Discover Top Posts Tagged with #ethan mbav

hello niche community

#my babysitter's a vampire #mbav #mbav stuff #ethan mbav #my babysitters a vampire #sarah mbav #benny weir #ethan morgan #sarah fox #rory keaner #erica jones #fanart #mbav fanart #digial art #small artist

yoooo dude benny i had a vision we kissed isnt that crazy lol ….👀 (click for quality)

#mbav #my babysitter's a vampire #benny weir #ethan morgan #ethan mbav #bethan #my art #rdl #benny mbav #are u guys still here #i know ive been gone oops

my problem is that i want to write about the most niche characters ever because WHO CARES ABOUT ETHAN MORGAN FROM THE CANCELLED SHOW MY BABYSITTER’S A VAMPIRE?!?!?

(me, i care)

#my baby #i miss him #ethan morgan #my babysitter's a vampire #MBAV #ethan mbav #mbav stuff #mbav x reader #is this fandom still alive #ethan morgan x reader

Enough | Benny Weir X Reader

Summary: evelyn-- benny's grandma --intrudes on benny admiring you asleep on his chest.

TW: pure fluff!

There was never a name for what you and Benny were—no labels, no declarations, just a magnetic pull dressed in sarcasm and shared secrets. It lived in the silence between movie scenes, the way your feet found his under the lunch table, the way your hoodie always ended up in his backpack and his always found its way onto your frame. You weren’t dating. You never said mine. But everyone knew. Ethan knew. Rory knew. Even the haunted locker on the third floor probably knew.

And Benny? Benny knew too. But he never said anything. He just kept pulling you close like it was a reflex.

The room smelled like laundry and the faint cinnamon candle his grandma kept replacing, no matter how many times he rolled his eyes about it. The screen lit the room in slow pulses, gold text drifting into space, the hum of the Star Wars theme barely loud enough to fill the background. The blankets twisted around both of you, limbs half-tangled like gravity hadn’t quite decided where one of you ended and the other began. You were tucked into the curve of his side, your head against his shoulder—no, lower—closer to his chest now, where the beat of his heart was steady but loud, like it hadn’t yet learned how to be casual about you.

You’d worn his hoodie again. He hadn’t said anything when you showed up in it, sleeves swallowing your hands, hem brushing your thighs like it was made for the way you curled into his bed. He’d just smiled, the kind of half-smile that tightened the corner of his mouth and made his eyes shift like they didn’t want to be caught lingering too long. He said something dumb, something casual, and lifted the blanket for you. You didn’t need an invitation.

Now, your breathing had evened out. Your fingers, once fidgeting with the drawstring of the hoodie, had gone still against his chest. He glanced down once, twice, then again—longer this time. You’d fallen asleep. Just like that.

Your mouth barely parted. Eyelashes soft against your cheeks. Your whole body relaxed into him like it had been waiting all day to. And his? Completely still. Like moving might shatter the moment.

Benny didn’t dare shift. Didn’t dare blink too fast. His arm rested behind you but drifted lower, fingers ghosting over your back with a touch so gentle it barely existed. His other hand hovered—uncertain—then settled on your arm, thumb brushing slowly back and forth in a rhythm that matched the rise and fall of your chest. He could feel every breath. Every tiny tremor of sleep.

The glow from the screen painted your face in silver and blue, and something about it made his throat tighten. You looked like a dream. Not in some cliché way, not in a he’d-say-it-out-loud way—just in that overwhelming, real way that made his ribs ache from how much he wanted to freeze this exact second.

The door creaked softly.

His grandma stepped in, not with footsteps but with presence—light and knowing. Her eyes scanned the room, paused on the two of you. Benny didn't move. He didn’t have to look to know she was smiling.

When he finally glanced up, she gave him a single raised eyebrow. No words. Just that look. The one that said “so this is the girl,” and “what are you waiting for,” and “I knew it the second she laughed at your dumb jokes.”

Benny swallowed, cleared his throat like he wasn’t trying to calm his heartbeat. His hand hadn’t stopped brushing your arm. His grandma smirked—soft, proud—and quietly stepped back, pulling the door closed behind her.

The hum of the movie played on, unimportant now. The real thing was here: your weight against his chest, your breath curling into the fabric of his shirt, the warmth of you tucked into the curve of him like you belonged there.

He let his head fall back against the pillow. Said nothing. Just looked down once more, tucked a bit of hair behind your ear, and let the words he’d been swallowing for months catch in his throat again. He didn’t say them. Not tonight.

But you were here. And he was holding you. And that—for now—was enough.