Smokey aroma...with a hint of candy? Underswap grillby X Reader

Part one: Rain

I look away from the chilling breeze
Biting my cold skin.

The window lets in small rays of light
But only a few compared to the puddles of water gathering on the sill. The curtains moving in rhythmic motion, as long as I'm here in side...'safe'

The way people bang there heads against walls to relieve pain, or use silver objects to release, only builds up tension to break.

My agony only wallows with the shame of where I'm at in my life. I'm at no mid life crisis, but with the people that I love screaming above me.... They only leave wounds. The yelling, scolding, quietness, anxiety, wounds, stains, scars....

All I can see is the bitter sweet rain. Hitting my skin from a slanted angle. The drops making a beet.

As my mind wonders all I can hear is the screaming increasing. My name catching on through its lingering. The old man shouting through gritted teeth, the women stomping and kicking. While all of my encounters with anise seem to be just one clichéd movie spinning around me, me mind can't shake the thought of my ever pending morality of how to handle these things.
All through the scars that no one can see because they aren't physical.

But mental.

Oh the chastising.

How my words are deflated by the man up stairs as I make my getaway.
All I have is my bag and some nightmares to take with me. The door in front taunting me, it's door nob winking at me with all of its will to belittle me. My hand shaking grabs it, making as little noise as humanly possible. The hinges move as I step out of the room. I walk carefully. My shoes making small pats* on the ground as I reach the stair way.  I swiftly run down as a door is thrown open, the body of a loved one lay on the floor. A women I once called a mother but no longer will she say anything to me. Fatal marks around her neck show a struggle. The screams from (much more) above me start to shout my name more vigorously as I make my escape. The rain awaking my adrenaline as I make my way down the side walk as the man runs towards me with the bloodied hands  making his way down but quickly stops. The cops have come here from neighbors I yelled out to from the dusty window sill. And yet from the way I am running I show no fear for all of this is so famili-

"My child. It's time to wake, for I have you some tea." My eyes flutter open from my nightmare and I'm met with a warm hug.

" 'Mornin Asgore."