IVE's Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader
The scream cuts through the surrounding noise of the restaurant like a knife.
"I said I wanted the table by the window!"
You're three tables away, finishing your own meal, when Jang Wonyoung—yes, the Jang Wonyoung—launches into what can only be described as a full-scale meltdown. She's standing now, chair knocked backward, pointing at the manager with one perfectly manicured finger.
"Do you have any idea who I am? Do you? DO YOU?"
The manager is stammering something apologetic. The staff are frozen. Other diners have their phones out, recording. This is going to be all over social media in about four minutes.
Your phone buzzes. A text from your contact at Starship Entertainment: She's doing it again. Please.
You sigh, setting down your fork. There goes your last night off.
"You're all incompetent!" Wonyoung is still going, volume increasing. "I will have every single one of you fired, I will—"
You stand up and walk over. She doesn't notice you until you're right there, and even then she barely glances at you before continuing her rant.
"—have this place shut down, my fans will—"
"Having fun?" you ask cheekily.
She whips around to look at you, eyes blazing. "Excuse me? Who the fuck are you?"
"Your new babysitter." You smile (half) apologetically, before you grab her around the waist and hoist her up over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes before she can process what's happening.
"What—put me down! Put me down right now!"
Her fists pound against your back. Her legs kick uselessly. She's tall—5'8"—but you've got the leverage and she's light enough that it doesn't matter. You nod a wordless apology to the manager and start walking toward the exit.
"I will have you arrested!" she shrieks. "I will sue you! I will—"
"Yeah, yeah, keep it coming. I've heard worse threats."
You push through the restaurant doors into the cool night air. She's still struggling, still yelling, drawing stares from everyone on the street. You spot the black company car idling at the curb and head toward it.
"Let me go, you fucking psycho!"
"Not a chance, princess."
The driver—bless him—has the door open before you even get there. You dump Wonyoung into the backseat with absolutely zero ceremony. She immediately tries to scramble back out but you're already sliding in after her, pulling the door shut.
"Drive," you tell the driver. He doesn't need to be told twice.
Wonyoung is glaring at you with enough venom to kill a small animal. Her hair is mussed, her designer outfit rumpled, and her face is flushed with rage.
"Actually, as of about fifteen minutes ago when Starship signed the contract, I have every right." You pull out your phone and show her the electronic signature on the agreement. "I'm your new behavioral specialist. Congratulations."
You give her some very authentic and heartfelt jazz-hands.
She snatches the phone from your hand, reads the document, and her face goes through several interesting color changes.
Huh. Didn't know skin could do that.
"No. Absolutely not. I refuse."
"You can't. Only the company can terminate my contract, and given how much they're paying me to fix your little attitude problem, that's not happening anytime soon." You lean back in the seat, completely relaxed. "So here's how this is going to work. You're going to go home, and I'm going to start doing my job."
"Your job?" She laughs, sharp and bitter. "And what exactly is your job?"
"Teaching you how to behave like an adult instead of a spoiled child throwing tantrums in public."
The look she gives you could melt steel. "I'm twenty-one years old—"
"Then start acting like it."
Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. You can see her searching for a comeback, for some threat that will make you back down. She's not going to find one.
"I hate you," she finally says.
"Aw gosh I just love you too, sweetheart. Now, are you going to walk into your apartment building like a civilized person, or am I carrying you again?"
The murderous silence that follows is answer enough.
She does, in fact, walk into the building like a civilized person. Barely. She's radiating fury with every step, and the doorman takes one look at her face and wisely decides not to make eye contact.
The elevator ride up to her penthouse apartment is silent except for the occasional sound of her grinding her teeth. You're scrolling through your phone, completely unbothered. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see her planning your murder.
Note to self. Don't eat or drink anything she makes. Second note. Check packages for pipe bombs.
The doors open. She storms out toward her door, fumbling with her keys because her hands are shaking with rage. It takes her three tries to get the key in the lock.
"Need some help with that?"
She finally gets the door open and stalks inside. You follow, taking in the space. It's exactly what you'd expect—expensive, immaculate, probably costs more per month than most people make in a year. Floor-to-ceiling windows, designer furniture, all the usual spoiled-girl stuff.
Wonyoung whirls around the moment you close the door, pointing at you with that same accusing finger from the restaurant.
