The Bear Syd/Carm Spanking Fanfic
I'm on a fanfic writing bender so I started this tumblr to post stories I feel like I don't see enough. This is a pilot fanfic for a series on The Bear. This first chapter is Syd and Carm. Romance and punishment but no sex yet. I'm thinking eventually the series will evolve into Syd on top of a kinky polycule with Marcus, Carm, and Gary.
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“We’re gonna get rocked tonight.” Carm mumbled. A statement, not a question.
“Oh, totally destroyed”, Sydney grimaced.
Carmy sighed. He could see Syd’s position. She was green, but she was good. She’d been so excited to work with him, and now all he could see when she looked at him was disappointment. The look was familiar enough. He’d seen a twisted version of it on his Head Chef’s face, time and time again. Usually just before… he shifted uncomfortably, pushing the thought away.
When he looked up, Sydney locked eyes with him. He dropped his gaze to the ground, a feeling close to fear running through him, and something else he couldn’t put a finger on.
“Any suggestions, Chef?” he asked, trying to relieve the tension and take back some control. He was Head Chef now. He had to be a man, lead by example, hold the line together. He couldn’t imagine leading like his old tormentor had, but something had to change.
“Respectfully, Chef? Like, nothing I say is going to make a difference if you'd rather play king than listen or pay attention to what this place actually needs. That’s why this is going to be a shit show. Respectfully”, Carm could feel the anger barely contained under the surface. He knew that feeling well.
“I know you think I'm young, but- I've been through some shit. You’ve clearly been through some shit. I've done my time in therapy. You need to do what you need to do.”
“I don’t have time for therapy. Look what happened today-”
“You leaving was not the problem, Chef” Syd’s carefully controlled tone snatched the words from Carmen’s lips. He nodded and listened. “I can handle the kitchen by myself with some warning and some support. The problem is that you implemented a policy without communicating. Then you left without communicating. Then you jumped to conclusions and berated me in front of people whose respect I need to earn to do my job. Again without communicating. Do you see the pattern here?”
“Okay. That’s fair. Heard, Chef.”
“Is it? I mean, you’re great at this, Carm. Your food is thoughtful and inventive. You make people feel seen. Inspired. But Carm, you’re not a sous chef anymore. You can’t just keep your head down and work the problems away. You've gotta look up and lead. You’re actually really good at it. Sometimes I watch you and it’s like, you have all this talent and drive and quiet charisma but-”
“Yes, chef?”
“It’s like you let every detail bog you down, and you check completely out.”
Carm thought of the flames he stared into at night.
“How did your old Head Chef encourage you?”
“Encourage?" he snorted “Uh, I wouldn't know. He used psychological torture as motivation. Sometimes physical. On a lucky day.”
“He hit you?”
“He kept a cane in the freezer and if I made a mistake, he’d just- Whop!”
Carmy flashed back to the freezer. Gripping cold metal. Anticipating the blow.
“Whop!”
The Head chef had been mercilessly temperamental. Some days it was enough to dish out a few punishing blows. Some days a slight inconsistency was enough to spend every break trying desperately not to break position, staring at a bin of produce or marinating seafood. Burning and freezing and burning again as the chefs under him pulled stock from the freezer.
“Whop!”
His cutting whisper. This is not close to over. Always followed by some insult. Another chip off his soul between courses. A chill ran through him at the memory.
He’d never known fear and pain like his time in that freezer. The mistakes he answered for there had inspired some of his greatest culinary inventions, but his hands still shook sometimes and he could never fall asleep. He couldn’t decide if it was because of the memories or the lack of structure. He’d slept like a baby under Chef’s abuse.
Striving for excellence and perfection. Knowing the cold consequences for failure. And with the poison Chef spewed into his ear every day, the cane had been a stinging reprieve from the constant beratement and pressure. A chance to cry his day out.
“Fuck abusive bosses. That guy sounds like an ass.”
