Peter Parker x Reader Go-Away Green

Senses

At Disneyland, there's this paint color called Go-Away Green. They use it to paint scaffolding or basically anything else they don't want you to pay attention to at the parks, as it's scientifically proven to divert a person's gaze away from it.

You had the same effect (though you didn't wear that green color. There's a reason people don't look at it- it's ugly as sin).

You really didn't know how you managed to do it all the time. But somehow, you could make people avert their eyes, completely disregard your presence. All you had to do was chant in your mind, usually something along the lines of look away or forget me, and they would obey your mental commands. You wardrobe helped, as did the way you carried yourself. You never wore anything bright or flashy, and you rarely made eye contact with anyone. You always sat in the back of every class and nobody ever sat next to you.

In this day and age of Iron Man and Black Widow and Captain America, it was about the closest thing you had to a superpower. You were grateful for it, as lonely as it was.

You went to Midtown, of course. At one low point in your life, you'd considered asking your parents to let you be homeschooled, but that would require a) talking to your parents about something serious and b) having the sole attention of a private tutor on you for an extended period of time. For whatever reason, it was far less harrowing to roam the hallways full of people who never looked in your direction than to have one person focus on you and only you.

You didn't realize that your fear would be coming true very soon.

Chemistry, the class before lunch. You generally didn't take notes, in this class or in any other. Mr. Harrington gave pretty good lectures, and even if he didn't, you had the textbook and the Internet. Navigating your own education was mostly a result of being too shy to ask teachers for help and to ask your parents for school supplies.

Mr. Harrington wrote a chemical equation on the board, the answer to which you knew was iron oxide. You rarely got called on in class, usually because teachers didn't notice you when they looked around the room.

Try as you might, though, your powers couldn't quite prevent a teacher from going through the class roster to randomly select-

"(Y/N)," he announced.

Damn it.

Mr. Harrington's eyes flicked up to yours. Eye contact made your skin crawl.

Look away look away forget my name move on pick someone else pick someone else forget me look away look away.

And then, just like magic, Mr. Harrington's eyes seemed to glaze over slightly before returning to the class roster, his finger scanning over the names.

You knew nobody liked to answer questions in front of a class (well, you didn't know, but you could surmise), and you felt bad for subjecting your fellow classmates to it, but it was the lesser of two evils.

"Peter," said Mr. Harrington. His eyes swept over the room, but the curly-haired brunette was nowhere to be seen. He usually sat with his best friend (you were very observant), but the seat beside Ned Leeds was currently empty.

As if on cue, Peter burst into the room in a flurry, his backpack half open and spilling its contents onto the floor. He bent over and started to scoop them up, mumbling apologies for his tardiness. This caused even more supplies to fall from his bag, which generated a few laughs around the room, mostly from Flash Thompson, who sat a few rows in front of you.

Mr. Harrington pinched the bridge of his nose. "Peter, would you care to answer the question on the board, as you've now so graciously decided to join us?"

"Uh, yeah, it's- uh..." Peter's eyes squinted at the board as he shoveled his supplies into his backpack. "Iron oxide, right?"

"Very good, Peter," Mr. Harrington commended. "And please try to be on time to class in the future."

"You bet," Peter agreed, finally taking his seat next to Ned. Under the table, the friends shared their usual secret handshake (not so secret, you had it memorized, by now.) (Again, you were very observant). It was something you always looked forward to whenever you saw them together. They were children at heart, and it was nice to know that amongst all of the other students at Midtown, most of whom were very smart and trying to grow up too fast, there were still a few dorks around who liked to play with Legos.

You returned your attention to Mr. Harrington, who continued the lecture.

...

It took a while, but Peter started to feel something strange. He'd done his best to focus on the lecture, but something was nagging at him and he didn't know what. Was it his senses? They weren't going off like a red alert like they usually did when someone was being mugged, or something (his initial reason for being late to class). It was subtle, like he'd walked into a room and forgotten why he was there, and now he was trying to figure out what he'd been trying to do. It was a little tugging in the back of his head, equal parts annoying and persistent.

Peter's eyes swept around the room for clues until they finally fell on you in the back of the class. Immediately, his eyes passed over you to the beakers and the microscopes in the back cabinet, but the tugging feeling came back. He forced his attention back on you, but every time he did, his eyes seemed to roam somewhere else. You seemed far away and almost blurry to him. What was your name again? He had absolutely no idea.

He thought he'd be caught in one of those awkward moments where he and the person he was staring at would suddenly make eye contact, but you never looked away from the front of the class. You seemed to be very engrossed in the lecture even though you weren't taking notes.

Not taking notes? Weird. Even Flash Thompson was taking notes. You were either very smart or very cocky. Maybe both, there were a lot of kids like that at Midtown. But you didn't come off that way to Peter.

Peter shook his head at his own stupidity. You've never even talked to her, he thought to himself. You don't know her name, there's no way you know what she's like.

Well, he would have to find out, considering you were likely what was causing that annoying tugging feeling. And even if he didn't have to find out, part of him just wanted to.

...

A/N: It's been a while, eh?