank you off of him. And in that instant, you knew you were safe. A stranger had harassed you and a stranger was saving your life. You closed your eyes, reluctantly pulling away from the tall man to meet his eyes. Two dark pools of ink met your eyes, swallowing you whole as he smiled back down at you. Dear God, he was handsome. Unbelievably good-looking. Probably too handsome to be real and you foolishly asked yourself if you had been shot dead by the felon and had just landed in Heaven.
“He’s my boyfriend” you finally stated, though, bashfully pulling your gaze off of your savior’s face to meet the other guy’s gaze. The nightmare was not over yet.
Hands tucked in the pockets of his ripped jeans, he snorted, eyeing you two suspiciously. Unexpectedly, before any of you could say another word, the old man who was napping on the platform groggily stood up and stared at you in total shock.
His face was horrified, unsteady steps leading him next to the arrogant guy who had hollered at you a few moments ago. The man tried to usher him out of the station, all the while slurring indistinct korean words you failed to both catch and understand. The younger one clearly did not appreciate whatever the tramp had told him and knocked him down with a punch straight on his nose. You shrieked, hand clasped over your mouth, as the thug dashed away and stared at the bleeding man on the floor.
He was still alive, thankfully, and you began to fumble in your bag for a tissue to hand him. The man in a suit, however, anticipated you and walked towards the drunk man grumbling on the floor. Once again, the two of them cut you out of the conversation by speaking korean. This time around, though, you were able to understand something along the lines of ‘change the station, he will come back for you’.
“Can I help you somehow?” you shyly asked, intruppting them, as you watched the man wipe the blood off of his face and the tall guy turn his attention back on you.
He smiled, again. Actually, you did not seem to recall a moment he had stopped smiling. You shivered, eyes darting away from him not to expose yourself and your evident attraction towards him. He really had no reason to be that attractive.
“I should be the one asking you that. Are you alright, miss?” he inquired, keeping a comfortable distance between you two. How considerate of him sparing you the embarrassment of more unsolicited physical contact with him, after you had literally buried your face in his chest like an ostrich would with the sand. You thought he probably must have felt a great amount of discomfort at holding you in his arms protectively.
You nodded your head, glad to see he could speak English as well “I am good, thanks for asking… And for your help too. I did not mean to be a burden” you apologized, bowing your head to excuse yourself once again.
“It’s nothing. I did not have to get rid of that man, did I? — he replied casually, straighening his tie absentmindedly with his free hand — I can not help, though, but wonder why a foreign girl is down the streets, all by herself, in the dead of the night. It’s dangerous” he reasoned, his tight smile pinning you on the spot once again. Well, he was right.
Also, it was only natural for an older man to question a girl that could have probably been his daughter about her disputable choices.
“I know! I’ve been reckless… But I think young and desperate people make such mistakes, once in a while” you vaguely said, shrugging, and transfixing your gaze on the rails to avoid his cold eyes.
You did not expect the conversation to continue. You blinked skeptically, when he fed the flame.
“Desperate, you say? What troubles might gnaw at a young girl’s stomach, besides graduation and dating?” he queried your assertion, seemingly interested in your story. A late night talk with a stranger in a desolate underground was not exectly how you expected your exploration to end. He did not seem to have ill intentions. He was probably just a tired man working in a bank, or a CEO of some important company, waiting for his train to go and get some well-deserved rest. At least, that is what you thought judging from his sophisticated way to carry himself and the cocky aura he radiated.
You exhaled softly through your nose, a melancholic smile curving your lips “Well, it’s… It’s complicated. I’ve just moved to Korea. I remember wanting to study aboard since I was a kid. — you began, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, one of the habits you did not seem ready to get rid of — And I’m glad to be here, don’t get me wrong. The thing is I’ve chosen this Country because I was told my biological father lives here” you admitted, folding your arms against your chest protectively.
Honesty. A virtue to pursue, but a fatal flaw, when you meet a wolf in sheep clothing.
“I see. Let me guess, you found him and he is far from the man you expected him to be?”.
“Nothing like that. I can’t find him”.
