Spongebob Box Imagination Novels & Stories

My serpent husband lost his memory and insisted on a divorce. He couldn't believe that someone of his status, the rarest purebred serpent alive, would ever marry a human. "Ms. Cassandra, I'm sorry, but I'd appreciate your cooperation in having the mate mark removed." "The billion is compensation. No need to return it." Hearing that, I actually felt relieved. I mean, sure, my husband was gorgeous and filthy rich… But he had two dicks! And each one was so huge. It was just too much. After the divorce, if I ever look for another husband... I would definitely find someone a bit gentler, the kind where just one is plenty!

For five years, I pursued the heir of the throne, Christof. One day, a large chunk of text floated in the sky. [Sweetheart, stop being so stubborn. That useless prince isn’t worth it.] [Just look at Prince Harald. He’s had a crush on you for the longest time!] I turned to look at the unruly Harald. He stiffened as his face turned dark. “Why are you staring at me? Go find your precious Christof.” [You fool. You’ve been hugging your pillow at night while saying her name.] [This is how you lose a wife.] [Mr. Ladies’ Man, you’ve fallen speechless around Louisa this whole time, haven’t you?!] I cautiously handed him the elderflower wine I had brewed myself. He snatched it from me and said, “Oh, so you noticed I’m thirsty? Good. You’re not completely useless.”

I had no desire to marry. Quite conveniently, the general’s only son claimed he had no interest in women and refused to ruin some innocent young lady’s future. A brilliant notion thus occurred to me. “Then ruin me instead.” I would be spared the obligations of the marriage bed, and I even agreed that he might seek his pleasures elsewhere. Yet on our wedding night, I unexpectedly overheard his private thoughts. “She smells delightful. I want to touch her,” he thought. I regarded him with wide-eyed disbelief. “Are you quite certain you have no interest in women?” Outwardly, he appeared to be the very picture of propriety. “I’m quite certain. Do keep your distance.” Yet his thoughts told a very different story. “That was all a lie. The truth is that I am a man of considerable appetites, and desires for the marriage bed occupy me daily,” he thought.

I’m the heroine in an erotic story. My specialty? Turning anything hot or cold into something steamy. On the first day I landed in a horror game, the boss told everyone to choose how they wanted to die. I smiled and said, “I’ll take shortness of breath, trembling legs, glazed eyes, and… pleasure so intense I die from it.” Boss: “???”

On the day I'm diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer, my dad suddenly gains the ability to hear people's inner thoughts. My stepmother, Pauline Barton, scolds inwardly, "Why isn't this old fool dead yet?" But what my dad hears is, "Honey, I'd gladly trade ten years of my life for your health." I kneel before him and beg him to take me to the hospital. In my heart, I'm crying, "Dad, please save me. I'm in so much pain." But what he hears is, "Hurry up and give me some money, old man. I want to buy the latest designer bag." So, he dotes on Pauline while throwing me, who is gravely ill, into a dog cage without food or water. Pointing at me, he snarls, "How can you be so vicious? I can't believe you want me dead!" Curled up in agony, I sob as I try to explain. However, all I get in return are even harsher beatings and insults. The moment I die, his ability finally starts working properly. My soul drifts above as I watch him hold Pauline and weep. But inside, she's laughing hysterically. "They're finally all dead. Now the entire family fortune is mine." This time, Dad hears every single word, loud and clear.

I, Darlene Cooley, have an ability. Whenever I touch an object, I can see the scenes it has experienced over the past day. I've been married for five years. Every time I help my husband, Bernard Hoffman, tidy up his suits or organize his briefcase, what I see are conference rooms, whiteboards, and workstations. Once in a while, I appear in those scenes. He'll be secretly reading my messages under his desk, the corners of his mouth lifting unconsciously. Bernard is so gentle that it feels almost unreal. In winter, he places my slippers by the heater to warm them up. No matter how busy his business trips are, he video calls me right on time. When I casually mention I feel like eating caramel popcorn, he drives halfway across the city to stand in line for it. My friends all say I'm blessed, and I feel the same way. That is, until yesterday, when he comes back from a trip. I go to help him unpack, and the moment I touch that gray cashmere sweater, a flood of images rushes in. Bernard is sitting across from a short-haired woman. Her eyes are bright, and a shallow dimple appears when she smiles. He listens to her speak, earnest and focused, with his head tilted slightly to one side. A faint smile lingers at the corner of his mouth. It's been a long time since he has listened to me speak like that. The vision ends. I crouch in front of the suitcase, my hand still resting on the cashmere sweater, unable to snap out of it for a long while. Then, I stand up and walk over to the cabinet, where I pull out my own suitcase.

