The intimacy of the tiny space that covers the eaves. A space that becomes that of two people who don't need questions but answer each other by kissing and forgetting the rest of the world. Always thank for your wonderful writing Asuka!
This is truly a beautiful piece that captures moments of closeness with respect, consent, and tenderness so delicately that it warms the heart. Every word radiates care and affection, and reading it brings a real sense of peace. These are the moments that touch the soul. Thankfully, there was nothing scary in this, only love.
Dawn~ this made me exhale~ I’m really glad the softness came through and that it felt safe, warm, and unafraid. “Only love” is exactly what I hoped it would be. Thank you indeed!
Thank you for writing and being here. I know I don't say that enough. Your work is so unique and so thoughtful. Anyone who sees this needs to go sub and go read. Start over from the beginning or read from finish to start but consume you must!
Fiona you absolute menace..! Loving it! “Consume you must” just cast a spell on this whole post. Thank you for being here and for yelling kindly in public. Means more than I can say without getting mushy~
You have this way of taking me directly into your words. I create exactly what you say, in slow motion, my brain sees it, all of it. The little subtle tells, the vulnerable spots, the behind the ear, hands where you gave permission. So suggestive, so accurate. Then stepping out the street feels to wide? Of course it does, you just had the experience of accumulated reciprocal passion… that world was meant to stay under the eaves, outside, what follows inside is much more pure.
I love how you walked through it, Dorie~ slow motion, noticing the tells, the permissions, the quiet yeses. And yes, the street should feel too wide after that kind of held warmth. Under the eaves was where it belonged; what comes after gets to stay clean and true~
So much heat held in restraint, so much desire carried by listening rather than taking. I love how consent here isn’t negotiated once, but practiced—in gloves removed slowly, in pauses that mean yes, in hunger that knows how to wait.
“Consent as posture” is such a precise, generous thought.
And keeping it outdoors—under the eaves, in plain sight, with the world passing by—gives the intimacy both courage and grace.
This felt less like reading and more like standing close to something warm on a cold night. Thank you for trusting us with that kind of quiet fire.
Louis… okay, this one landed and stayed in my heart as the author of this piece... Listening as heat, waiting as desire, consent just living in the body~? yes, that’s the fire I was holding my breath around. “Standing close to something warm” feels exactly right~
That makes me smile, Asuka — in the good, lingering way.
Listening as heat, waiting as desire… yes. Exactly that quiet fire you don’t fan, because it already knows how to burn.
If it stayed with you, I suspect it’s because your piece has excellent instincts about when not to move. That kind of restraint is mischievously powerful.
I’m very glad our warmth recognized each other under the eaves — and behaved impeccably while doing so.
I’m delighted that line wandered in and made itself comfortable—it seemed the sort that would take its shoes off and stay a while.
And yes, exactly: stillness as instinct, not hesitation. The kind of heat that knows when movement would actually be a step backward. That’s not restraint out of fear—that’s confidence.
As for “behaved impeccably”… clearly our warmths were raised well. Good manners, excellent timing, and just enough mischief to keep things interesting. Always a pleasure when heat recognizes its own.
Somehow that's the passionate love... human forever craves for.. how beautifully you've captured them in your words.. the love, the warmth, the sensation, the passion .. everything is felt.. awesome 💛💛💛You're really brilliant💛💛
pm, I’m smiling like I’ve been caught doing something slightly illegal 😄
That warm, human, can’t-help-it kind of love is exactly the one that sneaks up and refuses to behave.
I’m really glad it all landed for you~ the heat, the softness, the whole swirl. Thank you for feeling it out loud and tossing that energy right back at me 💛
Thin layers pushing back against unseen forces, the want to let it live and breathe easier. The world needs more Asuka writings. Thanks for sharing my friend.
Ron, “thin layers pushing back” sounds like a secret superpower to me~ soft, stubborn, refusing to be flattened. That’s exactly the kind of breathing I was chasing.
And that last line?? Rude in the best way. Thank you, my friend. I’ll keep sneaking these words into the world and letting them cause a little trouble.
Ohhh I love this Asuka! It felt like standing under a streetlight while the world kept moving around you, aware of every small choice, every pause. I loved how consent lived in the listening, not just the asking. The waiting, the checking in, the way nothing was rushed or taken, it felt so tender and intentional.