“Sure, inspired me to give my all, though”, he laughed, taking a long drag of his cigarette.
“Well, I don’t do psychological torture, but if you need someone to beat your ass to motivate you, I’d be more than glad to step up.” Carm laughed. Syd didn’t. He dropped his gaze again. God, she was intense sometimes.
“Don’t threaten me with a party, Chef”, he chuckled, playing it off, finishing his cigarette and standing to go.
“We did say we would think about new ways of doing things”, Sydney rose, folded her arms and looked at him, a challenging smile on her face. Carm laughed and headed for the door. He pictured her wielding a cane, hand on his back, biting her lip with the effort. It felt- different.
He stopped at the knob. Syd bumped into him and backed up a little, confused. Carm turned and looked at her seriously.
“You really want to whip me, Chef?” he asked, bringing his head down closer to mumble so no one could hear but her. It was unprofessional. It was embarrassing, but he couldn’t deny that he needed- something.
Syd checked his face to make sure he wasn't joking, then smiled in realization. This was actually on the table. She’d thought about it enough, watching him yell and pout his way around the kitchen, wasting his talent and wasting away. She fixed his twisted apron strap and lifted his chin.
“I want to make this place work, Chef. I think you could use some encouragement, some guidance. And, I feel like I could provide those things.”
Carm nodded and pushed his hair back, nervously, wincing at what he knew was coming if he agreed. He sighed. When he agreed.
“Besides. No offense, but you’ve got major subbie vibes going on. Very leather jacket, rein me in daddy”
“Really?”
“Definitely, like, hit me if you love me vibes. Am I wrong?”
He thought back to the small string of domineering women who'd fled when they got bored of his hot and cold attitude. He liked being led. So did they. They expected him to do the leading. But by the time he got home, he could barely think, let alone make decisions. He'd gotten tired of provoking fights just to feel alive when the smack came or the cold drink was thrown in his face.
“If I agree, what would that mean?”
“The best way is to start is figuring out what you want, what this is, your triggers and limits. Let’s meet tonight to set some goals with consequences and rewards. I’m thinking daily check-ins at the end of shift to make sure you’re on track”
“Daily, Chef?”
“You heard what I said, Chef. We can talk it out tonight”, her tone didn’t invite further conversation. He put his hands in his apron pockets.
“Yes, Chef.”
“Good. But let’s address today’s behavior right the fuck now. Do you have any hard lines around wooden spoons?”
“No, Chef”
“Good. Bring the risotto spoon to your office. We’ve got like, ten minutes, so be quick.”
“Yes, Chef”, Carmy swallowed and opened the door for Syd, following her in.
She moved straight to his office. He stole a quick glance at her hips and realized he only saw Syd in flashes and tense exchanges.
The set of her mouth when she was angry, the nape of her neck when she pulled her braids to the side. She did that when she needed to focus. An exchange of unspoken pain from her eyes to his and back at the end of a shift. And understanding between them that they didn’t need words to be there for one another.
He found the spoon and saw why she’d requested it. Thick olivewood with an angled tip for reaching the corners of a pot and a hole in the center so the risotto grains didn’t break as you stirred. And if Carm remembered correctly from his mom’s experiments with slotted and unslotted spatulas, implements with holes were a whole different world of pain.
Tears came to his eyes when he pressed his finger to the sharp tip of the spoon. It didn’t draw blood, but it hurt enough for him to pull his finger away, shaking. He took a deep breath and headed towards his office, running into Richie on the way.
“OH! Cousin. Watch where you’re GOING!! You got your head down!! You ok? It looks like you’re headed to the grim reaper.”
“Something like that, Cousin. Hey, can you grab the new menus from the printer?”
“Why don’t you send Fak?”
Carmy looked at him.
“Alright. Dumb question. I’ll do it.”
Carm breathed a sigh of relief to have him out of the building. The last thing he needed was his cousin running his big mouth. He steeled himself and walked into the office.