A few seconds of silence blanketed the station. Opening up to a stranger you deemed to be a decent man was weird per se. You were aware of it. However, loneliness probably was starting to get the best of you. An adult figure to confide in was everything you needed but did not have. Maybe this was the main reason why you relentlessly searched for your father. Family was important to you.
The man hummed. The next thing you knew he was standing closer, head cocked to the side and a gentle expression on his face “You look discouraged. It is understable. — he began, the shadow of a smirk creasing his lips — How many informations you have about him?” he asked you then, causing you to shake your head and reach for his picture in your small bag.
You flipped it around, hopelessly wishing in a positive feedback, to show it to him “This picture, his name and that he had a smart friend: Cho Sang-woo”.
For a moment, you thought he actually had an answer to provide you, or a suggestion. Unfortunately, he lowered his gaze and shook his head. Obviously, you were back to the start. Pushing your luck was all you could do to solve the puzzle.
“This time around, I can’t really help you. You should probably hire a private detective” he suggested you flatly, locking eyes with you as you two heard the familiar toot of the train entering the station.
You let out a bitter laughter “Non tutti sono ricchi come te¹” you whispered under your breath, confiding your native language could somehow conceal your demotivation and financial issues. All you had was enough to simply take care of your carreer. You could not afford to pay a man to track down your father.
The sliding doors opened and you entered the train, slightly taken aback by the fact he did not. What the Hell was he even doing there? He stood right in front of you, back straight as a ramrod, hand raising to wave at you with his trademark smirk. You furrowed your eyebrows, lips parting to say your goodbye, when his reply left you speechless.
Colors drained from your face the moment he made it loud and clear he spoke italian. Your mortified expression might have spoken volumes, for he quirked his eyebrows up and nodded his head in your direction. When the doors closed, you slumped onto an empty seat, glad you were probably not going to meet that handsome man ever again in your life. What a disgraceful day it had been. Especially for that drunk man you had totally forgotten about, lost in your train of thoughts.
Nearly two weeks later, you were gawking at a letter in your mailbox. Someone knew your address, your name and the fact you were looking for your father. Your hands were shaking, fingertips running over the texture of the paper, nails scraping it in a comforting sound. You could not deny your head began to spin and you were forced to curl yourself up in a ball over your small bed. The black capital letters standing out on the white card in front of you were truly a manna from Heaven, but for all you knew it could have been also a letter from the haunts of Hell.
No one knew you were looking for Cho Sang-woo and Seong Gi-hun. No one, really. Not even your new friends from the courses you had signed up to were that well-informed. There was only one person who knew those name, but you highly doubted he even recalled them. And, additionally, he did not know yours. Merely thinking about that stud made a sense of uneasiness set in your stomach. You had hugged him out of no where, you had undirectly labeled him as a filthy, selfish rich man who had money to throw away. Gosh, you felt so miserable and humiliated when he had talked back to you effortlessly in your own language. He had left quite the impression on you. Then again, he did not give off the vibes of a delinquent.
Now, however, it was not the right time to daydream about him. To distract yourself from reminiscing about your mistakes, you focused on the dossier you had received.
“Cho Sang-woo, age fourty-six. Investment banker at the Joy Investments. He usually arrives at his workplace around eight o’clock in the morning”.
Well, this man was not your father. However, some informations about where to find his so-called best friend could help anyway. There was a high possibility Mr. Cho was still in touch with him and therefore he could give you his address. You wished you could thank whoever had sent you that letter, but the pacakge was unsigned. Your savior seemed to want to remain incognito. Savior. That word sound bittersweet, giving the circumstances. The mysterious person that had sent those informations had been, without the shadow of a doubt, watching you, eavesdropping your conversations, stalking you. The mere idea of someone sneaking in your dorm, when you were fast asleep, or when you were attending your classes sent frissons over your skin. You refused to even picture a hooded stranger following you around. Something did not quite make sense, though.
If you had a stalker, why was he helping you out?
You huffed, fingers running through your hair in distress, as you ultimately decided to both make good use of the informations you had received and protect yourself from any potential threat lurking in the shadows.
