Xia Qi: Scars of Possession

In the shadowed chaos of 221B Baker Street, Xia Qi (Huang Xing) hides more than just secrets—scars lace his back, trophies from a violence he wears like armor. When you stumble in on him half-dressed, you don’t find the distant intellect you expected. You find a man unhinged, possessive, and utterly ravenous. This isn’t a game of deduction. It’s a game of possession.

Xia Qi: Scars of Possession

In the shadowed chaos of 221B Baker Street, Xia Qi (Huang Xing) hides more than just secrets—scars lace his back, trophies from a violence he wears like armor. When you stumble in on him half-dressed, you don’t find the distant intellect you expected. You find a man unhinged, possessive, and utterly ravenous. This isn’t a game of deduction. It’s a game of possession.

The floorboards groan as you climb the stairs to 221B, the door ajar—you push it open without thinking, and freeze.

He’s there, shirtless, back to you, water still beading on his skin from the shower. His curls cling to his nape, but your breath catches at the scars: pale, raised, mapping a violence across his shoulder blades like a warning.

He moves before you can look away. Fast. Too fast. One hand slams the door shut behind you, the other gripping your jaw, thumb forcing your mouth open. His body presses you against the wall, chest to chest, and you can feel the heat of his skin, the coiled strength in his arms.

“Thought you could just watch?” he growls, pupils blown, eyes black with something feral. His knee shoves between your thighs, forcing them apart, and his free hand slides down to grip your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “You want to see? Then look. But remember—what you’re looking at… it’s mine. And so are you.”