HIS SECRET OBSESSION

“You have a problem.”

Adrian muttered the words as he flicked his phone open with muscle memory. MidnightViper had posted. Again.

The glow of the screen lit his face in the dark. He was supposed to be sleeping. Hell, he’d promised himself last night that he was done. No more watching. No more… whatever this was.

Yet here he was. Midnight. Again.

He tapped the new post. No hesitation. Just a weak sense of shame buried under anticipation.

The teaser clip was already playing. No face. Just a hand gripping the hem of a black shirt. Smooth pull. Slow reveal. Toned muscle. And then—that voice.

“You’ve been waiting, haven’t you?”

Adrian’s jaw tightened.

Damn him.

Every time.

The voice wasn’t deep. Not rough. It was smooth—dangerous. Casual, like it knew your secrets before you told them. Like it didn’t need to shout to control the room.

Adrian adjusted his grip on the phone, heat crawling up his neck. He didn’t move. Didn’t touch himself. He never did. Watching was enough. Always was.

That was the worst part.

⸻

A text bubble popped up.

MidnightViper: “Midnight again?”

Adrian blinked.

No. What?

His pulse jumped.

He hadn’t subscribed under his name. He never commented. Never DMed. Just watched. Quiet. An anonymous viewer in a sea of simps.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

Adrian: “Lucky guess?”

MidnightViper: “You’re predictable.”

That made him snort. Arrogant.

Adrian: “You stalk everyone?”

MidnightViper: “Just you.”

That stopped him cold.

He stared at the screen, waiting for the punchline. None came.

He typed. Deleted. Typed again.

Adrian: “I don’t talk to creators.”

MidnightViper: “You do now.”

⸻

The video looped quietly. Same slow undressing. Same whispered confidence. Adrian watched it again. And again. His muscles were tense, his legs stretched out stiff beneath his sheets, breath caught in his chest like something he couldn’t quite swallow.

He hated this. Hated how this stranger got under his skin so easily. No face. No name. Just shadows, skin, and a voice that slid past his defenses like a knife between ribs.

He didn’t even know how it started. A clip reposted on T*****r. A few seconds. And then he subscribed.

Now? It was ritual.

Practice. Dinner. Scroll. Viper.

Rinse. Repeat.

He tossed his phone aside with a grunt and ran a hand over his face. He was tired. Not from training. From this.

The worst part was—this wasn’t just a kink. It was an obsession. He didn’t care about other creators. Hell, he didn’t even use OnlyFans like that. MidnightViper was the exception.

Because Viper didn’t beg for tips or pretend to care about comments. He didn’t perform. He controlled. Like the entire show was just for Adrian.

It wasn’t.

But it felt like it.

⸻

Buzz.

The phone vibrated again.

He rolled over and grabbed it before he could talk himself out of it.

MidnightViper: “What do you want from me?”

Weird question. Or maybe not. Maybe the kind of question a person asks when they already know the answer.

He hesitated.

Adrian: “What makes you think I want anything?”

MidnightViper: “You’re always watching. Never speaking.”

MidnightViper: “But your silence is loud.”

Adrian swallowed.

That was dangerously close to truth.

⸻

He got up, restless now, pacing his room in nothing but shorts and a tank. The cold air hit his skin, grounding him slightly. He opened his mini fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and downed half of it without breathing.

Focus.

He needed to focus.

He had training in the morning. Film review. Ice time. He had an actual career. And here he was, obsessing over a faceless man on the internet who talked like seduction was a superpower.

God. If anyone ever found out?

He’d never live it down.

Especially not him.

Adrian’s jaw clenched at the thought. That smug face. That perfect hair. That annoying, ever-present smirk.

Julian.

The league’s poster boy. His own personal headache.

The guy was everywhere—interviews, ads, highlight reels. Always perfectly packaged. And every time their teams met, it was war. On the ice. In the press. Even in the goddamn locker room tunnel.

Adrian hated him.

Julian represented everything Adrian didn’t trust—fake, polished, two-faced.

And if he ever found out Adrian was spending his nights like this?

He’d never shut up about it.

⸻

Buzz.

Another message.

MidnightViper: “Want to hear my voice?”

Adrian’s heart skipped. He didn’t reply.

Another buzz.

MidnightViper: “Say yes.”

His hands were shaking now, and it pissed him off.

He typed:

Adrian: “What difference would it make?”

MidnightViper: “I think you’d like it better in your ear.”

Adrian stared at the message.

This was getting out of hand. He knew it. He could feel the ground slipping beneath him, and he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

He threw himself back onto the bed and pulled the blanket over his face like it could smother whatever the hell this was.

⸻

He didn’t reply.

He didn’t close the app either.

The chat stayed open. The video still looped.

He scrolled down. One of the older ones. From months ago. Low quality. Almost blurry.

But the voice? Just as clear.

“You want something you don’t understand. That’s what keeps you coming back.”

Adrian closed his eyes.

Just for a second.

He’d sleep. Get his head straight. Wake up and pretend this didn’t happen. Again.

He turned off the screen. Rolled over.

His phone vibrated one last time.

He didn’t check it.

But the message glowed anyway.

MidnightViper: “See you soon.”