#badboyrafe

[lotusmar]

Pastors daughter finding out that she’s pregnant i beg!

ofc! hmmm should i make pastor's daughter a series?

God knows… but He’s not the one I’m scared of.

pastorsdaughter!reader x badboy!rafe

WARNINGS: pregnancy reveal, religious guilt, crying, panic, secrecy, fear of parental reaction, implied smut (past), comfort, soft protectiveness, forbidden love

You’d been staring at the test for almost ten minutes. Not blinking. Not breathing. Just… staring.

Two lines.

Pink. Clear as day. Not even a faint maybe. Not even one of those squint-and-hope tests. You were pregnant. With Rafe’s baby.

You’d been careful. Mostly. Except that one night in the back of his truck, where the windows fogged up so much you swore even God couldn’t see in.

You were supposed to be home by 11. You weren’t.

You sat in your bathroom, knees drawn up to your chest, the test clutched in your hand like it might disappear - like if you stared at it long enough, maybe it would change.

But it didn’t.

Your phone buzzed again and again on the counter. It was Rafe.

rafe: u good? rafe: been like 3 hours. rafe: don’t ghost me, angel.

You felt sick. Not morning-sick — life-crashing-down sick.

Because the test wasn’t the scariest part. Your father was.

You finally texted Rafe back:

you: “meet me behind the chapel. now.”

You were already crying when he got there.

He jogged over, breathless, hoodie half-zipped, concern painted all over his stupidly beautiful face. “What’s wrong? Did someone say somethin’ to you?”

You didn’t speak. Just pulled the test out of your pocket and held it out with shaky hands.

Rafe looked at it. Then at you.

His mouth opened, then closed. “…You sure?”

Your lip trembled. “Yeah.”

He stepped closer slowly, like he was afraid you might run.

“Baby—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, brushing his hands away. “Don’t act like this is no big deal. This is huge. This could ruin me.”

His jaw twitched. “I didn’t say it wasn’t huge.”

“You didn’t say anything! You just stood there!”

“I just found out I got the pastor’s daughter pregnant behind a fucking chapel,” he hissed, voice low. “Gimme a second to process, baby!”

You took a step back, hurt crawling up your throat. “Fine. Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out alone.”

He cursed under his breath, then grabbed your wrist gently, not letting you go. “No. Hell no. Don’t do that. I’m not letting you walk away thinkin’ you’re alone in this.”

You looked up at him, angry and panicked all at once. “If my dad finds out, he’ll never let me out of that house again. I’ll be locked in my room with a Bible and a pregnancy.”

Rafe’s expression shifted — from panic to rage. Not at you. At the thought of you being caged like that.

“Let him try,” he said darkly. “I’ll rip that fuckin’ door off myself.”

You blinked. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

His voice dropped low. “I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

You stood there in silence, heart pounding, tears drying on your cheeks.

Then, a familiar voice cut through the air.

“Y/N?”

You froze. Your heart stopped.

Rafe turned slowly — and there he was. Your father.

Standing under the glow of the chapel light, looking from the test in your hand to Rafe's grip on your wrist.

The silence was suffocating.

Your dad’s voice was quiet — dangerous. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

Rafe straightened up. “It’s mine.”

You whipped your head toward him in shock.

“Rafe—”

He didn’t break eye contact with your father. “It’s mine. And I’m not walking away from her.”

Your father’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “I suggest you do. Now.”

Rafe held his ground. “No, sir. I don’t think I will.”

The tension was electric. One wrong move and someone was gonna swing.

Your hand reached for Rafe’s hoodie, tugging gently. “Rafe… please.”

He looked down at you, and his whole face softened. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m not trying to make this worse.”

You nodded. “I know.”

You turned to your father, voice barely holding. “Can we talk inside? Alone?”

He didn’t say a word. Just turned and walked toward the chapel. You followed, heart in your throat.

Rafe watched you go, jaw tight.