My younger sister, Lydia Miller, and I are unexpectedly reborn into a beastman tribe, where the Beast God gives us a choice of identity. The first option is to become a beast woman with tremendous strength and a tall, imposing physique. The second option is to become a saintess with the ability to reproduce across species and an alluring, graceful figure. In our previous life, Lydia became a beast woman to survive, while I became the frail saintess. She ended up scorned by the tribe's beastmen for not being feminine enough. Meanwhile, I captured the hearts of the three strongest and most handsome beastmen in the tribe with my delicate frame. I became their most cherished beloved. Eventually, they rose to rule the primeval forest, and I basked in endless glory as their saintess. Driven mad with jealousy, Lydia pushed me into a poison swamp when no one was looking. With my last bit of strength, I plunged a poisonous thorn into her body, and we died together. When I open my eyes again, we're back at the moment when the Beast God asks us to make our choice. This time, Lydia rushes to claim the saintess identity first. "Ella, this time I'll be the saintess. Since I pity you so much, I'll let you have those three defective, impotent beastmen." I bite back the wild joy flooding through me. What's so great about serving as a breeding tool anyway? In a primitive society, strength is everything.

As the son of Harbor City's casino magnate, I willingly handed control of the World Cup book to my stepsister, Sophie Bell. It was only because, in my last life, Sophie, who had never watched soccer seriously, suddenly turned into the family's lucky charm and called sixteen World Cup matches in a row. Every single night I stayed up breaking down each team's tactics and studying the players' habits and tricks. Yet Sophie could always predict the exact score, a step ahead, saying out loud the very answer in my mind. "Admit it, Adrian. I'm just stronger than you! Everyone, listen to me and go all in!" After that, the whole internet worshiped her as a goddess and praised her as a natural-born betting queen. Everyone mocked me as nothing but a fraud who'd never deserved his name. I was driven out of the family, and in a daze, someone shoved me off a high-rise. Only in that moment did I finally learn the truth: my stepsister could eavesdrop on my thoughts in real time. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the night the World Cup began. This time, I didn't watch the matches. Instead, I looped through my head: "Darling, hold my hands. Nothing beats a jet 2 holiday, right now you can..."

I was bound to a Blessed Lineage System and thrown into a world of shifters. After a rabbit shifter named Rowan saved me, we slowly fell in love. Together, we had three little rabbit babies. But soon, the other shifter clans discovered my strange gift. While Rowan was out hunting, they took me away and forced me to bear their heirs. Rabbit shifters were born weak. To bring me back, Rowan fought with everything he had in the arena, only to be beaten down by the stronger clans. All he could do was watch as they dragged me away. When I finally escaped and returned to him, he did not despise me. Instead, he treated me even more tenderly, doing everything he could to make it up to me. But over the next five years, I was taken eight times. Again and again, I gave birth to children who were not his. I begged the system to send me home. But it told me I could never go back. Then, one day, I was taken again. Before I lost consciousness, I heard Rowan speaking to a wolf shifter. “Don’t hurt Ayla. She’s afraid of pain. Once she gives birth, send her back to me.” The wolf shifter let out a cold laugh. “She’s just a breeding vessel. Why are you acting so worried? Don’t worry. You’ll get what I promised. I’m far more generous than that black serpent.” Only then did I understand. Rowan had been trading me for resources all along. And because I was afraid he would blame himself, I had foolishly endured all that pain for him. I had almost given up completely. Then the system’s cold voice, silent for so long, suddenly rang in my mind. [Ding. System mission updated. Once the host has continued the bloodline of every shifter clan, she may return to her original world.] I froze. Only two clans were left. The wolves. And the foxes.

After the SAT, I come across a post online. Someone posts, "If you could make a choice all over again, which major would you choose this time?" The comments are filled with people wishing they had chosen a different major. They all have their own regrets. One response stands out from the rest. "I would choose literature. That way, he and I wouldn't have missed out on the four years we should have spent together because of that unwanted baggage." I chuckle and am about to scroll past when I suddenly notice the profile picture and username. They are identical to those of my childhood sweetheart, Winter Andersen. I click into the profile. Everything matches her current account exactly, except that the age is ten years older. My heart sinks to my stomach. This has to be her ten years in the future. No wonder I am the only one celebrating when we are admitted to the same major. No wonder she zones out for so long after seeing my best friend, Simon Brown, receive his acceptance letter from the literature department. It turns out I am the unwanted baggage responsible for so many of her regrets and disappointments. Since that is the case, I quietly press "Accept" on the admission offer written entirely in a foreign language. I shall end this mistake ten years ahead of schedule.