#arttashi

[tashiduncandonaldson]

new arttashi content in 2025???? we will never not win 😭

[artslovergirl]

[EXT. A CONVENIENCE STORE NEAR CAMPUS]

art and tashi

notes: based on the part in the screenplay where tashi asks art to try smoking with her because i love that scene. shoutout artashi.

wordcount: 0.8k

“You've never smoked before?” Art asked, his voice still a little hoarse from the coughing. Tashi shook her head. “No, have you?” “Yeah. But I mean, I don't think I did it right. To be honest, I don't think I’m doing it right right now, either.”

A wry chuckle escaped him. He doesn't think there’s a universe that exists where the scent of cigarettes doesn't remind him of Patrick.

But if this made Tashi feel better, it would be a bullet he’d be willing to bite.

Then again, wasn't saying that just him bathing in self-pity over a loss he caused?

Biting the bullet?

He felt ridiculous.

Especially when every time he looked at Tashi, he could hear the nauseating sound of her knee snapping out of place.

He was licking a self-inflicted wound while Tashi mourned the loss of what could be described as a piece of her soul. A piece of herself. It was visible in her eyes.

If he actually said any of this to Tashi, he’s pretty sure she’d punch him.

It would probably be warranted. Waxing poetry about the suffering of another in your head, pretending like you understood it, was pretty lame.

But he did want to understand. He did. He had found himself toiling over the scenario of whether or not he would swap places with Tashi many times. He likes to believe he would do it.

But he can't really tell if that’s just because he wanted to feel like a good person, or if he wanted to reinforce to himself how in love with Tashi Duncan he was. Or maybe how selfless he was.

Because deep down, he thinks, or maybe fears, he might actually be a really selfish person.

“When was the last time you smoked?” Tashi’s voice cuts through his string of thoughts. She took another inhale of smoke, she still coughed, but a little less now.

He wondered if she was reminded of him, too. He wondered if this was all some sorry attempt from the both of them at filling a place that stood empty now.

“Oh, like..when I was 14..uh, with..you know..” He cleared his throat, looking into the distance.

“Jesus, Art, you can say his name. You think I'm gonna burst into tears at the sound of it?” Tashi’s voice had a certain cadence to it, one that was hard to describe.

She was almost making fun of him for taking such precautions, perhaps feeling insulted he would think her to be so weak, but there was a twinge of appreciation for his effort or rather support hidden underneath it all. Barely there, but he could hear it.

He smiled.

“Right, sorry.”

She let out a puff of air, shaking her head, almost rolling her eyes, but she was smiling, “You know, you apologize a lot for things that don’t actually matter.”

His lips twitched to the side, his smile no longer reaching his eyes. It wasn't pleasant to hear, but mostly because he knew it was true.

It felt like he lived in fear of messing up the smallest things, leaving a bad impression, but what he feared even more than that was making a genuine apology.

He didn't know why. It wasn't like he didn't feel guilt. He definitely did. Punishing himself just seemed easier than dealing with the punishment that an apology might bring with.

“You're right.” He tried to take another pull of the cigarette. It burned. Not in a pleasant way, not in a bad way. Not in the way it had when he was 14. Not in the way it had with Patrick.

“For what it's worth, I am sorry. About..everything. Mostly that lunch. Mostly for..acting like I knew what you wanted. Or like I was what you needed.”

He was staring at the asphalt now, his brows furrowed a little. Somehow, apologizing now had been easier than anticipated. It only happened months ago, but it felt like years. It felt like the statute of limitations for punishment had long since gone by. It felt like none of them were the same people they were a few months ago.

Like the people that they were in that hotel room in Flushing were unrecognisable.

She let out a quiet laugh that sounded a little like a scoff. “You know what? I forgive you. What you did was shitty, like really, really shitty-”

“I know.”

“But um, yeah, you know what..I do need you. Here, right now. I need you to be my friend.”

He nodded.

I think you might be the worst friend in the world, Art.

He could feel the words echo around in his skull, reverberating like a church bell.

It could become his fatal flaw, but Art knew at that moment that he wanted to be whatever she needed him to be.

“Okay. I’m here for you.” He exhaled another haze of smoke. It burned a little less.

“Ugh, god, this tastes terrible. Smoking sucks, why do people do it?” Tashi complained, yet she didn’t stub out her cigarette. The flickering neon light of the convenience store sign reflected in her eyes.

