Library Games- NamjoonxReader Smut

Originally posted by choke-me-namjoon

So basically one my friends on twitter ( @marumisea ) said “I want to fuck Namjoon in a library” and this was the result:

Namjoon and you have been dating in secret for a few months now and while neither of you minded exposing the relationship you both enjoyed the sneaking around and secrecy of it all. 

You were both in the library, seemingly reading to any enquiring eyes. Neither of you were reading though, the only thing or person in this case who could distract you two bookworms from a book was the other. 

There was no way Namjoon could focus on reading when he could instead write his own story on your skin with his lips and there was no way you could flip pages when you could instead be flipping over for him. The two of you made faces at each other half hidden by your books.

It was all fun and games until you decided to tease him. Tease him from across the room. You ran your tongue over your own bottom lip causing him to raise an eyebrow. You shrugged lightly, faux innocence plastered on your face. You threw your head back over the back of the chair, your neck and collar bones in full view. 

To anyone else it seemed that you were simply tired but Namjoon knew, Namjoon knew exactly what it was that you were doing and he refused to be on the receiving end of it but he couldn’t do much. His body reacted at even the slightest thing you did. Images of kissing you and covering your neck in hickeys ran through his mind.

You lifted your head back up, a smirk gracing your lips. You knew exactly what you did to him. You closed the book and bent down to open your bag. You took out a pen and a piece of paper from the bag and on your way up dragged a finger, painfully slow, up your leg. You could feel Namjoon’s stare burning into you.

Once you straightened up again you scribbled something down on the paper and got up. You walked over to Namjoon, hips swaying oh so slightly. Unless you were watching carefully, no one would know what you were doing. You walked right past Namjoon but not before dropping the note in his lap.

Namjoon opened the note and faster than lightning he was up and following you to the back, the lonely deserted back of the library. You had reached there before him and was leaning against the wall, he arrived soon after and wasted no time before pushing up against you. 

Namjoon crashed his lips onto yours roughly as one hand found its place around your waist and the other was firmly planted on the wall near your head. His lips took over yours as he claimed you. The hand on your waist tightened and he pulled you closer, eliminating any and all space between the two of you. You entangled your hands in his hair in return.

It was obvious that he was getting back at you for teasing him earlier but you were far from submissive, you bit his lip. He growled into your mouth in response, you felt your legs shudder and turn to jelly. You held onto to his hair as if it was the only thing keeping you up. 

He moved away from your lips to your jaw and made his way to your exposed neck. You felt him suck at the skin, you felt the pain as bruises formed and your grip on his hair tightened. You tugged at the purple locks as he left his mark all the way down your neck to your collarbone. You arched your back into him more as he continued to undo all your defenses with his lips. 

He slipped his hand inside your shirt and brought it up from your waist to the front of your shirt and cupped your breasts, the only thing separating him from your bare skin was the thin cotton of your bra. He massaged your breasts with his palm and brought the other hand to your mouth to silence your moans. It was a library after all; silence was the golden rule. 

You could feel the wetness increasing in your privates as he slipped a two fingers inside your bra and fiddled with your nipple. You bit down on your own lip to silence the moans but you couldn’t help it. Namjoon’s hands worked like magic and he managed to make you a mess within a few minutes. With both his lips working at your neck and his hand playing with your breasts you had no will left and was completely at his mercy. 

Namjoon was the cause of your destruction and there was nothing you wanted more than to be claimed by his lips.

Go easy on me this is the first sexual thing I’ve ever written 

I’m gonna visualize a scenario for this scene because one just popped into my mind

I’m gonna guess it’s after they get married. They go find a quiet place away from the rest of their families and have a beautiful and intimate moment alone, as husbands. They don’t think of whatever burdens them but just bask in each other’s presence and make the most of it. It seems so so intimate and soft so I’m expecting a bunch of sappiness from the both of them. They’re probably going to talk about how much love they bear for one another and enquire how they finally got to this point. From having an affair which they thought would amount to nothing, to getting married and initiating their tiny family

The National Enquirer might have intentionally buried a story about Trump having an affair

Former Playboy mode Karen McDougall who claims to have had an affair with a married Donald Trump in 2006 was paid $150,000 for the rights to her story by the National Enquirer — but the paper never published anything, the Wall Street Journal reported. The Enquirer says it did pay McDougall but not for a Trump story.