Syd sat in his chair writing in her notebook. She glanced up at him just in time to see Tina walk by with a scowl. That was a battle for another day. First, she needed to spank her boss.
“Close the door behind you”.
Carm obeyed, confused. Syd’s calm was off putting. Everyone who’d ever beat his ass had been yelling or berating him. This felt like dealing with an assassin. She finished writing and turned to look at him. The glance went on forever.
“I’m sorry, Chef. I-”
“Did I say you could speak, Chef?” her voice cut through his apology like a knife. He shrunk three feet in a second. He felt small, and controlled, and… something else.
“No, Chef. I’m sorry, Chef”
“I’ve written out a list from my notes of all the stuff that happened today at lunch that we need to address”, she handed him her notebook.
Carm’s stomach dropped. He’d expected the big ones. The Brigade, leaving without warning. But this was a time-marked list of 34 times he had personally fucked up or allowed someone to fuck up without consequence just today. Seeing it all on paper made him want to vomit. The problems went deeper than he thought. The little things were killing them.
“More there than you thought, right? And that’s just today's lunch”, she stood up and looked at him. There it was again. A quick glance and he could see the kind of tired that came from a thousand bad days and memories.
“Everyday I take shorthand notes of where we can make improvements, where we fall behind, people’s strengths and weaknesses. Then I go home, type it out, research solutions, put together plans and back up plans and alternatives”, she snatched up her proposal from the desk with a quickness that contrasted her calm tone.
“I condensed six months of that information into a breakdown so simple a fourth grader could understand it. This is true, by the way. My fourth grade cousin read it. He said, and I quote ‘That Brigade shit sucks’. And he preferred some of the more radical approaches in the appendix.” Syd rolled up the proposal like a newspaper and pointed it at him. Carm cleared his throat and backed up toward the door.
“Less than 40 pages, full of graphics. Like a fucking illustrated storybook about your favorite thing in the whole fucking world, and what do you do? You. Don’t. Even. Read it.” She shoved the folder into his chest. He flinched a little at her quiet, deadly tone, glad that the fabric of the jeans was there to hide his other reaction. She was gorgeous like this. Not just angry, but fully herself. She held back so much on the line, and as much as he hated it turned at him, seeing her fire was enough to make him melt.
“Which is why, when I make a suggestion or seem opposed to something, maybe you shouldn't dismiss me because I'm young and inexperienced. Maybe. Just, maybe-”, she took the risotto spoon from his hand, “you should just fucking listen.”
Tears welled in Carm's eyes. For the enormity of the problems he’d been missing, for the time he’d wasted overlooking an obvious asset, and for the scorching anger radiating off of the woman about to bend him over.
“Chef, I should have-”, Syd cut his apology off by grabbing the front of his apron and pulling him towards her. She lifted his chin with the tip of the risotto spoon.
“Did. I. Ask you. To speak, Chef?” Carm felt his knees go weak. He tried to look down, but the spoon’s sharp tip dug into his chin, forcing him to look her in the eye.
“No ma’am.”
“No, Chef”, Syd corrected.
“No, Chef. Sorry.”
“Pull down your jeans.”
“Yes, Chef.”
“Wait. I wrote out a consent form for this punishment on the back there. Sign it first.”
“Yes, Chef.”
Carm’s pants had barely hit the ground before he was turned around and ten searing blows rained down. He could feel the teardrop shape of the risotto spoon with each blow.
“Sss. Agh”
Syd released his arm and pushed him into his chair, pants still around his ankles.
“Ssss. Oww. Fuck, Chef”, he whispered, reaching for his bottom.
“Don’t touch it.”
“God! This shit stings!”
“I hope that wasn’t you talking without permission again.”
“Noo, Chef. Sorry, Chef”
“I know you are. And you're going to be a lot sorrier, Chef. But, we don’t have time for long apologies. We’re going to focus on correcting behaviors, okay?”
