SUPERSTITION AIN’T THE WAY WILL SMITH
Summary: You were always a superstitious person, especially when it came to relationships. And you’d never had luck with romance. That is until Will stumbles into your life and you begin to question every superstition you've ever had.
Warnings: a little steamy, illusions to smut but nothing detailed, tooth-rotting fluff, pretty tame tbh, not proofread because I've already taken too long to write this
Requested: Yes! “Reader x Will; using TS new song wood”
A/N: There are three Taylor Swift-related easter eggs, and if you can guess them you get major brownie points. Two are easy and the other one isn't as obvious.
You were always superstitious, and unrightfully so. Crossing fingers, praying, manifesting to whoever and whatever could hear you, picking up pennies that were heads up and saving four-leaf clovers like they were sacred, avoiding walking under ladders and being abnormally careful around mirrors like your life depended on it.
But your favorite, by far, was knocking on wood.
It started when you received a job offer after you’d jokingly tested out the superstition. And then you did it again, and you got a good grade on an exam you were stressing over.
But regardless of the things you’d tried, even knocking on wood, your love life seemed immune to anything you tried to receive good luck, or at the very least, an indication that love was coming your way in the near future.
The numerous daisies you’d pull petals off of gave you the same answer. The stars you’d wish on yielded nothing. Every penny, glinting in the light, was tails side up. Every cross of your fingers, every prayer, every manifestation going unheard, falling upon deaf ears.
You swore off trying to date for a while, but the small sliver of your hope remained fixated on finding a boyfriend. And a good one at that. You just didn’t know it would happen on the most unsuspecting day.
This morning was particularly rough. You slept through your alarm, your favorite shirt was dirty, everything in the dryer was still damp even though you’d run it through two dry cycles, and it was raining. This was all before you walked out the door.
You rushed to your favorite coffee place, opting to walk with your office being only a handful of blocks away, thinking it was useless to drive such a short distance.
You were met with a long line, and you rolled your eyes, choosing to just go about your day without your fix of caffeine.
When you turn around, you bump into someone, and immediately feel the scalding hot liquid that you assume is coffee down your chest. You gasp, trying to pull your shirt away from your body in an attempt to keep it from touching your skin.
You groaned when the realization sank in. Coffee all over your white shirt that's now stained and very see-through.
“Fuck fuck fuck. No, this can't be happening!” you exclaim, trying your best to cover yourself up.
“I’m so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going. Here let me help,” the man says as he stands in front of you, hands hovering because he doesn't really know where to start because he doesn't really know what would even begin to help.
“I’m fine, you've done enough,” you say, but the bite you want to be there just isn't. Your voice is more sullen, like you've just given up with everything and it's only morning.
“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to run into you,” the man says, and you feel a little bad at how gentle his voice is.
And when you get a good look at him, you see that the man is barely a man at all. He still looks like a teenager.
“It's fine. It's just been the morning from hell so far,” you say, dabbing your shirt with the napkins he’d sheepishly handed you.
“Can I help in any way? I feel really bad,” he says, his face beet red.
“That’s okay, I’m okay. Thanks for offering though…”
The conversation lulls, and the ambient noises of the coffee shop swirl around you.
“So, uh, this may be a little forward, but can I get your number? Get you a new shirt, maybe get you a cup of coffee without spilling it on you?” he asks, and you smile softly.
You type your number in his phone before parting ways. You hear the door shut behind you, and something lulls you to a stop on the sidewalk outside.
Through the window, you can see Will crouched down, cleaning the spilled coffee from the darkened wood floor.
The rest of the day evened out for you. Work wasn't overly bad, you didn't have to face the reprimand for being late because your boss was off, a little break you really needed.
That evening, when you kicked back on your couch, glass of wine in hand, the stress was quick to melt away. You turned on a show you'd seen millions of times and scrolled through social media and missed texts.
One from the early afternoon caught your eye. It was from Will.
Unknown: Hey, it's Will. I’m really sorry again for ruining your shirt. Please let me know what I can do. It was nice meeting you
You smile softly, and you don’t know why, but you decide to text him back. And that simple action, the tiniest ‘yes’ your brain decided on opened a door.
Before you knew it, you and Will were texting just about every minute you possibly could. He was texting you before and after practices, during intermissions, and late at night when he was in various cities, alone in his various hotel rooms.
You texted him in the mornings before work, on your lunch breaks, and like him, alone in bed.
It felt like you were in a conversation with a best friend. Your interests were similar, and you had more in common than you ever thought you would.
One day in the midst of everything, the texting, the jokes, the flirting, Will asked you out. It sent you reeling, overthinking things in a way you never had before.
