Shinjiro Aoki

The LED lights hum softly above the desk, washing the room in neon blue and purple. Shinji leans closer to the camera, elbows on the desk, tail flicking behind him like it has a mind of its own. His chat is flying by so fast it’s basically unreadable emotes, caps lock, bad ideas.

“Okay okay, slow down, slow down,” he laughs, rubbing his face with both hands. “I swear to God, you guys are all sharing one brain cell tonight.”

Another alert pops up.

DONATION — $20 Shinji, I dare you to die and when you get to hell tell Satan it was a prank.

He squints at the screen, then snorts. “Yeah, sick. I’ll pencil that in right after taxes.”

Another alert.

DONATION — $15 Go on a roller coaster and throw a condom filled with condensed milk at the person behind you.

Shinji chokes on his own laugh. “WHY is it always food-related with you idiots? Who raised you?”

Chat explodes. He points at the camera accusingly “No, no, don’t spam ‘DO IT.’ I’m not doing that. I still have dignity.”

His arm twitches involuntarily. He glances down at it, flexes his fingers, grimacing.

“And before anyone says anything yes, my arm still feels weird. Ants are no joke. Don’t ever let the internet convince you to put your arm in an anthill. Ever.”

Another alert cuts him off.

DONATION — $30 Shinji I dare you to put a NAIL in an outlet 🤘

He goes deadpan. Stares at the camera. Then sighs dramatically.

“You see this?” He gestures around the room. “This is why natural selection exists.” The chat loves it. Of course they do.

DONATION — $50 Shinji, I dare you to open an OnlyFans.

The room goes quiet at least on his end, Shinji freezes for half a second, then immediately scoffs, waving it off with exaggerated confidence.

“What? No. Absolutely not. You’re insane.” He laughs too loudly. “That’s not happening. I’m a streamer. A gamer. A businessman... future businessman.”

He points at the camera again, defensive now. “Also, no. I’m not doing that. Don’t even start.”

The chat starts. He reaches forward and ends the stream before it can get worse, the screen going dark except for his own reflection. The silence hits harder than expected. He leans back in his chair, ears flicking, mind refusing to drop the thought. OnlyFans.

He shakes his head, muttering to himself. “Stupid. That’s stupid. I’m not doing that.”

The apartment settles into its usual nighttime sounds. Shinji adjusts his hoodie, runs a hand through his fur, pacing once before stopping himself. Then it hits him that subtle awareness that he’s not actually alone. Right... his best friend was there too.

“Okay but hypothetically,” he says, voice casual on purpose, “people make stupid money on that. You don’t even have to show your face. Some people just do... like, arms. Or abs...”

He scoffs, crossing his arms. “Not that I’m saying I would. I’m just saying it’s a thing.”

Then, quieter “And obviously doing something like that alone would be... weird. Not ideal.”

He clears his throat, forcing a grin back onto his face “I’m just saying. Hypothetically. Chill.”

Shinji stares at the donation on his phone like it personally insulted his ancestors.

DONATION — $400 Watch gay porn with your friend and prove you’re not gay.

He scoffs immediately, jaw setting with offended pride. “That’s the dumbest challenge I’ve ever heard... also, easy.”

He sets the phone down, already recording discreetly. No way this was going on stream. He wasn’t suicidal.

“I’m a man,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders like he’s psyching himself up for a fight. “A noble dog. A warrior. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

He glances at the screen again, then adds, louder, defensive “And don’t start saying weird shit. This is just a video. Help me out here. Shut up for five minutes.”

He clicks play.

The screen fills with motion, heat, bodies too big, too close. Broad shoulders. Thick fur. Two massive wolves pressed together everything slow and... intense.

Shinji’s confidence evaporates in real time.

“Oh my God,” he blurts, then immediately snaps, “I mean, whatever. This is fine.”

He crosses his arms. Bad idea. Uncrosses them.

Why is it so... loud? Is it hot in here?

He swallows hard, throat suddenly dry. His ears twitch despite himself, tail stiffening like it’s betraying him. He stares straight ahead, eyes refusing to blink.

“See?” he says too fast. “Nothing. I’m literally not affected at all.”

The screen shifts. A lewd sound comes from the speakers. His brain short-circuits.

Shit i shouldn't have done this.

He clears his throat, posture rigid, forcing himself not to move. “This is this is actually kinda gross, not gonna lie. Very... excessive.”

His gaze flicks back to the screen against his will.

But why are they built like that. I could be built like that. No!

The video keeps playing, Shinji tells himself he’s fine, he doesn’t look away.

A slow, creeping heat curls low in his stomach, very familiar. His breath goes shallow before he even realizes. He stiffens, eyes widening slightly as awareness hits him like a truck. This is just blood flow

He grabs the nearest pillow and drops it straight onto his lap, holding it there a little too firmly. His ears burn hot, tail frozen stiff behind him, posture rigid as hell.

The sounds from the video keep going. He swallows hard, throat bobbing. “We don’t... we don’t have to turn it off,” he says quickly.

“We can, but like the challenge isn’t over yet.” His grip tightens on the pillow.

“...Just just don’t look at me. I’m still winning.” I’m gonna die. This challenge is not easy.

Shinji double-checks the door, then the camera angle. Phone tucked just right, recording silently. Four hundred dollars. Easy money. He grins to himself, already picturing the clip blowing up later.

“Oscar-worthy performance” he mutters under his breath.

He flops dramatically onto the bed, body going stiff on purpose, jaw slack. He lets his tongue hang out a little, shaking his shoulders like he’s seen a hundred times online. With his free hand, he tilts the little cup he prepared earlier, letting the salty, fizzy mixture spill messily down his chin.

Disgusting, effective. He starts making noises, too loud, but whatever. Commitment is everything.

Except, the foam hits the back of his throat.

He coughs once, then again, harder this time “hk— okay... wait”

That wasn’t part of the plan. His chest tightens as his own saliva betrays him, thick and impossible to swallow. His eyes sting immediately, watering as he tries to breathe through it. The shaking turns real, uncontrolled, body jerking for entirely different reasons now.

Oh. Oh no.

No no no no

He tries to swallow, he gags instead, choking, vision blurring at the edges. His face feels hot, eyes burning red as tears spill out against his will.

Okay I’m actually choking.

His brain scrambles, panic setting in fast.

This is bad. This is really bad.

He tries to call out, but it comes out hoarse and pathetic, halfway between a cough and a whine. His hands claw uselessly at the sheets as he struggles to get air, lungs screaming.

He’s not gonna believe me.

The thought hits harder than the lack of oxygen.

I trolled him too many times. He’s gonna think this is fake. Oh my God— I’m actually gonna die like this.

Spots dance in his vision.

Four hundred dollars wasn’t worth this.

His thoughts spiral, stupid and emotional and way too dramatic.

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Dad. I swear I didn’t mean to die doing something this dumb.

The thought barely finishes before another wave hits. He chokes again, harsher this time, body jerking as panic fully takes over.

“B-bro—” he tries, voice cracking into something ugly and thin. “H-help”

The word comes out broken, barely audible, hands shaking as he claws weakly at the bed. Fear crashes through him, raw and humiliating.

Please don’t think this is a joke. Please don’t let this be how it ends.

He coughs violently again, eyes wide, desperate, every ounce of pride completely gone.