The following day, you were sipping on a coffee in your new friend’s car. Hwang Ju-ho, a young cop who had taken pity on you, when you had just landed in Seoul and had no idea of where to go, or how to reach your destination. He had been kind to you, even leaving you his number in case you needed something. And you did.
“Let me get this straight. You have been asking random people around Seoul if they knew your father, or this Cho Sang-woo for three months straight?” he asked you, pulling over in a still empty parking lot. The sky was grey, the drizzle was becoming a downpour and you had not bothered to take an umbrella with you. Bad decision, undoubtedly.
“Exactly” you shortly commented, head lolling against the headrest of the passenger seat. You were drained, as of late. Studying hard for learning the local language and keeping up with yours courses was consuming you to the bone. Your lack of sleep was the cherry on top. You wondered when your body was going to give up and you finally reached the infamous burn-out.
Ju-ho rested his forearms on the top of the steering wheel, dark eyes scanning the horizon “And yesterday you found an anonymous letter in your mailbox with your father’s friend data in it?” he pressed again, earning a soft hum of approval from you.
You had not revealed too many informations to him about Cho Sang-woo, except for the fact he worked in the modern building in a part of the city you had yet to visit and that you had reached out for him to help you out. You had improved your Korean, therefore you did not even need his assistance in communicating with the so-called genius of the Department of Economics of Seoul. The small picture of him, a polaroid, you had found in the package along the letter showed a distinguished man with square glasses, an impeccable suit and a cold look in his eyes. Hopefully, he was not an asshole.
You had already thought about what to ask him and how. Allegedly, you were more than ready, enthusiastic at the idea of finally having a chance to find your dad. You wondered if he was a good man and if he had his own new family. In that case, was he going to accept you in his life?
Your mind went back to that unglorious night, to the man in a suit and his question: “Let me guess, you found him and he is far from the man you expected him to be?”.
No. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. Deep down, you hoped to have a heartwarming reunion with your father, one of those cliché, stereotypical scenes you had watched countless times in the movies. You had deeply craved a father figure in your life. Time passed, though, and, albeit you did not grow up with your dad, your dream to look at a man and call him ‘dad’ never diminished in you. At the end of the day, you were still the innocent little girl who asked Santa to let you meet your father. However he was, wherever he was.
To interrupt yout stream of consciousness was Ju-ho, clearing his throat “If you don’t want me to help you, why am I here? I could take care of this pretty easily, you know?” he said, leaning his back on the seat and glancing at you in curiosity.
“You are helping me. I needed a lift and someone to watch my back. You are here and this is more than enough for me to be grateful to you” you promptly said, right before you caught a glimpse of a man in a black suit and matching umbrella heading towards the entrance of the building. There he was: Cho Sang-woo, tall and confident, following the routine the snout had indicated in the letter.
You quickly exchanged a knowing look with Ju-ho, before opening the car door and jogging towards your father’s best friend. It was pouring and, in a matter of seconds, you were soaked. Your hair were stuck on your face, forehead, neck. Your clothes clinging to your body uncomfortably made it hard to speed up more.
Eventually, though, you caught up with him. His dark eyes met yours, so wide and full of hope. You were a panting mess, hands wiping away the droplets of water falling from your lashes, as he stared you down wearily. Who exactly were you? A foreigner, that much was pretty evident.
“Sir! Do you have a minute?” you started, hand already diving in your bag to retrive your father’s photo. He had no time to waste and you honestly wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.
“Who are you? I have no money this month. I have already—”.
Money? You frowned, shaking your head, before showing him the picture of your father, tearful eyes boring into his ones, so unaffected and devoid of emotions. He seemed tense, you would have even dared to say agitated and you were blaming it on the fact he was being held back by a stranger before he could go to work.
“You’re Cho Sang-woo, right? — you asked, blinking quickly to clear your vision — Do you know this man? He’s my dad… I’m looking for him! You were friends, or so I’ve been told by my mother” you fretted to explain, perfectly knowing you were sounding like a maniac.
You did not resemble your dad in the slightest. Sang-woo gazed into your eyes, then at the photograph you were holding before him. Reading this man was impossible. He blankly stared at you, shutting you out of his head. The silence probably lasted a few seconds, before he degnified you with a dry answer.
