Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The thing about Kíli, Bilbo thought, was that he was utterly adorable.
Not in the condescending way some older folk refer to the young—as if youth alone granted a certain cuteness. No, Bilbo had met plenty of young people in Hobbiton who had not struck him as particularly precious. But Kíli? Kíli, with his expressive face and untamed hair, his long limbs he didn’t quite seem to know what to do with, his wide grin and clumsy gallantry—Kíli was charming in a way that made Bilbo’s heart feel strangely warm, even on cold nights.

And Bilbo Baggins had no intention of hiding that opinion.

It began innocently enough.

They were camped beneath a rocky overhang during a rainstorm, the Company gathered close for warmth, their fire struggling to survive the downpour. Bilbo had fetched extra firewood, trudging back with his hood pulled low, cloak soaked through.

Kíli had leapt to his feet, grinning as always, reaching out with strong arms to take the wood from Bilbo’s. “You shouldn’t be fetching firewood alone, Mister Baggins!”

“Well,” Bilbo said, wringing out his sleeve, “someone had to make themselves useful.”

Kíli laughed and clapped him on the back, nearly knocking him over.

It was then Bilbo smiled up at him and said, without thinking, “You're adorable, you know that?”

Kíli froze.

Dead still.

Bilbo tilted his head. “Something wrong?”

The dwarf’s grin faltered, eyes flickering briefly to the rest of the Company, but they hadn’t heard—too busy grumbling about wet socks and dwindling supplies.

“You—you called me what?” Kíli asked, blinking fast.

“Adorable,” Bilbo repeated, slower this time, frowning. “You are. The way you run off to help everyone. That reckless energy. The way your nose crinkles when you laugh.” He mimed it with a fond smile. “It’s very endearing.”

Kíli just stared at him, stunned.

Bilbo felt a little uncertain now. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No! No, you didn’t—I just—” Kíli scratched the back of his head. “People don’t say that. Not about me.”

“Why ever not?”

Kíli’s eyes dropped, awkward. “Most call me loud. Clumsy. A nuisance.” He shrugged one shoulder, trying to look nonchalant. “Too tall. Too skinny. Not enough beard. I’m not exactly the peak of dwarven beauty, you know.”

Bilbo was quiet for a moment. Then he stepped closer, rising up a little on his toes to reach Kíli’s chin and gently tilt it back up.

“Well,” he said softly, “then they’re all blind.”

Kíli’s ears turned red.

———————————————

It didn’t end there.

After that first encounter, Bilbo made it something of a mission to shower Kíli with the kind of affection he so clearly wasn’t used to.

“You’re looking particularly winsome today,” Bilbo would say cheerfully over breakfast, watching Kíli blush over his porridge.

Or:

“That little dimple when you smile? Absolutely precious.”

Kíli would duck his head, mumbling under his breath, but the smile was always there. Hidden, but real.

Fíli teased him mercilessly, of course.

“Oho!” the older brother crowed one evening as they sharpened weapons. “Careful, Kíli, you’ll start floating away if Mister Baggins keeps puffing your ego.”

Kíli huffed. “He doesn’t mean it like that.”

Fíli raised a brow. “You sure? Because I think I saw you doodling hearts in the sand—”

“Shut up, Fíli!”

Bilbo, sitting nearby, only chuckled quietly. Kíli was sweet when flustered. It delighted him.

—————————————

But beneath the humor, there was something else—something achingly tender.

Bilbo began to notice things. Like how Kíli never really expected praise. How he looked genuinely startled whenever someone complimented him, as if it had to be a joke.

He noticed how Kíli always laughed the loudest, often to cover nervousness. How he slouched at times, shoulders down as though trying to shrink himself, as though years of being considered less had sunk deep into his bones.

Bilbo had never really understood dwarven beauty standards, but if they didn’t think Kíli was lovely—bright-eyed, open-hearted, courageous Kíli—then something was wrong with those standards.

Bilbo began finding reasons to stay close to him.

