#slowburnbensonxreader

Hey guys! I'm so excited to put this out here, I've been working on it for a little bit now, ever since I started rereading and posting my one shots. If you haven't read the one shots, here is part 1 and part 2. I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I've got eight chapters so far and I'm so happy!

The night shift at Burgers Burgers Burgers is quiet, almost hypnotic - until a late-night incident shakes the routine and leaves the air charged with something unspoken. As the clock ticks toward closing, a simple act of kindness between two coworkers hints at a connection that has been quietly simmering beneath the surface. Between small gestures, shared silences, and a ride home under the dark, empty streets, the night leaves an impression neither of them can quite foreget.

Potential TW:

Verbal aggression / confrontation

Physical aggression / thrown objects

The red neon BURGERS BURGERS BURGERS sign buzzed overhead, humming like it was tired of being alive. It was almost ten p.m., the last thirty minutes of the night shift, and (Y/N) leaned against the counter at the front window, chin propped in her palm. A half-empty notebook was open beside the register, her messy handwriting looping across the page – half history notes, half doodles.

She was nineteen, a community college freshman still trying to figure out what she wanted her life to look like. Maybe psychology. Maybe teaching. Maybe something else entirely. Until then, she was stuck splitting her time between school in the next town over and this greasy little fast food joint at the edge of nowhere.

Behind her, Benson moved quietly in the kitchen, sliding burgers onto buns with the kind of careful precision most people wouldn't bother with this late at night. He didn't talk much, not unless he had to. But (Y/N) had started to notice little things – like how he always wiped the counter twice before setting down an order, or how he tucked his hair behind his ear when it fell into his face.

"Got one ready," Benson said softly, sliding a wrapped burger onto the tray. His voice was low, gravelly, like he didn't use it often.

"Thanks," (Y/N) said, pulling the bag open and slipping the food inside. She gave him a small smile, one she wasn't sure he noticed.

Most of the night had been slow – an occasional late-night drive-thru order from someone coming off the highway, nothing exciting. The clock ticked toward closing, and (Y/N) started daydreaming about going home to her parents' quiet farmhouse, maybe eating leftovers in front of the TV, maybe staying up too late scrolling through her phone.

That was when the car rolled up to the window. A beat-up pickup, headlights glaring into the restaurant like spotlights. (Y/N) plastered on her customer-service smile, sliding the window open as the driver leaned out. He was middle-aged, sunburnt, and already scowling.

"Order for Smith," he barked.

(Y/N) grabbed the bag, checked the receipt, and handed it over. "Here you go. Thanks for stopping –"

Before she could finish, the man dug through the bag. His face twisted. "Where's the other burger? I said three."

"Oh –" (Y/N) blinked, startled. She glanced back at Benson. "Did you –"

Benson looked up from the grill, eyes narrowing. "The order said two."

"I paid for three!" the man snapped.

"Sir, let me check the receipt real quick –" (Y/N) began, trying to keep her voice calm. But the man wasn't having it. His face went red, and before she could react, he hurled the bag straight at her.

It hit (Y/N) in the cheek, the warm grease bleeding through the paper, fries spilling onto the counter. She stumbled back, hand flying to her face in shock.

The sound of metal clattering cut through the moment – Benson dropping his spatula. When (Y/N) turned, he was already grabbing the broom propped against the fryer.

He stormed toward the window, shoulders tense, eyes dark in a way she hadn't seen before.

"Hey!" Benson's voice cracked sharp through the night, louder than she'd ever heard him. He jabbed the broom bristles out the window like a spear, eyes locked on the driver. "You don't throw things at girls. You hear me?"

The man flinched, startled by the sudden intensity. Then his face hardened, and he slammed his truck into gear. Tires squealing as he sped off into the night, taillights vanishing down the empty stretch of road.

For a second, the only sound was the hum of the neon sign and her own pulse in her ears.

Benson lowered the broom, setting it gently against the counter like nothing had happened. He turned back to her, his face softening instantly.

"You okay?" he asked, quieter now.

(Y/N) nodded, though her cheek still stung. She couldn't help the small laugh that slipped out – half nerves, half disbelief. "Yeah. Guess I didn't see that coming."

