Imagine Book 2

A Weiner-ful Day- Norm Scully (Brooklyn Nine-Nine)

Fem Y/N.

Norm Scully woke up with a start, heart beating like the steady rhythm of a drum. He turned to his beloved wife, Y/N, who was still peacefully snoring beside him. A smile crept across his face as he remembered: today was the day. The day he and Y/N had been planning for weeks. Operation Hot Dog Bonanza was about to commence.

"Y/N, my little bratwurst," Scully whispered, gently shaking his wife awake. "It's time."

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, a mischievous glint sparkling within them. "Is Hitchcock gone?" she asked, her voice still husky with sleep.

Scully nodded solemnly. "I told him there was a sale on hair dye at the dollar store. He'll be busy for hours trying to find the perfect shade of 'distinguished silver fox'."

Y/N chuckled, sitting up and stretching. "You're a genius, Norm. A hot dog genius."

"Well," Scully said, puffing out his chest, "I don't like to brag, but I did once win a hot dog eating contest. I mean, I was the only contestant because everyone else got food poisoning, but a win's a win."

As they got ready for their day of encased meat adventures, Scully couldn't help but feel a flutter in his heart (which he briefly mistook for heartburn). Y/N looked radiant in her hot dog-themed dress, complete with a mustard-yellow cardigan and relish-green shoes.

"You look good enough to eat," Scully said, waggling his eyebrows.

Y/N laughed, swatting him playfully. "Save it for the hot dogs, Romeo."

They set out into the bustling streets of Brooklyn, hand in hand, their noses twitching in anticipation of the savoury scents that awaited them. Their first stop was a little cart on the corner of their street, run by an old man named Giuseppe.

"Ah, Signor Scully!" Giuseppe called out as they approached. "And the beautiful Signora! You want the usual?"

Scully shook his head, a serious expression on his face. "Not today, Giuseppe. Today, we embark on a journey. A journey of discovery, of passion, of... hot dogs."

Giuseppe raised an eyebrow. "So... two hot dogs with everything?"

"You know us too well," Y/N said with a wink.

As they sat on a nearby bench, savouring their first hot dogs of the day, Scully turned to Y/N with a dreamy look in his eyes. "You know, my love, this reminds me of our first date."

Y/N smiled, a dollop of mustard on her chin. "You mean when you took me to that hot dog eating contest and ended up in the hospital with meat sweats?"

Scully nodded, wiping away a tear. "It was the most romantic food poisoning of my life."

They continued their hot dog tour, stopping at cart after cart. At one point, they stumbled upon a hipster hot dog stand offering artisanal, locally sourced, organic hot dogs with names like "The Postmodern Frankfurter" and "Existential Crisis in a Bun."

Scully eyed the menu suspiciously. "What in the name of Oscar Mayer is a 'deconstructed hot dog'?"

The hipster behind the counter, sporting a moustache even more impressive than Capitan Holt's in the 70s, explained, "It's a hot dog that challenges the very notion of what a hot dog can be. We serve the components separately, allowing the consumer to contemplate the nature of hot dog-ness before assembling their own culinary narrative."

Scully and Y/N exchanged a look. "We'll take two," Y/N said.

As they sat trying to assemble their deconstructed hot dogs, Scully couldn't help but feel a bit lost. "Y/N, my sweet relish, I don't understand. Where does the hot dog end and the bun begin? What is the true meaning of condiments?"