Small things. A shared water skin. A hand resting on Kíli’s arm during watch. Sitting beside him by the fire and leaning in just a little too close, just enough to make Kíli stare wide-eyed into the flames.

“I think,” Bilbo said one night, as they stared at the stars, “you’re rather remarkable.”

Kíli didn’t answer for a long time.

Then, very quietly, “You’re the first person who’s ever said that.”

———————————————

It came to a head one rainy afternoon.

They were crossing a slippery stretch of hillside, the weather foul and the footing treacherous. Bilbo’s cloak snagged on a bush, and he stumbled, just barely managing to catch himself.

Kíli was at his side in an instant, grabbing his arm. “Careful!”

“Thank you, dear.”

Kíli flushed at the word, as he always did.
Bilbo smiled fondly, then continued, louder this time, “You know, you’re very handsome when you’re serious. All noble and protective.”

That did get the Company’s attention.

Even Thorin turned.

Kíli nearly dropped Bilbo’s arm.

Bilbo blinked innocently at the sudden silence.

“What?” he said. “It’s true.”

Balin coughed awkwardly. Bofur grinned into his hat. Fili beamed. Dwalin looked like he was trying to decide whether to groan or roll his eyes.

Kíli looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

Thorin gave him a look. “You alright, Kíli?”

“I—I’m fine.”

Bilbo turned to Thorin. “I’m not wrong. He is handsome. That hair! Those cheekbones! That ridiculous little smile when he thinks no one’s looking.”

Kíli made a strangled noise.

Fíli burst out laughing.

But Bilbo just gave Kíli a small, warm smile.
“You ought to get used to it, darling,” he said softly, stepping past him. “Because I’m not going to stop.”

———————————————

After that, Kíli began watching Bilbo more closely.
At first it was subtle—just glances from across the fire. Lingering looks when Bilbo was fiddling with his pipe or scribbling in his journal. But over time, it shifted. Kíli started gravitating toward him. Sitting closer. Asking to share meals. Gently brushing their shoulders together when no one was looking.

Bilbo let it happen. Encouraged it, even.

He’d tug Kíli’s braids gently when the dwarf looked downcast. He’d rub his thumb over Kíli’s knuckles when they sat together during watch. He even brushed Kíli’s hair once, murmuring something about wild curls and cheeky charm, and Kíli had sat still as stone, red from ear to ear, barely breathing.

“You’re... strange,” Kíli murmured one evening, when they lay side by side under a shared blanket, the rest of the Company asleep.

“Am I?” Bilbo whispered.

“No one’s ever wanted to be close to me like this.” Kíli’s voice cracked a little. “Not like you do.”

Bilbo turned to him, brushing his hand through dark curls. “Then they were all fools.”

Kíli’s breath caught.

“Why?” he asked, voice barely audible. “Why do you think I’m so... wonderful?”

Bilbo leaned in, pressing their foreheads together.
“Because you are, Kíli. Because you are kind, and brave, and soft-hearted despite everything. Because you make me laugh. Because your smile lights up the entire camp. Because the world is a better place with you in it.”

Kíli blinked fast, lips trembling.

“Don’t cry,” Bilbo whispered.

“I’m not,” Kíli sniffed.

“You’re absolutely adorable when you cry,” Bilbo teased.

“Oh Mahal.”

But he didn’t pull away.

He never pulled away.

————————————————

It took time for Kíli to believe it. Days turned to weeks, and Bilbo kept on, gentle and persistent, never asking for anything more than closeness, than truth, than honesty. Kíli was too shy to initiate much at first, but he slowly unfurled like a flower in sunlight—blossoming under Bilbo’s affection.

One evening, Bilbo was tending to a shallow cut on Kíli’s forearm when the dwarf finally spoke his heart.
“I used to think I was hard to love,” Kíli whispered.

Bilbo froze.

Kíli looked down. “All my life, people have told me I’m too much. Too loud, too lanky, too careless. I thought... if I wasn’t like Fíli, no one would ever—” His voice cracked. “No one would choose me.”