Reaction Ficlet: How Jimin would react to having an argument with you

Masterpost: How BTS would react to having an argument with you

Our Masterlist :)

Originally posted by sugaglos

You climb wearily up the stairs, the muscles in your arms quivering as you haul your suitcase up the last few steps. Living on the top floor of your apartment building is absolutely fantastic - until the lifts break, that is.

“Sorry, love,” the repairman had said apologetically, his head emerging from the gaping hole where the elevator should be. “You’ll have to take the stairs.”

“Okay,” you had said, too tired to even enquire about what was wrong with the elevator. “Thank you.”

You had trudged up the stairs slowly, your thoughts on the long, warm shower you would take when you got to your flat.

When you finally make it up to your floor you throw the door open and set your suitcase down on the couch in relief.

You open your mouth to call out but then close it with a snap. Oh, right, you think, looking around the empty flat with a pang. That’s right.

There is no Jimin here to greet you. 

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Could’ve, Didn’t.

This is the story of the Consulting Detective and The Woman. Of time and distance, across land and ocean. Of a word unspoken. Of things that might’ve gone alternatively, had he been another man and she a different woman. But this is their story.


For an extended moment, gazing into the mesmerising blue of her enquiring eyes, as they lay on their sides partially covered by the same thin sheet, their bare skin inches apart underneath, he desperately wanted to tell her.

That he was here, in Karachi, because he couldn’t bear the dulling of the sky in a world without The Woman in it.

That the devastation of having played an unnecessarily cruel part sending her to an impending demise had made his every living minute the most agonising hell. His vengeful fury was long extinguished, his ego forgotten, and he just wanted a restart button, or the choice to never have clicked on the game at all.

That he’d travelled over 6,000 km to be by her side, to bid her farewell, to amend his emotion-clouded judgement and overwrite his stabbing last words.

That this was his answer to her question from before, that yes, he absolutely would have ‘dinner’ with her on the very last night. Her last night as Irene Adler.

That he’d wanted her, wanted this, too, and despite his frustration his traitorous heart wouldn’t accept the repeated answer no.

The past 24 h saw further proof that not only was she a formidable opponent, the most brilliant match, she was also his perfect complement. Recent events – fighting terrorists side by side before making a narrow escape; deciding the next course of action as the road stretched on across the desert plain; devising contingency plans, into the night, seamlessly completing each other’s thoughts; and..how their bodies moved together in an incredible way, were once again replaying in his mind, his mind that was dragged along by his heart, irrevocably falling deeper and deeper into a dangerous abyss. Falling into sentiments. Falling..for her.

She was still looking at him expectantly, breathing rate still elevated, and as beautiful as ever in the dim light of the hotel room. He wanted to brush his thumb across her flushed cheek, lightly hold her delicate face in his hand, and kiss her again. It would’ve been far too easy to give in. It would also not have been enough.

But he knew that his life as Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street, London had no capacity to accommodate what his heart was yearning to have. No superlative could describe the ache in his chest that was beginning to consume his mind, at the thought of having to face an Irene-shaped void that she would yet again leave behind, the next morning by the latest, and for good this time.

He took in a shaky breath. Under the blazing sun and blinking stars of Karachi they had each allowed themselves to be more armourless than they’d ever been. Sherlock and Irene, not the consulting detective versus the dominatrix scheming to bring a nation to its knees. These preceding moments when he was by her side and had her by his, however briefly, would soon turn into a memory he’d always hold dear. From the present onwards, through every mile and every year. It would have to be enough. And he would make their parting easier.

He tore his eyes away, curled his lips into a sneer, and abruptly sat up.

“Thank you for the information on Moriarty.”

He bent down to reach for his shirt and trousers on the floor by the bed, and headed into the bathroom. Whether his hurtful response was seen through or not, when he emerged from his shower fully dressed, The Woman was gone, along with her new identity.


Across mountains and plateau, from Pakistan to Montenegro. For the past two years a Ms Wolfe had resided in Podgorica, a thousand miles from London, from her old world, and from.. No, she never dwelled on specifically what or, more accurately, who else was a mere three-hour plane journey away.

His way of avoiding her question, of not saying goodbye, had told her everything she’d needed to know and wanted to hear. It was in his lingering gaze, the constriction of his throat, the masked pain in his expression, the barely discernible wince at his own words – plain and clear. Not to mention what he’d already conveyed through kisses and touches, and what was spelt out in his meticulous measures to ensure her safety. She knew that he cared, that his presence in Karachi wasn’t just out of guilt, and it most certainly wasn’t simply prologue leading to their chat about Jim.