And keeping it outdoors… that felt important. Like intimacy doesn’t always need to hide to be real. The warmth being chosen, again and again, even with winter right there watching. This was careful and alive at the same time. Such a beautiful piece. 💛
What struck me most here was how the moment stayed small and honest... two people standing close enough to feel the warmth, but not so close that the world disappeared. The restraint in your writing gives the scene its pulse. Every pause, every almost‑touch, every breath held just long enough… it all reads like a quiet conversation between bodies that know how to listen.
I love how the intimacy doesn’t come from what’s taken, but from what’s respected. The cold, the snow, the lamplight... they don’t interrupt anything. They witness it. And somehow that makes the closeness feel even more human. There’s a tenderness in the way you let the unsaid do the heavy lifting. It’s rare to see desire written with this much patience and this much care.
And reading through the poem and then wandering through this whole room of responses felt like stepping into a circle of people who all paused at the same moment of warmth. What you wrote didn’t just land... it gathered everyone. The restraint, the listening, the way the scene stayed outdoors… it created a kind of shared hush that carried through every comment here.
It’s rare to see so many readers meet a piece at the same temperature.
Thanks for giving me a moment that invited stillness, attention, and that small, steady kind of heat.
The “warm but not disappearing” part is exactly the spot I was trying to stand in — close enough to feel it, far enough to keep the world breathing. You saw that, Steve, so clearly it felt like a little nod across the space.
And the idea of everyone arriving at the same temperature… that’s such a gentle magic. I felt it too, quietly stacking, comment by comment, like people sharing a blanket without talking about it.
Thank you, Steve, for naming the hush and stepping into it with such care~
The emphasis on consent as something embodied — pauses, posture, waiting — gives the intimacy its weight without needing escalation. I’m struck by how the setting stays open to the world while still holding a private gravity, and how restraint becomes the source of heat rather than its denial. It reads as a meditation on attention and choice as much as closeness, and that care carries through every image.
This is tender and deliberate in a way that feels very intentional.
Beatifully delicate. A dance in the dark wth desire and passion and telling your feelings without "saying a word". A hard feat to pull off and you did with expertise!
This was the perfect winter love story trapped in time, frozen in the future. What stayed with me was the silence and stillness regardless of the motion of the bodies and the noises that surrounded them. There is something about love enduring ice and snow that makes it stronger than a kiss on a warm spring day where it is easier to find intimacy. Here, the intimacy breaks through all boundaries and obstacles and leaves the reader not in a fiery lust but calm and almost sedated. With frost on our eyelashes.
Margaret, frost on our eyelashes is going to live in my pocket forever now~! XDD I love how you saw the quiet strength instead of heat—the staying, not the spark. Being met there, so gently and clearly, feels like standing still together in the snow. Thank you~
The intimacy of the tiny space that covers the eaves. A space that becomes that of two people who don't need questions but answer each other by kissing and forgetting the rest of the world. Always thank for your wonderful writing Asuka!
Nick you saw it exactly~!
that tiny pocket under the eaves where the world drops out and answers don’t need words~
This is truly a beautiful piece that captures moments of closeness with respect, consent, and tenderness so delicately that it warms the heart. Every word radiates care and affection, and reading it brings a real sense of peace. These are the moments that touch the soul. Thankfully, there was nothing scary in this, only love.
Dawn~ this made me exhale~ I’m really glad the softness came through and that it felt safe, warm, and unafraid. “Only love” is exactly what I hoped it would be. Thank you indeed!
Thank you for writing and being here. I know I don't say that enough. Your work is so unique and so thoughtful. Anyone who sees this needs to go sub and go read. Start over from the beginning or read from finish to start but consume you must!
Fiona you absolute menace..! Loving it! “Consume you must” just cast a spell on this whole post. Thank you for being here and for yelling kindly in public. Means more than I can say without getting mushy~
Reading your work is always time well spent.
Gerald that means a lot~ thank you. I’m really glad it felt like time well spent.
You have this way of taking me directly into your words. I create exactly what you say, in slow motion, my brain sees it, all of it. The little subtle tells, the vulnerable spots, the behind the ear, hands where you gave permission. So suggestive, so accurate. Then stepping out the street feels to wide? Of course it does, you just had the experience of accumulated reciprocal passion… that world was meant to stay under the eaves, outside, what follows inside is much more pure.
I love how you walked through it, Dorie~ slow motion, noticing the tells, the permissions, the quiet yeses. And yes, the street should feel too wide after that kind of held warmth. Under the eaves was where it belonged; what comes after gets to stay clean and true~
That’s the love and passion we all strive for I think. Well done Asuka! Well done!
Thank you, Dorie~ That kind of love-and-passion you named is exactly the thing I keep chasing with my hands a little cold and my heart very awake.