Bilbo felt something twist in his chest.

“Kíli,” he breathed, cupping his face.

The dwarf’s eyes were shiny, lips trembling.

“I do choose you,” Bilbo whispered. “Every day.”

Kíli closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.

“Even if I’m not beautiful?”

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Kíli let out a laugh-choke, blinking fast. “Even with this scar?” He pointed to the crooked line on his brow.

“Especially with that scar,” Bilbo said firmly. “It tells a story. It’s yours. That’s what makes it precious.”

Kíli kissed him, then.
Shaky and sudden, but fierce.
Bilbo kissed back with a soft hum, threading his fingers into that wild hair he loved so much.

————————————————

After that, the Company began to notice a change in Kíli.

He laughed a little freer. Stood a little taller. Smiled like he meant it.

He still blushed when Bilbo called him adorable, but now he’d grin, too. He’d nudge Bilbo back with his shoulder, or press a kiss to his temple, or loop their fingers together when no one was looking.
Even Thorin softened to it—though he still grumbled when he caught them snuggling during watch.
Balin just shook his head fondly. “Young love,” he muttered. “Makes fools of us all.”

And Kíli?

Kíli glowed.

————————————————

One night, under a sky full of stars, Kíli curled up against Bilbo, resting his head on the hobbit’s chest.

“Do you really think I’m beautiful?” he whispered, just to hear it again.

Bilbo smiled, pressing a kiss to his brow.

“No,” he said softly.

Kíli stiffened, looking up.

Bilbo grinned. “I think you’re absolutely radiant.”

Kíli snorted and buried his face in Bilbo’s chest.
“You’re lucky I love you.”

Bilbo chuckled, rubbing his back. “I truly am.”

And Kíli—Kíli, who had never been told he was wanted, never been adored for simply being him—finally, finally believed it.

Chapter Text

It had been a warm day, one of the rare ones where the wind didn’t bite through cloaks and boots, and the sun had risen high enough to coax smiles even from Dwalin. The Company had made camp early, grateful for flat ground and clear skies, and Bilbo was currently seated on a rock beside a small stream, washing his shirt and humming softly to himself.

He didn’t notice Kíli approaching at first.

The dwarf moved quietly, which was unlike him. No tripping over roots or calling out for Fili to save him from bugs. Just quiet, measured steps until he stood at Bilbo’s side, looking down at the water with a drawn expression.

Bilbo looked up and smiled. “Afternoon, my darling.”

Kíli’s lips twitched. He loved when Bilbo called him that, but today it didn’t stick.

“Do you really mean it?” he asked quietly, voice low like a confession.

Bilbo blinked. “Mean what, my dear?”

“That I’m—what you keep saying. Adorable. Lovely. Wanted.”

The smile on Bilbo’s face softened, touched by concern. “Of course I mean it.”

Kíli didn’t sit. He stood stiff, arms crossed, looking at the water. “You don’t have to say those things.”

Bilbo tilted his head. “No one’s making me, Kíli.”

“I know.” A pause. “But I’ve been thinking. What if you’re just… being kind? Because you pity me? Or because I’m the only one who ever stuck close to you at the start, and now you’re stuck with me, and you don’t want to hurt my feelings?”

The hobbit’s mouth fell slightly open.

Kíli kept going, voice faster now, words tumbling.

“Or maybe you’re just lonely. Maybe I’m someone to keep you warm and laugh at your jokes, and it’s easy right now, but once you’re home—once this journey’s over—you’ll go back to your nice hobbit life, and I’ll just be that dwarf you were fond of once, and you’ll forget me like everyone else does.”

“Stop,” Bilbo said quietly.

Kíli did.

The hobbit stood slowly, setting his wet shirt aside and stepping up to the dwarf. He reached for Kíli’s hands, but the dwarf kept them crossed.

“I don’t know who hurt you so badly, Kíli,” Bilbo said gently, “but you don’t have to keep punishing yourself for being loved.”

Kíli swallowed hard. “But it doesn’t make sense.”

