
Call me Roxy (she/her) *~Born in the 1900s~* Welcome to my eclectic collection of fandoms and hyperfixations ☆Minors DNI☆
689 posts
Happy Birthday David Tennant!

Happy Birthday David Tennant! ❤️🔥
53 is not much for a Timelord or a Demon 😁
Hope there are many amazing roles ahead (and Season 3 of Good Omens of course 😇)
May your stars always shine bright! ✨
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More Posts from Roxygen22
Timothee sickfic but you chose whatever sickness
With Female reader plz
Since I just posted a Timothée/Laurie sickfic yesterday, I switched to a sick reader instead.
Stay With Me
C/W: fever, fainting, hospitals

I heard a muffled voice as I came to, like I was underwater. When did I fall asleep? I felt someone shaking my shoulders.
"[incoherent mumbling]...[y/n]...[Y/N]!" The voice became clearer. Timothée's voice. "There you are. Stay with me, baby. Stay with me," I heard him say in a panic. I felt him kiss my forehead. "Oh f*ck, you're burning up."
I blinked and looked around, confused. Why am I in my bedroom floor? When did Timothée get here? I saw the outline of Timothée's form, but I couldn't focus on it. I only knew it was him by the sound of his voice. It sounded like he was calling someone. I didn't want to sleep, but I couldn't stop my eyelids from closing again...so tired...
The next time I woke, I heard the distinct sound of a heart rate monitor. I could smell noxious aroma of disinfectant. Am I in the hospital? Why am I here? The beeping intensified as I became more cognizant - and fearful - of my surroundings. It took a lot of effort to finally get my eyes open. All I could see at first was the harsh fluorescent light above me.
Once I could focus, I looked over and spotted Timothée's head on the bed. His frame was slumped over from his seat next to me. His hand held mine as he slept using his forearm as a pillow. He jumped up from his seat when he felt me stir. I saw the look of sheer relief on his face when he locked eyes with me.
"Oh, [Y/N], baby, you're awake! Oh, thank God, you're awake." Timothée sandwiched my hand between his and kissed it repeatedly. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
"What-" I tried to ask what happened, but my throat was too dry to make more than a raspy sound.
"Shh, shhh, don't strain your voice. Here, let's get you some water." He used one hand to support my head and the other to hold the cup as I took tiny sips from the straw. It felt like I hadn't drank anything in days.
"What happened?" I finally managed to get the words out.
"You didn't answer the door when I came by to pick you up for dinner. I got worried because I hadn't heard from you since we exchanged texts that morning, so I used my key to get in. I found you passed out in your bedroom floor. I have no idea how long you were like that. You-" his voice cracked. "You weren't responsive when I tried to wake you up. When you came to, it wasn't for long. You were feverish, too. I got scared and called 911. They brought you to the hospital."
"Do they know what's wrong with me? How long have I been here?" I had so many questions, but that was all I could muster.
"You've been in and out of consciousness for two days. But even when you were awake, you weren't lucid. They ran tests - you contracted West Nile Virus."
"Two days?! Have YOU been here for two days?" You dropped your head to the pillow. "All of those mosquito bites from the photography walk."
Timothée nodded. "That's what tipped them off to check for WNV first. They asked me about your travel history and habits. They wanted me to stay in the waiting room until they confirmed you didn't have anything contagious, but they relented if I agreed to mask and glove up after I kept bugging the nurses for updates. I didn't want you to wake up alone."
"You hate hospitals," I whimpered.
He half-smiled. "Not as much as I hated the thought of you being alone and scared." He kissed my hand again.
Timothée stayed with me until I was discharged days later, only leaving long enough to go shower and grab some clothes for both of us. He drove me home and helped me to my apartment. He cleaned out my fridge of any expired foods and went shopping to restock it. He waited on me hand and foot and even tucked me into bed. When he acted like he was about to leave, I asked:
"Stay with me, Timmy. Please."
"Always," Timothée whispered as he settled under the covers next to me.
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I love how this movie has Timmy act through a wide variety of emotions.
















Timothée Chalamet in 'Little Women' (2019)










Timmy things in movies 13/x: dancing
following this beautiful sickness ask trend...female reader fainting due to stress & her having a small argument with/getting scolded by Timothée while he takes care of her?🩷👀
Can't
You could hear the rumble of Timothée voice, but you were unable to focus on his words. While he chattered on while looking at his laptop right beside you, it sounded like he was rooms away. It took all of your energy and mental faculties to focus on just trying to breathe. Black spots crowded your line of sight as you put a hand out onto the counter to stabilize yourself. The motion caught Timothée's attention.
"[Y/N]?" he asked in concern.

"I-," was all you could mutter before your knees buckled. Timothée jumped from the bar stool to catch you as you fainted. "Whoa, [Y/N]! [Y/N]!" He gently lowered you to the ground and laid you on your back. He shook your shoulders and patted your cheeks. "Come on, [Y/N]. Wake up!"
Your eyelids fluttered and he released a shuddered breath in relief. You looked around, momentarily confused.
"You passed out. Again." Timothée looked down at your face in disapproval. "When was the last time you ate anything? Drank any water?" He helped you slowly sit up and lean against the couch.
"I'm fine. Stop fussing," you said, embarrassed.
"Stop fus- Listen here. YOU aren't the one who has to watch YOU faint. It is scary as hell. Every time I am terrified that you aren't going to wake up. One of these days I'm not going to be here to catch you before you hit the ground. Now. Answer me." He furrowed his brow and locked eyes with you. "When was the last time you ate or drank anything?"
Your eyes fell. "I don't know."
"You have to stop overworking yourself. You have to take breaks and take care of yourself."
"I know, but the success of the project I've spent YEARS of my life on comes down to getting this one thing right. I can't stop."
"Dammit, [Y/N], it's not worth your health," he shouted. "You need to slow down. The world, this project, will not collapse if you take 15 minutes here and there to take care of yourself."
"I CAN'T, TIMOTHÉE," you snapped.
Timothée recoiled slightly at your reaction. "And I can't watch you do this to yourself anymore," he said quietly. He got up, grabbed his keys and wallet, and walked out.
You stared at the door with your mouth agape in disbelief for a solid two minutes before tears clouded your vision. You and he have had heated arguments before, but never once had he walked out. He's right, you thought to yourself. You won't be doing anyone any good if you end up hospitalized.
You shakily stood, pushing yourself up using the frame of the couch for support. You slowly walked to the refrigerator and refilled your water bottle. Nauseous and lacking energy needed to make a meal, you opted to snack on crackers instead. You traipsed back to the couch and all but collapsed with your kitchen haul in hand. You hadn't stopped and relaxed in so long, you really weren't sure what to do next. Before you could grab the TV remote, you heard keys unlocking the front door. Timothée stepped through.
"I couldn't leave knowing that I just left you on the floor." He shrugged, hands in his pockets, unable to make eye contact.
"I'm glad you did."
His head shot up as he gave you a questioning look, unsure if he heard you correctly.
"It was uncharacteristic enough to shock me to my senses. You were right. No job is worth my health, and certainly not worth losing you over. I'm sorry, Timothée."
"I don't want an apology. I want to see action. Shut down that laptop for the night. Relax. Be with me. Please."
"Deal," you smiled and patted the seat next to you on the couch.
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