"Nope," you say, popping the "p".
"Which your company gave me full access to. It's in the contract." You pull out your phone again, but she swats it away before you can show her.
"That phone is expensive," you pout dryly.
"I don't care about your stupid contract! You can't just—"
"Throw a tantrum in a public restaurant? Scream at minimum wage workers? Make a scene that'll be trending on TikTok before you even get home?" You tilt your head. "Oh wait, you already did all that. That's why I'm here."
"You're here because Starship is full of controlling assholes who can't handle the fact that I have opinions—"
"You're here because you act like a spoiled brat and the company is tired of doing damage control."
Her face flushes red. "How dare you—"
"How dare I what? Tell you the truth? Call you out on your bullshit?" You shrug. "That's literally my job."
She takes a step toward you, getting in your face. Or trying to—you've got one whole inch on her and she has to tilt her head up just slightly. (A fact that you're loving, and you know she's hating). "I will make your life hell. I will make you regret ever taking this job. I will—"
"You're about to get spanked like the child you're acting like, is what's about to happen."
"You—" She laughs, but it's disbelieving. "You can't be serious."
"Dead serious." You gesture to the couch. "Over my knee. Now."
"Absolutely fucking not."
She crosses her arms, chin lifting defiantly. "What are you going to do, force me?"
She stares at you. You stare back. She's waiting for you to back down, to admit this is a bluff. You can see the exact moment she realizes you're not bluffing.
"You're insane," she says.
She doesn't move. Fine. You walk over to the couch, sit down, and look at her expectantly. "Last chance to do this the easy way."
You stand back up and she actually backs away, eyes widening slightly. "Don't you dare—"
You're faster than she expects. You grab her wrist and pull her toward you. She tries to fight it, but you've already got her positioned over your lap, face down, ass up. She's kicking and cursing, hands scrabbling for purchase on the couch cushions.
"Let me go! Let me go right now or I swear to god—"
You hook your fingers in the waistband of her designer pants and yank them down to her knees. She's wearing expensive lace underwear underneath. Those come down too.
The sudden exposure makes her freeze for half a second. "You did not just—"
The first smack lands on her bare ass and she yelps.
The second one follows immediately. Then the third. You settle into a rhythm, alternating cheeks, not holding back. Your palm stings a little. Good—means you're doing it hard enough.
"Stop it! Stop it right now!" She's writhing in your lap, trying to twist away, but you've got one arm across her lower back holding her in place.
"You can't—" Smack. "—do this to—" Smack. "—me!"
"Funny, seems like I can."
Her ass is already starting to turn pink. You can see her thighs trembling—whether from anger or exertion, you're not sure.
"I'll have you arrested for assault!"
"Good luck explaining to the police why you called them after your company-hired behavioral specialist disciplined you per your contract." Another smack, harder this time. "Clause seventeen, subsection three. You should really read things before your rep signs them."
She makes a sound of pure frustration, and then—is she trying to reach back and grab your hand? You catch her wrist easily, pinning it against her back.
"Not until you calm down."
Her ass is definitely pink now, bordering on red in some spots. She's stopped kicking as much, probably because her legs are tired. Her breathing is ragged.
"Are you done throwing your tantrum?" you ask.
"Fuck you," she gasps out.
"Still waiting for an actual answer!" you sing.
There's a long pause. You can feel her whole body tensed over your lap, rigid with fury and humiliation. Then, very quietly:
Another pause. Her voice comes out strained. "Yes, I'm done."
"Good girl," you say teasingly.
You feel her twitch at those words. Interesting. You file that away for later.
You let her up. She scrambles off your lap immediately, yanking her underwear and pants back up with shaking hands. When she turns to face you, her eyes are glassy—not quite crying, but close.
"I hate you," she says again, but it sounds weaker this time.
"So you've mentioned." You stand up, brushing off your pants. "Tomorrow, same time. We're going to work on your public behavior."
"Yes, you are. Because if you throw another tantrum like tonight, we're doing this again. Except next time, I'll use a rice scooper."
Her face goes through several interesting expressions before settling on mortified rage.
Again with the skin colors. Is that just a 'her' thing or can every human do it?
"Happy to. Don't forget—I'll be back tomorrow. G'night princess!"
