Modern Monsters

Mac the Minotaur

Female Reader x Male Monster

Since your great-grandfather's time, your family has owned and operated a greengrocer that gets everything they have from local farmers in the area. But your small town has recently gotten one of those big super shopping centers, and people fought against it, spreading the rumor that the local government had been paid off by the hulking corporation. A couple of small family-owned businesses have already gone out of business. Once-bright windows are dark, with For Sale signs plastered behind the dark glass. The once-thriving downtown area now looks more like a street view from an old Western movie these days.

Your family is trying to compete with the monstrous shopping center, and you've started letting some of the other struggling businesses join forces with you. You convert one area of the grocer into a deli to incorporate the bakery. Still, it's hard drawing in customers.

"You would think, after all the fighting they did to make sure it didn't come here, they wouldn't look at it." Mac, one of the local farmers you worked with, grouses. He came from Angled Horns Farms, also family-owned since his great-grandfather's days. His family of minotaurs had been one of the first farms in the area, and he now owns a big chunk of land in town. In fact, the supermarket chain had come to him first because they wanted a plot of his land for the 'scenic appeal'. Of course, Mac shooed them away.

"It'll be alright," you say as you total up what he brought in. "I've already had people coming complaining about their produce."

Mac frowns. His usually sky-blue eyes seem dim. "I just don't know about folks sometimes," he scoffs. "I look around and see less of the town I love."

You start to write him a check, but he stops you. "Hold off on that for now," he says. His big hand hovers overs yours, stalling your pen.

"But I have to pay you!" you insist.

Max nods and releases your hand. "I know, and I have to get paid. But I want you to only give me half of what's owed."

You frown up at him. "What are you talking about?"

Mac smiles, his ears flicking forward. "You can run a sale. If you don't have to pay as much, then you don't have to mark up as much to make your funds back. If you have a good sale, then people will flock here rather than to the supermarket."

You slowly lower your clipboard as you look up at him. "But that's only good for us. What good does that do for you to get paid half?"

"Because your family was the first to sell my family's produce in town. No one else would touch us because we were minotaurs. Your family paid double when no one else would even sell our stuff." He motions back to the clipboard. "So, only half. Got it?"

You frown still, not liking the idea of not giving Mac what he's due. His produce is always the best, and besides, you've harbored feelings for him ever since you were little. Mac is a bit older, but the two of you have been around each other all your lives. Both of your fathers worked closely together since they were kids, and your families have always been close.

Mac was always the popular one because he was handsome, strong, and intelligent. His crystal-blue eyes and black fur made him look like an old movie star, and he's burly and muscular on top of that. He had always been nice to you too, even when you were your most awkward and weird. He found a way to see the bright side of your shyness.

Later that week, you run the sale like Mac suggested. While you see a bigger turnout than what's become the new norm, it feels as if it's still less than the earnings on your best days. That evening, after closing, you sit on the curb outside. Not yet ready to get into your car and head home, you look at your phone scrolling through Instagram posts from everywhere else in the world. You glance up, and in the distance you can see the hazy glow of the supermarket parking lot from your store. You grimace, wondering how a place can stay open until ten and be considered sane. You look back down at your phone, liking pictures from Paris and Italy.