#{tate}

I love drawing them in the most mundane situations possible 💚💚💚

“You’re the only light I’ve ever known” 🔆

info : tate confronts you as he feels that you’re slipping from his fingers. (different from original murder house plot)

tags : light angst, smut, porn w/ plot, insecure tate, make up handjob, fluff

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“..Can we talk?”

Tate Langdon stands at your doorway timidly, his two fingers tracing the painted wood as he stares at you intensely.

“Yeah,” You say, perched on your chair as he waits for an invite into your room. He doesn’t get one.

“Did I.. do something?” He asks, voice filled with dejection.

“No.”

His eyes don’t leave yours the whole time. You weren’t looking directly at him, but you could feel his stony gaze on you.

“Then why are you doing this to me? Why are you being this way?” He says, his voice raising a little.

You pick at your nails.

“What way is that, exactly?

“You’re ignoring me. Refusing to come back home until it’s after midnight. You haven’t let me in your room for the past two weeks,” Tate’s eyes begin to well with tears. “You won’t even look at me!”

You finally glance up and catch a glimpse of Tate using his sleeve to furiously wipe away his tears, pressing deep into his eyeballs.

“Hey..” You say gently, extending your arms out. “Come here.”

He sniffles. Finally being granted permission to enter your room makes him start crying again. He takes a seat on your lap as you rub his back in small circles.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you.. I just needed some time to myself.” You bring your lips up to kiss Tate’s cheek. He melts into that small gesture and wraps his whole body around you.

“I thought you were gonna make me leave,” He says quietly.

“Never,” You say against his soft blonde hair.

He pulls away from you, taking in your facial expression — calm and cool.

“I wish you felt as deeply about me as I do about you.” He says, nuzzling into your neck.

You giggle at his touch. “I do, Tate. I feel everything that you do.”

“Liar.”

“Hey, if you want me to prove it, I will,”

“Do it, then,”

You stare at him, dead serious. “I don’t wanna hear you complaining if I do end up managing to prove it.”

Tate smiles softly before pressing a kiss to your lips. “Never.”

Your hands slowly shift down to Tate’s lower back, where you grip onto his ass and fondle him.

He groans against your lips as you use your idle hand to take out his cock. It’s rock-hard, and you can tell he’s been pent-up by the way his cock throbs with every touch.

“M-my love..” He gasps softly. “Slow.. it’s been a while..”

“Mhm,” You say as you pepper his face with kisses.

You stroke his cock gently. Starting from the head and you squeeze ever so slightly at the base of his dick.

“Haa.. hnngh..” He’s panting like a dog in heat. You clear his face of the blonde sweat-slicked hair as you bite his lips, licking the wound and then locking them in a kiss.

“Pl-please slow down.. agh~..” He whines. “I.. I don’t wanna c-cum so soon..”

“Too bad.” You smile wickedly, increasing the pace. Tate’s whole body jolts upright as he begs you to slow down.

“H-hey..! gah.. Stop— hnghh.. sq-squeezing my cock..” He whimpers with every upstroke and moans with every downstroke.

“You’re just so cute, Tate,” You say softly into his ear. He gasps and shakes his head furiously.

“No.. d-don’t- mhh- say that..” He’s barely holding back from cumming and you’re making it worse. You know he loves it when you praise him.

“How can I not say it?” You beam, kissing him. You bring your other hand up to his tip as you hover over his slit. “My cutie. My Tate.”

“I-I’m serious— nnghh~” Tears prickle his eyes again. “Stoop… haa— wai-wait!”

The sudden pressure of you grinding your slender finger into his slit makes Tate arch his back and cry out.

“No-not there! agh.. w-wait— I-I can’t handle it— f-fuck.. nnhhh—!”

“Let it out, Tatie,” You coo.

“N-no— not like t-this..-“ He trembles in your embrace as you speed up even more.

“Come onn.” You say playfully. “If you cum now, we can finally get to the main part!”

Tate looks at you, glossy-eyed and already thirsting for more.

“P-promise..?”

“Mhm,” You kiss his cheek. “Just.. let it out, baby.”

And he does. With a shiver, a string of “fuck’s”, he finally cums a thick load onto your hands.

“Look at that,” You remark, showing Tate the mess he made.

“I-I didn’t mean to cum on your hands..” He says shyly.

“No worries. I’ll take responsibility.” You say, licking your hands. Tate’s eyes widen and he turns away to hide the blush creeping onto his face.

“Tate,” You say in a sterner tone. He flips his head back.

“I love you.”

He smiles warmly.

“I love you more.”

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Happy birthday Olafur Eliasson !

Back in 2003, Eliasson’s The Weather Project transformed Tate Modern’s Turbine Hall into a dreamscape of hazy orange light. The artist created an enormous sun using a ceiling of mirrors, monofrequency lights and artificial mist.

Mary Lee Bendolph, "Basket Weave" variation, (cotton and polyester), ca. 1990 [Tate, London. © Mary Lee Bendolph / DACS 2026]