Bottomless Chara (Omorashi)

"How utterly disappointing," Chara mused, the words a silent whisper in the frigid Snowdin air. Her breath plumed out in front of her, momentarily obscuring the crude, smiling cut-out of Sans that marked his sentry station. She’d just passed him and his lanky, oblivious brother, and the whole encounter had felt… flat. Barely anything had changed from her previous runs, despite her decidedly new look.

She’d hoped the Ruins, at least, would have offered more… excitement. A different kind of terror, perhaps, when their killer’s pale, cream-colored pussy swung freely with each step she took. But no. When their tiny monster bodies were getting carved open by her red knife, it truly didn’t matter how much clothing their killer had on. "Even worse," she thought, a shiver running through her that had nothing to do with the cold, "this exposed state makes my bladder think it’s time to let loose when it isn’t." The constant, biting chill against her bare flesh was a relentless, insidious prompt, making a desperate need feel like an imminent burst.

At least that first Froggit’s reaction had been different. Its wide, unblinking eyes had fixed on her lower half with a bewildered stare, a tiny croak caught in its throat before she'd dispatched it without a second thought. Pathetic. Truly pathetic.

Sans, at least, had done a double-take. His permanent grin had faltered for a microsecond, his eye sockets lingering on her bare crotch before snapping back to her face, a knowing, weary glint back in his pupils. Then he’d launched into his usual spiel, the bad puns and lazy demeanor. Predictable. Papyrus, bless his cotton socks, was still the same forgettable skeleton as always. She hadn’t expected anything to change with him; the poor fool didn't even know what a human looked like, let alone what a lack of pants implied.

Ugh… This need was starting to really become a problem now. Her insides were screaming, a deep, insistent pressure building behind her calm exterior. Every gust of wind, every slight movement, sent a fresh wave of desperate urgency through her. She clutched her red knife tighter, not out of fear, but as a distraction. She really shouldn’t have stolen those drinks from the spider bake sale in the Ruins…

She was just about to turn down the winding path deeper into Snowdin, the cold seeping through her green sweater and thigh-high socks, when a flicker of movement caught her eye. Not a monster. This was… different. Standing a little ways off the path, partially obscured by a snow-dusted pine, was a figure she’d never seen before. Too tall to be Frisk, too solid to be a monster.

It was another human.

Intriguing. A genuine, unscripted anomaly in her carefully cultivated genocide run. Her brown eyes, usually so flat, gained a spark of crimson. Perhaps this run wouldn’t be entirely disappointing after all. She adjusted her grip on her knife, a predatory smile slowly forming on her lips, even as her bladder felt like it was about to rupture. Focus. No looking weak and unthreatening just because your bladder is rebelling against you.