Heavy - A Dwalin x reader one shot
Warning - mild NSFW content
I had such a lovely response to my first fic (Legolas one shot) that it convinced me to give another character a go. I don’t know what it was about Dwalin this time that got me, but also I don’t think this big warrior gets the amount of love he should from the fandom. Who doesn’t want a brawny guy who could literally throw you over his shoulder? And that’s exactly where the inspo struck.
I was also feeling a bit self conscious about body image so this is a little bit of a comfort one for the big girls.
Summary: You (a female presenting plus sized human) are really struggling to keep up with the company on some tough terrain. Luckily (or unluckily) for you, the dwarf you’ve been crushing on notices, and wants to help you. However, as you chat, he’s horrified to discover that you don’t see yourself as desirable due to being overweight. He’s ready to make you feel desirable.
Warnings/content: Dwalin refers to Y/N as ‘Lass’. NSFW towards the end, crude words, nothing ‘happens’ but possibly will be all guns blazing if I pick this up for a part 2. A sweet lil kissy kiss. Dwalin is the most confused gentleman in the world. Ideas around not finding yourself beautiful/wanted, being self conscious of your weight/size.
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You were struggling to keep up. The rocky outcrops the company were picking their way along were a lot harder to navigate than you first thought. It was alright on most of the ‘pathways’ (if you could call them that) but clambering your way over small boulders and natural staircases in the rock was proving to be tiring and more difficult than it looked.
And as for that damned loose gravel, you’d slipped enough already. You were pushing the fates with how many times they’d let your feet fly before you twisted (or worse, broke) something.
One dwarf in particular had noticed your struggle, and while he usually was somewhere up in the front of the pack, you noticed him slowly lagging, letting others go ahead. Peculiar.
He’d looked back and caught your eye a few times, each glance making you blush like a maiden. Each time making you falter even more, slipping or tripping or losing your balance like a newborn calf. How embarrassing. That must be why your cheeks are flushing so. Not because of the concern in the gaze of such a stoic warrior.
Dwalin eventually was the closest dwarf to you, the rest of them charging ahead, the rocky terrain not being as much of an obstacle as it was to you. It’s gotta be something to do with them being mountain dwellers, or a center of gravity difference. Definitely not your inherent clumsy nature. Surely not.
You really were trying your best to be quick, but the ground didn’t want to play the game for you. Your next step on some loose gravel slightly downhill almost sent you skidding down the slope on your ass, if it weren’t for a strong, steady arm appearing on your waist.
“Agh, you’re like a wee lamb tryin’ to find their legs,” Dwalin’s deep brogue starts in your ear, “you’re sure to break an ankle at this rate.”
Your face flushes once more, mortified the dwarf had to step in and save you from your own balance (or rather, lack thereof).
“Oh, hah, yes, well,” you start, realising how out of breath the hiking has gotten you, “I’m not quite used to such challenging ground if I’m honest, and I’ve realised my depth perception is worse than I thought. Every time I step down I can’t figure out where the ground is supposed to meet my foot.”
His arm is still around your waist, supporting your other side against his chest. He’s trying to catch your eye as you speak, but you are doing everything in your power to not make eye contact with this brawny, strong, muscly…. where was that thought supposed to be going?
He’s looking at you with tenderness you haven’t seen in a while. It shocks you a little, expecting him to be exasperated or annoyed instead. ”It’ll come in time, pebble.” He almost chokes on air after saying such a cute nickname, at the realisation that it actually came out of his mouth rather than staying in his inside voice. Before you can say anything, he rights you more steadily on your feet, hesitantly releasing his grip on you.
You mumble a thanks with your head down, and continue walking, trying to keep your focus on your feet and not how your skin still feels warm from where he held you.
Not even a minute later are you faced with needing to make a little leap off of a larger rock to keep on your path. Dwalin and the rest of the company have already done it, making the little jump seem nothing more noteworthy than a step on an elvish staircase. You, on the other hand, are still standing on what feels like a mountainous boulder with uneven stones below, attempting to calculate at what angle to land to break the least bones. Or would a tuck-and-roll approach be better here? Maybe just throw it all to hell and break your neck in the fall, that would surely end your embarrassment.