“Yes, Chef”, she made it all sound so simple. On the line there were a million things to think about and it all came down to him. But in the moment with her, it felt like he could breathe. Even if she was talking about beating his ass.
“I want you to look this over and write down how many you should get for each offense”, Carm looked down at the paper, panicked. For each offense?
“Chef, please. Listen-” he put the pen down. Syd was reasonable. He would reason with her. He’d negotiated tougher deals. She was angry. He could just talk her down.
Syd raised an eyebrow and grabbed his arm, pulling him to stand. He blocked his bottom with his hand, “No! Wait!”
“Move it. Now”, Carm’s soul fled his body at her tone. He moved his hand reluctantly, clenching it into a fist at his side as the spoon tore into him again and again.
“Agh agh agh. Sss agh, agh, Aghha!”
“Do. You. Have. Anything. Else. To. Say?” She punctuated each word with an especially heinous blow. Carm whimpered, reminding himself to control his volume so the team wouldn’t hear. His legs kicked backwards, but he held his position for fear of more blows.
“N-no, Chef. Agh, sss. Please, Chef. Ssss. I’m sorry. No. Agh.”
She pushed him back down into the chair with a hiss, pointing the sharp end of the spoon at his chest.
“I am not fucking around here, Carm. This whole place lacks discipline. That comes down to you. We could really make something here, but it’s not going to be easy. When we’re out there, you’re in charge. But from now on, in here, it’s my ship. And my ship runs tight. Understood?”
“Yes, Chef”, he winced and shifted in his chair.
“Good. Now do what I said.”
Carm obeyed, tears forming. He thought about keeping the numbers on the low side because there were so many items, but Syd’s threat hung over his head like an anvil and now that he saw on paper everything that was going on, all the ways he had failed- He was almost glad to answer for it.
He did some quick addition in his head and winced. Just as he was about to crumple the paper and run, Syd put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Good, Chef. Let me see it”, she ran her thumb over the back of his neck and he relaxed a little. She shook her head. Always so tense.
He handed her the paper, chewing the pen nervously. She took her time to look over his choices, then grabbed the pen from his mouth. She wiped it on her apron and gave him a disapproving glance.
“Sorry, Chef”
She shot him a warning look and he dropped his eyes, berating himself. Only talk when she tells you to talk. Was it that hard or was he just an idiot? Well, he’d just filled out an execution form proving just that hadn’t he? Stupid. Idiot. Moron. Failure.
You'll never be good enough to make someone stay.
“Chef?”
“Yes, Chef?”
“I asked you a question.”
“Sorry, Chef. I-”
“Just straight up dissociated, bro. That’s some repressed trauma shit, Chef. Al-Anon’s not going to address that for you. You need a therapist.”
“I don’t hav-”
“Oh, wait did I dissociate too? Did I black out and ask for excuses while I was unconscious?”
“No, Ch-”, Syd cut off his answer, pulling him up and into a flurry of sharp swats. He let out a whimper. She folded her arms.
“Listen, we’ll talk about the therapist thing more. I'll hear you out when we talk tonight and I know you have more to SAY” she cut off his reply with a hand gesture, “Table it. The last question I asked, before you again, straight up left the plane, was why do you think I had you look this over and choose your punishments individually instead of just deciding how to punish you myself?’”
“I guess- so I’d have to look at all the ways I fucked up”, he sniffled, near tears already.
“Whoa. God, that’s dark. No”, she laughed and lifted his chin, “Chef, you’re not, like, fucking up. This is normal kitchen shit. You just need to be aware of what's going on so we can correct it. Right?”
“Yes, Chef”, he mumbled, feeling a little better. Her hand felt good on the scruff of her chin. She slid it down to give his neck a small massage and the way she was rough and gentle at the same time felt familiar. Felt like family.