“I don't know, I think I’m kind of getting it.” Art grinned, peering at her from the side.

[maikodelight]

Stanford Artashi

One shot ; 2,8k words

link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60591322

[heartz4shauna]

honeymoon by lana del rey x arttashi send tweet

[greenorangevioletgrass]

the day art donaldson cut his hair, the tennis fandom went nuts

FIC IS OUT NOW!

[anton-wyzek]

Young and Beautiful//Art and Tashi

[blastzachilles]

this tiktok is so arttashi send tweet

[moonstarsunearth]

This reminds me of that scene where Tashi told Patrick "You always think you’ve won before the match is over", I think for Art is the contrary, I had liked they had let that part in the original script where Art told Tashi that he had been playing for her number for 15 years , and Tashi is like "we have a kid together"

Challengers was so diabolical for presenting tashi as the cool one who never says i love you back to art at first, and then later revealing that she wants nothing more than to stay with the man who loved her the same even after she couldnt play tennis anymore to the point where she asks patrick to throw the game so that they can stay together 😭 its not that she refuses to say that she loves art and wouldnt love him the same when they no longer had tennis to share between them, its that ART needs that to be uncertain because he never grew out of being 18 and playing for her number and he's still playing that game 15 yrs later even after shes married him and had his child

[gamesetart]

me when dilf!art breeding kink but im feeling horribly masc so the actual idea of pregnancy grosses me out - anyways i support transmasc breeding kinks guys

nsfw below the cut - reader is afab, one use of 'good boy' but other than that its very neutral. afab terms for reader's parts.

tags: breeding kink (sort of? they're not actually trying to get pregnant), cheating (sort of, tashi allows it. orchestrated it, actually), mentions of the arttashi marriage, overstimulation, the mildest of crying. technically an age gap (art in his early 30s, reader in 20s) but it never comes up.

his hips slot against yours like he was made to be there, made to press your knees to your chest, to fold you in half, to settle between your thighs and jackrabbit in and out of your cunt like he owns it, like there isn't even a person attached to the rest of it.

it's not the first time you've found yourself like this, praising his athleticism whilst cursing his absolutely unfair stamina. you've cum around him twice already - on his tongue, because art donaldson wouldn't dare try to fuck you stupid without coating his face in your spend, first, then on his fingers, a futile attempt to open you up for his cock. but nothing feels like enough prep for art, especially not when you're whining for him, telling him you want it to hurt, you don't care, you need him now.

"fuck," art groans, breath hot against the crook of your neck. "fuck, you're so fuckin' tight f'me, jesus, baby."

"don't bring him into this," you manage, nipping at his ear.

he huffs a laugh. even when he's like this, fucking you like a man posessed, snapping his hips into yours like he'll die outside of the sweet clench of your pussy, he manages to find lightness. you both do. it keeps things sweet, keeps them from slipping too far into uncharted territory. you have tashi's permission to let him ruin you as he pleases - tashi duncan knows all, and she's sanctioned your existence as the perfect outlet for all pf art's pent-up fantasies - but art doesn't want to be rough with you. not yet. he likes that he can hold you and feel strong, protective. likes that he can bend you in two and still kiss your temple. art likes that you can be sweet, soft, lovely.

"shhh, you can take it, baby," art soothes, and it's far too kind with the way he's fucking you. "doin' so well for me."

"art-" it's a warning as much as it is a plea.

he just nods, strokes your hair from your face, gentle as sin, and presses his forehead to yours.

"go on, babe, cum on my cock, c'mon, that's it, that's it-" and he feels it, the moment your walls clench around him, the fluttering of your cunt as a broken cry of his name falls from your lips. "oh, god, there you go."

he doesn't stop, though, barely even slows as he wipes a tear from your cheek and continues to slam his cock right into your overstimulated cunt. no amount of whining, of red scratches raked down his back, could have stopped him. you have a word, a signal. if you really couldn't take it, he'd know.

but you're his good boy, you'll take it, you always will. you might be the only one who can. you're the only one he wants, certainly. the only person he can fuck into like this.

