#clone trooper Kix

[leapingbadger]

😂

The ol’ CT-number trick, gets em every time.

Saw a skit of an actual EMT re-enacting a call similar to this and immediately knew this scenario was made for Fives and Kix!

[ireadwithmyears]

Sweet as Honey, Right as Rain

Pairing: Kix/Gn Reader

For the @cloneficgiftexchange 2025 clone xReader Prompt A Thon

Prompt: Hurt/comfort after a bee sting

Word count: 2.3 K

Tags/warnings: domestic fluff, hurt/comfort, reader gets stung by a bee, minor injury/medical procedures, reader has hair long enough to tie back.

Summary: You get stung by a bee whilst picking flowers for your boyfriend. Luckily, though, you’d be heading to the medbay to find him regardless.

Authors note: It was truly so silly of me to think no, I don’t have time to participate in this event, but I’m just going to have a little peek at the prompts for curiosity’s sake... and then I saw this one and the idea just took root in my brain and would not go away so, here I am📣 Also I promise, I will get back to writing my follower event requests after this. Just wanted to get this one up right now because I like meeting deadlines early.

It’s still following you. 

Your heart pounds within your chest, fingers fumbling to tie the ribbon you had removed from your hair to hold the bundle of flowers together, because after all you had gone through to pick them—the bee sting on your palm a sharp and constant reminder that seems to pulse in time with every heartbeat—you were going to make them look presentable and pretty, even as your fingers struggle to correctly finish off the knot.

But the back of your neck is prickling, both anxiety and instinct warring for your attention because kriff, somehow the stubborn bee in question is still following you! You tilt your head, your ears straining as you continue to move on quick, quiet footsteps through the ship’s narrow hallways.

Buzzz.

Maybe it’s your mind being paranoid and playing a trick on you. Maybe it’s just the low hum of the fluorescent lighting that lines the corridor you’re currently hastening along. Surely, you think, breaking out into a jog just for good measure, surely it can’t be.

Buzzz.

It’s much closer now, and you can feel yourself breaking into a sweat. Bees are supposed to die, you remember, a fact that you had learned from the pages of an elementary school book rented out from your library that always brought you comfort when you found yourself near the small creatures as you grew up. Bees could only sting once, and then, once they lose their stinger, they die—unless it’s the queen, which can sting up to five times. 

But considering, as your hand jostles in front of your face as you run, you holding it up so you can try to catch a glimpse of it to reassure yourself, that the stinger is sticking out of the lump that’s quickly beginning to blossom on the face of your palm, it should be just a standard, run-of-the-mill worker bee.

Buzzz.

Of course, you’re on the Outer Rim, and you’ve quickly discovered that many things here aren’t standard or run-of-the-mill in the slightest. You really shouldn’t assume, you suppose, that any of the creatures you encounter here are normal.

Buzzzzzz.

It’s close, too close, so close that you swear you can feel the angered hum that it elicits against your skin and you squeak, terrified, throwing yourself through the double doors of the medbay with all the grace of a bantha.

“Cyar?” Kix’s voice, lovely and smooth and familiar, breaks through the panicked ringing that’s quickly overtaken your ears, safe, soothing, and warm. “What’s the matter?”

You don’t respond, instead skittering to hide yourself behind him, taking immediate comfort in the broad, muscular set of his shoulders accentuated by his armor, uncaring of how childlike you might look as you instinctively crouch down, wrapping your arms around his legs as you shiver

“K-Kix,” you gasp, body tense and your eyes anxious. “There’s a, there’s a...”

You can’t finish your sentence, but he must already see it, because he’s raising his arm in a swift, fluid motion, brandishing a datapad, and before you have time to react, he’s moving, lightning fast reflexes guiding his arm to move, a quick arc through the air and thwack! The no longer buzzing bee lands harmlessly at your feet, still and silent as he lowers his arm back to his side, placing the datapad back down on a medical cart.

“Pesky little buggers,” he sighs, his lips turned downward. “They’ve been trying to get into our medical supplies all week ever since we got here...” he trails off his ramble, brow crinkling in concern as he angles his head to look back and down at you. “Hey, sweetheart. It’s gone, I promise. It’s all okay now.”

You nod your head, sheepish as you release the iron grip you’ve had on his legs, suddenly embarrassed as you bite your lip, glancing down at your hand. 

“Hey,” he says again, voice much softer now as he crouches down at your level, eyes evaluating and observant. “Did you get stung, honey?”

��Honey?” you ask, your eyes still watery but unable to help the small giggle at the sense of irony mixed with overpowering relief that seeps into your bones now that you’re no longer being chased.

