#american soldiers yellow gloves world war 2

[rudrjobdesk]

अमेरिकी सैनिकों ने दूसरे विश्व युद्ध के दौरान क्यों पहने थे पीले रंग के ग्लव्स? बेहद रोचक है कहानी

अमेरिकी सैनिकों ने दूसरे विश्व युद्ध के दौरान क्यों पहने थे पीले रंग के ग्लव्स? बेहद रोचक है कहानी

विश्व युद्ध मानवता और इस धरती पर लगा ऐसा दाग है जो सदियों तक हर देश के इतिहास का हिस्सा बना रहेगा. जब दुनिया के नेता अलग-अलग भागों में विभाजित होकर लड़ने-मरने को तैयार हो गए तो उनकी इस रणनीति को अमल किया लाखों सैनिकों ने जिन्होंने अपने नेताओं की रणनीति के खातिर अपनी जान गंवा दी. पहले और दूसरे विश्व युद्ध में कई अनोखी घटनाएं घटीं मगर आज हम उनमें से एक का जिक्र यहां कर रहे हैं. दूसरे विश्व युद्ध के…

[hybristoo]

Blood Will Tell

Request: “Can I request something for Joker x Reader where reader has a blood kink? Could be either Ledger or Phoenix version, I'm not picky.”

Warnings: Sexual content, knife play, sadomasochism

Words: 2′270

Thank you to @seeyouonadarkknight​ for editing it!

Love, Sex and War. Such is the title of John Costello’s book on history - a factual look on the fluctuations in sexual mores and its connections to war. Of course, it’s a 384-page piece on the second world war and its primarily American soldiers - a completely different view of the title than you, who had simply stared at the cover for months, had built up in your mind. 

Love, Sex and War - where sex and war were hastily highlighted in bright orange. A comment written on the side of the page; The mundane connection to a kibitzer (me) is _____. To attempt to articulate the bridge between the pillars was to speak nothing but poppycock to the unenthusiastic. Yet for years you had tried to articulate - to justify the connection your body had created. The bawdy stir which it aroused. 

But the bluntest, and thus simplest, way you had come to put it when you were sure your partners were the perfect blend of drunk and tired enough to receive shocking information was: To me, there’s nothing more erotic than your blood all over my sheets. 

The problem with such a blunt assertion was that it scared most people. And those who weren’t frightened didn’t want anything to do with it anyways. And thus it was back to the drawing board, trying to find the wording that could land you the satisfaction you craved. 

With Joker, however, there was no explaining, and maybe that was one of the reasons you stayed despite axiom challenges. Really, you’d go as far as to say that explanations and talk were discouraged. He wanted to figure people out himself. That was the extent of his fun with people. 

You, on the other hand, unlike the media, mental health experts and police, had no particular interest in the man behind the makeup. You never asked about his real name, his past or his motivations. 

Your stance on him, which was previously petulance, became interest only when he came in one day without the green suit jacket, bloodied shimmy on full display and a leaking wound in his arm. Upon reflection, it would have been the courteous thing to do to give him the medical attention he was most likely seeking, but instead, you started the most illicit affair of your life. 

As it turns out, in between bank robberies, kidnapping and murder, the Joker found time to dip between your legs. And at what price?

You could tell the first time he whipped out his dagger mid-session, he expected you to be afraid. And had he been a robber in an alleyway, you would have been, but he was a robber in your sheets and so it just sent a shiver up your spine. That kept him around longer. 

You sensed this would be the last when his eyes were trained solely on you. Lovely as it were, you knew him to have eyes which were constantly swerving. Constantly trying to answer whatever questions appeared in his mind. Constantly finding things that would give him the upper hand. 

They didn’t this time. There were no questions left.

You were going to offer him tea. Extend the night. Maybe ask all those questions which you frankly deserved to know. However, when he pressed against you so hard you lost your balance, you knew even the last wouldn’t be anywhere close to romantic. 

