i was gonna start an ian x reader mini series tonight BUT it is mother's day and i wanted to do something for the lightfoot family and laurel especially bc she is the best pixar mom ever :-)
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It was seven in the morning on a Sunday, and you were in your baggy sleep shirt, old leggings, and your unbrushed hair was messily pulled into a ponytail. You held two cartons of eggs in one arm and knocked on the door.
It opened almost immediately and you saw one of your two best friends. You almost laughed --- Ian's hair was a complete mess and his face was of pure fear, as if he almost expected you to be someone else.
"Hey," you said. "I brought the, uh, eggs you wanted."
"Oh, thank you," he sighed in relief. He took them from you. "Barley! ___ brought the eggs."
Barley ran to the door, a light purple apron that most likely belonged to his mother on him. "Awesome! You're amazing."
"Thank you," you said. "Uh, why did you call me at seven in the morning to beg for eggs? And why were my original dozen I offered you not good enough? I'll have you know, the stores are freaky-empty at six-thirty in the morning on a Sunday. I didn't even know they were open that early to begin with."
"Ugh, you wouldn't believe the morning we've had. And---" He held up a hand as he spoke and shook his head at you, exasperated. "We wanted to make eggs and French toast and you need eggs for all of those things, I guess!"
"Yeah Barley, you typically do have to have eggs to make eggs."
"Yeah," he sighed, either ignoring or not realizing your sarcasm. "Well, come on in. We need your hands and your genius brain to save us."
"Alright. Sounds cool," you said. You followed him inside and closed the door. "So is this a Mother's day breakfast for Laurel?"
"Yeah," he said. You followed the boys into the kitchen and took a seat at the counter. "So what about your mom? Are you guys doing anything?"
"Uh, we had dinner last night," you said, scratching the back of your head, "and I'll see her when she gets home later tonight. So whatever I can do, I'll help you with."
Barley looked at you and sighed, "___, you're like an angel with no wings."
"So, like, a person," you said, nodding slowly.
Ian pulled the milk and the butter out of the fridge. He looked at you. "Can you make the eggs?"
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As you started on the endless mountain of eggs Barley and Ian wanted prepared, they boys went to work on making "the perfect French toast". This, of course, consisted of perfectly made slices of French toast, sprinkled with only a bit of cinnamon, served with sides of blueberries, strawberries, apples, bowls of maple syrup, vanilla syrup, and a can of whipped topping. They set up the French toast bar on the counter.