But before you disappeared through the door, you looked back — and he was still there. Waiting.

You didn’t know what the next days would bring. Didn’t know if your father would forgive you. Didn’t know what this town would say.

But Rafe was still there. And for once, you didn’t pray for forgiveness — you prayed he’d stay.

[lotusmar]

pastors daughter

pastorsdaughter!reader x badboy!rafe

WARNINGS: religion, guilt, sneaking, lying, emotional tension, kissing, toxic fluff, suggestive themes

You weren’t supposed to talk to boys like Rafe Cameron.

Not with your last name. Not in this town.

You were the pastors daughter. Sweet as pie, always in white. You said “yes sir” and “no ma’am,” baked cookies for the women’s prayer group, played piano on Sundays. People looked at you like you were made of glass.

And maybe you were — until he touched you.

The first time you kissed Rafe, it was behind the chapel after youth service.

You still had lip gloss on and a bible in your hand. He smelled like sweat and weed with a hint of gasoline. He was leaning on that beat-up truck of his, watching you from across the street, like he had nothing better to do than ruin a girl who was just trying to be good.

He didn’t even speak at first. Just smiled — slow, crooked. Like he already knew you were gonna cross the street. And you did.

“I’m gonna go to hell for this,” you’d whispered against his mouth.

“You’ll look good there,” he said, mouth still warm on your jaw. “Real good, n' ill save you a seat." he whispered, like a prayer, as his mouth eventually made way down to your collarbone, and well- you knew what would happen next.

Now it’s been two months, and you’re still sneaking out. Still crawling back into your room at midnight with swollen lips and your cardigan on backwards. Still lying to your daddy’s face over breakfast, your hands folded neat like a prayer while guilt gnaws at your ribs. Unable to look your daddy in the eyes as ya'll would pray at the dinner table.

Rafe never makes it easier. He’s cocky. Smirking. Always saying things like, “You look real holy on Sunday mornings. Shame what you let me do Saturday night.”

He texts you during church.

You know you shouldn’t answer. You do anyway.

One Wednesday night, after choir rehearsal, you hear your name.

“Hey,” a voice says. Sharp. Accusatory.

You turn. It’s Nathan. He’s the boy your daddy wants you to date. Polite. A little bland. From a “good family.” He’s frowning now, arms crossed, eyes flicking down to your smudged lips and the hickey you forgot to cover.

“Where were you just now?” he asks.

You freeze.

“Don’t lie,” he adds.

“I wasn’t—”

“I saw you. With him. Rafe. He dropped you off.” Nathan scoffs. “Does your father know?”

Your throat goes dry. “No.”

He stares at you for a long time. “He will.”

You run. Straight out the back of the church, past the sacristy, through the field behind the building — and find Rafe waiting by the fence.

He sees your face, your panic, and his smirk fades instantly. “What happened, doll?”

You don’t even answer. You just throw yourself at him, hands fisting in his shirt like you’re begging for something. Anything.

“Rafe, I can’t— I can’t do this anymore,” you say, voice cracking. “They’re gonna find out. They’re gonna ruin me.”

He cups your jaw, firm but gentle. “You’re not ruined.”

You shake your head. “You don’t understand. You’re not the one who has to look your father in the eye.”

“No,” he murmurs, pulling you in close, “but I’m the one who has to let you go. And I won’t.”

You try to pull away, but he won’t let you. His hands settle on your hips. His mouth brushes yours, not quite kissing yet, just holding you still. “I’ll take the blame. All of it. Say I lied. Say I tricked you.”

You blink up at him, stunned. “Why would you do that?”

His voice is low. Raw. “Because I love you. I know I’m not supposed to, but I do.”

You stare, heartbeat in your ears. “I love you too.”

And right there — under the cross-shaped steeple, in the shadow of everything you were told not to want — you kiss him like it’s the last thing God will ever let you have.

And maybe it is.

But for now, it’s yours.