#im cold

OVER 1.1K LIKES FOR THIS BULLSHIT, THE ART IS SO ASS 😭😭🙏 MAMAS IM BETTER THAN THIS

Edit 2: almost 2.7k??? FUCKING INSANE😭😭 LUV U GUYS

let em talk WS2

summary: social media is finally getting to Y/N. they’re hating on her, saying bad things about her, and she can’t do anything but believe them. when will notices he talks to her

requests: open

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By the time Will Smith finally stepped into the quiet of his apartment, the weight of the day followed him inside like a shadow he couldn’t shake. Practice had run long, the media had lingered longer, and his phone—buzzing nonstop in his pocket—felt heavier than any piece of equipment he’d worn on the ice.

Y/N was already there.

She sat on the couch with her knees pulled in, laptop closed but phone glowing in her hands. The TV was on, muted, some late-night sports recap flashing highlights of Will’s last game. She wasn’t watching it.

Will didn’t need to ask to know what was wrong.

He set his keys down slowly, like any sudden sound might break her further.

“Hey,” he said gently.

She looked up, trying to smile, and failing halfway through. “Hi.”

That single word told him everything.

Will crossed the room and sat beside her, close but careful, his presence steady rather than overwhelming. He glanced at her phone screen before she turned it face-down on the cushion.

He didn’t need to read it. He already knew.

Social media had been relentless lately.

At first, it had been subtle—side comments, jokes disguised as opinions. Then it became louder. Crueler. People dissecting Y/N’s life as if she were a character instead of a person. Questioning why Will was with her. Accusing her of chasing attention. Blaming her for losses she had nothing to do with.

She’d tried to ignore it.

She’d tried to be strong.

Tonight, it had finally cracked through.

“They hate me,” she said quietly, staring at the floor.

Will exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening—not at her, but at the faceless crowd behind those screens.

“No,” he said. “They don’t know you.”

She gave a short, humorless laugh. “Feels the same.”

Will leaned back, rubbing his hands together the way he did when he was thinking hard. “You know what they hate?”

She looked at him.

“That you don’t fit the story they already made up in their heads.”

Y/N didn’t answer. Her shoulders were tense, like she was bracing for another hit.

He continued anyway.

“They think they own my life because they watch me play hockey twice a week. They think that means they get a vote on who I care about.” He shook his head. “That’s not how it works.”

She finally looked at him then. “It still hurts.”

“I know,” he said softly. “And I’m not gonna pretend it doesn’t.”

Will reached for her phone—not to take it, just to turn it over so the screen faced down, completely dark.

“You remember that song I was playing in the car the other day?” he asked.

She nodded slowly. “The Ty Myers one.”

“Yeah. ‘Let ’Em Talk.’”

A faint smile tugged at her mouth despite herself.

Will smiled too, just a little. “That line stuck with me. Not because it’s easy—but because it’s true.”

He met her eyes, voice steady.

“People are always gonna talk. Especially when they don’t understand something. Especially when they’re bored.”

She swallowed. “I didn’t think I was strong enough to deal with it.”

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” Will said. “That’s my job too.”

The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was heavy—but shared.

Y/N leaned back into the couch, staring at the ceiling. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

Will let out a short laugh. “Neither did I. You think I wanted strangers analyzing my facial expressions after a bad shift?”

That earned him a real smile this time.

“They said I looked ‘emotionally unstable’ last week,” he added. “Because I blinked too much in an interview.”

She shook her head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Exactly.”

Will leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Look, when I was younger, I thought if I just played better, people would be nicer. Took me way too long to realize—some people don’t want to be nice. They want noise.”

She sat up straighter. “So what do we do?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“We live our lives anyway.”

The next morning, the noise hadn’t stopped.

If anything, it had grown.

A photo of Will and Y/N leaving a restaurant the night before had gone viral overnight. Comment sections were flooded—some supportive, many not. The same tired arguments recycled by different usernames.

Will scrolled through it once. Then locked his phone.

At practice, his teammate nudged him lightly. “You good?”

Will nodded. “Yeah.”

And he was—because he knew exactly where he stood.

After practice, reporters crowded him as usual.

“Will, how do you respond to fans saying your personal life is distracting you from the game?”

He didn’t miss a beat.

“I don’t,” he said calmly. “Because my personal life isn’t up for debate.”

The clip spread fast.

Y/N watched it from the kitchen, hands wrapped around a mug she’d forgotten to drink from. Her chest tightened—not from fear this time, but from something warmer.

—

That night, when Will came home, she met him at the door.

“They’re talking again,” she said.

He smiled, easy and unbothered. “Let ’em.”

She laughed, really laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in days.

“You’re serious,” she said.

“Dead serious.”

He rested his forehead briefly against hers—not dramatic, not performative. Just grounding.

“They don’t get to write our story,” he said. “We do.”

And for the first time since the noise had started, Y/N believed it.

Because the truth was simple.

The loudest voices didn’t know her.

Didn’t know them.

Didn’t matter.

So they let them talk.

Got a set of brush paint markers and did a little thing to test, I kinda like this one! The composition is whack and I tjink the purple and blue are too similar but sighs