For the next week, your brain was in a haze, a thick fog that kept you from thinking clearly. And when the date night rolls around, it doesn’t get any better.
Your hands are shaky as you put on your sundress, the weather in San Jose being hot despite it being October. You’re shaking so bad that you can’t even put on any makeup, and you can barely style your hair.
On your way out the door, out of your habitual superstition, you knock on the wood doorframe.
The drive over is boring, and you park, looking around for any sign on Will. When you don’t see the Bronco, you lay your head on the steering wheel, taking deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down.
The sudden knock on your window makes you jump. You look out and see Will chuckling. You reach over to grab your bag, taking one last deep breath before opening your door.
Will, ever the gentleman, holds out a hand to help you out of your car, and you take it.
You smooth over your outfit before looking back to him.
“Ready?” he asks with a bright smile.
He leads you down the street to a cute little cafe looking place.
“When my mom and sister were in town, they found this place and told me I had to try it. Never really found a reason to want to come here until you said yes to this date.”
You hate it, but your stomach flutters and your heart thumps a little faster as he says it. You can tell he means it, too.
Your leg bounces as you two make conversation waiting for your food. You don’t know what it is about him that makes you this nervous. Maybe it’s how genuine he is. Or maybe it’s the fact that you’re trying so hard not to mess this all up.
“So what do you do for work?” he asks, taking a long drink of his water.
“It’s really boring, computer and data stuff. Nothing special,” you say coyly.
“No, I’m serious. I want to know. You know I play hockey, but that’s not always the greatest thing. What do you do?”
“I’m a bioinformatics analyst, I use genetic data and a bunch of other stuff to help identify and study all sorts of diseases. Cancer, MS, ALS, you name it.”
“So how do you collect data?” he asks, and his eyes are fixated on you, intently listening like he's actually curious and wants to know. The eye contact, the fixation on you has you gripping the bottom of the wood chair you’re sitting in. You’re not sure if he can tell how nervous he makes you.
“We work with medical examiners. They do the autopsies and we get the samples of the person’s bodily tissues and fluid and whatever we may need. We use laboratory techniques to enter it into our database and then we compare it to other samples and holy shit I’m rambling a lot. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. That’s really cool. Is that what you want to do? Like do you have another goal or profession you’re working toward?”
“I’m not sure yet. I like my job, and the work I do is really important. I’ve always wanted to be a part of advancing pathology, maybe be able to find cures or at least a way to prevent it. I’m doing what I’ve always wanted to do, but I didn’t really have an exact job I wanted. If that makes sense.”
The soft smile he wears has you blushing.
Your food comes and you continue to make conversation, but you mostly talk about mundane things. Though, when the check comes, Will grabs it before you can even move a muscle.
“You don’t have to do that, Will.”
He walks you back to your car. He helps you get in. He waves as you leave. And you’re sad about all of it. You didn’t want the night to end.
Life after that night went on pretty much as normal. Your relationship with Will got stronger, but you didn’t have a lot of time to hang out or go on dates. It was usually just nights spent together at your place or his.
One night, in the quiet of your apartment, as you cuddled into Will’s chest on your couch, Will asked you to be his girlfriend.
You said yes immediately. There wasn't anything to consider or think about at all.
That's when you started showing up to more home games, supporting him from the family suite. He started sending you flowers at work, cheesy notes written on the card in the midst of the bouquet.
Everything changed when your cousin’s wedding rolled around. It was set for mid February, and you had totally forgotten about it until a reminder popped up.
You were in your thoughts until a sudden knock on the wood doorframe of your room pulled you back.
“Hey. You okay?” Will asks, walking toward you.
“Yeah. Just forgot about my cousin’s wedding. I don’t even have a dress yet,” you sigh, letting him wrap his arms around you, burying your face in the crook of his neck.
“Well, I don’t have anything to do today other than spend time with you. Want to go shopping?”
“I don’t want to make you do that.”
“You're not making me do anything, now let's go.”
You found a shop downtown, and as you walk in, you can tell you'll find a nice dress.
You look through the racks, and you pull out a medium pink floor length satin dress with a pleated skirt. You hold it up to show Will.
“I’m trying this one on.”
As you slip the dress over your head, you look in the mirror and look at how the dress complements the curves and dips of your body.
You weren't insecure, but this dress looks exceptionally good on you.
When you walked out of the dressing room, Will was sitting on one of the chairs, focused on his phone.
You clear your throat and he looks up at you. And his eyes go wide.
“You look, uh. You look beautiful. That dress is… wow,” he stutters through the sentence.
You were surprised you had that effect on him. But you knew through his actions when no one was watching, his words when no one was listening. When it was just you and him, he showed you how he felt about you.
You just never thought it’d run this deep.