“Oh,” he says after a moment, his eyes quickly darting down to the bee on the ground as he processes. His ears turn pink, and he reaches up, subconsciously scratching at the back of his neck as he looks back up at you, offering you an apologetic smile. “Sorry, mesh’la. I really wasn’t thinking there.”

“I don’t mind,” you rush to say, reaching out to touch his arm before your hand twinges with pain and you remember. “And yeah, it did sting me and then proceeded to chase me all the way here,” you admit, grimacing as you slowly turn over your hand.

“What a harrowing experience,” he says dryly, taking hold of your hand to get a better look at it. “Come on, Cyar’ika,” he says, lightly tugging you to your feet by your uninjured hand. “You can tell me all about it while I get this taken care of.”

You meekly follow him over to one of the medical beds, taking a seat as he instructs you. “Don’t worry,” he says, leaning down to press a light kiss to the top of your head as he speaks reassuringly. “I’ll have you right as rain in no time.”

He moves away, rummaging around for several quiet moments before returning, placing some supplies down beside you on the cot.

“First,” he says, taking your hand in his and facing the palm upward. “I need to remove the stinger.”

You flinch, and then your eyes visibly widen as he lifts a small, blunt edged knife from the tray. 

“Kix,” your name falls from his lips in a small, almost embarrassing whimper as you look up at him, your gaze anxious.

“Hey.” His voice is warm, the octave pitched low and soft as he leans forward, setting the instrument back down as he lightly presses his forehead against yours, continuing to soothe. “Breathe, mesh’la. Just breathe.”

He inhales a slow, exaggerated breath, so close that the exhalation of air is felt as it brushes against your lips. You swallow, shaky as you breathe, and Kix smiles encouragingly, leaning forward to press several soft, fluttering kisses against your cheek, the corner of your mouth, and your jaw.

“There we go,” he whispers, his tone soft and patient as he continues. “I know it looks scary, but I promise, the knife is very dull on its own, and I will take precautions to ensure that it won’t cut you. I just need to use something like this,” he holds up his hand, leaning back so that you’re able to get a better look at the tool. “Because using something as thin as tweezers could rupture the venom sac within the stinger, and we want to prevent any further infection.”

“Oh,” you say, cheeks flooding with relief as you slowly let out a long breath. “I-If you’re sure.”

“Do you trust me, mesh’la?” he asks, taking your injured hand and propping it against one of his thighs.

“Yes,” you say immediately, the answer unhesitant and simple.

“Good,” he says, giving you a smile before returning his attention to your hand. “Just keep still and keep breathing, and I’ll have it out quickly, I promise.”

So you do, following his instructions so precisely that you feel yourself growing still as a statue. His hands are steady, the press of the knife cool against your skin as he works. There’s some pressure, a slight scraping as he works to push back the skin, eyes focussed as he pries the stinger out from your palm, using the long, blunt edge of the knife to coax it free.

“Got it,” he says, victoriously holding up the small stinger. You wince, gingerly flexing your fingers and letting out a relieved breath as he discards the small barb into a bin.

“I’m just going to clean it, but that shouldn’t hurt,” he says, turning back to his supplies and dipping a cloth into a bowl of lukewarm, soapy water. 

He’s thorough, but also slow and gentle as he carefully cleans your hand, dabbing around the injury with the cloth until he’s satisfied, raising your palm towards the light to scrutinize it before giving a small, decisive nod of his head and setting it back down.

“I’m going to get you a cold pack for that,” he says, getting up and moving towards one of the refrigeration units. “It should help bring down the swelling a bit.”

You glance down at your hand to find that yes, the bump is quite sizable and swollen now. You wince, because even without the stinger, it still aches and throbs intermittently, not that you’re really inclined to say anything about it. With the amount of injuries that Kix is exposed to seeing on the job, this one is pretty trivial, and you don’t want to embarrass yourself by complaining about it.

He returns, wrapping the cold pack in a small towel before encouraging you to press it against the injury. The cold makes you flinch at first, but it does ease the pain of the sting slightly, and you eventually get used to it.

Kix sits with you, quietly documenting and even grabbing a set of vitals on you for good measure just because he likes being thorough and having a concise, up-to-date chart for each of his patients. After some time, he lifts up the pack, frowning and lightly running his thumb along the swollen skin beneath.

“That still looks quite sore,” he hums sympathetically, continuing to gently cradle your hand in his as with the other, he reaches into his medpack and retrieves a tube of bacta. He applies some onto a cotton swab before gently dabbing it over the injury. Your sigh of relief is immediate, the gel instantly cooling and forcing the pain to retreat, soothing the worst of the irritation, leaving your palm feeling almost blissfully numb in its absence.

