First Love Is a Curse

The photography studio in Gangnam was bathed in soft, controlled lighting — large softboxes, reflective umbrellas, and seamless white backdrops creating a clean, professional atmosphere. It was early May 2026, a few weeks after Yuju’s “First Love Is a Curse” promotions had wound down. Today was one of the key concept shoots for her upcoming full album, a more mature and emotionally raw project she had been quietly preparing.

Minjun adjusted the height of his camera on the tripod, checking the settings one last time. As a freelance photographer who had built a reputation working with idols and models, he was used to high-pressure shoots. But today felt different.

Because the artist was her.

Yuju stepped out from behind the changing screen, and the entire studio seemed to hold its breath for a moment.

She wore a striking black and deep red striped lingerie-style dress — the same concept from the teaser photos that had already caused a stir online. The fabric clung to her tall, elegant frame, the plunging neckline revealing the soft curve of her breasts, while sheer black stockings with strategic cut-outs accentuated her long legs. Her hair was styled in two thick braids with bangs, giving her an innocent-yet-seductive look that perfectly matched the “angel face, devilish heart” theme of the album. Black choker, dark nails, glossy lips — every detail was meticulously planned.

Yuju’s eyes met his across the studio. For a fraction of a second, something flickered in her gaze — recognition, memory, heat — before she smoothed it into a polite, professional smile.

“Minjun-ssi,” she greeted, voice calm and melodic, as if they were complete strangers. “Nice to work with you again. I saw your portfolio. Your lighting work is impressive.”

Minjun returned the smile with equal composure, though his heart rate had already picked up. “Thank you, Yuju-ssi. It’s an honor. I’ll do my best to capture your vision today.”

The staff bustled around them — stylists adjusting the hem of her dress, the creative director giving notes, assistants adjusting lights. No one knew. No one could possibly know that just weeks ago, in a private VIP room at a beachside bar, this same woman had been on her knees between him and his friend Lucas, moaning beautifully as they took turns with her and her “friend” Gyuri.

Yuju moved to the center of the white backdrop, striking the first pose naturally. She sat on a low stool, legs crossed elegantly, one hand resting on her knee while the other lightly touched her choker. Her expression was cool, mysterious, with a hint of melancholy — exactly what the concept required.

“Ready when you are,” she said softly.

Minjun raised his camera. “Let’s start with some test shots. Tilt your head slightly to the left… perfect. Chin down just a little. Eyes toward the camera… yes.”

The shutter clicked rapidly. Minjun moved around her, changing angles, crouching low, then standing tall. He was completely professional — giving clear, concise directions in a calm voice.

“Relax your shoulders… good. Now look slightly away from the camera, like you’re thinking about something painful. Yes, that’s the emotion we want.”

Yuju followed every instruction flawlessly. Her years as an idol had made her incredibly photogenic and responsive to direction. But every time their eyes met through the lens, Minjun felt it — that electric pull, the memory of her melodic moans, the way she had looked riding him.

He pushed the thoughts down.

“Change to the second pose,” the creative director called.

Yuju stood up, turning sideways to show her profile. She raised one arm gracefully above her head, the other hand resting on her hip, emphasizing the curve of her waist and the way the dress hugged her body. The braids fell over one shoulder, and she gave the camera a sultry, half-lidded gaze.

Minjun’s throat felt dry.

“Beautiful,” he muttered under his breath, then louder, “Hold that. Don’t move. The light is perfect on your collarbone right now.”

Click. Click. Click.

As the shoot progressed, the tension between them grew in silence. Yuju would hold a pose, and Minjun would step closer to adjust a light or fix a strand of hair that had fallen out of place. When his fingers brushed the skin of her shoulder, both of them froze for a split second.

“Sorry,” Minjun said quietly, voice steady. “Just fixing the braid.”

Yuju’s lips curved into the smallest smile. “It’s fine. You have gentle hands.”

The double meaning hung in the air between them, unnoticed by the rest of the staff.

They continued for hours. Yuju changed into different variations of the concept — a more innocent white version, then back to the seductive red-and-black striped one. In every set, Minjun captured her flawlessly. His experience with high-profile clients showed; he knew exactly how to make her look ethereal, dangerous, vulnerable, and seductive all at once.

During a short break, while the stylists touched up her makeup, Yuju sat on a stool drinking water. Minjun stood a few meters away, reviewing shots on his camera monitor.

She spoke first, voice low enough that only he could hear.

“You’re very professional today, Minjun-ssi.”

He glanced up, meeting her eyes. “Of course. This is work. Your concept is strong. I want to do it justice.”

Yuju tilted her head slightly, a faint smirk playing on her glossy lips. “Even though you’ve seen more of me than most people in this room?”

Minjun’s jaw tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. “That was one night. This is today. I don’t mix personal and professional.”

Yuju’s eyes sparkled with amusement and something darker. “Good. Neither do I.”

The words were professional on the surface, but the way she said them sent heat crawling down Minjun’s spine. He remembered too clearly how she had moaned his name that night, how her long legs had wrapped around him, how melodic and filthy her voice had become.

The break ended, and they returned to work.

In the final set, Yuju sat on the floor against the green backdrop, legs bent elegantly to the side, one hand resting on her knee while the other touched her choker. The pose was vulnerable yet seductive. Minjun crouched low, camera angled upward to capture the striking contrast between her innocent expression and the revealing outfit.

“Eyes on me,” he instructed, voice calm but firm. “Think about something you want but can’t have.”

Yuju’s gaze locked onto his through the lens. For a moment, the professional wall cracked. Her eyes darkened with memory — the night in the VIP room, his skilled hands, the way he had made her cum while Lucas fucked her mother beside them.

Minjun’s finger hovered on the shutter.

Click.

He captured the exact moment — raw desire mixed with restraint.

“Perfect,” he said, voice slightly rougher than before. “That’s the shot.”

The shoot wrapped at 7 PM. The staff applauded, praising both Yuju’s professionalism and Minjun’s eye for detail. As everyone packed up, Yuju approached him while the others were distracted.

She extended her hand formally. “Thank you for today, Minjun-ssi. The photos look beautiful already.”

Minjun shook her hand. Her grip was warm, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary. “It was my pleasure, Yuju-ssi.”

As she pulled away, her fingers brushed his palm in a way that felt deliberate. She leaned in slightly, voice barely above a whisper.

“See you around… photographer.”

Then she turned and walked away, braids swaying, leaving Minjun standing there with memories flooding back and a very unprofessional ache in his body.

He watched her go, knowing full well that their secret night was far from buried.