channy m

Take Care

Originally posted by parkchny

“You better start taking care of yourself, Chan.”

Chanyeol x reader

sick baby channie ^^


“I’m sure I’ll be fine, jagi,” Chanyeol wheezed through the phone, frowning at the ticklish feeling rising in his throat. His throat was raw and sore and he couldn’t handle having to cough, so he willed himself to force down the cough building his chest. “R-really. I’ll be okay, h-honest.”

You sigh sadly over the phone, placing your hand on your head and peering around anxiously to see if your manager was around, knowing that she wouldn’t excuse you talking on the phone today as she usually did. “You know I’d be right there with you if today wasn’t so important. This inspector will really make or break our reputation…” You exhale deeply. “I’m really sorry, oppa.”

There was a shaky cough over the line that had you wincing, wishing you were back home to take care of your sick gentle giant. “There’s nothing to - to worry about, baby,” he reassures, deep voice swamped by sickness and tiredness and making him sound raspier than usual. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll call one of the hyungs if I get worse. Okay? Okay. Bye now, jagi, love you!”

Before you could protest, he had hung up and left you glaring in irritation at the blank screem of your phone. You sigh in frustration; you know he won’t call anyone, going to call him again when the familiar clicking of heels startles you. Fumbling, you shove your phone into your purse and go back to staring at your computer screen, pretending to be looking through the photos you had been given to edit for a groups concept art. You feel your boss walk past, the judgemental inspector in tow, and feel their gazes pass over you. As their presence fades away, you bite your lip worriedly, knowing that you couldn’t risk going on your phone again. I really hope he’s okay…


Chanyeol felt as if he was in hell. What started out as simply losing his voice after a few concerts, quickly progressed into a common cold. Ignoring your advice (“-and really, Chan, it will only get worse!”), he had continued to work, having to resort to lip-syncing in order to rest his frail voice. Unfortunately, the work had taken its toll on him, and within 2 weeks, he was stuck with a terrible case of the flu. And the worst part? You weren’t here with him.

This was quite possibly one of the worst days of his flu, and your inspector just had to visit today. You couldn’t skip out, of course, because this inspector’s opinion of your work place would either attract or run away companies looking for unique and beautiful concept art and album covers.

And so, you weren’t there, in the horribly cold apartment, not there to run your fingers through his hair soothingly as you usually did, and not there to make him disgusting tea that you forced on him that ultimately helped him get better, and you certainly weren’t there to cuddle with him or give him forehead kisses, because apparently, I can’t afford to get sick, baby, so no proper kisses.

Sighing, he readjusts himself into an even more uncomfortable position, groaning as he feels his red nose run again, already raw from rubbing his nose with rough tissues all day. He pouts, already missing the moisturising tissues you would get whenever he was sick. He could barely move his limbs without wincing, though, so he guessed he’d just have to without them.

He was cold, and sore, and hungry, and all he wanted to do was to take you into his arms without worrying about infecting you and hug you and kiss you and eat delicious takeout, all with a fully working voice. He sighs in disappointment, snuggling deeper into the duvet in an attempt to rid himself of his sickness.


A few hours had passed, and the inspector was still lurking around. They were due to leave in a few minutes, actually, but that didn’t calm your nerves; you still had 2 hours left at work, with photos to edit and concepts to finalise, but all you could think about was your poor boyfriend, left sick in your apartment.

As the inspector bid his goodbye, shuffling the notebook in his hand and exiting through the rotating doors, your boss visibly sighed: sighing, her shoulders dropped and a hand came to rest against her forehead. She turns, eyes fixated on you, and you feel a pit of nerves settle in your stomach. Did you do something wrong? Were your sample pictures too bad?

“How far along are you with those concept photos?” She asks tiredly but firmly, standing in front of your desk. You stiffen, looking up at her nervously.

“E-excuse me?” You squeak. Although you had a healthy and friendly relationship with your boss, after tonight’s stressful events, you figured it was best to stay quiet. Your boss raises an eyebrow.

“The concept photos. How far along are you with them?”

“O-oh…” You turn to your computer to check on the photos, and sure enough, there they are. “They’re almost finished, ma'am.”

“Okay, then leave,” she states casually, turning to walk towards her office. Your eyebrows raise in shock.

“Wait, I can leave?” You ask in confusion, already beginning to pack up your things hurriedly. “Why?”

“You’re too stressed, _____!” She calls back to you, opening the door to her office and stopping. “Come back tomorrow stress free, okay?” And then she disappears behind her pristine white door, leaving you smiling widely as you finally shoulder your bag as you had wanted to do all day and walk out of the tall building.

It was dark when you walked out of work, and you were glad your workplace was in the heart of Seoul; nowhere was left dark, numerous shops and restaurants welcoming bustling crowds into their depths. You decided, checking your watch, that it would be a long time until the shops closed, and that you could definitely do a bit of shopping.


You struggled to manoeuvre your hand towards the door, key in the grasp of one hand and bags in the grasp of both hands. Grunting, you finally manage to twist the key and push the door open. The apartment is quieter than usual, and you find yourself looking around silently to search for your boyfriend.

You decide that he must be in the bedroom after you check the living room, kitchen and bathroom, and start to take out everything you had bought: porridge for your surely hungry and sick boyfriend, those tissues he was always obsessed with, painkillers and muscle pain patches, and a few more bits that you probably didn’t need but had bought anyway.

“Channie?” You call out, taking the porridge that was thankfully still hot and starting to walk towards the bedroom. “Are you awake?” You’re given a groan in response, and you wince at how horrible he sounds.

“Hey, oppa,” you murmur, inspecting your boyfriend curled up on the bed. Setting the food on the bedside table, you take a seat on the bed. You place your hand on his forehead, frowning at the heat radiating from him. He groans and turns on his side to face you. He’s pale and his cheeks are flushed, covered in a light layer of sweat. “Sit up, oppa. You have to eat before I can give you this medicine.”

“You’re back early,” Chanyeol wheezes tiredly, accepting your help and letting you prop him up. He sets his head back onto the headboard as you spoon some porridge onto a spoon. “I feel like a baby.”

“This is your fault,” you chastise, continuing to feed him the porridge. “I told you to take care of yourself and you ignored me.”

Chanyeol lets out a weak laugh that has him wincing. “You know how important work is, baby.”

You scoff, focusing on not spilling any porridge onto anything. “Your health is much more important than any work you have to do. You should know that already.”

He can’t find the words to disagree with you, especially when your eyes have filled with fierce fire. It stays silent for the next 10 minutes, Chanyeol finally stomaching the food and actually starting to feel a bit better.

“You better start taking care of yourself, Chan,” you mumble as you set the spoon in the empty bowl. “Seriously, work isn’t worth messing up your health.” He doesn’t answer but you know he heard you, from the way he bites his cracked lips and looks at you with sheepish eyes. It’s only when you’re leaving to get the painkillers from the kitchen that he speaks.

“You’re way too good to me, jagi,” he sighs, eyes closed as he groggily tries to stay awake. You smile fondly from the doorway, taking in the image of your sleepy boyfriend. “What would I do without you?”

“You’d be getting sick every 2 seconds,” you tease, turning and starting to walk towards the kitchen, “Because, apparently, you have no idea how to take care of yourself.”

You’re too busy getting medicine for him to see the loving smile blooming on his face.