I have never written a 50 Shades FF before, but I get the urge to write, so here is my attempt at something. :) Please do be gentle.

Fate's Pull

APOV:

Today is the day I am due to sit for my exams.

Even the weather seems to feel sorry for me, because the instance I'm ready to go and I step out the front door, its raining furiously. My roommate Kate wishes me luck again for the fiftieth time, and then I'm off, running down the footpath towards my car.

Even though I've gotten an early start by leaving as soon as I could, I can't see myself reaching the college grounds on time in order to sit my tests. Had it not been for the slow moving traffic due to the dangerous weather and the slippery asphalt experienced today of all days, I'm sure I might make it in time enough.

It has really started to pour, thick bullets of rain thrumming down against the windshield a mile a minute. Headlights pan blindingly in my vision from the cars rushing to and fro on the opposite side of the highway.

"Come on, come on. Please get me there on time for my examinations today," I beckon to Wanda, my VW Beetle, patting the dashboard lovingly with my fingers. "I need this so badly." So it was another one of my quirks, having one-sided conversations with my car. But honestly, it makes the journey that bit enjoyable.

Even wrapped up in layers of clothes, I'm shivering. I lean down to switch on the heated air-conditioning and, so fast, I take my eyes off the road for one fleeting second and-

THUMP!

My heart feels its in my throat with the dreadful clamoring thud that sounds off at the front of my car. Oh, god. Please, no. This cannot be happening on one of my most important days!

I inch my foot down on the brakes very slowly, then turn on my hazard lights to signal to those at the back of me that I've stopped. I've hit something, and yet its impossible to see through the heavy sheets of rain hammering down on the windshield.

I pray internally that its nothing of too substantial importance. It's just a wild rabbit hopefully. Some small animal. A bird flew out and misjudged how close it was to the road, even?

But as I turn off the key in the ignition and manage to find my umbrella from where I have it stashed on my passengers seat in case of weather emergencies, it all comes crashing down onto me with haunting awareness.

Hyperventilating, I pull open the door and slide out of the seat, bringing the umbrella with me. I unlatch it and hold it over my head protectively to cover me from the uncontrollable rain, my knees trembling.

My breaths come out in shallow, foggy streams from my mouth as I inch closer and closer to the front of my car. I'm ultimately petrified of what I will find, dreading the worst. I peer down over the corner of my car and that's when I spot it.

A shoe comes into view, scuffled and well worn. Someone's running shoe. Nike brand. Closer I inch, that shoe becomes connected to a leg in grey track pants.

"Oh god, no." A wretched moan tears through my mouth helplessly as at long last, I close the distance between myself and the wounded person I've somehow managed to run over.

How much bad luck can I possibly have?

How fatally I've injured the person, its impossible to tell. But, as I finally reach them, kneeling down, I see its a male.

I've hit a man about in his mid to late twenties in appearance.

He's trembling from the rain, hunched over and shivering, long arms wrapped around his chest as he rests the side of his head against the concrete. My eyes search and search for any sign of just how extensive his injuries are- yet I find no visible bleeding.

There's a scrape along his cheek, a small graze fresh with blood. As far as I know, that is the worst of it, and relief fills me.

Still, the uncertainty of not completely knowing whether I have killed him or not, its terrifying.

It kills me, not knowing whether hitting him with my car will be the death of him or not. I mean, where did he come from? Did he suddenly appear out of thin air on the road? I certainly hadn't seen him.

Kneeling down beside him, I position the umbrella over him to shield him from the rain, inspecting him closely. I think I can see his chest moving as he inhales and exhales, thank god. He's still alive, at the very least.

He wears a grey zip-up jacket and matching grey track pants, his hair damp and a coppery color and his eyes... His eyes suddenly pop open, staring straight into mine, a light gray and his line of sight constant and steady. At least he seems completely lucid and aware of his surroundings.

Without warning, he lets out a guttural groan.

It takes a second for me to find my voice.

"Sir, are you all right? I am so sorry. Are you in bad pain anywhere?" These are stupid questions because, obviously, he is in a lot of pain. I just hit him with my car. Only Iron Man wouldn't feel any sort of pain due to that. It just calms me down and helps me to remain level-headed, asking.

His mouth falls open and I can tell he is about to speak, yet... nothing. Nothing comes out.

"Can you talk?" I try to swallow down the panic I'm feeling. "Please say something. Should I call for a medic? I just have my phone in my car, if I could just go... get it?"

The eyes are overly fixated on the way my lips move when I talk. He seems to take them in eagerly.

"Please, say something! Anything will do at this point, just let me know your okay?"

He extends a hand out to me, his fingers long and trembling. When I look at it, I see his hand is covered in little cuts. I can't figure out what he wants.

"Uh, is there something you need?" I stammer, unsure. "Please, let me know what I could do to help you?"