You head for the door. Behind you, you hear her let out a scream of pure frustration into a couch cushion.
You're smiling as you leave.
"I'm not doing this again," Wonyoung says the moment you walk through her door.
You're carrying coffee. Two cups. You set one down on her counter—the one that's definitely hers based on the just absolutely absurd amounts of different flavored syrup is in it—and take a sip of your own.
"You threw a tantrum at your stylist yesterday."
"She was trying to put me in something fucking hideous—"
"You called her a talentless whore and threw a shoe at her head."
Wonyoung's jaw sets. "She ducked."
"Barely." You gesture to the couch. "You know the drill."
She doesn't move for a solid thirty seconds, glaring at you with those pretty, dark eyes like she's trying to set you on fire with her mind. Then, with all the energy of someone walking to their own execution, she stalks over to the couch.
"I hate this," she mutters.
"So you've mentioned. Multiple times. Daily, actually."
This time she goes over your knee with slightly less fighting. Still cursing you out, still rigid with fury, but her pants come down faster. You're not sure if that's resignation or just her getting tired of the routine.
The spanking is just as thorough as the first time. Maybe more so, since she threw a shoe. Her ass goes from pale to pink to red, and by the end she's gasping into the couch cushions, thighs trembling.
"Yes, I'm done," she grits out.
That same twitch. A little shiver that runs through her whole body. You're starting to think that might be something important.
She opens the door before you can knock.
"I didn't do anything," she says immediately.
"Jesus princess, I know. Chill out. This is a check-in."
"A check-in. To see how you're doing." You hold up a bag. "I brought breakfast."
She stares at you suspiciously, like you might have poisoned the pastries. Fair, given how much she's threatened to poison you.
"The kind you like. Your manager told me."
She hesitates, then steps aside to let you in. Progress.
You eat breakfast mostly in silence. She's watching you like a hawk, waiting for you to bring up some misbehavior, but you don't. Because she actually hasn't done anything wrong in almost three days, which just might be a personal record.
"Are you feeling okay?" she finally asks.
"Because you're being... nice."
She gives you a look that could peel the paint off of a car. "You spanked me two days ago."
"It was three days ago actually—"
"Because you earned it. You haven't earned it since." You surrender. "That's how this works. You behave, I'm nice. You throw tantrums, I correct the behavior."
She's quiet for a long moment, picking at her croissant. "This is weird."
"You. This. All of it." She waves her hand vaguely. "I thought you'd be like... I don't know. Mean all the time."
"Why would I be mean if you're behaving?"
She doesn't have an answer for that.
"I wasn't that bad," Wonyoung argues as you sit down on her couch.
"You told a reporter to 'eat shit and die.'"
"He asked if I was dating anyone! For the fifth time!"
"And the professional response would have been...?"
She scowls. Over your lap she goes, pants down, and you notice she's wearing different underwear today. Still expensive, but... prettier? Is she picking out specific underwear for spanking sessions?
That's a weird thought. You file it away in the increasingly large "Wonyoung is Complicated" folder in your brain.
"This is humiliating," she mutters into the cushion.
She's not fighting as much anymore. Still tense, still clearly very annoyed, but the kicking has mostly stopped. Now she just lies there and takes it, hands fisted in the couch fabric, making these little frustrated sounds.
"You're enjoying this," she accuses.
"The spanking? Sure. Your ass makes a very satisfying sound."
"That's not what I—" Smack. "—meant!"
You're pretty sure her face is as red as her ass at this point.
"Good girl," you say when you're done, and yeah, there's that full-body shiver again.
Definitely filing that away.
You notice it halfway through the spanking.
Wonyoung is over your lap, pants around her knees, and you're working through what's become an almost routine punishment for snapping at a staff member. Her ass is already pink, and she's doing that thing where she buries her face in the cushion and makes frustrated little sounds.
But something's different.
Your thigh, where her hips are pressed down, feels... wet.
You pause mid-smack. Wonyoung makes a small sound of confusion at the interruption.
You adjust your position slightly, and yeah. There's definitely a damp spot on your pants where she's been grinding against your leg. You can feel the heat of her even through the fabric.
Everything clicks into place at once. The shivers when you call her "good girl." The prettier underwear. The way she's stopped fighting as much. The way her breathing goes ragged during spankings now, and not just from exertion.