He dove into her shoulder, squeezing his eyes tight to keep from crying. She rubbed his back and rolled her eyes. What had she gotten herself into? Her apartment was too small for a puppy this size.
“Jesus Christ, Carm. You’ve really been through it, huh?”, he winced and nodded. She gave him a look to show she understood.
“I had you fill this out, because I wanted to see where your priorities were. It’s exactly like I expected, you gave yourself 30 for leaving, 20 for forgetting a backorder. But only 10 for ignoring Richie’s disruptions, Marcus’s pranks, Tina’s bad behavior, things you let go unchecked.”
“My… bad? Chef?”, he said letting a little sarcasm creep into his tone.
"Stupid time to be a smart ass, Carmy”, he nodded quickly, straightening up and crossing his arms behind him, eyes flickering to the spoon in her hand before landing on the ground. She straightened his apron. It was doing a bad job of hiding his erection. She resisted the urge to poke it with a spoon.
“And it’s not bad, it’s just not working. For a Michelin Sous Chef, your approach to the kitchen makes perfect sense. But you’re Head Chef now. And the owner. And this place is small, all hands on deck. Your job isn’t to put out fires. It’s to figure out how to keep them from starting.”
“Heard, Chef”, and he really did hear. He had been so busy trying to dodge bullets he’d forgotten to look for the gun.
“That’s why you’re going to take every item on that list that wasn’t a cooking or planning error, the actions that reflect your leadership, and I want you to triple the number”, Carm looked up at her, eyes wide as a cartoon. Syd handed him the pen, “Now.”
WHAP!
After the hundredth swat, Carm thought it couldn’t get much worse. After the 180th swat he thought the same thing. After Syd landed 216, 217, 218, 219, and 220 rapid fire on the place where his ass and thigh met and it hurt so bad he wanted to scream, but the thought of Tina or Ebraheim or god forbid fucking Gary walking by made him settle for a muffled moan, he thought “Fuck me. This can’t get any worse.”
It was amazing how many times a man could be wrong in one day.
WHAP!
Even as he danced in pain, panting, grunting under the ever falling blows, he realized how much he had needed this. Her hand on the small of his back as he bent over her notebook on the desk, reading off his sins and punishments one by one. A baptism.
WHAP!
His muffled whimpers were like choir music with the spoon beating a constant rhythm.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!!!
“Mmnuughhh. Ohhhh. Please Che-heh-eff…”
“You can keep “Please, Chef-ing”, all you want, but this will be over when we cross off that list. We’ve got the last big three. Let's go. Leaving me alone without warning during a massive transition.”
“Thirty, Chef”, Carm croaked, throat rough from holding back cries. Syd took back up her task and moved her blows to the thighs. All thoughts of holding back fled Carm’s mind and he cried out in pain.
“Agh! AgHAA! No, Chef!! Please, Chef!!”
“You remember your safe word?”
“Yes, Chef!!”
“Need to use it?”
“Nohoo Chef…”
“Next up?”
“I didn’t reprimand Richie, and he basically started a mutiny. Fucki- Thirty, Chef. Please, Chef. Wait, Chef! Wait!”
“We’re almost done, Chef. Don’t earn any extras.”
“Yes, Chefffffaaagh-OWWW! Ahowww! Agghhooow. I’m sorry!! I’m sorry, Chef!! I'm sorry!!!”
“I know you are, Chef. And you’re taking it well”, she never paused her assault, or softened, even while comforting. Not until she’d reached the number.
“We’re going to make changes, do better and turn this place around, aren’t we, Chef?”
“Yes, Chef.”
“Last one.”
Carm looked at the number and broke down crying. Syd patted his back for a moment, then rested the spoon on his bottom as a gentle warning.
“Come on, Chef. We’ve got dinner to prep.”
“Yes, Chef… I didn’t pay attention to Tina’s behavior, even when you tried to tell me… And I- I yelled at you in front of her. Which I’m so- SO sorry for, Chef”
“The number, Chef.”
