روايات وقصص ضمن Adult Nighttime Stories

The little girl in the bed giggled as her father tickled her Adam Hale was alive and well and was sitting at the side of his daughter's bed, he kissed her forehead and tucked her into the princess pink blankets and got up to turn off the lights. “One more story daddy please” The little girl whimpered. Adam just smirked looking at his daughter and tried to con him into telling her another scary story. “Nice try, that was the eighth story that I told you since I came into your room an hour ago. Now go to bed little one, I love you.”

She squatted down and said, "Noe, why are you awake?" Noah hugged her. "There’s thunder when it rains. I don't dare sleep alone." Pearl turned to look at Tanner, who smiled. "Noe can sleep with us tonight." Tanner went forward and picked up Noah. Noah hugged his neck and asked childishly, "Does Daddy know how to tell stories?" "Yes." Tanner kissed his forehead. "Do you want to hear a story?" Noah nodded. Tanner then carried him to the bed and told him a bedtime fairy tale.

I sat with my back on the headboard while Aiden and Abby lay on either side of me, with their heads leaning against me as I told them as much as I could remember from one of the bedtime stories Celine and I were usually forced to sit through back at the foster home. We always found it boring and would be among the first kids to do off before she even read two lines from the story, the other kids would fall closely behind, it was that dreadful. But tonight, the kids found my old, half-complete, gap-filled story fascinating enough to listen to as I tried to lull them to sleep.

His Jacket is straightly the same as that my class teacher wears every Friday, the only thing that differ is that his own is old and that of my teacher is neat and always brand. The last Friday I spent with him was the day he asked us all to explain how our last night was. The first student that came out said he had a nightmare throughout his last night. He mentioned all he did before he slept. He mentioned about an electric wire in their room that has been cut and but non of them at home were aware. He said he mistakenly poured water on the floor and the water reached the wire, he stepping on the water produced a loud shouting that woke everyone that was asleep in their house as for they ar

A subdued silence enveloped the fireplace after Shango’s story, interrupted only by the occasional chirping of the night crickets. “That does not count as a bedtime story,’’ Babybaby finally found her voice. “It is child,’’ the thunder god answered. “No it’s not’’ Babybaby insisted quite stubbornly. “bedtime stories are supposed to be a nice tales with happy ending, all bedtime fairytales are, like the ones Amaka used to read to me, this one is a stupid story.’’

A young couple moved in to a new home in Hawaii. They had a young son, Bobby, whom they would put to bed each night, only to find him the next morning sleeping on the floor in the corner of his room ... ... One day, the father put a wardrobe in that corner, and that night while the couple was watching TV, they turned to see their son walking out of his room as if he was holding someone's hand. Just before he got to the door, he dropped his hand as if the person had let go. He woke up crying. The couple were scared, and they called a Hawaiian priest for help. He told them that their house was built on a "night marching trail" — a path taken by ghosts. The priest said Bobby always slept in a c

He missed her too much. Anthony was speechless. Charmine offered, “I’ll tell you some bedtime stories, then?” “Okay! Hehe!” Chris leaned into her arms obediently. Charmine then picked up a storybook with her clear voice ringing, “One day, Adam made a robot friend. The robot ran with him…” Her voice was gentle and soothing, almost hypnotic, so much so that Chris somehow fell asleep in her arms as he listened. Charmine put him down carefully and draped the blanket over him.

Nyra It took me two days—and way too much late-night scrolling—to find anything solid about Fantasies. Most of what I found online was vague, broken, or so cryptic it might as well have been written in Morse code. People online just kept repeating the same thing: It’s not for everyone. Which, of course, made me want it more. I was huddled in the break room, elbows on the table, completely absorbed in a thread called “What really happens at Fantasies,” when a voice cut through the silence.

"You know the rules. Bedtime is bedtime. And besides, they probably want to have some grown-up talk." "What do grown-ups talk about?" I think for a second, then grin down at him. "Taxes," I say. "And their boring, boring jobs." Brandon wrinkles his nose in distaste. "Ugh." "Yeah, it's terrible," I say with a mock sigh, "but you have to do it, when you're a grown-up. Luckily for you, you're still a kid. So we don't have to talk about mortgages, and instead, I get to tell you a bedtime story. How's that sound?"

Then, everything fades. Darkness envelopes me. “Gramps, can you tell me a story?” I sit on the wooden patio stairs, a warm mug cupped in my hands. The stars glitter above us, and the breeze carries the scent of flowers and earth. These nights were rituals with my grandparents. Quiet, gentle moments. Safe moments. “Sure thing, kid,” Grandpa says, his voice gruff with affection. “Hmm... I wonder which story I should tell?” He pauses dramatically. “I know, how about the legend of the Moonborns?”