I do not own Suicide Squad.

I think I'm a little obsessed right now. Save me?

50 Shades of Mr. J.

Joyride

He drove like a maniac.

Which he was.

Like he didn't care whether or not he murdered everyone in his reckless path.

Which he didn't.

Breaking all the rules of the road, including a few that hadn't been invented yet.

But which would be soon. Just for him.

She, on the other hand, subtly clung to the handholds of the passenger seat mutely, trying not to exude sheer terror.

Trying to remain calm.

And exhuberantly, undeniably, absolutely thrilled and titillated that she, and only she, was riding in the car with him.

He had chosen her.

Invited her.

Just her.

And she had accepted.

And now here she sat.

In a speeding car. With the fugitive Joker.

Because he wanted her there.

And it was a bit more than overwhelming.

The inside of the high class sports car was a blinding white landscape of leather upholstery, chrome, and glowing dials and gauges.

There was even GPS system installed and functional. Which The Joker seemed intent on driving absolutely crazy by stubbornly ignoring every single sensible instruction it provided, no matter how many times it valiantly attempted to reroute him.

She didn't even know if it was set to their destination at all, wherever that was.

And he didn't seem to mind in the least. On the contrary, it seemed to heighten his gleeful mania.

A high tech, high quality, high speed vehicle for a man always on the edge of oblivion.

Which he was.

She felt slightly dizzy and discombobulated in the unearthly ambience of the seemingly glowing interior of the car.

And The Joker's presence.

Not the least of which was his mad joy which cut through her encroaching haze like a steamroller of hyperactivity and insanity.

The man himself shouting and cursing and cackling wildly in that chilling way of his.

She had reflexively latched her seat belt as he had revved the engine to flee the scene of their first mutual violent crime.

And in her mind's eye, had visualized him glancing over and scowling at her secured safety harness.

Whipping out a straight razor.

And causually slicing through the woven polyester in an unspoken, defiant command for her to be as wild and free and dangerous as him.

In reality he had not actually done so, so intent was he on harassing other drivers that he barely acknowledged her presence in the hotrod at all.

Clearly the man had no use for quietly, prim lady-like manners at this or any situation.

Obviously.

But that was okay for now.

He had invited her.

So she was welcome. She was sure.

Maybe.

Pretty sure.

In the meantime, The Joker was the ultimate road rage driver.

Wrenching the wheel this way and that, powering the gas to the floor and slamming on the brakes only seconds before disaster.

It was terrifying, panic-inducing, and, with a bit more than a twinge of thrill she had to admit, very exciting.

And so found herself smiling. Laughing.

It was so uninhibited, so lawless, so free.

And nobody was stopping them.

Why was nobody stopping them?

A shiny, richly berry-sheened turboed car racing through the streets of the city, boldly causing near collisions and catastrophes should have drawn the attention of some sort of law enforcement surely.

Especially with all the swerving, honking vehicles left in its screeching wake.

But for the time being, none did.

"Where are we going?" she questioned tentatively, somewhere between two garishly-lit banks and an overrun Starbucks.

He didn't answer, or even acknowledge her presence in the automobile.

The question might have been too boring for him to bother answering.

She tried again, momentarily releasing her death grip on a handhold to push her thick black glasses back up on her nose.

"Where did you get this car?"

Still no reply.

Only took a corner nearly on two wheels, leaving behind the raw stench of burned rubber.

"Are we going to kill someone?"

It was all she could think of to say.

And it finally elicited a response.

He whipped his green haired head in her immediate direction, snake sharp gaze lasering in on her face.

And grinned bloodily, maliciously.

Charmingly.

"Would you like to?"

He wasn't watching the street. He was driving too fast.

He could easily hit anybody at anytime.

But seemed to sense them, adjusting the car's trajectory, missing their bumpers and side mirrors by inches.

Or perhaps he didn't care at if they died in a fiery crash.

Which was why they lived.

She felt caught, captured in his gaze.

Knew the only correct response for him.

And found herself still unable to quite commit to it.

"No," she finally managed to reply nervously.

And watched the disappointment sour his volitile expression.

The second before he turned back to road, dismissing her presence yet again.

Which fractured her twisted up heart just a little more than before.

"You're no fun at all," he muttered, almost to himself. "When are you going to start being fun?"

She didn't reply, only gritted her teeth as he skidded around a little old bag lady pushing a junk laden grocery cart across a walkway.

Skidded around.

Not plowed through.

Because he chose to.

Because he did, in fact, have some good, redeeming qualities.

Of course he did.

She knew he did.

And for the moment, he was just enjoying himself. Having a good time.

She smiled adoringly at him.

He didn't notice.

Thanks to DinahRay, asantos11300, CrystalFalls1987, DocQuinn, loreenagrgoddess for those enthusiastic reviews!

Thanks to Fra-Chan-18 and shikacloud for adding your support to this story. :)

One more chapter to go, I think. Unless I get attacked by inspiration in the middle of the night. Which has been known to happen from time to time.