She – the less danger-seeking side of her – respected his decision, for them not to see each other again. But life, ever ironic, had other plans. And the next time she saw him was because of Moriarty. Indirectly. Whilst he was dismantling the spider web, strand by strand.

The day went on just like any other, until she briefly glanced out of her window, and spotted a familiar figure hovering in the shadow.

Her heart leapt at the recognition, but instantly sank in concern and horror as she took in his appearance. He looked..far from his best. Terrible. Worn. Physically and mentally drained. He did manage to retain a trace of the characteristic sharpness and intensity in his demeanour, but was otherwise almost unrecognisable from the man that she’d known, the impeccably dressed London detective that’d always carried an air of exuberant confidence in his sure strides.

Since hearing of his Fall she’d been keeping a diligent attention on the networks of criminal activity around the world, procuring even the most obscure sources of news, holding onto the glimmer of hope that everything was proceeding exactly as Sherlock had planned.

She wanted to descend the stairs of her shared villa. To approach him from behind and tug on his shoulder and arm. To see his surprise as he turned around, fervour in his blue-green eyes. To be assured that the apparent weariness was another constituent of his disguise. Or to softly erase the haggardness from his face, and kiss any scars away. To stand by his side. To hear his deep baritone voice. To tell him about.. About..

She heard a summoning cry resonating from across the hall.

When she returned to the window with a bright-eyed toddler on her arm and a hardened resolve to observe from afar if he’d choose to make a move, Sherlock Holmes had disappeared from sight. Quietly and without trace, like a breeze of Montenegrin wind.

Montenegro, or Monte Nero, “Black Mountain”.

Here for three times they’d nearly met, each just within the other’s grasp, yet neither reached out for that much longed-for clasp. Neither gave in for an ephemeral reunion that would end in yet another dreaded, unsaid goodbye. And any distraction could mean his mission gone awry. He’d fallen from great heights into the darkest of times, perhaps just knowing that she was there would give him the strength to continue his climb. Next stop, Serbia? Less than two hundred miles away.

Here a child had been born of the inky darkness, of the unknown and silence, but through which he would doubtless shine with a fiery splendour and brilliance, just as – she was certain – his father would soon complete his strike back with unyielding resilience.


[To be continued..?]

Somebody To Love - Chris Evans

summary: Chris keeps trying to tell you he’s in this for the long haul. You, however, don’t think he realizes what the haul will enquire. Does he know there’s more to you than what you show him? Does he see the pain in your eyes?  

people: Chris - Reader (you)

warnings: none. 

word count: 1.6k

a/n: I want this to be dedicated to a loving and caring person who knows what having everyday pain is like. @sfreeborn you are a warrior, and like me, you have to get up and go on with your day even when it feels like hell. You are so amazing and I just hope this imagine is something you’ll enjoy, I only want to make you happy, dear. - R .xx

Have you ever felt just…so angry at nothing? You just endure the anger because you can’t blame anyone! You just swallow the pill of tolerance every day and wait until you’ve reached the point of no return. You become your anger. Water that’s boiling hot in a spot right inside your heart. Your loved ones, they try to help but what can help a lost cause? I’m gone, I’m done. I can’t keep pretending, and I know it’ll feel like ripping off a band-aid of a bee sting. But he knows it, and I know it.

I’m not enough.

I’m just so angry, all the time… but who am I angry at? Myself? My body for defying it’s one duty of protecting and nurturing me? No. I was just angry. Angry.

My eyes opened fast and immediately I regretted my decision to wake up. I lifted up my arms to rub my eyes and sit up but fell back into the bed. My arms felt like I’d gone to the gym last night and lifted twenty-pound weights; all night long. Aching so badly my hand shook as I reached for my phone on the bedside table. Typing in my password, I opened up my messages and saw his name right at the top of my contact list, with a blue dot on the left.

Chris: Love wake up! Your coming to set today to meet the cast! Anthony says he’s excited to meet Mrs. America haha XP

Chris: Honey? :)

Chris: Ladybug? You’re normally awake by ten… are you okay?

Chris: Babe?

Chris: okay I’m worried now, I’ve called ten times, I’m coming home.

Jesus… why the hell was he up my ass right now?

Glancing at the time my body released a tender sigh, 2:45 P.M.

How had I missed his calls? I always knew it was him by his custom ringtone; “Single Ladies” by Beyoncé. My ringer was on loud too, so why the hell had I missed them all?