Yes I agree.
This is exquisite, Asuka.
So much heat held in restraint, so much desire carried by listening rather than taking. I love how consent here isn’t negotiated once, but practiced—in gloves removed slowly, in pauses that mean yes, in hunger that knows how to wait.
“Consent as posture” is such a precise, generous thought.
And keeping it outdoors—under the eaves, in plain sight, with the world passing by—gives the intimacy both courage and grace.
This felt less like reading and more like standing close to something warm on a cold night. Thank you for trusting us with that kind of quiet fire.
—Louis
Louis… okay, this one landed and stayed in my heart as the author of this piece... Listening as heat, waiting as desire, consent just living in the body~? yes, that’s the fire I was holding my breath around. “Standing close to something warm” feels exactly right~
That makes me smile, Asuka — in the good, lingering way.
Listening as heat, waiting as desire… yes. Exactly that quiet fire you don’t fan, because it already knows how to burn.
If it stayed with you, I suspect it’s because your piece has excellent instincts about when not to move. That kind of restraint is mischievously powerful.
I’m very glad our warmth recognized each other under the eaves — and behaved impeccably while doing so.
okay~ but “a fire you don’t fan because it already knows how to burn”?? That line just moved in~
I love how you framed stillness as instinct, not hesitation. Some heat really does know when not to move~ and I’m smiling at how clearly you saw that.
Also “behaved impeccably” absolutely sent me. Warmth recognizing warmth and choosing manners. Perfect.
I’m delighted that line wandered in and made itself comfortable—it seemed the sort that would take its shoes off and stay a while.
And yes, exactly: stillness as instinct, not hesitation. The kind of heat that knows when movement would actually be a step backward. That’s not restraint out of fear—that’s confidence.
As for “behaved impeccably”… clearly our warmths were raised well. Good manners, excellent timing, and just enough mischief to keep things interesting. Always a pleasure when heat recognizes its own.
Louis that line absolutely did kick its shoes off and steal my couch.
stillness as instinct feels like the sexiest hill to stand on, honestly~? heat that knows when moving would be rude.
and “behaved impeccably” made me laugh out loud because yes: warmth seeing warmth and choosing manners, with mischief tucked in its pocket.
very at home. very under the eaves.
That makes me very happy, Asuka.
When stillness is read as instinct, not hesitation, it means the listening landed where it was meant to.
And yes—good manners between warm things matter. They’re half the pleasure.
Thank you for meeting me there with such clarity and humor.
Somehow that's the passionate love... human forever craves for.. how beautifully you've captured them in your words.. the love, the warmth, the sensation, the passion .. everything is felt.. awesome 💛💛💛You're really brilliant💛💛
pm, I’m smiling like I’ve been caught doing something slightly illegal 😄
That warm, human, can’t-help-it kind of love is exactly the one that sneaks up and refuses to behave.
I’m really glad it all landed for you~ the heat, the softness, the whole swirl. Thank you for feeling it out loud and tossing that energy right back at me 💛
Thin layers pushing back against unseen forces, the want to let it live and breathe easier. The world needs more Asuka writings. Thanks for sharing my friend.
Ron, “thin layers pushing back” sounds like a secret superpower to me~ soft, stubborn, refusing to be flattened. That’s exactly the kind of breathing I was chasing.
And that last line?? Rude in the best way. Thank you, my friend. I’ll keep sneaking these words into the world and letting them cause a little trouble.
Your words and thoughts are alien to so many, but eventually they’ll have to admit that they saw and felt something. 😁
alien status accepted and proudly worn~🛸
If they felt something, the jig is already up~ no arguing with the nervous system.
I’ll keep broadcasting from the weird little frequency. Thanks for waving back instead of running diagnostics~
@AsukaHotaru
What’s striking here isn’t the intimacy —
it’s the discipline of it.
You treat consent not as a checkpoint,
but as a continuous posture:
visible hands, readable pauses,
warmth that never outruns listening.
Keeping this outdoors matters.
Not hidden, not privatized —
witnessed by weather, light, passing life.
This isn’t seduction by escalation.
It’s closeness sustained by restraint.
Very few writers can hold desire
without turning it into possession
or spectacle.
You did.
And that’s why this stays warm
long after the scene ends.
— @lintara @substack
Lintara, you saw it~! You really did~
The listening-before-wanting part made me smile like someone caught me doing the right thing on purpose.
I love that you called it a posture — like standing a certain way so no one gets hurt, even when it’s warm.
And yes to the weather watching. I like scenes that know they’re being witnessed.