“I know,” he says softly, giving you a kind smile as he finishes. “The bees on this planet are a particular brand of nasty. Did you know that they are able to regenerate their stingers within two minutes of them falling off?”

“Oh,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek as your expression turns sheepish. “Well, that explains why it decided to chase me all the way in here after it already stung me.”

“It must have been feeling particularly vindictive towards you, cyar,” he says, his lips quirking  upward as he looks at you with interest. “Speaking of which, you never told me what exactly happened,” he says, his expression clearly expectant as he appraises you, folding his arms across his chest.

“Oh, I uh,” you duck your head, knowing that it won’t be enough to hide the blush that you can feel beginning to heat your cheeks as you avert your gaze. “I was um, I was picking flowers to bring to you.”

“That’ll do it. The bees around here can be quite protective of…wait—” He blinks, his mind slowly processing all of what you had said. “Y-You were picking flowers for me?” he asks, his tone a mixture of bewilderment, genuine happiness, and surprise.

“Yeah,” you say, looking around before your eyes catch on the delicate petals that had reminded you of 501st blue. “I um, dropped them on the floor, but if you still want them, they’re yours.”

His eyes follow yours to the bundle of abandoned flowers that stand out against the medbay’s white, polished floors and they soften. He quietly gets to his feet to retrieve them from where they had fallen.

“These are lovely,” he murmurs, bending to gather them up and brushing his fingers along the soft, fragile petals of varying shades of blue. He observes, his heart giving a little flutter, the recognizable hair ribbon that you’ve used to keep them together. “Thank you, darlin’, they’re beautiful.”

Your cheeks flush, and you can’t hide the pleased smile that pulls at the corners of your lips at his reaction, watching as his eyes dart around, seeming to search for something before they land on a beaker.

“I don’t have any kind of vase, I’m afraid,” he says, moving to a sink to fill the small glass with water. “But this should do just as nicely.”

You watch, your expression soft and your eyes fond as carefully, he pulls out a set of medical scissors and snips off the excess stem, before lowering the bundle of flowers into the beaker, smiling as he arranges them neatly on his desk.

“I saw them, and well,” you bite your lip, glancing up at him as he makes his way back towards you, “I thought that they reminded me of you, so I...”

You shrug, casting a sheepish glance down at your hand with the sting and Kix immediately softens, reaching to gently turn it over in his hand, his head lowering to press a slow, lingering kiss to the back of your knuckles.

“Oh, ner cyar,” he breathes, taking your chin in his hand. “You are sweet.”

His mouth slants against yours in a tender, yet nonetheless passionate kiss, one of his hands drifting down to hold your waist while the other lightly tangles in your hair, closing his eyes as his fingers appreciatively stroke through the soft strands. He doesn’t entirely pull away, he simply rests his forehead against yours, his thumb lightly tracing the contours of your lips, his voice a soft, warm whisper against your skin, butterfly wings stirring, brushing against your stomach as he speaks.

“Just as I thought,” he says, leaning in to kiss you again. “You’re just as sweet as honey.”

•Thank you to @strangergraphics-archive For these adorable dividers.

•If you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment, and/or reblogg. They are super appreciated here

[ct-tupperware]

Kix + caring immensely about his brothers

[secretly-a-trekkie]

insert pirates of the caribbean theme here

[tattycoram]

Fives, surrounded by a gaggle of Torrent Squad: Rex, who is your favourite? Rex: I love you all equally *later* Rex, to Echo: It's you, and by a lot

[thelastd0mino]

I told yall I have 5000 of these up my sleeve (it’s all I do with my free time. a little depressing but wtv)

[arrothededushka]

[w31rd0-art1st]

Clone names will never not be funny to me.. because you have clones named Hardcase, Fives, Kix, Echo, Dogma, Tup, Waxer, Boil, Comet, Fox, Wolffe, Rex, etc etc.

And then you have Cody and Jesse.

Like, these names are kinda cool and badass, but then you have names that belong to just regular people.

[licorishh]

he would be a battle mercy main i think

[writingmonet]

⸻ Kix, Echo and Rex

[m00ntunaart]

Doodle prompts from my Instagram story!

No context will be given lol.

[meshla-cyarika]

[noperopesaredope]

The clone medics:

[twinsunstars]

“sir, as the team medic, when it comes to the health of the men including you, i outrank everyone.”

yeah you also outlived everyone

[clonebrainrot]

Gotta shove them in at the deep end

[tattycoram]

Rex: You two idiots wouldn't last two seconds with the 212th Fives: Oh yeah? We'll see about that *Fives and Echo walk into 212th barracks* Cody: Get the fuck out *Fives and Echo leave* Echo: How many seconds was that? Kix: Five Fives: IN YOUR FACE, REX!