100 Marvel One Shots✔️

The Woman Next Door >> Happy Hogan X Reader

Title: The Woman Next Door

Paring: Happy Hogan X Reader

Warnings: lil angst, Happy is an ass, Peter is a cutie, you're a lil shit (but I love u), fluff

Spoilers: nope, but takes place after Spiderman: Homecoming

Author's Note: This was requested by an anon on Tumblr. Requests are closed right now. 

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You're lugging the trash to the cans out the front when you see the familiar black SUV pull in front of May Parker's townhouse. Every few days or so, it comes around, but rarely you're outside of your home to see it so close. From the backseat comes Peter, backpack slung over his shoulder, head low, half an earbud in his ear.

You toss your trash into the can, waving to the teen, "Hey, Pete!"

He gives you a little wave and goes otherwise silently up the stairs to his home. You catch the eye of the driver, as he steps out, following suit of the teenager. But as soon as Peter closes the front door with a definite slam! he heaves a deep breath, stopping in his tracks.

"Teens, am I right?" you begin, wiping your hands on your raggedy house-pants, giving him a wry, sympathetic smile. "Whatever's up with Peter'll blow over, I'm sure. He's a good kid, trust me."

He tilts his head, inspecting you, before asking, "And you are...?"

"________. Next door neighbour, baker, unemployed teacher." You introduce, nodding. You'd offer your hand to shake, but you've just been wrangling a bag of trash, and he's wearing one of those suits which, if you hadn't known what Peter was doing, would suspect it was because he was from the Men in Black. "I tutor Peter for classes."

He nods, emotionless. "Well, you might be his tutor, but what happens with his internship with Stark Enterprises –,"

You bob your head, "Yeah, I get it, none of my civilian business, James Bond," you laugh, and turn to go back into your home, "I'll leave you before you say you'd have to kill me if you told me anymore."

You leave the driver standing on the pavement, and as you close the front door behind you, you feel your heart pace, your head race, and you slide to the floor like a lovesick teenager. He was built like a truck, scowl upon his face like he was looking into the glare of the sun itself, and yet, this man had, in under three minutes of encountering, had earned a place in your heart.

"Damn it," you whisper to your empty house. And despite yourself, you giggle.

It was a simple fact, that you, a single woman living in Queens from the dregs of your late grandmother's fortune, were in want for the big break in life. Wasn't everyone? You were thirty, fresh out of your honours program of high school teaching, and when every school declined your application, you turned to the second thing you did best.

Baking. Baking was somewhat of a passion besides teaching the youth of the country, but, it most certainly did not pay the bills. But you had at least six months more until you had to worry about that. Luckily for you, your maternal grandmother left a sum for all her descendants. Unluckily for you, it was nearly all spent on rent.

Your neighbour May Parker was a good friend, and not only because of her help to get you to crack the local made-at-home hipster markets in the local area. Now, while your cousin wrote to you saying how she was working hard as a translator at NATO, you had something to write back. May's nephew Peter was often over to your living room; if you weren't cracking answers for his history homework, he was trying out your newest culinary escapades.