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Summary
Ren never would’ve stood a chance against Strade. He knew this – had learnt it long ago and had the scars to show for it. The man wasn’t particularly tall (not that he didn’t still tower over Ren’s petite frame), but what he lacked in height he made up for in width: the thick knots of raw muscle and fat in his limbs didn’t even strain when he held the fox down, and even if the scratches and bites he occasionally retorted with bothered him, the only show of it would be in the amount of nails he’d drive into his pet on that particular day.
So it could only have been an accident.
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Strade does a fucky wucky and Ren uses it to upset their power dynamic: the fic.
