#rudeth

Partners in Crime

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

Summary: You and JJ Maybank agree to babysit a five-year-old boy for a week. What starts as calm beach walks and sweet movie nights quickly devolves into chaos, dirt bikes, chicken chases, and teasing about future parenthood.

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Word count: 6k.

Warnings: None!

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

You didn’t expect your week to start with a phone call from your neighbor, Trish. Her voice had been panicked, fast, and full of too many apologies.

“I know it’s last minute, but I don’t have anyone else,” she said. “Can you watch Milo? Just for a week. I swear he’s not too much trouble.”

That’s how you found yourself babysitting a five-year-old with curls bigger than his head and an imagination even bigger than that. Trish dropped him off at your porch with a Star Wars backpack, a box of dinosaur fruit snacks, and a reminder that he liked cartoons more than real people.

You hadn’t even shut the door when JJ came bounding down the stairs from your bedroom, barefoot and shirtless, rubbing his eyes.

“Who’s the gremlin?” he asked, squinting at Milo.

Milo stuck out his tongue.

“Great,” you muttered. “They’re going to get along.”

---

You tried to be a good babysitter. Genuinely.

You packed juice boxes in a canvas bag and walked Milo along the shore barefoot, letting him collect broken shells and skip rocks. He asked a thousand questions about every hermit crab and seaweed clump you passed, and you answered with patience you didn’t even know you had.

“Do you think sharks ever get lonely?” he asked once, sitting on a washed-up log while seagulls screamed above.

You tucked his wild curls behind his ear and said, “I think even sharks like a good cuddle sometimes.”

Milo nodded like it was the wisest thing anyone ever said.

You and JJ took him to the little beachside theater, an old white building with peeling wood siding that played movies for free on weekends. Milo ate a popcorn bigger than his torso and spilled half of it into JJ’s lap. JJ didn’t even flinch, just whispered, “Nice,” like Milo had done something cool.

At night, you read bedtime stories while JJ made shadow puppets on the wall, making the kid laugh so hard he got the hiccups. You’d lean against the doorframe after lights out, watching JJ tuck Milo in, hearing them whisper about monster trucks and jellyfish.

You were trying. You were making it work.

But JJ?

JJ had other ideas.

On day three, you came downstairs to find JJ and Milo gone.

Vanished. Like ghosts.

Their shoes were gone. Milo’s backpack was gone. The only thing left was a note, written in JJ’s sloppy handwriting on a paper towel:

“Taking the kid for a spin. Don’t be mad. No helmets were harmed. –JJ :)”

You panicked. You called him. He didn’t answer.

An hour later, the two of them returned—covered in mud, twigs in their hair, and a suspicious feather sticking out of Milo’s back pocket.

“WHAT happened?” you asked, nearly choking on your own breath.

JJ grinned, unrepentant. “Taught him how to ride the dirt bike.”

You stared. “HE’S FIVE.”

“Five and a half,” Milo corrected proudly.

“And,” JJ added, slinging a dirty arm around Milo, “he chased a chicken. Ask Pope. It was majestic.”

You couldn’t believe it.

“You’re going to break him,” you scolded.

JJ smirked. “Relax, babe. He’s basically a mini Pogue now.”

Speaking of Milo being a mini Pogue based on JJ's knowledge. He, John B and Pope turned your backyard into a “Pogue Training Camp.”

There were obstacle courses made of driftwood, a “treasure hunt” that involved digging up JJ’s old sock, and watermelon-eating contests that ended with rinds being flung over the fence like frisbees.

You had to hose them down more than once.

You tried to set rules. Curfews. Screen time. Actual vegetables.

But JJ and Milo? They were partners in crime now.

When you came home from a grocery run and found them trying to build a zipline from the treehouse using nothing but fishing line and sheer delusion, you almost fainted.

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” you groaned, hands on your hips.

JJ just beamed, hands streaked with grease and leaves in his hair. “You say that, but look how happy he is.”

And he was.

Milo, cheeks flushed from excitement, hugged your legs like you were the best person in the world and said, “This is the most fun I’ve ever had!”

JJ winked behind him. You tried to be mad.

You failed.

Not when JJ picked up Milo effortlessly and carried him towards the dock to play with the water.

---

One night, you all sat around the firepit with marshmallows on sticks. Milo was half-asleep in JJ’s lap, chocolate on his cheeks, tiny fingers curled around JJ’s wrist.

John B nudged you with a smirk. “You two are gonna be great parents someday.”

You choked on your s’more. “Excuse me?”

Pope chuckled. “Seriously. You’re like the domestic dream. Beach walks, movie nights, homemade sandwiches... It’s kinda gross how perfect it is.”

JJ’s voice was soft. “You think so?”

You glanced at him, surprised. His expression was unreadable, eyes flickering from you to the firelight to Milo’s sleeping face.

John B snorted. “I give it two years max before you have a baby with sand in his diaper and attitude in his smile.”

You smacked his arm. “Shut up.”

But later that night, when you lay in bed beside JJ, he kissed your temple and whispered, “I wouldn’t mind it. Y’know. Someday.”

Your heart skipped. You didn’t say anything.

But you didn’t move away either.

That night you slept with a soft smile on your lips.

---

On the sixth day, your cousin Sadie came to visit, and the two of you decided to paint the outside of your little beach house. Just a refresh—some blue shutters, white trim.

It was peaceful. Relaxing, even.

Until chaos came thundering around the corner.

JJ and Milo returned from something, both of them covered in wet sand, slime-green paint smudged across JJ’s jeans, and Milo carrying a bucket full of hermit crabs.

You turned slowly. A quiet suspense creeping up on you.

“What... happened?” you asked, dread curling in your stomach.

JJ wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Well, there was this tidepool. And then—listen—it’s not as bad as it looks—”

“JJ!”

Milo shrank behind his leg.

You dropped your paintbrush.

Sadie laughed under her breath. “You’ve got your hands full.”

You pointed at the porch.

“March. Both of you. Rinse off. Leave the crabs outside.”

JJ held up his hands. “Yes, ma’am.”

Milo saluted you. “Aye aye, captain!”

As they trailed off—JJ muttering something about “ungrateful babysitting gigs” and Milo asking if hermit crabs could live in the bathtub—you just shook your head.

Partners in crime.

Unbelievable.

On the final morning, Trish came to pick up Milo. He hugged you tight around the waist and gave JJ a high-five that turned into a secret handshake they must’ve been working on for days.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Milo mumbled into your shirt.

JJ crouched beside him, tousled his hair. “You better come back next summer. We still gotta finish building that tree fort.”

Milo sniffled. “Okay. Only if she comes too.”

“She’s stuck with me,” JJ said, looking up at you. “So yeah. She’ll be there.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat and waved as Trish drove away, Milo’s little hand pressed against the window.

You turned to JJ, arms crossed. “So. Tree forts now?”

JJ grinned. “Gotta stay ready. You never know when chaos will come knocking again.”

He leaned in, arms wrapping around your waist, the salty wind tugging at your hair.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re such a menace.”

“But you love me,” he whispered.

You did.

RUDY PANKOW