"'s too much," you sob weakly, clawing at him with shaking hands. "art, please, can't-"

art just shushes you with a soft, quick kiss. "got one more f'me, don't ya? i know you do, know you can, baby, c'mon."

the tears fall freely, the press of his cock inside you so ridiculously filling you wonder if you'll split in half, if you'll simply die from the overstimulation. and then you think that'll be such an excellent way to go out, crying under him, safe between his strong arms.

art's right hand slips from where it rests on the back of your knee, holding you spread open. he hooks your leg over his shoulder, using the now-free hand to rub torturous circles on your clit. it burns, it's good, too good, white-hot sparks of pain crossing their wires with pleasure as you all but scream, sounds torn from your lungs in ways you didn't know you could make.

"c'mon, babe, wanna feel you cum around my cock before i pull out-"

your eyes go wide and you shake your head. no, not this time, wait, but the words don't come out.

"what, what's wrong?" art slows, pulling his hand from you. his blue eyes are doe-like with concern, eyebrows knit in the middle, lips settled into a familiar worried pout as he stares down at you.

you get a second to catch your breath. "in me," you gasp hoarsely. "inside. art. want you to cum in me. fill me up, please."

it's like something snaps.

there's a look on his face you can only liken to how he looks on the court: wild, fierce, a calculated cruelty he uses to systematically destroy whoever's on the other side of the net. and right now, a version of that look is fixed on you, a hungry glint in his eyes, pupils blown so wide you'd think his iries had vanished.

"fuck," he groans. "you want me to breed you, that it? fill up this pretty little pussy?"

and you moan, because neither of you are trying for a baby, not in the slightest, but the idea of being owned so thoroughly by art donaldson is enough to make you clench around him, fresh heat coiling in your core, and you could probably give him a hundred more orgasms, as long as he keeps talking to you like that.

"yeah, yeah, fuck me, art, 'til it takes, please," you babble, and maybe one day you'll start meaning it.

his pace begins anew, and this time, there's barely any rhythm to it. he's seeking release for himself now, too, for the first time since this has started, pulling out almost entirely before snapping back in so hard, you're sure you can feel it in your throat. deft fingers make rough circles on your clit, quick and dirty.

it pulls another orgasm from you faster than you'd like to admit. you don't even have time to warn him, but he can feel it in the way you tighten, your legs shaking, can hear it in the sharp note of your voice when you call his name.

"that's it, there you go," art groans. "gonna fill you right up, baby. 's what you want, right?"

you nod, so far past words, so far past anything more than lying there and taking it. but that's all he needs from you. his pace stutters.

"fuck, yes, you're so perfect, so good to me, you feel so good-" he's babbling now, grinding into you with all the grace and decorum of a fucking animal. "made for me, made for this cock, god, yes-"

and with a high keen of your name he's cumming, driving his hips into you, pushing his cock in as far as your cunt will allow, so far you're almost worried his sheer willpower is enough to override the birth control pill you're on. he stays there for a while, holds it in like he really is going to force it to take. and when he pulls out, his fingers push it back it sloppily.

art presses a soft kiss to your temple and all but collapses next to you with a sigh. when he catches his breath, you know he'll vanish to the bathroom, return with damp cloths and the bath running. he'll massage all your sore joints and rub oils into your skin and kiss every inch of you. but right now, he just needs to feel you. to lie next to you and try to memorise the pattern of your breathing.

"that was... something," you mumble, a soft smile playing at your tired lips.

"good something?" art asks.

"great."

"oh, thank god, because i really enjoyed that."

"so did i."

he kisses you again, on the lips. it's slow, sweet, drawn-out, as he weaves a hand into your hair and trails it down to draw circles on your shoulder. both of you know a child isn't in the cards right now, but your purpose here is to let art play pretend. you don't even actually want kids, it's just hot to think about making art a daddy again. tashi is the mother of his daughter, will be the mother of any of his future children. you, you're the outlet she hand-picked for all of art's needs, because while she can do everything, she won't let him fuck her the way he wants to fuck someone, and art doesn't want to fuck tashi the way he fucks you. you're okay with that. you like being someone he needs. someone he wants.

and who knows? maybe tashi will change her mind. maybe you will. maybe she'll let you have his next kid, and maybe you'll want it.

god knows art wants it. he'd let you. he'd give you anything. everything.

"thank you," he mumbles against your hair. "that was... i love you."

"i should be thanking you, i haven't cum thag much in one night in... ever."

you pause, tip your head up to meet his eyes. he's smiling, soft as silk, sweet as sugar. in the dying light of the sun, his hair looks like it's on fire, haloed by the sky itself. apollo incarnate come down from the heavens.