Thanks Lintara~
Ohhh I love this Asuka! It felt like standing under a streetlight while the world kept moving around you, aware of every small choice, every pause. I loved how consent lived in the listening, not just the asking. The waiting, the checking in, the way nothing was rushed or taken, it felt so tender and intentional.
And keeping it outdoors… that felt important. Like intimacy doesn’t always need to hide to be real. The warmth being chosen, again and again, even with winter right there watching. This was careful and alive at the same time. Such a beautiful piece. 💛
Andrea, yes~!
That streetlight feeling is exactly it — just standing there like “okay, world, you can keep going, I’m busy being soft.”
I love how you caught the choosing-again part. Not a big moment, just lots of tiny “still yes”s lining up quietly. That’s my favorite kind of warm.
And winter watching made me laugh a little — like it’s there with its arms crossed, judging, and the warmth goes “I’m here anyway.”
Careful and alive is such a good way to say it~
This is so perfect. SUCH talented imagery through your words. I want to soak in this forever.
Hannah…
“soak in this forever” is the nicest way to be held, honestly.
I love the idea of you just sitting there, letting it wash over you, no rush, no getting out yet.
That’s exactly how I wanted it to feel.
If it keeps you warm for a bit, then it did its job~
Dear fragrance of tomorrow, Firefly,
First, I just love these fireside chats.....
What struck me most here was how the moment stayed small and honest... two people standing close enough to feel the warmth, but not so close that the world disappeared. The restraint in your writing gives the scene its pulse. Every pause, every almost‑touch, every breath held just long enough… it all reads like a quiet conversation between bodies that know how to listen.
I love how the intimacy doesn’t come from what’s taken, but from what’s respected. The cold, the snow, the lamplight... they don’t interrupt anything. They witness it. And somehow that makes the closeness feel even more human. There’s a tenderness in the way you let the unsaid do the heavy lifting. It’s rare to see desire written with this much patience and this much care.
And reading through the poem and then wandering through this whole room of responses felt like stepping into a circle of people who all paused at the same moment of warmth. What you wrote didn’t just land... it gathered everyone. The restraint, the listening, the way the scene stayed outdoors… it created a kind of shared hush that carried through every comment here.
It’s rare to see so many readers meet a piece at the same temperature.
Thanks for giving me a moment that invited stillness, attention, and that small, steady kind of heat.
Happy New Year to all.
Steve
The “warm but not disappearing” part is exactly the spot I was trying to stand in — close enough to feel it, far enough to keep the world breathing. You saw that, Steve, so clearly it felt like a little nod across the space.
And the idea of everyone arriving at the same temperature… that’s such a gentle magic. I felt it too, quietly stacking, comment by comment, like people sharing a blanket without talking about it.
Thank you, Steve, for naming the hush and stepping into it with such care~
Wow, all your work is so so good— so many great images, lines, and the voice is so strong.
I’m really glad the voice came through and the images stuck around instead of running off. That means the words behaved today.
Thank you for saying it out loud, Roger~ I’m tucking that encouragement in my pocket.
Asuka,
You are very welcome indeed.
The emphasis on consent as something embodied — pauses, posture, waiting — gives the intimacy its weight without needing escalation. I’m struck by how the setting stays open to the world while still holding a private gravity, and how restraint becomes the source of heat rather than its denial. It reads as a meditation on attention and choice as much as closeness, and that care carries through every image.
This is tender and deliberate in a way that feels very intentional.
Oh wow yes, Dipti~ you clocked it~
All the heat hiding in the pause, the waiting, the choosing.
I just stood there and let it simmer~
Beatifully delicate. A dance in the dark wth desire and passion and telling your feelings without "saying a word". A hard feat to pull off and you did with expertise!
That means a lot, Alex~! thank you.
I really love “a dance in the dark”… that’s exactly where I was trying to stand.
Glad the unsaid spoke~
This was the perfect winter love story trapped in time, frozen in the future. What stayed with me was the silence and stillness regardless of the motion of the bodies and the noises that surrounded them. There is something about love enduring ice and snow that makes it stronger than a kiss on a warm spring day where it is easier to find intimacy. Here, the intimacy breaks through all boundaries and obstacles and leaves the reader not in a fiery lust but calm and almost sedated. With frost on our eyelashes.
Thank you for being you.
Margaret, frost on our eyelashes is going to live in my pocket forever now~! XDD I love how you saw the quiet strength instead of heat—the staying, not the spark. Being met there, so gently and clearly, feels like standing still together in the snow. Thank you~