Breakfast Scrambler (Patreon)

 You visit a diner for breakfast on a friend's recommendation. The place isn't anything to speak of appearance-wise, just some stereotypical booths to sit in and a bar in front of the kitchen. Everything's very...plain. The colors are almost clinical, which is exaggerated by the blinding, whitewashing light of the morning sun pouring in through the oversized windows.
A small elderly woman calls out to you from behind the counter in a grating voice that belies decades of smoking. "Just sit wherever ya want, I'll come by and get ya order in a sec hon."

You take a seat in a free booth towards the corner of the diner. You take a menu from a small rack on the table near the wall. An overwhelming list of burgers, tacos, eggs, ham, waffles, pancakes, chicken, pasta, and meatloaf assaults your eyes as you struggle to remember what your friend said to order. A moment later, the old woman hobbles over to your table.

"Breakfast scrambler, right? That's what everybody wants when they come here," she chimes, obviously seeing the confusion on your face. You nod.

"Quiet type? Or maybe you're not a morning person? Anyways, coffee comes with the scrambler. Hope ya like it strong! We make it the old way, not that wimpy Crap-a-cino Frappee stuff. Them guys don't make coffee the way they used ta'. Got'ta get it real strong, wake ya right up and put the..." The woman hobbles off to deliver your not-so-personalized order, still rambling to herself.

You fidget with your phone as you wait. The place is oddly quiet for how full it is. You see that everyone's hunched over their plates, the only sounds are the occasional scrape of silverware and the sizzle emanating from the kitchen. You hear the little bells on the door ring as it swings open, followed by a series of heavy thuds from someone stomping their feet as they walk in. Curious about who would seriously come pounding in a rage into such a peaceful little joint, you turn to look over your shoulder, and your eyes widen at the sight of the most muscular man you've ever seen. It's plainly obvious he's not pounding his feet; he's just that heavy. He's not tall by any means, but his arms are easily bigger than his waist, with a massive, striated chest that's several inches thick bulging out of their hoodie. A pair of ridiculously muscled legs stretch his leggings and his...mini-skirt?

You blink rapidly, your brain struggling to reassess what you're looking at. Your vision goes straight to the floor as you work your way from the bottom to the top. White high tops, small. Black leggings, giant calves that look like someone stuffed melons under the leggings, muscular thighs that would look out of place even on a horse as they bulge several inches out past the knee...white mini-skirt. Definitely a skirt. Chunky, blocky abs like the person shoved apples under their skin. White sleeveless crop-top hoodie, only zipped up to the bottom of the chest. Bloated, lean pecs framed by shoulders so wide you're pretty sure that they had to turn a bit to get through the diner door. A pretty woman's face.

A woman's face. Pretty. Young. Ponytails.

Your jaw drops, and then you jump as the old lady whistles next to you.

"Damn, they definitely don't make 'em like they used ta. Never saw a gal like that b'fore. Welp, here's ya breakfast scrambler, strong coffee." She slides a plate in front of you with a mountain of bacon, ham, sausage, pancakes, hashbrowns, and some other meat hash-thing that you can't identify. "HEY BIG MISSY, TAKE A SEAT AND I'LL BE WITH YA IN A SEC HON!" the old woman screams out in an absolutely inappropriately loud volume.

The bodybuilder looks straight at your booth, then the old lady, then at you for an instant, before turning and taking a seat at the bar, the stool groaning under her weight. She turns her head slightly and looks at you out of the corner of her eye, and you realize you're staring. You quickly dig into the arterial death mound sitting in front of you, trying to act normal. Occasionally, you find your vision traveling upwards, canvassing her mountainous back, watching her biceps dance as she flips through the menu.

"I knew ya liked 'em strong!"

You choke as the ninja grandma sneaks up on you again and whacks you on the back like a proud parent.

"Don't worry, you're not too obvious. I've just been around the block. 6 kids, 22 grandkids. I know about more than breakfast scramblers and coffee, ya know? Now, here's the deal sweetheart. Ya better get that ass up and talking. Ya might not be a mornin' person, but I know when I've looked at someone like that, I definitely wasn't after the kind of breakfast scrambler that we sell!" She chuckles and gestures with her head across the diner before hobbling off. The bodybuilder is completely spun around on the stool, and she's looking straight at you, legs crossed. She puts her elbow on the counter and leans against her hand while running her other hand over the top of her bulging quad. She smirks at you...