"i love you too," you say. and mean it.

[capyclara]

addiction vs. sobriety as metaphor for tennis mindset in CHALLENGERS (2024)

while all of art's attitude surrounding tennis is extremely disciplined and sort of detached outside of his relationship with tashi, patrick literally can't quit tennis like tashi suggests. he'll get insane withdrawl symptoms without it, just like he's had withdrawl pains for 13 years regarding arttashi. it would KILL him to stop pursuing, and tashi to some level understands that as another "addict" - unlike patrick, she has a second backup body in art to cope with her loss.

framing patrick's spiral into mediocrity and self sabotage as well as his relentless pursuit of his loves as being akin to substance abuse is SO SO interesting -- i wish justin kuritzkes had left the bruise on patrick's inner arm ambiguous (tl;dr: people were speculating that they were track marks, but justin disregarded the theory)

patrick is so clearly an addiction-prone character (smoking, his career, arttashi), and part of me thinks it was a missed opportunity to not expand on this, even subtextually! it would also provide some insight into why patrick is broke, living in his car, and is no-contact with his parents outside of "haha he's cosplaying being poor bc he's just too proud" which feels a tad shallow

"if" is a drug for losers, and patrick's "ifs" of achieving his dreams of winning tennis and winning arttashi are blended together theyre indistinguishable. he can't stop indulging in hope even though it makes him miserable and depressed and a loser. that's so fucking neat!!!!

[tashiduncandonaldson]

THEE tennis it couple and their matching screams 👏🏽

[saintzweig]

i was thinking about how cute it would be if younger patrick planned an hang out with art and tashi so they could finally get to know his girlfriend, like go bowling or something all together

HI i like this one a lot i want you 🫵 to know that

patrick thirdwheeling arttashi after coming back from tour, art sitting next to tashi in the booth with his arm on the back of the scratched up leather seat while patrick sat across them, chowing down on his loaded fries that he made the couple pay for. in the middle of a conversation, tashi asks him for a favor "there's this girl on my team that won't stop bothering me until i set you up with her so please, just please this once" and the brunette male just shakes his head.

"come on, man. you'll get a good shag and she'll get off tashi's back. it's a win-win" art backed his girlfriend up, said girl nodding.

"look tash, i would love to help you out but i really can't." after minutes of pestering and countless assumptions as to why patrick doesn't want to, he finally tells them that he has a girlfriend. the two of you have been together for half a year now, although he didn't give much information on how or where you met.

"you're telling me you're in a committed relationship? you're serious about this girl? and she's serious about you?"

"what's that supposed to mean?"

"no, commitment and patrick zweig doesn't fit in the same sentence. is she even real or are you just trying to fool us?"

and patrick only rolls his eyes. the same night he calls you and tells you all about how his so called friends reacted, so you offered to drive down to stanford to meet art and tashi. driving directly to the bowling place that patrick sent you the address to, showing up in a dress that you know he really likes.

he runs over to you as soon as you enter the establishment, wrapping his arms around your waist to spin you around and give you kisses all over your face until you push him away, giggling. tashi and art in the background with their jaw slacked as they watched you from the bowling lanes. you introduce yourself to them, giving a little bit more background on your relationship with patrick. it didn't take long for you and tashi to warm up to each other, giggling as you watch the two boys flail around as if they aren't athletes.

"seriously, you can tell me if you're an actress that he paid to make it seem like he's not a loser"

"oh even if i was, i don't think patrick has enough money to hire me"

[maikodelight]

After retirement Art finds a new hobby

[heartz4shauna]

artashi x you’re not good enough by blood orange have a nice day xx ☺️

[artdcnaldson]

need need Tashi so bad, I can’t 😣😣 the voices ‼️‼️ thinking so many thoughts about Tashi and Arttashi… being their little plaything 😪

- 🌞

Ohhhhhh it’s SO serious 😁😁

thinking HEAVY on Tashi rn but hgnngggg her taking you out to a fancy lingerie store to shop for a few sets you can wear as a gift for Art when he wins the French Open. Tashi “helps you try them on,” makes you model them for her in the cramped dressing room. Maybe she also plays with you while you wear them— licks at your pretty cunt while you wear a crotchless pair of panties, makes you ride her fingers in a pretty little babydoll. You’re just too pretty :((( she can’t help it.