Dwalin is suddenly standing directly before you, putting the distance at least in a smidgen of perspective; it's literally knee-high to a dwarf. You think. You’re not really focused on his knees right now, but rather, the question in his facial features as he repeats your name, “Y/N, did ya hear me?”
“Sorry, I wasn’t listening properly,” you admit with a frown, “what were you saying?”
”I said I’m happy to carry you the rest of the way, until we get to easier land. It’s not much further but I’d rather get you there in one piece instead of bandaging ya up later.” He glanced ahead to where the other dwarves were still charging on, getting further away by the second.
You huffed, out of annoyance, fatigue, frustration, who knows. But, what you do know is that Dwalin’s correct, if you don’t get a wriggle on it’ll take you an age, or you’ll hurt yourself trying. However, a key part of his offer makes your ears burn.
“I really appreciate the offer Dwalin, but there’s no way I can ask you to carry me all that way”
”What? Why not? I’ve just offered.” He looks almost… offended.
”Well…” You don’t have the energy to step around this insecurity of yours, “I’m much too large.”
He stares at you a second, then laughs. A proper belly chuckle, like you’ve just told him the funniest joke all day.
He seemingly ignores your frown, holding his hands out like he’s ready to receive a hug from you. “Hah, ah that’s a good one amrâl, now come here.” He looks at you expectantly, waiting for, well, for you to throw yourself into his arms you guess.
”Huh? What, wait, no, truely,” you begin to protest, “I’m too heavy, there’s no way, I’ll just make it down myself and I’ll catch up to you all on more level ground.”
He huffs, arms dropping to sit his hands on his hips. “What in Durin’s name are you talkin’ about? Do you not know the strength of dwarves? If I cannot carry a bonnie lass as yourself, I’d best hide my face for the next week in shame.” he declares, the exasperation finally filling his tone. “Come now, Y/N, we must keep moving.” He puts his arms back out, eyebrows up, fingers waggling to urge you towards him, waiting for your next move.
His words have floored you. You try to think of a reason, any reason, to keep protesting. You’d never been in a man's arms like that before, always been a bit too chunky for it, always been met with hesitation about your weight. So, you’d learned to prefer your feet staying firmly on the ground, lest someone make a fool of you both and drop you for being too heavy.
“Uhm, a-alright,” you stare pointedly at him, still waiting for him to crack a smile and tell you he’s just joking, that there’s no way in hell he’s actually going to carry you the rest of the way. “If you’re sure I won’t be too much a burden for you?” But he doesn’t break, his seriousness about carrying you is actually starting to blow your mind.
“For the last time, come to me now, or I’ll grab you off that rock like a sack of wheat and throw you over my shoulder.” He’s really exasperated with your hesitation now.
“Oh! Okay, I’m getting there.” You’re the one to finally break, although the thought of him handling you so… sternly has your cheeks heating in a way that surprises you. Shuffling your toes closer to the edge, you bend a little, putting your arms out to rest your hands on his shoulders as his rest on your waist. Before you can move a muscle to attempt the step down, the dwarf has lifted you gently, then placed you to stand beside him, as though you were no heavier than a 3 year old. This causes a little squeak of surprise to escape you, not expecting him to literally do all the work.
His hands are still on your waist, you’re trying to think of another excuse for why he doesn’t need to carry you any further, but he’s trying to think of all the ways he can try get you to make that noise again. For once, he doesn’t have anything witty to say, just enjoying the way his hands seem to mould perfectly to your sides, how your chest is still moving a bit more with the effort of your lungs working to catch up. How your cheeks have turned a gorgeous rosy shade, one that matches your lips. Why hasn’t he looked this closely at your lips before? They look perfect, not that he has any idea what ‘perfect’ lips should technically look like, but they’re yours, which is what makes them so perfect.
You clear your throat, not with anything to say, you’re still drawing blanks on the excuses front, but because you’ve noticed Dwalin hasn’t moved an inch for a few breaths, and you don’t know what to do with silence.
“Ah,” He coughs, fakely, “right, yes, we’d better get a move on.” And without any warning, he’s whipped his arms from your waist, one now resting on your back, the other collecting the backs of your thighs, scooping you from the ground before you can properly register his words.