“Go back home, kid” he dispassionately stated, resuming his walk without sparing you a glance.
But you had no home to go back to. You were looking for a place to call home, for a person to feel like home. You refused to accept such a refusal. This man could obviously help you, but he was downright choosing to ignore you. Were you so undeserving of a father?
“I don’t have a home anymore, sir! — you called after him, standing right where you were, gaze on the cobblestone — Please, I really need to find my father. He’s all I have now. He’s all that is left of… Of my family” you admitted, hating how your voice cracked upon realizing you indeed had nothing else besides the hope to be reunited with your biological dad.
Sang-woo halted, his back facing you as he seemed to elaborate what you had just said. Each second passing without an answer hurt you, so much that the droplets of water splashing on your face, on your clothes felt like boiling lava sizzling your skin.
Maybe, your life was about to change. Your destiny was all in this man’s hands.
“He already has a family. If you love your father, you should keep your distance. He lived perfectly fine without you until now. Would you really want to disrupt his peace and bear the burden of having ruined his life?” he deadpanned, before walking off with your shattered heart in his hand and leaving a desolation behind him.
The only audible sound was the rain pattering against the parked cars, over your skin, on the skyscrapers. It hurt. It hurt immensely. You wondered if, amidst the soothing sound of the water cascading steadily from the sky, Cho Sang-woo had heard a far way different sound. The horrible noise of a fragile heart exploding into splinters so tiny they could not be put together again.
Your first impulse was to chase after him, shout at his face you deserved to be happy too, that this was not his damn business. Your feet, though, did not move. They were glued to the ground, they were one thing with the asphalt. Your fingers twitched, your father’s photograph slipping through them, landing on a puddle.
The following days went on monotonously. You no longer bothered searching for him. Even if you knew Mr. Cho had no saying in your life, he had truly left you with so many doubts and, maybe, he had a point. If your father was happy, you had no right to destroy his life, his relationship with his wife and traumatize your step-siblings. All you did was studying, bonding with your classmates and, occasionally, joining them to some parties.
It was once again a Saturday night, when you found yourself in a discotheque. The famous Nb2 Club, located in Hongdae, was swarmed with people dancing. Most of them were drunk, out of their minds, fornicating with strangers. You, on the other hand, were not really in the good state of mind to drink your problems away. After a single shot to celebrate the birthday girl, you had incessantly tried to find an excuse to leave. Unfortunately, though, you had been dragged to the dance floor and you were now desperately trying to districate yourself out of that sea of tipsy people swaying around.
The neon lights in the dimly illuminated room made it hardly feasible to individuate the exit. You kept on pushing people around, elbowing your way to the stairs, until you whipped your head around and you froze solid.
This must have been an hallucination.
Or this is the lie you told yourself, when a flash of red lights flickered over a man in a suit. A man you knew. A man you did not expect to run into once again, especially in place like this. Your life was an entire circus.
You were petrified, more out of shock, than the embarrassment you had felt during your first encounter. You had thought about it for days, unable to get that stupid grin of his out of your head. You blinked, skeptically staring at that shadow, until the man was struck by the light again. You had even approached him, standing only a palm away from his towering figure, as you found out once again that he was already grinning down at you. Bloody Hell, he was really there.
Your fake boyfriend for a night. The man you had insulted, hoping he did not speak italian.
“Buonasera, signorina ³” he greeted you, cold sweat collecting in the back of your neck, as you stupidly looked up at him.
You did not even have an idea of how you had successfully heard him, but you did. Handsome as the last time you had met him, he did not have his briefcase with him, but he had opted for yet another set of suit and tie. You sighed, darting your eyes away in nervousness. You did not feel underdressed this time. Still, your choice of clothes was what your roommate had labeled as ‘dressed to kill any man’.
You were showing a lot of cleavage and your short black dress barely reached your upper thighs.
“What are you doing here?” you asked him then, careful to ignore his provocation.
“I could ask you the same question, ma’am. Hopefully, you are not chasing down your father alone again”.
You rolled your eyes, gesturing at your high heels “Fair enough. To answer your question, definitely not. I was actually trying to leave this place. My feet are stinging” you decided to say, noticing his dark eyes travelling down your form, before factually inspecting your feet.