“... sixty, Chef.”
Tears streamed from Carmy’s eyes as Syd pulled his boxers down and rubbed a rough hand over his tender cheeks. He drooped with short lived relief at her touch before the teardrop shape seared its way onto every inch of his behind. Syd painted his bottom a deep cherry red so vivid that Marcus would have taped it to his wall. His knees almost buckled and his soft sobs were the first release he’d felt in months.
And then, as suddenly as it had started, it was over. The burning assault was replaced with a gentle hand rubbing his back. Syd hushed and cooed, her voice gentle.
“Good, Chef. You did so good.”
“I’m sorry, Chef”, he blocked his face with his arm. Syd pulled it to his side.
“Deep breath, Chef.”, he took a short rasping breath in. She held his hands and met his eyes, calm, but firm, “Deep breath, Carm. Listen to me, deep breath.”
He hiccuped, but complied, taking a shaky, but noticeably longer breath.
“Good, Chef. Keep breathing”, she joined him, arms around his shoulders, touching her head to his. The feel of her breath in tune with his calmed him. This close, she smelled like garlic and lavender. He looked up and into her eyes. She held his gaze and looked over his face, taking in the relief, the repentance, and then the hunger. She smiled, rolled her eyes and popped him with the spoon. He shot up to rub his bottom. She swatted him again.
“No rubbing, Chef”, He groaned and wiped his eyes.
“Until when, Chef?”
“Until you get home tonight”
“Cheeff”, he whined, earning himself a few more soft swats, not that Carm could tell they were soft at that point. He jumped with each one.
“Ok, Chef, okaaay!”
“Pants up.”
He danced on his toes for a moment, fighting the urge to rub with everything in his body, then pulled up his pants with a hiss. Syd wiped a few stray tears from his face. He flinched a little when he saw the spoon in her hand. She rolled her eyes.
“Hey. Come on. It’s not a snake”, but she set the spoon down on the desk. He chuckled softly.
“Bites like one”, Syd smiled. It was good to see him relaxed. Come to think of it, she was more relaxed than she’d been in years.
“It wasn’t all bad, was it, Chef?” she giggled, tucking in his shirt in the places he’d missed.
“No, Chef”, he mumbled, with a small misty smile.
“It was good for me too,” she smiled, “I’ll have to bum a cigarette.”
He laughed.
“And we haven’t even talked about possible rewards for good behavior.”
“Rewards, Chef?”
“We’ll see.” she grinned and in that moment he’d have burned the place to the ground for a chance to hear her moan.
“Umm, Chef? I-I know this might get me popped again, but- about everything. I should’ve listened. And I will, from now on.”
“You better, Chef”, Syd smiled and headed for the door. Carm started to follow, shrinking a little at the thought of facing his coworkers so soon. Syd turned and put a hand on his shoulder, sitting him back in the seat with a wince.
“I've got the line for now. Take a beat. Get yourself together. Oh, and get your toothbrush ready tonight, my floors are looking a little dirty.”
“But, I just-”
She brought the spoon down with a crash on the top of his thigh, handing it to him. He flinched.
“Heard, Chef.”
“Leave that in the top drawer”
“Yes, Chef”
“And Carmen.”
“Yes, Chef?”
“Tonight, I don't want to see you keeping your head above water. I want you to go out there and be fucking great. If anything happens we'll work it out together. Understood, Chef?”
“Yes, Chef… thank you, Chef.”
There was more behind the words. Syd nodded and closed the door behind her. Carmen put the spoon in the top drawer and reached automatically toward his bottom to rub. He stopped himself, clenching his fists. How would she know? He shook his head.
She just would.
He sighed and sat back in the chair that used to be his brother’s and looked around the office, piled in bills. For the first time in forever, his shoulders were relaxed and his head was clear. Snippets of ideas for new recipes washed over him like waves, but tonight he had to go be excellent. Or else.