“Love rarely does,” Bilbo whispered.

“I’m not like the others. Not like Thorin or Fíli or Dwalin. They’re all strong and noble and important. I’ve always just been the one who gets in trouble. The one who jokes too much. Who gets things wrong.”

“I didn’t fall for Thorin, Kili.” Bilbo chuckled. “Nor did I fall for Fili or Dwalin. I fell for you.”

“But I’m…” Kili paused and took a breath. “Me.”

“Yes, you're you. That’s what I love.”

“But—”

“Do you want to know the truth, Kíli?” Bilbo stepped closer. “From the moment I first saw you trying to wrestle a goat into a cooking pot on our third day, hair tangled, mud on your face, and you grinned at me like it was the funniest thing in the world—I knew I’d never met anyone like you.”

Kíli stared.

Bilbo reached up and cupped his cheek, thumb brushing under his eye.

“You’ve made this journey bearable. You've made me laugh when I wanted to cry. You’ve made me feel safe in the most treacherous of places. You’ve kept me warm in the coldest night. You look after your brother, your uncle, and even me, every single day. You shine, Kíli. You light up the dark.”

Tears spilled over before Kíli could stop them.

“I don’t deserve that,” he whispered.

“You do,” Bilbo said firmly. “You deserve to be told how beautiful you are. How kind. How precious.”

Kíli’s mouth trembled. “But what if I can’t believe it?”

Bilbo pulled him into a hug, arms tight around his waist.

“Then I’ll keep saying it until you do.”

————————————————

Later that night, Fíli sat down beside Kíli near the fire, eyeing his brother’s red-rimmed eyes.

“You alright?”

Kíli nodded, slowly. “Yeah.”

Fíli tilted his head. “You sure? You’ve been quiet all evening.”

Kíli hesitated, then said, “Do you think I’m hard to love?”

Fíli blinked. “What? No! Where did that come from?”

Kíli shrugged. “Just… wondered.”

Fíli frowned, lowering his voice. “Kíli, you’re the easiest person in the world to love. You care so much, and you never stop giving, even when you’re tired or hurting. Why would you think otherwise?”

Kíli didn’t answer.

Fíli looked over to where Bilbo sat, scribbling something in his journal, brow furrowed in focus.
Understanding dawned.

“You think he’s going to change his mind,” Fíli said softly.

Kíli let out a shaky breath. “Wouldn’t blame him if he did.”

Fíli grabbed his brother’s shoulder and gave it a firm shake. “He won’t. Kíli, he looks at you like you hung the stars.”

Kíli glanced toward Bilbo, heart twisting painfully.

“I want to believe that,” he whispered.

“Then do.” Fíli smiled gently. “He’s not going anywhere.”

——————————————

That night, Bilbo found Kíli sitting awake under the stars, cloak drawn tight and hair loose around his shoulders. He didn’t turn when Bilbo approached, but he leaned slightly when Bilbo sat beside him.
Silence passed between them, soft and companionable.

Finally, Kíli murmured, “Sorry for earlier.”

Bilbo reached over and took his hand. “Don’t be.”

“I didn’t mean to ruin the day.”

“You didn’t.” Bilbo squeezed his hand. “You’re allowed to struggle. Just… don’t hide it from me.”

Kíli looked at him, eyes full of guilt. “I just didn’t want to push you away.”

“You couldn’t if you tried.”

A long beat.

Kíli leaned in, rested his head on Bilbo’s shoulder.
“I wish I’d known someone like you growing up.”

Bilbo kissed the crown of his head. “You’ve got me now.”

They sat like that for a long while, until Kíli’s breathing slowed and his body went heavy with sleep.

“Goodnight, my wild one.”

Bilbo stayed right there, arms around him, holding him through the night.

Chapter Text

Morning came too early for Bilbo’s taste, with mist still clinging to the trees and dew soaking through his boots. He’d just finished packing his bedroll when a voice called out ahead—Balin’s, sharp with warning.

“Bandits!”