She's not just enduring this.
"Wonyoung," you say slowly. "Are you wet right now?"
She goes completely still. "What? No. I don't—that's not—"
You slide your hand between her thighs and she gasps. Your fingers come away slick.
"Huh," you say mildly. "That's interesting."
"Don't—" She tries to scramble off your lap but you hold her in place with one hand on her lower back. "Let me up, this is—I'm not—"
"Relax." Your voice is calmer than you feel. Because this is a game-changer. This is so much better than you expected. "I'm not judging."
"You're—fuck—you're touching me—"
"Because you're soaking wet from being spanked like a brat." You slide two fingers through her folds again, just to watch her whole body jerk. "Which means we've been going about this all wrong."
"I don't know what you're talking about—"
"Sure you don't." You pull your hand away and let her up. She practically launches herself off your lap, yanking her pants up with shaking hands. Her face is flushed, her breathing uneven. "Here's what's going to happen. Tomorrow, same time. But we're trying a different approach."
"What approach?" She sounds suspicious and breathless and turned on, all at once.
"You'll see." You stand up, heading for the door. "Wear something pretty."
"I always wear something pretty, you asshole—"
You're grinning as you leave.
She answers the door in a white silk robe.
"This pretty enough for you jackass?" she asks, voice dripping with false sweetness and challenge.
"Perfect, actually." You step inside, and she backs up a step. There's something different in her eyes tonight. Still defiant, but with an edge of nervousness. Anticipation. "Living room."
She goes, and you follow. When she reaches the couch she turns to face you, arms crossed. The robe gapes slightly at her chest. She notices you looking and her chin lifts.
"So what's this 'different approach?'" she asks.
Her eyes widen. "Ex-fucking-cuse me?
"You heard me." You sit down on the couch, legs spread, completely relaxed. "Take it off and come here."
"Are you insane? I'm not—"
"You were dripping on my leg yesterday from a spanking." You tilt your head. "Don't pretend you don't want this."
"I don't want anything from you—"
"Wonyoung." You let a hint of command into your voice. "Robe. Off. Now."
She stares at you for a long moment. You can see her brain working, trying to figure out if this is a test, a trick, something she can use against you. Then her hands go to the belt of her robe.
It falls open. She shrugs it off her shoulders and it pools on the floor.
She's wearing matching lingerie—black lace, expensive, the kind that probably costs more than your rent. Her body is just…ridiculous. Long legs, small waist, tits that are somehow perfect despite her frame.
"Happy?" she asks, but her voice wavers slightly.
She walks over slowly, stopping just in front of you. You reach out and pull her forward by the hips until she's straddling your lap. She gasps, hands going to your shoulders for balance.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Testing a theory." Your hands slide up her sides, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts. She shivers. "I think punishment is the wrong motivator for you. I think you need rewards instead."
"That's—" She cuts off with a small sound when you thumb over her nipples through the lace. "That's not true—"
"No?" You do it again and she rocks forward slightly, seeking more contact. "Then why are you already soaking wet?"
You slide one hand down between her legs, over her panties, and she's drenched. She gasps, hips jerking.
"Fuck you," she breathes.
"Maybe later." You rub slow circles over her clit through the fabric and watch her face. Her eyes flutter closed, lips parting. "Right now I'm going to make you cum until you can't think straight. And then we're going to see how well you behave after that."
"I hate you," she says, but it comes out as a moan.
"Sure you do, princess." You pull her panties aside and slide two fingers into her. She's so wet they go in easily, and she makes this choked sound, head falling forward. "Fuck, you're tight."
"Don't—ah—don't say things like that—"
"Why not? It's true." You curl your fingers to hit that spot inside her and she cries out. "You're so fucking tight and wet and you're about to cum on my fingers like a good girl."
She clenches around you at those last two words. Interesting.
"You like that?" You pump your fingers faster. "Like being called a good girl?"
"Another lie." Your thumb finds her clit and she practically sobs. "It's okay, sweetheart. You can admit it. You can be good for me."
"I'm not—nngh—I'm not good—"
"You are. You're being so good right now. Taking my fingers so well." You lean in to speak directly into her ear. "Such a good girl."
She cums with a sharp cry, her whole body going rigid in your lap. Her pussy clenches rhythmically around your fingers, and you work her through it, not letting up until she's pushing weakly at your wrist.