“Yeah. I think that's the one.”
His sentence is less strained, but very much still shaky like he hadn't fully recovered, his brain still short-circuiting and rewiring back to normal.
Will stands up, and grabs your bag that was sitting beside him. He starts to walk, and you follow.
But not before knocking on the wood sign hanging on the wall for decor.
It said ‘that's the one!’ and while you know it was referring to the clothes, it felt like a sign from the universe, from God, from whoever.
You get to the counter, the lady asking the usual questions about finding everything okay and if you wanted to sign up for a credit card.
When the total flashes on the register, you're shocked. It's more expensive than you thought.
You contemplate the decision, trying to stall by grabbing for your bag when you realize Will still has it over his shoulder. And a card in his hand.
“I want to. A lady deserves to feel pretty.”
He taps the card, it beeps, the receipt prints. The walk to the car is quiet. You walk side by side, but it feels like there is a million miles stretching between the two of you.
When you're buckled in and Will starts driving, you can't help but speak up.
“Why'd you do that, Will?”
“Because you're my girlfriend. And the dress was nice, you looked good in it.”
The silence returns for a few seconds.
“And I saw the way you looked at the total. I knew you would put it back,” he says softly, eyes fixated on the road.
“I would've found another one. I could've lived without the dress. You should've let me put it back.”
“But I saw the way you looked in this one. You looked a little more confident in it, a little more sure of yourself.”
“Thank you Will. I appreciate it,” you say and lean over to peck his cheek.
“I have another thing to ask.”
“Will you be my date to the wedding? It's over your extended break, and it's on a Saturday, and we don’t even have to stay that long, and-,” you ramble on like usual. Will noticed that anxious rambling the more he paid attention.
Time passes by in a blur. And when the Saturday of the wedding hits, the nerves come back.
You stand in your room, completely frozen except for the fingers nervously tapping on the wood dresser.
Your hair and makeup is done, you just need to get into your dress. You stand in your robe, staring at the dress hanging from the top of the bathroom door, the bag still over it to keep it clean.
The knock on the front door provides you with a brief escape from everything.
You swing the door open and Will stands there in a suit, a pink bow tie in hand. A pink that matches your dress.
“Hi. You look amazing,” you say, pulling him into your apartment and shutting the door.
“I know. But your hair and makeup look nice.”
“Thank you,” you say, and press a soft kiss to his cheek, being sure to not overdo it and mess up your lipstick.
“Go finished getting ready, I'll be out here.”
You return to your room and grab the dress, taking it off the hanger and unzipping it. And try as you might, you cannot reach the zipper. You did it just fine when trying it on. You didn't really have time to attempt to figure it out.
“Gimme a sec,” he says, and you hear the footsteps making their way toward your room. “What's wrong?”
“Can you zip me up please?”
The tension in the room gets thicker, you could cut through it with a knife. You feel his feather-light touch against the skin of your back and he grabs the zipper. It's enough to make a cold chill run down your spine, goosebumps rising on your skin.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers as he zips you up completely, smoothing the back of your dress out. You turn around, and his hands fall to your waist. “It's a shame that I can't take it off you right now.”
That sentence has you blushing, and as much as you'd love to let him take it off of you, you had a wedding to get to.
Your nerves rattle through your body the entire way to the venue. Will’s hand over yours does little to help. Everything was fine and dandy until you remembered he'd be meeting your family.
Will parks the car and you don't even register it until he waves a hand in front of your face.
“You okay?” he asks gently, eyes scanning over your face in concern.
“Yeah I’m good. Just nervous for you to meet my family.”
“Not exactly you I’m worried about.”
You make your way into the venue. It's a gorgeous wood barn-like building, situated near a patch of trees. And when you walk inside, the very first person to notice you is your aunt.
“Y/N!” she exclaims, setting her drink down and rushing over to you, her arms extended. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” you say, allowing her to wrap you in her embrace.
“And who's this?” she asks, looking at Will. “He's cute.”
“Aunt Helen, please,” you say, hiding your face as you blush. “This is Will.”
“It's nice to meet you,” Will says, and Helen wraps him in a hug too.
“Hope you're treating our Y/N well.”
“I’m doing my absolute best.”
“Don't worry, he is,” you say, looking over at him with a smile. She gives the two of you a knowing look before going back to socialize.
The ceremony was beautiful, and you're sure over half of the guests were crying. When the reception started, everything came undone.
The first dances were good, speeches went well, and the dinner was delicious. But that was only the early part of the night. As time passed, people became more rowdy. Drunken family members and friends alike made a spectacle on the dance floor, kids got restless and cranky.