He smiled again “By sheer coincidence, I was leaving too. I had a business meeting, but it’s concluded. Would you like for me to lead you out of here? I know about a secondary exit easy to reach” he suggested, chivalrously holding his hand out for you to grasp.
This was hazardous, but he seemed to be genuine. Just like that Saturday night. He had saved you, he had been polite. Only a little too cocky, but not mischivious. Once out, you could always call a taxi and go back to your dorm. You decided to trust him, your smaller hand gripping his delicately as you glanced at your group of friends one last time, before nodding at him.
“Please, lead the way” you agreed, a faint smile gracing your red-painted lips, as he glared at a couple of people occupying the access to a corridor and walked past them without any qualms of the possible consequences.
You just followed him, inhaling deeply as he opened a door and let you step outside first. The chilly air of the night bit your skin, goosebumps raising on your flesh as you folded your arms against your chest to warm yourself up out of reflex. You were suprisingly at the end of the line of people waiting to enter, fortunately already on the main street. You sighed, turning towards him with yet another small smile on your lips.
“Thanks. Apparently, you have a knack for saving me in different situations” you noted, bowing your head a little, as he closed the door behind himself.
The businessman straightened his back “Perhaps. — he replied, eyeing your shivering form in interest — What are you going to do now?”.
“Just calling a taxi and spending the rest of the night at my dorm”.
“A taxi? It’s pretty late. We’re at Hongdae. I don’t think there’s a driver available, miss. — he reasoned, hand slithering into the pocket of his slacks, a clinking sound catching your attention — My car’s parked nearby. I could easily drive you home” he offered, dark eyes devouring yours in a subtle dance of attraction. He was way too discreet and smooth, but you were not a fool.
He had not said anything compromising, yet he had piqued your interest and, definitely, your whole attention. The question was: did you want to play along? Probably, it was not a good idea. He was older, more than twenty years older than you. Still, he had been kind to you. He had offered you protection that night, he had helped you out of the disco. He was charming. And, admittedly, you were also touch-starved and, horribly, lonely.
But you knew he was not going to do anything for free.
You looked at your feet, nervously sinking your foreteeth in your bottom lip “Where’s the catch?”.
He tilted his head to the side, pulling his hand holding the keys out of his pocket “I wouldn’t call it a ‘catch’. But, actually, I was hoping to treat you with a glass of fine wine. Obviously, if you agree” he confessed, not batting an eye and awaiting patiently for you to make up your mind.
“Where?” you asked him then, heart inexplicably skipping a beat the moment shrugged his jacket off of his shoulders and elegantly draped it over your naked ones. His cologne, just like that night, pierced your nostrils and you let out an imperceptible sigh at the comforting feeling of someone actually looking out for you.
Shit. Well, you knew the risks of following a man home. But you were young, free, with some experience at your back. Why not letting loose once ever in your life?
“And the brand of the wine?” you inquired, only for him to smile wider at you. He was effortlessly handsome.
“What about a Chianti? I’m sure you know this one”.
“Don’t make me regret it”.
You had not really paid attention to the road. He drove you safely to yet another part of the city you were not familiar with, charming you with his impeccable portamento behavior and a refined taste in music. He knew some italian words because he liked Opera.
You spent the time in the car listening to Rossini, Verdi and Puccini. Gradually, you relaxed in his presence and, before you knew it, you were sitting on the leather couch of his living room. A goblet of half-finished Chianti in your hand, you were conversing with him about your struggles to adapt to the Country.
Talking to him was easy. Too easy. Were you really that surprised you even told him about your progresses with your research for your father? Not really.
“The main issue was the language. Not everyone speaks English and… You are the only person I have met who understands some italian” you told him, watching him swirl the remaining wine in his goblet absent-mindedly.
He had loosened his necktie, the jacket he had lended to you now discarded on armrest of the sofa. His dark eyes glinted in something you failed to fully comprehend. He did not seem inhebriated, not yet. But rather passionate, as he took a sip from his glass before settling it down on the glass coffee table at his feet.