Dropping my phone onto the white comforter that held me hostage in a tight, comfy cocoon. Awaiting for Chris to come through the door in panic any minute. He’d be racing the highway to get here and I was already guilt-ridden enough, I didn’t want to cause him an accident by calling him so I awaited his booming voice he never realized pierced my eardrums like shards of glass.


The fight started when he found her in her pajamas, rifling through the tea collection in the kitchen. When he saw her, looking to him like just a lazy-ass, he started in on her. Never seeing the pain in her eyes as his voice hurt her ears like he was scraping his nail down the chalkboard. She tried to hold her own, but there was a Mardi Gras that was going on inside her brain that prohibited her from even hearing his voice. That was, until he slammed his keys on the kitchen counter, making my pain suddenly become power. Angry, nasty, vulnerable power.

“You listen to me, Chris!” His head jumped up to look at her red, puffy eyes. They poured anger into his, and immediately Chris felt himself realize his fuck up of yelling. 

He knew she had chronic pain. Normally, she would just power through it. Lately, though, she seemed… slower, more tired and less driven to be intimate with him… he should’ve known that there was more than just a headache to her chronic pain.

“You listen, okay? I’m am a fucking mess, Chris! I have days, where I can’t get out of bed! I’m depressed, therefore I’m not a confident person, ever. I’m always uncomfortable, scared or tired! Do you know how that feels? A-And, s-sometimes I’m just…sometimes I have days where I need someone. Because my brain is questioning everything and everyone. My brain goes into overdrive and suddenly I’m terrified we’re going to get a nuclear attack or I am gonna have like this… massive stroke! I have this severe anxiety and then come to the panic attacks. I have chronic. pain. I am not going to get better, it just a fact. And I hate that! I hate that so fucking much but it’s my life! I deal with it. I do what I can, but I will be damned if I drag someone I love into my personal hell, Christopher. You don’t need someone like me. You deserve a lot bet-”

“No, I don’t, Y/N because you’re mine. You are my woman. I love you, dammit! More than I ever thought I possibly could. I want to be here, there, anywhere you have to go! I want to be at your side. To help you through the pain, cheer you on as you continue getting your therapies. Baby, I don’t need anyone else. I don’t know how to convince you, darling… how can I get you to believe in me! Believe in the truth! There’s no one else I need or want. You’re my one, baby. You must know that, or at least feel that.” You shook your head, though, looking down at the blue tips of your hands, angry with Chris’s words. 

Standing up I went to walk away but halted, feeling that gnawing off my anger bubbling up in my stomach for some reason, this time I didn’t suppress it, I took it in and embraced that anger, letting it flood the room with my poisonous tone. Even Chris jumped when he heard my roar.


Tears streamed like rivers down your cheeks but you couldn’t care less, you felt broken and wanted help. You hurt and wanted to be cared for. You were exhausted to the point of just passing out on the floor. You wouldn’t even mind if that happened, though. It’d help in forgetting that this fight ever occurred.

Chris decided to come back at me one final time. Throwing his emotional pain into his words, finally letting me see an emotion I rarely saw in Chris; desperation.


When he stopped. It was like his final words did it for me, things clicked and I saw behind those blue eyes that he was telling the cold, hard, truth. He was leaving me, he wanted to be with me… and though those words didn’t make sense in my mind now, I felt comforted in a weird way, like I was actually… loved, by someone.

 We didn’t speak. we just let our bodies talk to us. 

Maybe it was the pain that finally got to her, letting her emotional barricade be broken down, allowing Chris to come over to her side of this violent, kitchen war. My legs were shaking and he could tell I was in immense pain from standing so long. Quickly he swept me up from the floor and into his arms. I relaxed into his chest while my arms hung around Chris’s neck.

He pecked my forehead steadily as he reached our bedroom, laying me down on the comforter while he searched for a blanket to cover me. I felt my eyes getting droopier and droopier by the second. Like they always say, you never know when you slip into sleep, it just comes over you and takes you in. I gladly let sleep take away me in, dissipating the pounding headache and throbbing limbs I was suffering with. I knew when  I woke up, he’d be right by my side. Things would be different, though, he’d know what’s happening, he’d be different when he talks about going out and doing active things. 

  Chris would take a while to mildly understand what my chronic pain felt like, but I would gladly wait with him as he learned from watching. He was a guardian for me, I guess. I could hold my own if I wanted too. But sometimes, you just want to be loved and taken care of.  