"Too much—too sensitive—"
"I know, baby. I know." You ease your fingers out slowly and she whimpers. "But we're not done yet."
You lift her off your lap and set her on the couch, then drop to your knees in front of her. Her eyes go wide.
You hook your fingers in her panties and pull them down. She lifts her hips automatically to help, and then she's bare from the waist down, legs spread, pussy glistening.
"Oh my god," she breathes.
"Just relax." You kiss the inside of her thigh and she jumps. "Let me take care of you."
"This is—you don't have to—"
You lick up through her folds and holy shit. She tastes so fucking good, sweet and tangy, and you groan against her.
"Ahh~!" Her hands fly to your hair. "Fuck—fuck that's—"
You find her clit with your tongue, circling it slowly, and her thighs start to shake. She's still sensitive from the first orgasm, which means this is going to be quick.
"Oh god oh god oh god—" She's chanting now, hips rocking against your face. "Don't stop don't stop don't—nngh~!"
You slide two fingers back inside her while you work her clit and she nearly screams. Her nails dig into your scalp, probably leaving marks, but you don't care. You just keep going, keep licking and sucking and fingering her until she's trembling and gasping.
"I'm—oh fuck I'm—I'm cumming again—!"
She cums even harder than the first time, thighs clamping around your head, back arching off the couch. You can feel her pulsing around your fingers, hear her crying out, and you don't let up until she's pushing your head away.
You pull back and she's a mess. Hair disheveled, chest heaving, face flushed. There are tears at the corners of her eyes.
"You're so pretty when you cum," you tell her.
She makes a sound that might be a laugh or a sob. "You're insane."
"Maybe." You stand up, and she's watching you with heavy-lidded eyes. "But you're going to keep cumming for me anyway."
"You can." You start unbuckling your belt. "And you will."
Her eyes drop to your hands, watching as you unzip your pants. When your cock springs free—you weren't wearing boxers—she stares.
"That's... that's not going to fit."
You laugh. "It will. Trust me."
"Yes you do." You stroke yourself slowly and watch her eyes track the movement. "On your knees, baby."
She slides off the couch onto shaky legs, then drops to her knees in front of you. From this angle she has to look up, and there's something incredibly satisfying about having her below you like this.
"Open your mouth," you tell her.
She does. You guide your cock between her lips and she makes a sound, hands coming up to grip your thighs. You don't push too deep—not yet. Just let her get used to the weight of you on her tongue.
"Good girl," you murmur. "Such a good girl for me."
She makes a muffled sound and you feel it vibrate through your cock. Fuck.
"You can take more," you tell her. "Take more for me, baby."
She does, sinking down further, and when you hit the back of her throat she gags slightly. You pull back.
"Breathe through your nose. That's it. Good."
You set a slow rhythm, letting her adjust, praising her the whole time. And she responds to it, you can see it in her eyes. Every "good girl" makes her press her thighs together. Every word of praise makes her take you deeper.
"Fuck, your mouth feels so good," you groan. "You're doing so well."
She moans around your cock and you nearly lose it right there.
"Okay—okay stop—" You pull out and she gasps for air, a string of saliva connecting her lips to your cock. "Bedroom. Now."
She stands on shaky legs and you follow her to the bedroom, admiring the view. That ass, fuck. You're going to leave marks all over it later.
She climbs onto the bed and turns to face you, reaching back to unhook her bra. It falls away and you just stare for a moment.
"Stop looking at me like that," she says, but there's no bite to it.
"Like you're going to devour me."
"I am going to devour you." You climb onto the bed, caging her beneath you. "I'm going to fuck you until you forget your own name."
"That's—" You kiss her and she melts into it, hands coming up to grip your shoulders. When you pull back she's breathless. "That's a big promise."
"I know." You line yourself up with her entrance. "Ready?"
You push in slowly and she gasps, nails digging into your skin. She's so tight it almost hurts, and you have to pause after just the tip.
"Oh my god oh my god oh my god—"
"Breathe, baby. Just breathe for me."
She takes a shaky breath and you push in further. Inch by inch, giving her time to adjust, praising her the whole way.
"That's it. You're doing so well. Taking me so well."