This, obviously, draws another squeak from you, this one a little more in the back of your throat, a little more inappropriate. Your arms fly up around his neck and shoulders, scrabbling a little for grip, until you realise that he has such a secure hold on you that you could fully rag doll and he’d have you tucked up like you were naught but a kitty cat. If you could purr like one, you’d currently sound like a furnace.
Dwalin’s pride swelled at the way he was able to steal another noise from you, though a thrilling spike of greed made him want to stop travelling then and there, to explore all the ways he could get you to make noises just for him. He shoved that thought away before it could make anything else swell, and started walking, trailing along to catch up to the company.
You notice that he doesn’t seem to be struggling in the slightest, moving with almost the same ease as when he didn’t have you in his arms.
“Dwalin?” He hums his acknowledgment to your questioning tone, “I actually didn’t realise you dwarves were this strong. Is it all of you?” You ask, hesitation flying out the window of your brain, now that your feet are gently bouncing in the breeze.
“Aye lass, but I wouldn’t call this much of a feat, I’m just carrying you. Why wouldn’t you believe that I’d carry you? Did you believe me to be joking?” His response isn’t quite what you were wanting.
“No, no it's not that I didn’t believe that you were being genuine,” That’s not true, but you felt like you were walking a peculiar line, too close to actually offending him now, “it’s just that no one has actually picked me up like this before, let alone carried me any proper distance.”
”Why not? Any good dwarf would fall over themselves at the chance to carry a gem as yourself in their arms.” He thinks for a moment, “Oh, is it against some sort of custom in your culture around carrying women? Gods, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
You find yourself chuckling a little at his sudden turn of thinking, “No, no, not anything like that, do not worry yourself. It’s…” you pause, meeting his confused stare for a second before blushing once more and casting your eyes downwards, “It’s because no one has been strong enough to carry me, or at least, the ones who might be, have no interest in hefting my weight into their arms.” You finish, candidly. It’s almost therapeutic to admit, realising that he’s not of that mindset.
He’s more confused than he’s been all day, possibly, all his life. “What are you talking about? Not strong enough? Why would they not be interested? You're not making much sense, lass.”
You huff once more, “They’re not interested because of my size!” you state, with a bit more irritation in your voice than you wanted to slip through, “because I’m too heavy to be beautiful or desirable.” You felt a bite of emotion creeping up your spine to stick at your tear ducts, but you won’t let it take over. You’ve done enough crying about your image in your life, this poor dwarf doesn’t need that show.
He actually stops moving. “You’re not serious?” He asks, the most incredulous tone you think you’ve heard from him.
“Dead serious” Comes your response, without meeting his eyes.
“Y/N, amrâl, look at me,” he urges, and something about the way he says your name makes you feel comfortable in lifting your gaze, “I don’t know, nor do I care about beauty standards where you’re from, all I know is by dwarf standards, we should really be thanking you for gracing us with your presence.”
You scoff, not believing a word of it.
“No, truely,” he continues, “aside from the slight lack of hair, you are built like you’ve come straight from a young darrow’s daydream,” your face is really starting to heat now, “I know dwarves who’d give a year of their life to be able to hold a beauty as yourself like I am now. Do your people not appreciate a sturdy woman? Do they not dream of a plump wife to come home to, someone strong enough to take care of themselves and still have energy reserves to give them healthy babes?” He knows he’s saying a little too much now, but he’s so surprised at the realisation that you don’t think you’re attractive, that he can’t stop himself.
You don’t say a word. In fact, you’re not sure if you could, instead, staring at him with your mouth open, cheeks ablaze, stunned at the idea of a whole race of people believing your body type is, well, a dream?
He really can’t stop himself. He’s searching your face to try find some sort of understanding, but only finding surprise and wonder. But its the fiery blush over your skin that urges him to say more than he should.
“Do they…” His voice drops lower, a gravel entering his tone, “do they not dream of pillowy thighs,” he squeezes yours a little, “ones that are so soft and welcoming after a long day’s work. A body that is soft, that warms the bed and eases any worries with a gentle touch, cozier than any fireplace known.” The way he’s staring into your eyes makes him look hypnotised, or is it you that is under a spell?
“Seemingly not,” your voice is barely more than a whisper, “although, that’s all rather tame, anyone enjoys something soft to cuddle up against, its the…” you hesitate, unsure if it would all be too much to continue speaking, but something (surely a lack of brain cells) urges you on, “its the intimacy that I don’t believe anyone would willingly sign up for.”