Looking at her, I studied her silently. She looked so… defeated. Defeated by her own body, I couldn’t imagine anything worse than getting fucked over by myself. Never being able to stop it. She closed her eyes slowly and let out a sigh of relief. From what? I don’t know. I silently padded around the bedroom, grabbing her two blankets and a glass of water in case she had a headache in the morning. Which normally was the case. Crawling onto the other half of the bed, I just… watched. I watched over her, feeling like I was protecting her from something. Maybe whatever I was protecting her from was all made up in my head, but frankly, I didn’t give a fuck. 

This was my woman, and I was going to care for her. Every moment, of every day. Because she deserved this.

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kaotickanine  asked:

Say, while we're talking about Tropes, what do you think of "They Wasted a Perfectly Good Sandwich"? I'm personally annoyed by the Trope, albeit in an amused way XD Like, how DARE they waste perfectly good food! Makes me enjoy Big Eaters like Goku and Luffy lol They never leave food unfinished

As someone who dislikes food wastage myself, it does sort of irk me when I see food get wasted on-screen.

I think another pressing question is, who pays the food bill when the heroes leave promptly to fight the latest monster of the week?


Jyn groped absently at her neck; only when she caught him looking did she drop her hand. There was no need for explanation. When he first noticed the crystal glittering at her neck during his interrogation, he’d first assumed it was a weapon, or part of one; why else would she take such pains to smuggle it into an Imperial labor camp? The obvious answer came a moment later; it could have sentimental value. On the way to Scarif, he’d seen her twisting the crystal between her fingers, a wordless prayer in the face of uncertainty and fear, ritual formed by many lean years, and known for certain that it was important to her. That she’d deemed Bodhi’s need greater than hers, at least in that impulsive second –

She took his silent regard as enquiring. “It’s … it’s Jedha, you know? Part of it.”  She turned away. “I don’t know.”

But she did, it seemed to Cassian. There was a rough, sharp-elbowed kindness to her sometimes, like she’d never grown comfortable expressing it, or never had the chance to soften it with the knowledge that she wouldn’t be spurned or taken for granted. Tenderness stole his breath, a rush of affection both protective and fierce. Not for the first time, he wished he knew her better.

He was about to speak when she cut him off. “It was probably a bad idea,” she said, shoulders hitching. “A bad reminder. Last time he saw Jedha the Death Star blasted to atoms.”

She would continue to retreat if he didn’t meet her halfway. “I don’t think so,” he told her. “Home is still home.”  


five things

I was tagged by the marvelous @mouseymodesty.  Thanks, mousey!

Five Things You’ll Find In My Bag: fyi, my bag …awesome, isn’t it? anyway, my list:  my laptop & charger (when I’m on the hunt for public wi-fi); headphones; hard candy/gum; piles of Dunkin Donuts napkins for just in case; scrap paper & a pen

Five Things You’ll Find In My Bedroom: a stuffed “Shakesbear” in feathered cap & striped pantaloons; framed animation cell from Disney’s Sleeping Beauty; a custom made robe I wore in several college plays; piles & piles of clothes; dust bunnies galore

Five Things I Want To Do With My Life:   help my children find their paths to happiness; make a positive difference in the world; lose enough weight to do at least community theatre; write something publishable in the world beyond fan fiction; meet Benedict Cumberbatch & thank him for the amazing inspiration he’s given me and countless others 💜  

Five Things I’m Into Right Now: Benedict Cumberbatch, watching Star Trek TOS with Daughter, grilled cheese (seriously, every day, made with extra sharp white cheddar), The Walking Dead, Bath & Bodyworks Spiced Gingerbread & London Tea & Lemon scented candles

Five Things On My To-Do-List:  do better by my children; clean.my.house.(perpetually listed/rarely accomplished); adopt a healthier lifestyle; get wi-fi at home; get a better job

Five Things People May Not Know About Me: was in an Oscar winning movie; did several semi-nude scenes on the college stage; high school valedictorian; a letter I wrote has been read into the United States Congressional Record (don’t ask the year!); 3rd generation Red Sox fan

tagging five: @baobao0331 @randombiochemist @eurusfaith @mel-loves-all @tsukuyomi011  and anyone else who’d like to share their ‘fives’!