And yeah. The gift isn’t only for Art. She buys a pretty little set for you to wear all for her <3

Art sees the bags in the hotel room, knows what it means. He plays harder— it’s a beautiful match. And he knows all of the acclaim and praise feels great, but it’s nothing compared to the pretty, dressed up plaything waiting for him and Tashi back at the hotel.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

shorn the sheep (a.d. x t.d.)

Pairing: art donaldson x tashi donaldson

Summary: the origin story of Art's shorn sheep haircut.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: just family fluff really, art is a puppy but whats new, pre-canon (or in between canon timelines ig)

Notes: my first arttashi fic! Life is crazy but I was inspired enough to write this in two sittings sooooo enjoy! please comment, reblog, talk to me and tell me what you think about it! Happy reading!

**i do not have a taglist. Follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass andd turn on the notifications to be alerted for new fics and updates!**

Art Donaldson likes routines.

He eats the same breakfast every morning –eight eggs and a bowl of oatmeal. Takes the same shower stall in the locker room and does the same pre-match routine down to which shoe he puts on first. He has had the same team behind him for most of his career, from coaches and physios to his lawyers and publicists. He generally goes to the same guy for his haircut too, but he’s in Tokyo for the Japan Open. And while his outgrown curls are starting to piss him off, flying his barber halfway across the world just seems excessive.

Although… looking in the mirror now, he can’t help but wonder if he should’ve done that instead.

Maybe it’s the language barrier (which is more of Art’s fault for his general lack of knowledge in hair-related terms, because the hairdresser speaks English just fine), but what he asked for was definitely not what he got. Then again, maybe he wasn’t being super clear on what he means by ‘tidying it up a little.’

So with a polite straight-lined smile, Art nods and pays and ducks out into the busy Tokyo street. Out of courtesy (or so he convinces himself), he waits until he turns the corner to put his hoodie up over his head.

Ever the drama queen, he only takes it off when he enters the hotel suite, finding his wife sitting on the dining table.

“They fucked up my hair.”

Tashi looks up from her laptop, and the first thing she notices isn’t even the hair. It’s the same pout, same tone she normally sees in Lily at bedtime, which only makes her chortle.

“Goddammit…” Art groans. Is it even worse than he thinks? He pulls the hood back up and tugs at the string until the fabric scrunches around his face.

He turns around towards the bedroom, but Tashi stops him, grabbing his arm and turning him to face her. She loosens the tight strings on the hood, so she can see his new hair properly. Her French manicured nails cards through the short locks, scratching his scalp the way she knows he likes. Her eyebrows furrow in focus as she scrutinizes the length and texture in relation to his face.

“It looks fine to me,” she eventually decides, pushing the top part to the side towards his natural part.

“No it’s not. It’s too fucking short.” Art huffs, resting his forehead on her shoulder. 

Tashi hums, feeling the buzzed ends on the nape of his neck. She’s never felt it this short on him—she’s been there through it all; the mop when he was younger, the swoopy Prince Charming look he had just before this, and even that one year where he grew his hair out past his shoulders. She can definitely say that she doesn’t hate this one.  “It’s just shorter, is all.”

“Makes my ears look even bigger than they already are,” he murmurs into the skin of her shoulder, his annoyance dissipating into sulking petulance in the comfort of her scent and general embrace. 

“Maybe it’ll make you more aerodynamic, Dumbo.” Tashi fiddles his earlobe playfully.

He bites at her shoulder in gentle warning, earning a little laugh from her. “That’s not funny.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with it.” She grins and shrugs. “Art—”

“Come on, this is serious.”

Tashi laughs incredulously. “What is?”

“I’m playing in my Uniqlo gear for the first time tomorrow, and the only thing people are gonna talk about is my hair.”

“I sure fucking hope they’re gonna talk about your game more than your new hair or clothes.”

There’s always a very subtle shift whenever Tashi is talking in coach mode. It doesn’t happen often, but it ticks her off whenever his attention strays off of what’s important. But Art pulls his head up and shoots her an unamused, almost defiant glare. He’s not having it.

He’s been trying not to stress out about it, but his new endorsement deal with Uniqlo is so well-covered (and for good reason—he signed a ten-year deal worth $30 million.) and wearing the brand for the first time on their home ground is a big deal. She knows that.