No one had time to ask how many. Thorin barked orders, Dwalin and Bofur went for their weapons, and Fíli was already moving toward his brother.
But Kíli was gone before any of them could grab him.

Bilbo spun just in time to see a blur of dark hair—Kíli—launching himself at a cloaked figure emerging from the underbrush, blade already raised high. The man had been aiming for Bilbo.

The fight was messy, and too fast.

Steel clanged against steel. One of the bandits went down, groaning. Another ran, and a third slashed wildly, catching Kíli’s side as the dwarf shoved Bilbo out of the way.

“No!” Bilbo gasped, catching Kíli as he stumbled backward.

The attacker didn’t get a second strike. Thorin and Fíli descended like a storm, cutting through the remaining bandits with brutal precision.

When it was over, Bilbo knelt beside Kíli, hands shaking as he tried to press a cloth to the gash on his side.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, voice breaking. “Why didn’t you let me get out of the way?”

“You were right in front of him,” Kíli wheezed, trying to smile. “Didn’t have time to think.”

“You should have,” Bilbo snapped, but there was no real anger. Only fear. Deep, bone-shaking fear.
“You’re bleeding,” he whispered. “Oh, you fool.”

Kíli reached out, his bloody fingers brushing Bilbo’s cheek. “Don’t cry. I’m alright.”

“You’re not alright. You’re bleeding like a—like a stabbed water skin!”

Fíli dropped to his knees beside them. “Let me see,” he said urgently, already moving Bilbo’s hands aside to assess the wound.

It wasn’t deep enough to be fatal. Not if treated properly. But it hurt, and Kíli couldn’t quite hide his wince as Fíli wrapped the bandage around his ribs.
The Company gathered slowly around them, concern etched on every face.

Thorin said nothing, but his gaze lingered longer than usual. And when he finally turned away, it was with something that might have been approval in his eyes.

Bilbo didn’t leave Kíli’s side. Not when they helped him sit, not when they laid him on his bedroll, and not when Kíli tried to laugh off the pain.

Later, as the fire crackled and dinner was quietly eaten, Bilbo sat with Kíli’s head in his lap, brushing the dwarf’s hair away from his brow.

“You know,” Bilbo said softly, “I still think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Kíli looked up at him, eyes glassy. “Even with the blood and bandages?”

“Especially then.”

Kíli swallowed hard. “You keep saying things like that.”

“I mean every word.”

Fíli glanced over from his place nearby. “He’s right, you know. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Like your treasure.”

Kíli laughed weakly.

“Fee…”

“That’s what I keep telling him.” Bilbo sighed as he bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to Kíli’s forehead.

“You’re not a phase,” he murmured. “You’re not a mistake. You are my heart, Kíli.”

Kíli blinked rapidly.

“You’re serious.”

Bilbo nodded.

And slowly—hesitantly—Kíli reached up and cupped the back of Bilbo’s head, pulling him down into a proper kiss. Soft, a little salty with unshed tears, and full of all the wonder Kíli hadn’t dared believe he could hold.

When they parted, Kíli whispered, “I want to believe you.”

“Then let me prove it,” Bilbo said. “Every day.”

——————————————

That night, Kíli dozed in Bilbo’s arms, wrapped in both cloak and love, and Fíli sat nearby, keeping quiet watch.

“You alright?” he asked softly.

Kíli smiled sleepily. “Yeah. I think I’m finally starting to be.”

Fíli grinned. “About time.”

Bilbo looked down at the dwarf in his lap, his fingers still carding gently through tangled brown hair.

“You’re not just adorable, Kíli,” he said aloud. “You’re extraordinary.”

There was a brief silence.

Then Nori, from the other side of the fire, muttered, “If this gets any more romantic I’m going to be sick.”

Bofur snorted. “You’re just jealous.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

Kíli chuckled weakly. “Told you they’d hear it eventually.”

Bilbo only smiled.

Let them hear. Let them all know. Because Kíli deserved to be adored—and he would make sure the young dwarf never doubted it again.