"Too big—you're too big—"
"You can take it. I know you can." You bottom out and she makes a choked sound. "There we go. Good girl. Such a good girl."
She's trembling beneath you, adjusted to your size. You stay still for a moment, letting her adjust, and then you start to move.
She's so wet that the slide is easy despite how tight she is. You set a steady rhythm, deep strokes that have her gasping with each thrust.
"Yes—fuck—yes it feels good—"
"Good." You angle your hips slightly and she cries out. "That the spot?"
"Yes! Right there right there don't stop—"
You don't. You fuck her steadily, hitting that spot over and over, watching her face. She's gorgeous like this—lost in pleasure, no bratty mask, just pure need.
"Touch yourself," you tell her. "Make yourself cum on my cock."
Her hand flies between her legs and within seconds she's clenching around you, cumming with a loud cry. Her whole body shakes and you have to grit your teeth to keep from following her.
"That's three," you manage. "Think you can give me another?"
"You can." You pull out and flip her over. "On your knees."
She struggles up onto shaky limbs, ass in the air, face pressed into the pillow. The sight of her like this—presenting herself, completely wrecked—does something to you.
You line up and push back in, and from this angle you go even deeper. She screams into the pillow.
"Fuck!" you grunt. "You feel so fucking good like this."
"Yes you can, baby. You're going to cum one more time for me." You reach around to rub her clit and she sobs. "Be a good girl and cum on my cock."
"Can't—too sensitive—ah! Ah! Ahh~!"
You fuck her harder now, chasing your own orgasm. She's clenching around you rhythmically, and you can tell she's close again despite her protests.
"Cum for me, Wonyoung. Cum for me like a good girl."
"I'm—oh god—I'm cumming~!"
She cums so hard she nearly collapses, and you have to hold her hips up. The feeling of her pussy spasming around you tips you over the edge.
You bury yourself deep and cum hard, filling her up. She makes this broken sound as she feels it, her body going limp.
When you finally stop pulsing you collapse next to her. You're both breathing hard, covered in sweat. There's cum leaking out of her onto the sheets.
"Holy shit," she whispers after a long moment.
She turns her head to look at you, and there's something different in her eyes. "Are we going to do that again?"
You laugh. "Definitely. But first you're going to prove you can behave for a full week."
"Very fair, actually. Good behavior gets rewarded. Bad behavior gets punished." You reach over to brush hair out of her face. "Up to you which one you want."
She's quiet for a moment. Then: "...What if I want both?"
"That's a 'we'll see how it goes.'"
She smiles, and it's the first genuine smile you've seen from her.
"Morning," Wonyoung says when you let yourself into her apartment.
She's at the kitchen counter in an oversized shirt—your shirt, you realize—drinking coffee. Her hair is messy, there are marks on her neck from last night, and she looks so very content.
"Morning." You grab the coffee she made for you. "Busy day?"
"Photo shoot at two. Interview at five. I'll be done by seven."
"Want me to come by after?"
"No shit Sherlock." She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling. "I bought that thing you mentioned."
"The...thing." Her cheeks go slightly pink. "For... you know."
Oh. That thing. "Adventurous."
You laugh and pull her in for a kiss. She melts into it immediately, making a pleased sound.
"Behave today," you tell her when you pull back.
"I do! I've been perfect for weeks!"
"Three days ago you told a sasaeng fan to eat glass."
"That's different—they were following me—"
"I'm not saying it wasn't deserved." You kiss her forehead. "I'm saying watch your temper."
She grumbles but nods. "Fine. But you owe me later."
When you arrive that night, she's already naked, kneeling on the bed exactly how you taught her. Hands behind her back, thighs spread, head down.
"Good girl," you say, and watch her shiver.
Some things never change.
You undress slowly, letting her wait. When you finally join her on the bed she looks up at you with those dark eyes, and there's nothing but want there.
"Please fuck me. I've been good. I've been so good."
"You have." You cup her face. "You've been perfect."
You fuck her slowly this time. Taking your time, praising her, making her cum twice before you even get close. When you finally do cum, buried deep inside her, she's sobbing your name into the pillow.
Afterward, she curls into your side, boneless and satisfied.
"Same time tomorrow?" she murmurs.
"Yeah, princess. Same time tomorrow."
dededos
germansingergirl
gummygunk
yousharknotpass
romaincrisis