Art will gladly say it as often as he needs to (and he feels like he doesn’t say it often enough), but he loves Tashi. Her beauty is a no-brainer, but above all, he loves her tenacity and efficiency in her work. It’s why he listens to her, and it’s why he’s been playing better than ever since she joined his side.

Tashi sighs a little, realizing that maybe he doesn’t need a coach right now. “And look, it fits into the clean-cut, preppy aesthetics you got. I don’t see how this can be bad press for Uniqlo, either.”

She does so much for him —eats, lives, and breathes him— and sometimes he feels bad for asking. But he eats, lives, and breathes her just as much as she does, and he craves her constantly. Her firm chides, her sharp wit, her soft side, her fury… Most of the time, he needs a combination of at least two of them, even though he doesn’t know how to ask for it.

“Can we like… not make this about work?”

He doesn’t need to. She knows. 

Tashi softens, rubbing his arms up and down as he pulls her closer. “Baby… it looks good on you.”

Art rolls his eyes skeptically. He can’t help but feel like she needs to say that now.

“It really does! What do you want me to say?” She chuckles, nuzzling his face with her nose. “Hey. You know I’ll be the first one to tell you if it looks stupid, right?”

Art sighs. Tashi has never been very generous with compliments, and he actually likes that about her. She knows how to really make it count. “I know, but—”

“But it doesn’t. You actually look really good. And I… I like that I can see you better this way.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t have hair flopping over your eyes like a sheepdog anymore.”

Art gives her a playful smack in the butt, but at least he’s smiling now. And despite pushing him physically and mentally for a living, Tashi likes making him smile.

“But you like it?”

Her hand returns to his head, getting the hang of caressing it. “Baby, it’s your hair.” 

Art relaxes into her touch. He’s gone beyond seeking validation, and has fully entered clingy territory at this time. “Yeah, but you’re gonna be looking at it all the time,” he pouts dramatically. “I don’t want you to hate it.”

“I already told you. I like it.” Tashi cups his face, her thumb drawing faint circles on his cheek. The hair is cropped short enough that it doesn’t even curl anymore on the crown. But the patch of brown in his blue eyes is out in plain sight. The line of his nose is knife-sharp, and she can’t help but remember how it parts her thighs right open. “I like looking at your face like this.”

Art’s mouth quirks to the right. He likes coaxing sweet nothings out of her like no other. “So you just like my face?”

Tashi bites the inside of her left cheek. “I do. I like your face.”

Art pulls her into a sweet kiss, and Tashi happily meets him halfway. He wonders if the butterflies would ever cease one day, but until then, he’s gonna relish in it entirely. Wholeheartedly. Selfishly.

Until…

“Daddy, you’re back!” the unmistakable squeal of their 2-year-old cuts through the quiet, followed by the pitter-patter of her little feet.

Art reluctantly lets go of his wife in exchange for their daughter, throwing the former a fond, knowing look. “Hey, Lilybug!” He scoops her tiny frame up into his arms and peppers kisses all over her cute face.

Lily giggles, arms flailing and pushing him around until Art lets up. It’s only then that the little girl manages a good look at him. She gasps. “Daddy, your hair!”

Art’s heart stops. He never thought a toddler’s opinion would mean so much to him, but he plasters a faux-oblivious look for her. “What about my hair, baby?”

“It’s so… little!”

Tashi chuckles. And so does Art, although he does so in surprise. Of all the adjectives in the English language (that they’ve taught Lily anyway), he didn’t expect it to be little. But in a way, he’s glad. It takes the edge off a little.

“Do you like it, though?” Art turns his head side-to-side and lets Lily assess him, and his heart stutters a little.

Lily has a habit of picking up Tashi’s brutal honesty. Truth be told, she is the spitting image of her mother. She tilts her head the same way, sports the same thoughtful pout too. He may have been off the hook with Tashi, but it would be stupid to have his confidence crushed by the miniature version of her.

Eventually, though, Lily grins and nods. Art breathes out a sigh of relief, while Tashi looks at him like, see?

Lily puts her tiny hands on Art’s cheeks the same way her mother does, fingers flicking on her father’s earlobes. She giggles again. “Daddy looks like my sippy cup.”

Tashi laughs out loud this time. Art is not amused.

But he’ll take it. He scowls playfully and makes a face, pretending to be the sippy cup in question, eliciting more laughter from his girls.