His eyes darken, almost animalistic. His breathing takes on a slight rasp as he holds you ever closer to his chest. “…If I should ever have the honour of suffocating between thighs like yours, I’d die with a smile on my face.” His words cause you to gasp like you’d seen a ghost.
“Suffocate? What reason would you need your face so close to my thighs for that to ever occur?” You’re so dumbfounded you can’t find it in you to be bashful at what you can only assume is a crude declaration about your thighs.
He shakes his head in disbelief, “They don’t deserve a glorious creature as yourself if they do not know how to take proper care of you.” A groan almost breaks through his words.
”What are you talking about? My point is that surely no man would find satisfaction with my body in his marriage bed.” You state, all ladylike politeness thrown to the wind.
You swear that statement almost stopped your heart. You felt something in your perception of reality crack, like a mirror being dropped and developing a fissure in the surface. ”What?”
”I said, I would.” He declares it like a fact. “I don’t care what men think, this dwarf would kill to have you in his marriage bed, as you call it.”
You can’t tell if you’re still breathing.
“I can see you don’t believe me,” his voice is still so deep you can feel it rumble through his chest to you, “but if you ever gave me the honour of inviting me to your bed, I would worship every inch of your skin, keep you there until you believed your own beauty.”
His words hit home, somewhere deep in your soul that wants to believe you are desirable, but has never been able to. It sparks something, something hot, that sends a molten flood of desire through your body, down your spine, all the way to your toes, but settling in between your legs. Suddenly the idea of him between those thighs you are so self conscious of is all you can think about. Hands grabbing, lips kissing, you can’t even begin to fantasise properly. It all becomes too much, and you do something that is surely inappropriate, and sure to get you rejected.
You grab his face between slightly trembling hands, and crash your lips to his. Now it's his turn to make a noise of surprise, and he does, a low groan that rips through his chest and flips something in your lower belly. You almost moan in response.
You don’t really know what you’re doing, the inexperience and all that, but he very quickly guides your lips to a gentle rhythm. The kiss lasts only a few seconds, but feels like an eternity in your head. You pull back a bit to take in his whole face, brain snapping back into the real world again, worried you’ll see something like anger, or worse, disgust. ”I’m sorry.” You blurt before he can chastise you.
“For what?” Wow, the two of you really needed to get on the same page here.
“For that,” you say, “I kissed you.”
”Why apologise for bestowing such a gift, amrâlimê?” Breathless, he looks at you in bewilderment.
“Because…” You can’t even think of a reason. You think you’ve gone mad. Are the words of this dwarf true? Can you believe that a warrior such as himself actually desires you in that way?
”You can kiss me whenever your heart desires, pebble.” He announces, a cocky smirk taking over his lips.
You believe him. You believe he’s telling the truth. You don’t know what comes over you, some surge of confidence that wasn’t there before, but your own words cause you to flush red once again; “Only if you promise to show me how you might suffocate from my thighs.”
His knees go weak for a second, not at all due to your weight, but from the idea that you’d let him worship your body in such a way. You don’t even fully understand that you’ve just asked him to promise to drown himself in your cunt. And that turns his shaft to stone faster than ever before, so much so, it aches beneath his trousers.
“Aye,” he rasps, “aye, Y/N, I can do that for you.”
The smile that graces your face makes him feel like he’s never actually seen joy expressed before.
“Oi! You two! If you’re about done with the lovey-dovey stuff, would you mind getting a wriggle on? We’re losing daylight watching you get all loved up over there.” A call from Fili bursts the bubble that had grown around the two of you. You both look over to see most of the company has come back up the path, wanting to see what on earth was taking you so long.
“Mind your own damned business boy,” Dwalin calls back, starting to move again, still holding you securely in his arms, “we’re not that far behind.” He almost growls, obvious that he’s more annoyed with the interruption than his words tell.
Fili rolls his eyes with a smile, but turns away to continue down the path along with the rest of the company, chattering and chuckles floating up from the group.
“Once we get some time alone, I can show you exactly how a dwarf worships a lady as yourself” Dwalin rasps to your ear.
You shiver, a pleasant feeling for once, “I’d like that, Dwalin.”
He swears under his breath and continues walking on.
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