(Y/n) liked to think of herself as a woman with good self-control, swimming through steaming hot or freezing cold had proven that, however, she believed that God had truly begun to test her. As one of the most... underrated members of her group she wasn't necessary to her team in terms of marketing. Unlike many of the others swimmers most of her fanbase consisted of people just as insecure as her. Meaning that she was the perfect underdog for those who went against the grain.
As it stands she was preferable C list celebrity to other swimmers who only had the look but no talent. This meant she could swim but her attractiveness was simply "okay" to most and "eh" to others while her body was the only part worth intriguing fans. This is how she made most of her money.
Peter. B. Parker: You've got this. Mayday and I are rooting for you!
Mayday, paying little to no attention made it her mission to escape her father's carrier.
Peter. B. Parker: No, no, Sweetie. Let's go sit and cheer for Ms. (L/n).
With her swimsuit on, hair tied back, goggles ready, and stance straight she climbed the ladder, those below her turning into mere insects under a microscope as she walked the rubber plank. Arms stretched out she made one small jump before leaping, hands pressed together in perfect form as the water decended upon her, warming her in it's cool embrace.
Somewhat amused claps followed as she emerged from the pool, stroking against the rifts of the water. Many were still cheering for their respective daughters, sisters, wives, moms, and girlfriends that went before her to pay her any mind. "And a fantastic finish for Number 75."
Each contested stood in line as the announcer approached with three trophies and three medals. "And the Silver Medal goes to... Number 42!" She would've felt a bit disheartened if not for the stump of a guitar string followed by various voices cheering.
Miles: Way to go!
Gwen: Good job!
Peter. B. Parker: (Y/N!) (Y/N!)
Mayday clapped her hands together, blissfully unaware.
Pavtri: Well done, my friend!
Hobie: That's my Duck!
In in that moment her heart was at ease.
***
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Cheers" the whole group collectively chinked their glasses of soda together, Mayday's being a bottle of formula. They were all back at HQ. Dressed like this was an office party that consisted of nachos, pizza, and Cheetos. Whether due to liquid courage that he snuck into his pint, as he would call it whenever Miguel or Jessica weren't looking, though the former didn't bother to order him around or perhaps it was simply an excuse to grab her arse, Hobie approached (Y/n).
Hobie: Care to dance, love?
(Y/n) took his hand.
(Y/n): Wearing a suit, huh? I think the conformist have taken over.
Hobie quickly untucked his shirt, loosened and unbuttoned his suit in response to this comment.
(Y/n): How... professional.
Hobie: Gotta have the right man for the job.
While they danced Hobie took the opportunity to give (Y/n) a quick spank on her butt before kissing her.
(Y/n): That tasted like more than soda.
Hobie: Wouldn't ya like to know?
He then lifted her right leg around his waist, his free hand supporting her back.
(Y/n): What are you doing? You're gonna get me in trouble with Mr. O'Hara.