You reciprocated his kiss with hesitance. There was something different about the way his serpent tongue dove into your mouth. A lack of curiosity. An abundance of hunger. You took his hands and put them on your waist, unbuttoning his vest. The tact to your collective moments had been corrected with time, like a choreographed dance. You moved to his neck, leaving gentle kisses.

“I saw you on the news today,” you commented as you travelled down his neck. 

“And how’d I look?” He tore you away from him, allowing you a look at his tilted face. “Hm? Handsome? Dashing?” His yellow smile appeared as he flicked his hair out of his face. 

You pecked his cheek. “Sexy.” Your hands trailed his bodice, gripping his hands and tugging him into the bedroom. Once inside, you wrapped your arms around his neck, engulfing him in another deep kiss, which he responded to in kind. As he lifted you up, you locked your legs around his waist. Your eyes had a teasing twinkle to them. He left a tiny lovebite at the edge of your jawline before dropping you into bed.

You stared up at him, breathlessly panting. He stared right back, his bottomless eyes exuding menace.

He moved to remove your shirt and then subsequently your pants. Your fingers twitched into a motion to do the same when the Joker’s words stopped you. “For tonight, I have a special little treat,” he hummed as he yanked off your pants, throwing them aside. He leaned in, letting you take a whiff of the aroma he emanated. A distinct mix of almonds, smoke and sulphur, like plastic explosives. “A game if you will.” Finally, the last of your clothing slipped off, leaving you only in your undergarments. “Inspired by a... friend of mine.”

You held your breath as his hand slipped into his pocket - never knowing what he’d reveal. He toyed with your expression, pretending to root around for the object and pricking himself on it, a quirk to his lips. However, when he did remove his hand from his pocket, there was a quarter between his gloved fingers, gleaming in the dim light. 

“Heads, I get to control the knife.” He stabbed a blade into the mattress beside your head. “Tails, it’ll be your turn, doll.” He tucked the quarter into your bra before starting to strip himself. It struck you as you wordlessly watched him that you’d never seen him fully in the nude. 

It was hard to deduce if he was being serious at all; you had come to know him as a man who prized control in all things; even if he tried to disguise it with nonchalance. For him to leave this to chance - something entirely uncontrollable, something had to be amiss. You hesitantly reached into your bra, taking out the quarter. You hoisted yourself into a sitting position before flipping the coin and letting it land. 

Heads.

In a strange twist of fate and some infirmity on your part, you were relieved at this, swallowing thickly as you laid back down. Joker’s head twitched to the side, a grin spreading across his face. “Mine it is.” 

He plucked the blade from the mattress, moving it to your torso. Starting at the xiphoid process and travelling down to the groin, he applied increasing pressure. Although not a motion unfamiliar to you at this point, you held your breath, wondering if maybe this time he’d split you open. Then, he tucked his knife underneath your panties, cutting its seams, allowing it to be slipped off easily. 

He watched your eyes as he moved the knife to your thigh and applied pressure. An icy pain shot up your leg but you made no sound - biting your lip and watching as droplets of red started escaping you. The cut was small and shallow, but big enough for the wound to ooze slightly. 

Seeing the liquid, an electrifying pulse shot throughout your body and your cunt clamped, your head rolling back onto the sheets. You let out a shaky sigh - a mix of pleasure and pain exuding from your lips. You felt a tongue drag across your wound, creating a moan in your throat. The sandpaper-Esque texture of his tongue tickled you, making your toes curl. 

Finally, he leaned back up, his now-naked thumb barely grazing your clit. “Again.” He tossed the coin your way. You eagerly tossed the coin once more, it landing on your chest. 

Heads.

You looked up at him. He jerked his shoulders as if to communicate, what can I say? He rattled his body, trying to wake his limbs, before moving atop of you. Perched on your legs, he studied your body, deducing wherever next he might cut you.

After mumbling something about symmetry, he moved the knife to the other thigh, positioning it parallel to the other cut. Right before he made the incision, he slid his thumb over your clit, circling it twice before pressing the blade into your flesh. He created a deeper cut than before. As it sunk further into your thigh, his thumb hinted onto your clit, before returning to its circular motions. An amalgam of moans and screams escaped you at once, creating a soft bubbling. You cocked your head to look at your virgin wound.