There is something there- something wild and urgent- in his expression, in his wide frantic eyes, that I cannot quite pick up on. It's maddening.

"Please," he mumbles incoherently.

I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs in exultation that he is alive, that finally he chooses to speak and that somehow, he has managed to make it through. His hand moves, slipping over my arm, and it tightens. He's clinging to me.

Another desperate sound breaks through his mouth, "Please, don't leave. Just... stay."

I'm struck by how frightened he seems. Did he honestly believe I was going to get in my car and do a runner, just leaving him there without any help while he is injured after possibly hitting him with my car?

My heart constricts painfully as he peers up at me fearfully. It's obvious he does expect me to leave. Why would I, though? What kind of person would do a hit and run?

His hand moves up towards my face, clutching at a strand of my hair that has come uncurled from my ponytail. It's more than just a little disarming when he rolls over to get closer to me, the way he rubs his fingers over my hair gently... the way he brings it to his nose, inhales in deeply then out, his breathing subdued. My cheeks feel they're flaming after seeing the way he seems to calm momentarily over the fragrance of my hair.

"Wait here," I command him gently. "I just need to get to my car to get my phone out." In protest, he groans loudly, catching me by the shoulder with his hand. He squeezes down tight, too tight, and I wince. "Ssh, I'll be right back, I promise. I just need to call the-"

My resolve crumbles when he lays his head in my lap, staring directly up at me with his gray eyes, blinking slowly. Pity surges through me. It's obvious he hasn't shaved in quite some time; A day or two's worth of stubble on his chin and upper lip.

Bad taste as it may seem, I can't help registering how ruggedly attractive he is. As I lift my hand tentatively, running my fingers through his scalp, his eyes close tight, a serene look coming across his face. I really do need to call someone though.

I hear voices from behind me, car doors opening. Two people appear- the drivers behind me- talking on their phones. Hopefully, they have done the calling for me, seeing as its next to impossible to get away from him. He won't seem to let me go anywhere, like he feels he is clinging onto his last thread of humanity.

"You'll be okay," I assure the man gently, stroking his hair. "Someone's calling emergency services now. They shouldn't be too long."

His eyes flicker open and he blinks up at me again from where he rests, in my lap. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice thick and raspy, like he hasn't used it in days.

I find it ridiculous that he feels the need to thank me. I'm just doing what any normal person would in this situation, after all. Aren't I?

"It's okay," I whisper. "But thanking me is really wasting your breath. You don't need to thank me at all. I'm only doing what I should be doing."

There is no escaping the fact that I am definitely going to miss my examinations. But really, it isn't like I can do a runner on him, is it? His life and keeping him alive and coherent is far more important than that right now.

"Where did you come from?" I ask, shaking my head. "It was like you came out of nowhere?"

"I was... jogging."

"In this weather?" How preposterous.

"Well, yes. I... I like to run but I slipped." The irony of him still jogging in this crazy weather, it makes a weak smile tug up the corner of my lips. "Thank you again." It's just below a whisper.

"Stop thanking me. It's ridiculous." Annoyed by him thanking me, I press the tips of my fingers against his moist lips, smiling slightly. His lips part a fraction beneath my fingers, his breaths warm and ragged.

"What... what is your name?" he mumbles underneath my fingertips weakly.

"Ana. Ana Steele. What's yours?"

"Grey. Christian Grey." Grasping my hand in his weakly, he brings it to his mouth, kissing around my knuckles, disconcerting me. It seems to me a gesture out of great gratitude, and it warms me from the frigid air around us. "I would say its a pleasure to meet you, but... under these circumstances, it truly isn't."

I catch myself laughing sadly. "Oh, I couldn't agree more. But nevertheless, its great to meet you, Christian."

"You look like an angel," he murmurs, and it makes me feel overwhelmed. His voice is so forlorn, so gentle and tender. It's heartbreaking. My heart feels even more heavy with despair when I realize I've failed to notice he must have hurt his head as well; Dark red blood starts dribbling down his forehead.

"That explains you thinking I'm an angel then," I whisper, trying to make light of the situation.

"Hmm?"

"You must have hit your head," I point out, cringing. "Your bleeding and I am so sorry that this is practically my fault. But no, I'm most definitely not an angel." Even though its freezing, he still manages to warm me up and get some heat to my face. "I'm just a normal... woman trying to find her way in the world. Anyone else in my position right here would be doing the exact same thing."

"Well, I don't know..." His eyes become glazed, disorientated. "Right now, you appear to be an angel to me, Ana Steele. I can see the wings on your back vividly. I-" His gaze drifts to the dark and murky sky above us, and I don't get to hear what he was about to say next, because just as he zonks out, the red and blue lights flashing around us signal the ambulances arrival.

HOPE THIS WAS OKAY FOR A FIRST TIME AT WRITING?