tom holland/peter parker and steve rogers oneshots

yet another restless night- peter parker

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in which two superhero

insomniacs find comfort in

sticking together

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as you can see I'm running out of ideas yet again. I do have a few blurbs saved in drafts but I'm literally stuck on how to get them started....I'm sorry for being inactive :( things have been really stressful for me lately :((( and I'm sorry that my writing is going downhill :(((((((((

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Being Tony Stark's daughter sure had its advantages, such as having a giant superhero family that always had your back, but there were also several disadvantages that came along with the package as well. You seemed to have inherited his inability to sleep, so you often took to wandering Stark Towers late at night to distract yourself from your overwhelming thoughts, and hoping that it'd somehow cure your insomnia.

Ever since his aunt and uncle had died in a car crash a mere week ago Peter was a mess. Following the devastating event, he often times found himself unable to sleep as well, being plagued with nightmares that jolted him awake and wandering the tower in an attempt to rid himself of those thoughts.

You just happened to be walking past the training facility when you heard the rather aggressive sounds of someone hitting a punching bag and breathing heavily. Careful not to disturb whoever was in there, you carefully pushed the doors open and stepped inside.

Peter was standing in front of one of the punching bags lined up in a neat row at one side of the gym, attacking the hell out of it with a look of murder in his eyes you'd never seen before. His knuckles were beginning to crack and bleed, and there were several bruises lining his forearms from the impact.

"Peter?"

He stopped what he was doing, facing towards you and wiping the sweat from his brow. "What?"

You rubbed the fatigue from your eyes and yawned slightly, "Shouldn't you be asleep? It's 3 o'clock in the morning."

"Can't sleep," he panted, reaching down and taking a long drink from his water bottle. "There's no use in trying to sleep, so why not do something."

You peered closer and that was when you saw that his knuckles were scarred over, making you come to the conclusion that this had not been the first time he'd been down here before, hitting the punching bag with such force to the point that he started taking damage himself. Dried blood stuck to his skin and you could see the faint outline fresh bruises beginning to form underneath. The sight made you sick to your stomach.

"Come on, Pete, tell me what's wrong," you sighed, rubbing your temples with your fingers and gazing at him worriedly, "what's keeping you up at this hour?"

"Nothing," he lied, but you caught the brief flash of a grief-stricken look cross over his expression, "I'm fine."

"Just tell me what's bothering you," you prodded gently, "maybe talking about it will get it off your chest. You're obviously not fine. If you were, you wouldn't be coming down here so often and taking all your frustration out on a punching bag until your knuckles began to crack and bleed."

He exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his brown curls, looking up at the ceiling as tears began stinging and pricking at the corners of his eyes. "No."