Will got up to go to the restroom and grab you another drink when one of the groomsmen came sauntering over to you. He sat in Will’s chair and started firing pickup lines and flirty compliments your way. You tried to tell him you weren't interested, but that didn't stop him. He steamrolled right over you, continuing whatever he was attempting.
Your hands gripped the edge of the wood table you're sitting at, wishing that he would take the hint and leave. The air shifts around you and you feel Will’s presence before you see or hear him.
“The lady said she wasn’t interested,” Will says calmly. The guy looks behind you, staring at Will before standing up. He's threatened. Will knows it, you know it. You doubt this will end well.
“I’m her boyfriend. And she said she wasn't interested. Back off.”
“And what are you gonna do if I don’t?”
“Woah woah woah. What's going on here?” the groom comes up, trying to prevent a fight.
“Tell your boy to back off. He's making her uncomfortable,” Will says, gesturing to you.
The altercation continues, but you get up and slip away before anyone, especially Will, can realize that you're gone.
You sit outside on the curb, head in your hands. The anxiety courses through your veins, making your entire body shake.
You jump when you feel the hand on your back, looking up in horror only to find Will.
He sits next to you, wrapping his arm around you, planting a kiss on your forehead.
“That guy was persistent. I thought he was going to try something. Just freaked me out.”
“I've got you, I wouldn't have let anything happen,” he says into your hair.
You sit like that for a few minutes until he pulls back to look at you.
“Do you want to go back in? Or we can leave. Go do something maybe?”
“Let me go say goodbye first.”
Will waits outside for you, looking up at the stars twinkling against the black of the night sky.
He sees your dress through one of the windows, and he can't help but smile as you talk to the bride, your cousin, before wrapping her in an embrace. You’re the girl of his dreams and he considers himself so lucky that you texted him back after he spilled coffee all over you.
“Ready?” he hears you say as you walk through the doors.
His hand sits on your thigh, and you see his eyes shift over every so often. And the tension is thickened by you leaning over and pressing a kiss to his cheek, down his jaw, then right under his ear. You see him shiver and look over at you.
“Take me home and I'll show you just how much trouble I really am.”
It's said with a smirk, and Will proceeds to speed the rest of the way back to your apartment.
When you walk through the door, Will is quick to shut it and trap you against it.
It doesn't take long for his lips to roam. Nor does it take him long to start grinding against you, the wood he's packing hot and insistent against the soft skin of your inner thigh.
“Who's got you this excited baby?” you ask him, smirking at him once more.
“Y/N, stop,” he whines, trying to get back to kissing you.
“I’m serious, it's like a redwood tree.”
“Alright. Enough,” he says, picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom.
Needless to say, it was a long night.
When you wake, your bodies tangled together under the sheets, sunlight pouring through the blinds, you smile up at him.
The raspy morning voice is doing things to you, things that might make the events of last night repeat themselves.
“I’m hungry,” you say, kissing along his collarbone.
“Chocolate chip pancakes and bacon?”
“You better get cookin then.”
He leaves you in bed while he starts breakfast, standing over the stove as he flips pancakes and bacon with a practiced ease.
He thinks back to last night. He considers himself lucky. Whatever luck you had between you two worked in his favor. It felt like he had the key that opened you up more than you ever had before with anyone else. He loves that you feel so safe with him that you want to show him that side of you.
Your arms wrap around his waist, cheek resting against his back. He looks over his shoulder at you, his eyes meeting yours briefly. He can't help himself but to lean in and steal a kiss from you.
“I've got two ready for you over here,” he says, gesturing to the plate on the counter, a fork and syrup bottle sitting right next to it.
“Go eat,” he pushes you toward the island. He brings you a few strips of bacon once it's done along with a cup of coffee.
“A little cream, a lot of sugar. Just like you like it.”
“You know me so well. Surprised you weren't making fun of me for liking my things a little sweeter.”
“Oh no, you're still crazy.”
He leans over the island and kisses the tip of your nose before joining you with his plate.
Your foot finds his against the wood legs of the barstool, pushing it off. He does the same to you, and then breakfast is semi-forgotten while you two play footsie.
He reaches over and grabs your knee, pulling it toward him to keep you still.
“That's not fair! You're cheating!”
“You'll be fine,” he says, pulling you off completely and bringing you into his chest.
And as he holds against him, kissing your shoulder and feeding you the rest of your breakfast, you knew you hit the jackpot. But maybe you didn't need superstitions at all.
He felt like home, the shoe fit, and you're walking in it everywhere you go.
Maybe he was always meant to find you. Maybe you didn't need to knock on wood after all.
Please do not copy, translate, or repost my work as your own!
Written by: @alliwritespuck (2026)
Dividers from: @uzmacchiato