Update on #TS_REPLY2017 / #TS_응답하라2017:

As seen in the screenshot here, I have done some scouring on Twitter to figure out any new updates by the kbabyz (both those from the Boycott Camp and those from the Alter TS Killer Schedule Camp). Here is a capture of a Kbaby’s experience of an email correspondence with TS.

She emailed TS on the pretext of enquiring about the Baby 3 membership verification. She said she would like to know how to go about allowing a friend who is attending to use her account for purchase of the tickets when that person doesn’t match her membership…. ok that is not the main point. The main point is that TS replied to this Kbaby’s email to answer the ticketing/Baby3 verification queries she had.


Babyz who have seen my earlier post on sending emails with constructive feedback to TS and have tried doing the same, perhaps we could try this together: we will email TS on the same pretext as this kbaby and then right at the end we insert short paragraph or brief inquiry about the worrying situation of the boycott. It would be understandably distressing for you (as you roleplay a concerned potential concert goer) as you don’t want to pay for something and worry about the possible sabotage of the event from happening at all.

In phrasing your email this way, **perhaps** we could reel TS in to respond. It would essentially be an indirect response to our REAL concerns but at least we **may** receive an inkling to their plans on what they intend to do in face of the boycott looming ahead.

Babyz, I am tired of this “warfare” with TS. As much as I’d like to physically shake TS till his bones actually rattle, we can only be driven to stooping this low just to get them to reply emails.

Anyone with any response from TS, please let us know. Our DMs are open on Twitter and because I don’t usually check Tumblr as much, please send an email with a screenshot of your email correspondence should TS reply you. Thank you very much. (email: ricejuseyo@gmail.com)

50 Methods of Adab (Islamic Decorum) with Parents:


1) Prefer them over everyone and everything.

2) Anticipate how you can make their life more comfortable, especially in old age.

3) Offer them opportunities to come closer to Allah e.g. inform them of lectures & take them if they agree.

4) Remember them often in your supplications.

5) Praise their efforts & achievements. After all, you are one of them!

6) Always start with them, when serving food, giving gifts etc.

6) Visit them regularly & enquire about their health.

7) Dress well, smell good and stand up for them when they enter your presence.

8) Call them with the most respectable titles, never by their first name.

9) When you greet them, kiss their hand, head etc.

10) Never sit while they are standing.

11) Never sit on a higher level than them.

12) Listen respectfully & show interest in what they say.

13)Never stare them in the eyes, remain humble.

14) Choose your words well when speaking to them.

15) Never frown in front of them.

16) Never raise your voice over theirs, speak quietly & softly.

17) Never disagree with them, unless they state something contrary to the deen. If so, do it respectfully.

18) Smile/ laugh at their jokes even if you don’t get it due to generation gap etc.

19) Always give an ear to their advice (its coming from the heart)

20) Never outright reject their opinions.

21) Always show interest in their discussions.

22) In conversations, never cut them off or leave them while they are talking.

23) Never say “Ah”, “Uf” or other expressions that show your discomfort with them.

24) When in a gathering with them, give them the prime position.

25) Never fidget with phone/gadget when they address you.

26)Never extend your feet towards them.

27)Never hang up the phone, before they do. They may remember something while you are putting it down.

28) Never give them your back or shut a door on them

29) Never eat before them when sat together.

30) Never walk in front of them, except to clear the way or protect them.

31) Be quick off the foot, when they ask you to do something for them.

32) Never keep them waiting, especially in the sun or cold.

33) Never laugh at a mishap or accident they have in front of you.

34) Never spread what they share with you about a sibling or other parent etc.

35) Never let them carry or lift bags while you are empty-handed.

36) Share with them good news about your life.

37) Keep from them any bad news, that may hurt their feelings.

38) Respect their friends, both in their life and after they pass away.

39) Never mention them in a negative light to your friends etc.

40) Never tell them: “I wish I was not born” or “You were not my father”

41) Never discipline their grandchildren in front of them.

42) Never compare them with the parents of others.

43) Never dig up past incidents of negative consequences.

44) Always praise them in front of your friends and family.

45) Never bother them with ‘forced babysitting’ or chores.

46) Don’t sleep without checking on their needs first.

47) Never travel without their permission, other than to perform fardh.

48) Maintain your father’s self-respect & sense of “being the man of the house” until he passes away.

49) Never ask your father if he needs financial help, thus making him feel lowly, check this with your mother.

50) Respond to their call immediately, even if in voluntary prayer.
[From Shaykh Mohammed Daniel’s al-Adab al-Mufrad Course @ Cordoba Academy]