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AshuraZeroX

Published on Nov 12, 2026

AshuraZeroX

character: jane_doe_(zenless_zone_zero), anby_demara, copyright: zenless_zone_zero 2girls, jane_doe_(zenless_zone_zero), anby_demara, very close-up, pov, extreme foreshortening, face focus, tongue out, very long tongue, thick tongue, fat tongue, large tongue, saliva, spit, heavy salivation, rivers of spit, drooling, spit on face, saliva on cheek, saliva on nose, saliva on forehead, saliva on mouth, wet face, licking, licking cheek, tongue on cheek, hugging, tight hug, hand on head, hand on chin, holding head, holding chin, height difference, one head taller, black background, solid black background, empty background, serious, unsmiling, expressionless mouth, half-closed eyes, seductive, disgust, grossed out, frown, annoyed, glare, looking to the side, looking away, displeased, straight lips, pressed lips, arms at sides, motionless arms, black hair, long hair, two-tone hair, red hair, multicolored hair, blunt bangs, sidelocks, green eyes, animal ears, mouse ears, grey hair, short hair, braid, orange eyes, black jacket, fur trim, fur-trimmed jacket, black shorts, fingerless gloves, black gloves, torn pantyhose, black skirt, black thighhighs, headphones The camera is jammed in close, a true up-close POV from just beside and slightly below the two faces, looking up across Anby's cheek — the frame holds little more than the two heads, Jane's hands, and Anby's shoulders, with everything behind them falling into a flat, absolute black. Jane Doe stands on the left of frame, one head taller, her taller body curving over and around the shorter girl; her right arm is wrapped hard across Anby's upper back, the fur-trimmed black sleeve crushed against Anby's shoulder blade, pulling their torsos flush so Anby's chest is pressed into Jane's ribs and the fabric of both jackets bunches and folds at the point of compression. Jane's left hand is spread over the back of Anby's head, fingers pushed up into the short grey hair at the crown, tilting the skull slightly toward her; her right hand comes forward under Anby's jaw, thumb pressed up into the soft underside of the chin, fingertips dimpling the cheek, holding the face still. Jane's own head is tilted down and turned in profile toward Anby's cheek, blunt black bangs hanging forward over her brow, one long red-and-black sidelock sliding down past her jaw, mouse ears flattened back. Jane's mouth is open and unsmiling, lips drawn wide and flat, and from it her tongue extends — enormous, broad, fleshy and fat, far longer than a human tongue, hanging out and dragging in a slow wet stroke up the length of Anby's cheek from jaw to cheekbone. The tongue is thick enough to press a shallow groove into Anby's cheek where it flattens against it, its surface glossy and slick, and over it run several distinct rivers of spit — raised clear strands and beads that gather in the tongue's center furrow, slide along its edges, and drip down off its underside. Her green eyes are half-lidded and fixed on the girl's face even as her brows pull in and her upper lip curls back at the corners: a serious, seductive, faintly revolted grimace, her disgust aimed at what she is doing rather than at the girl. Anby is shorter by a full head, chin pushed up by Jane's grip so her throat is exposed, her short grey hair mussed where the hand at her crown holds it, the braid falling back over her shoulder. Her arms hang perfectly motionless at her sides, hands slack and open, black-gloved fingers not curling, not lifting — she does not resist and she does not touch back. Her orange eyes are cut hard to the side, away from Jane's face, glaring off into the dark; her nostrils are flared, her brow is drawn down into a deep frown, and her lips are pressed together into one straight, flat, disapproving line, the corners pulled tight. Her whole face is soaked: spit sheeting over both cheeks, beaded across the bridge and tip of her nose, smeared in a wet gloss across her forehead and down into her hairline, and pooled in the seam of her closed lips, a fresh glossy trail still connecting her cheekbone to Jane's tongue. The spit catches the single light and shines; where it runs down her jaw it gathers and hangs a moment before dropping. The only light is one hard, close source from the front-left, roughly at camera height, raking across the two faces: it picks out the wet highlights on the tongue, the strings of spit, and the sheen on Anby's skin, and leaves the sides of both heads and everything behind them in total darkness — beyond the lit faces the black is absolute and there is no floor, no wall, no horizon. Palette is closed to black, the red-black of Jane's hair, cool grey of Anby's hair and the wet silver of saliva, with the two pairs of eyes — green and orange — the only warm sparks. Hard cel-edged shadows, crisp specular glints on every wet surface. Claustrophobic, uncomfortably intimate.

AshuraZeroX

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