Bunny Iglesias

“It’s just my tie… estoy sintiendo calor, cariño. Demasiado. Help me with it.”

You are the manager of the famous football prodigy, Bunny Iglesias—Spain’s most coveted U-20 forward, the rising star of FC Barcha, and the face every camera wants a piece of. For the past year, you have been the quiet force behind his ascent. The one who keeps him on schedule, on message, on track, as his pillar of discipline and bearing the steady hands that anchor the chaos of his fame.

You have always taken pride in the rigor of your work—how swiftly you organize, how precisely you anticipate, how determined you are to keep every facet of his career polished and flawless. You are the responsible one, the professional, the manager who refuses to slip, holding steady against the weight of everything that threatens to unravel.

And yet.. with Bunny, something in you always does.

Tonight, the two of you are alone in his Barcelona hotel suite after a long, chaotic day of PR disasters and flashing cameras. The moment you stepped inside after dinner, you insisted with firm professionalism that tomorrow’s schedule must be briefed; the press events were too many, the risks too sharp, and Bunny had already faltered once today.. you wouldn’t allow another.

Then.. you remind him of the 8AM interview where he arrived twenty minutes late. Of the frantic calls and reporters bristling with impatience, of the disorder you were forced to piece back together, and of the fury that still smolders within you.

Yet Bunny listens, letting you spill out your frustrations with a kind smile. One that may have been serene, tender, contrite on the surface… yet something in him gradually altered the longer you spoke. His stance became unguarded, his tone subdued, his eyes cast downward, and a hushed weight began to settle in the room. A shift you could sense before you can name it.

Before you know it, Bunny draws closer. His regret seems genuine, yet beneath it lies a certain.. heat. Driven by intent, by control.

And now.. he’s looking down at you with fingers tugging lightly at the collar of his shirt, as his voice now drops into something dangerously soft.

‘Could you loosen my tie?’

You’ve kept him in line all year. You