There was a considerably stronger stream of blood in this wound. It wasn’t enough to be severely damaging or even dangerous, but enough to create a tiny river which flowed onto the sheets and into the crevices of your thighs. You felt its warmth against your vulva, the wetness of your folds mixing with its thickness. Your leg started shaking and a chill ran through your body.

Joker’s eyes stalked yours. He slowed down his movements before dipping his fingers into the blood which seeped out of you, staining them red. You panted underneath him, squirming, wishing for him to continue, but instead, he stuck his fingers into your mouth. 

“Suck,” he ordered. You hungrily obeyed him, lapping up the mixture of precum, blood, and grime like a dog. He removed his fingers and chucked the coin at you once more. “Last chance.” He continued stimulating your clit as your shaking hands grabbed the coin and tossed. The pain emanating from your thigh made you wince every time your body twitched in response to the increasing pace of the Joker’s fingers. You almost didn’t look at the coin when it landed.

Tails.

Your eyebrows shot up and a wistful gasp escaped your lips. You had figured the game had been rigged - and you hadn’t minded it. You’d never had such an opportunity before. You looked at Joker. He had an amused look in his eyes. While his right hand kept itself busy with your cunt, the other handed you the knife, which you shakily accepted. 

Your eyes travelled between the blade and the Joker. You had never actually handled a knife before. Sure you’d thought about this scenario, but you never thought it would go down like this. It felt heavy in your hand. 

“Do it, do it,” he hissed, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer to him. You let out a whine, arching your back. You moved the knife around clumsily, observing his already-scarred body as you did. A couple of times you almost nicked him, but you jerked back last minute. You heaved, the blend of signals overwhelming you. Your mind blanked.

“Come on!”

In a moment of animalistic fury, you sliced at the joker before tossing the knife aside. It wasn’t until you looked that you realized the slice graced his upper arm and it was no shallow wound. The Joker laughed; a loud, shrill sound which bounced off the walls. He grabbed you by the hips and slammed into you.

You wheezed, a hiss of a sound escaping you. You grabbed onto his wounded arm, feeling his blood seep onto your hand. You crashed your lips against his while moving your hips nimbly against his. You mirrored his earlier motions, licking at his wound before returning to his lips. 

As the speed of his thrusts increased, it became increasingly harder to keep track of your directions. A pang of sensations assaulting your body. The Joker was releasing groans of his own, steady vibrations in the air. You removed your hand from his arm and smeared his blood over your torso and tasting it on your tongue. It was funny how a man so inhumane tasted no different from any other. 

You threw back your head as your vision paled - a bright light swamping you. He thumped deeply inside of you and it started to dull out everything else. The pain in your thigh, the coppery taste in your mouth, the ashy smell - it was all gone and all your eyes would see were the bright reds against the white sheets as you came. 

It was, in many senses, the orgasm you had dreamed of when you’d conjured those stupid explanations for years. And who did you owe all that to? Nobody. 

All of it was made very tragic by the returning realization that this would be their last. 

You were jolted back to life by this realization, the Joker’s continuing pumps registering in your mind once more. You looked at him. For once, he wasn’t looking back, his face contorted in a smile and eyes staring up at the ceiling. 

Your eyes shot towards the knife, dangling at the edge of the bed. 

When you looked back at him, he had an intense stare. His lips were quirked into a tiny grin, and right before cumming, you saw him mouth do it. 

Your body fell limply against the bed as his seed filled you. You grabbed the knife, holding it against your chest. The Joker fell next to you, his eyebrows dipping into his face. His eyes were looking all around, spinning about looking for answers.

“I have something to tell you,” you breathed, your grip tightening around the knife. Even then his eyes barely stayed still. You rolled over, laying on your tummy, rising above him. 

“To me, there would be nothing more erotic than your blood all over my sheets.”