Benson's mouth twitched like he might smile, but he didn't quite let it show. Instead, he reached for a napkin and handed it to her, his fingers brushing hers for just  a second.

"Some people are just… jerks," he muttered.

She looked at him, at the way his jaw was still tight, like he was holding back more words. For the first time, she realized that maybe there was more to quiet, careful Benson than she thought.

And for some reason, the idea made her heart beat a little faster.

Closing up was routine – wiping down counters, locking the freezer, counting the drawer – but tonight it all felt a little different. (Y/N)'s cheek still faintly burned from where the bag had hit, but Benson hadn't said another word about it. He worked silently, moving through his tasks like he always did, though every now and then she caught him glancing at her when he thought she wasn't looking.

When the lights finally clicked off, (Y/N) stepped outside into the cool night air, hugging her hoodie tighter around herself. The parking lot was empty except for Benson's old car and the buzzing light pole at the edge of the asphalt. She pulled out her phone and sent another text.

You're still coming, right?

The three little dots never appeared.

Benson came out a minute later, locking the side door behind him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at her, then at the dark road stretching past the restaurant. "You got a ride?"

"Yeah," she said quickly. "My boyfriend's picking me up."

Benson just nodded, his face unreadable. He leaned back against the brick wall, pulling out a pack of gum and offering her a piece without a word. She accepted it, mostly to give herself something to do with her hands.

Minutes passed. The parking lot stayed empty.

Ten minutes.

Fifteen.

(Y/N)'s phone stayed silent, the unread texts stacking in her screen. Her chest sank heavier with each one.

Finally, Benson let out a quiet sigh and pushed himself off the wall. He spread his arms in an exasperated gesture. "Alright. That's it. He's not coming."

"He might –" (Y/N) started, but Benson shook his head.

"Don't think so." He jingled his keys in his hand, the metal catching the glow from the buzzing light. "Come on. I'll take you home."

She hesitated, caught between pride and the weight of knowing he was right. "... Are you sure?"

"Car's right there," Benson said simply, nodding toward the tan 1974 Chevrolet Newport Custom sitting like a faded relic across the street. "Safer than waiting out here by yourself."

Her chest softened at that. She didn't argue.

The ride was quiet at first, the only sound the hum of the old engine and the faint static of the radio Benson hadn't bothered to change. She sat with her hands in her lap, watching the streetlights pass by, her reflection flickering in the glass.

After a few miles, Benson spoke, his voice careful. "So… your boyfriend. You've been together a while?"

"Yeah," she said slowly, like the word weighed more than it used to. "Since high school. Two years now."

He nodded, tapping the steering wheel lightly. "That's a long time."

"Yeah," she echoed.

She didn't add that lately it hadn't felt like two years of steady anything. That she'd noticed him pulling away, making excuses, his phone always facedown when they were together. That a tiny part of her already knew the truth, even if she didn't want to admit it.

Instead, she let the silence fill back in, watching the empty fields blur past.

The road narrowed into gravel, dust kicking up behind them until Benson slowed to a stop at the edge of a small farmhouse. The porch light glowed faintly, casting shadows across the yard.

(Y/N) unbuckled, fingers lingering on the seatbelt clip for a moment longer than they needed to. "Thanks… really. For the ride."

Benson gave a small nod, his hand resting on the wheel. "No problem." His voice was quiet again, almost back to the way it was inside the restaurant.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then (Y/N) opened the door, the night air rushing in cool against her skin. She stepped out, turning back once more. "Goodnight, Benson."

His eyes flicked to hers in the dim light, unreadable as ever. Then he gave the smallest of nods, like that was all he needed to say. 

The Chevy rumbled back down the road, its taillights shrinking into the dark. (Y/N) lingered on the porch a second longer, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She'd never admit it out loud – not to him, not to anyone – but there'd always been something about Benson that tugged at her, quiet and steady. And tonight, after everything, that tug felt a little stronger.

Thank you so much for reading!💜  If you enjoyed this piece, there's plenty more where that came from, and I'll be adding to my collection as time goes on. I'm always open to suggestions and requests – so if there's something you'd like to see, don't be shy about sharing it with me! I'll do my best to deliver (within reason, of course – nothing too intense or overly triggering).

Your support means the world. ✨

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