You mimicked his actions, tiredly accomodating yourself against the soft backrest. He hummed, shifting on his seat and deliberately sliding closer to you. Your head was reclined, the illumination casting enticing shadows over his face. You felt almost ashamed for the desire you felt for him, for a complete stranger.
“You have improved in Korean, though. Practice leads to progresses— he noted, his hot breath wafting over your face like a gloved stroke on your cheek — Aren’t you dying to go back to Mr. Cho and tell him in a perfect Korean that he is not in the position to judge you?”.
You chuckled this time, eyes closing “If I were to do that, I would not be that polite and formal”.
“But elegance suits you, ma’am. Foul language is not necessary to manifest your anger” he chided you, probably in paternalistic way you found odd, but not out of place.
“Homicide is illegal” you pointed out, your sarcasm and dark humor rolling out of your tongue like your second language.
He hesitated for a split second, his lips curving in a smirk at your remark. He glanced at his wristwatch briefly, before his eyes searched for yours again “It’s three in the morning. Would you like for me to take you back home?”.
He was giving you a choice. He had not touched you inappropriately, he had merely sat close to you, offered you wine, let you take some pent up frustration out by listening to your story silently. He had been an absolute gentleman. Maybe, this was the reason why you scooted even closer to him, hand gently resting over his to stop him.
Your noses brushed together, tentatively experimenting what it would have felt like to breathe him in. He reached his hand up, cupping your cheek and angling your head in a optimal position to let your lips lock. You held your breath, half-lidded eyes boring into his, dilated, lust filled.
You swallowed thickly “Affermative, sir”.
He hummed, tongue sweeping out of his mouth to lick your lips, tasting you, before finally opening his mouth and involving you in a slow, intimate kiss you had long forgotten could give butterflies to your stomach. He was a good kisser. His large free hand travelling down your curves, squeezing you hip to prompt you to straddle his lap.
You did not break the kiss, a soft moan leaving your mouth, when he bucked his hips up and pressed you down on his crotch.
“How far can I go?” he asked you huskily, your spine arching when he began to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the curve of your neck.
Oh, sweet God, you had lost your capacity of speaking.
Rolling your hips down to meet his movements, you whined and ran your fingers through his thick hair, pulling on the strands as he raised the hem of your skirt to expose your lower regions entirely.
“I don’t mind…” you mumbled, flicking your gaze down to meet his black-pitch orbs. You were screwed.
His hand slipped hastily beneath the fabric of your underwear, deft fingers seeking and finding your clitoris. He flicked it expertily, groaning softly at your wetness coating his digits. You were soaked, needy whimpers of pleasure escaping your parted lips as you felt your hole clenching around nothing, until he began to tease the entrance.
You cried out in bliss, his index sliding in without meeting resistance, soon followed by a second finger. The stretch was good, nothing compared to your own touch or the ones from your previous partners. He knew what pace drove you insane, what you liked, your body language was the equivalent of an opened book to him.
“Flawless” he whispered in your ear.
You wanted to moan out his name, but you realized you both had not introduced yourselves yet. He thrusted his fingers up in your core, thumb rubbing your throbbing clitoris as you panted above his head.
“W-What’s your name?” you breathed out, glossy eyes peering down at him.
He did not answer, instead biting the tender spot between your jawline and your neck. It was enough, your body had enough. Your inner walls clenched tightly around his fingers, body jerking, as your orgasm hit you like a violent wave crashing against the shore. You trembled, body slumping against his as he enclosed your waist in his arms. His lips grazed the shell of your ear, a feather-like kiss sending frissons over your body.
Hello there and thank you for having read my work. This is the first chapter of a new series I have come up with for Squid Game. The main couple will be The Salesman x reader, but I don’t and can’t promise you won’t see a glimpse of another pair throughout the story. It won’t obviously last, because well… It’s a Salesman x reader story. The title “Il nome mio nessun saprà” translated as “No one will know my name” is taken from the song played by the Salesman during the Russian roulette game with the two former loan sharks. Comments and opinions are greatly appreciated!
1. Non tutti sono ricchi come te: not everyone is as rich as you are;
2. Buona fortuna: good luck;
3. Buonasera, signorina: good evening, miss.
