Jungkook Oneshots

Kiss With a Bullet

"𝘞𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘩𝘰𝘸,
𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩."

The warehouse smells like rust, smoke, and the sour stench of fear. You don't flinch at the blood staining the concrete floor-this isn't the first time someone's screamed in this room, and it won't be the last.

Your boots click against the cold cement as you approach the man kneeling in front of you, wrists zip-tied, lip busted, breath coming out in short, panicked gasps.

He used to run intel. Used to swear loyalty to your father. Now? Now he's a suspect with trembling knees and the weight of your entire family's wrath pressing against his throat.

"Three shipments, gone," you say coldly, eyes sharp as the knife strapped to your thigh. "Three. All ambushed with military precision."

He opens his mouth to speak-maybe beg, maybe lie. You raise a hand. He shuts it again.

"You really think we wouldn't trace the leak?" You crouch to his level, tilting your head. "You're either stupid, or you thought I was."

He shakes his head, sweat dripping down his temple. "Miss, I swear-I didn't-"

You grab his jaw, forcing his eyes up to meet yours. "Don't call me miss. You lost the right to call me anything the second you sold us out."

Behind you, your second-in-command, Hana, shifts her weight, arms crossed. "Want me to start breaking fingers?" she asks casually.

You don't answer. Not yet.

Instead, you lean in closer. "Names. Who paid you? Who do they work for?"

"I didn't-! I didn't leak it! I swear on my life-"

You rise to your full height, eyes narrowing. "Funny. That's exactly what you're gambling with right now."

He's crying now. Pathetic.

You flick your fingers. Hana steps forward without hesitation.

The first crack of bone echoes through the room like a gunshot.

You turn your back on him, walking toward the table where your weapons are laid out in neat rows-each one placed with the kind of precision only you could demand.

"Keep going until he remembers," you say over your shoulder. "And when he does, make sure he regrets forgetting."

You pause, fingers brushing over a black pistol.

Your father may be the feared name behind the empire, but everyone knows: you're the one who makes people talk.

And someone is going to pay for betraying your family.

They call your family The Crimson Circle.

Not in public, no. Out there, you're just the Parks-a respected, charitable name with deep political ties, old money, and older traditions.

But in the dark?

In the places where laws are myths and loyalty is currency?

The Crimson Circle is legend.

Built on blood, betrayal, and brilliance, your ancestors and father turned your family name into a shadowed empire. Every major arms deal in the country runs through your ports. Every name worth killing is either on your payroll-or already buried.