The Mechanic din djarin
warnings: yearning, mutual pining, din being absolutely down bad, mechanic!reader, fem!reader, pre-relationship, grogu being a little matchmaker, soft tension, din's internal suffering, smut, creampie, standing sex, dirty din djarin (triple dih), how they met (part 1)
The first time Din Djarin brought the child to her workshop, he didn't intend to stay. He'd needed repairs—routine stuff, nothing serious. The nearest port had been a gamble, but the cantina chatter had mentioned a mechanic who worked fast and didn't ask questions.
What the chatter hadn't mentioned was her.
Y/N stood beneath the flickering lights of her hangar, a hydrospanner tucked behind her ear, sleeves rolled to her elbows, grease smeared across her forearm like war paint. She'd looked up when he'd landed, a frown already forming on her face. "Ship's banged up," she'd said flatly. "You fly through an asteroid field for fun?"
Din had stared.
She hadn't flinched at the armor. Hadn't stammered at the helmet. Had just... looked at him like he was any other customer.
Something in his chest had shifted. "Can you fix it?" he'd asked, voice gruff.
"Can I—" She'd laughed then, bright and sharp. "Sweetheart, I could fix this thing in my sleep. The question is whether you can afford me."
The term of endearment had hit him like a blaster bolt.
Sweetheart.
He'd paid double just to hear her say it again. It became routine after that.
Any excuse to land at her dock. A "minor" system glitch. A "questionable" stabilizer. A "routine" inspection that he absolutely could have done himself but didn't because—
Because she'd smile at him when she saw his ship.
Because she'd ruffle Grogu's ears and coo at him.
Because she'd call him sweetheart again, casual and easy, like it meant nothing at all.
It meant everything to him.
Months in, the crush was unbearable.
Din had thought—foolishly—that seeing her regularly would lessen the pull. That familiarity would dull the ache, it did the opposite.
Every time she leaned over his ship's paneling, he noticed the curve of her back. Every time she laughed, he memorized the sound. Every time she touched Grogu—gods, the way she touched Grogu—
The child had taken to her immediately.
The first time she'd held him, Grogu had grabbed her thumb and refused to let go. She'd laughed, delighted, and Din had watched her press a kiss to the top of the little green head, and something in his chest had cracked.
Want.
Pure, aching, devastating want, he wanted to be the one she looked at like that, wanted to feel her hands on him, wanted to hear her laugh against his mouth.
Wanted to claim her, to mark her as his, to never hear anyone else call her sweetheart ever again—
Except he couldn't.
Because she was just his mechanic.
Because he was just a client.
Because the helmet was between them, and the Creed was between them, and everything was between them.
"I can hear you brooding from here."
Din startled.
Y/N was standing at the ramp of his ship, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. Behind her, Grogu was playing with some scrap metal she'd given him, babbling happily.
"I don't brood," Din said flatly.
"You absolutely brood. You've been standing there for twenty minutes staring at the same wall."
He had been. Because she'd been working on his ship, and her shirt had ridden up just slightly when she'd reached for a tool, and he'd been forced to watch a strip of bare skin above her waistband like a man dying of thirst.
Twenty minutes.
"It's a nice wall," he managed.
She snorted. "You're impossible."
You're beautiful, he thought. You're everything. You're driving me insane.
"You need anything else?" she asked, wiping her hands on her coveralls. "Ship's good to go. I even patched that dent you didn't mention."
"I don't—" Din stopped. "What dent?"
"Left stabilizer. Looked like it took a hit from something small. Debris, maybe."
He hadn't even noticed. Because he'd been too busy watching her.
"I'll add it to your bill," she said, turning away.
"Wait."
She paused.
"You—" Din's voice came out rougher than intended. "You do good work."
Y/N turned back, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Was that a compliment, Mando?"
He said nothing.
Her smile widened. "I'm gonna mark this day on my calendar. Din Djarin, giving compliments."
"Don't get used to it."
"Too late. I'm already insufferable." She winked at him.
Stars. Din's heart stopped. The wink. The smile. The way she'd said his name—his name, not some alias, his—
He wanted to kiss her so badly it physically hurt.
Later that night, he watched her put Grogu to bed.
The child had refused to sleep in his bunk, demanding uppies until she'd scooped him up, cradling him against her chest like he was the most precious thing in the galaxy.
"Shh," she murmured, rocking gently. "Time to sleep, Cyar'ika."
Grogu's eyes fluttered. Din leaned against the wall of her workshop, arms crossed, trying very hard not to feel like his chest was caving in.
She looked so natural holding him.
Like she was made for it.
Like she was made for them.
"I know you're watching," she said softly, not looking up.
"I'm keeping watch."
"You're staring."
"Same thing."
She laughed quietly, careful not to wake Grogu. "You're ridiculous."
I'm in love with you, Din thought. I'm completely, utterly, hopelessly in love with you, and you don't even know.
"He's asleep," she murmured a moment later, tucking Grogu into his bunk. The child's hand reached out, grabbing her finger even in sleep, and she smiled so tenderly Din had to look away.
"Thank you," he said roughly. "For—for being good to him."
She looked up, surprised. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
"People aren't always—" He stopped. "They don't always see him as a child."
Her expression softened. "I see him as a child," she said quietly. "I see you as a parent. A good one."
Din's throat went tight.
"I know what you're doing," she continued, stepping closer. "Coming back here. Finding excuses. Paying double."
His heart stopped.
"Din."
His name.
His name.
"I know you have a thing for me," she said, and her voice was teasing but her eyes were warm, so warm, and she was so close—
"I don't—" He couldn't breathe. "That's not—"
"It's okay," she said softly. "I have a thing for you too."
The world stopped.
"What?"
She laughed, shaking her head. "You think I didn't notice? You've been pining so hard I can practically feel it. You get this look when I hold Grogu—like you're watching something precious and you're terrified it'll disappear."
"Y/N—"
"And you always stand too close when I'm working," she continued, stepping closer. "Your hand almost touches mine when you hand me tools. You call me 'ma'am' like it means something."
"It does," he got out. "Stars, it does."
She reached up slowly.
Din froze.
Her fingers touched the edge of his helmet. Not pulling, just... resting. "Can I see you?" she asked softly. "Just once?"
Din's throat worked. The helmet was his protection. His identity. His soul.
But she was asking, and she was looking at him like he was already everything.
"You can't tell anyone," he managed. "I—the Creed—" "I know," she whispered. "I'll never tell. I promise."
His hands lifted to the helmet.
Shaking.
He'd never done this before, never shown anyone, but this was her. Slowly, he lifted the helmet.
The cool air hit his face.
He saw her eyes widen. Her lips part. "Oh," she breathed.
He looked away, suddenly self-conscious. The scars. The darkness under his eyes. The raw, unguarded humanity of his face.
"Look at me," she said.
He did.
Her hand came up, cupping his cheek. "There you are," she said softly. "I've been waiting to really meet you."
Din's eyes burned.
She smiled, stroking her thumb across his cheekbone. "You're beautiful, Din."
"No—"
"You are. Don't argue."
"I've got scars—"
"I love the scars."
"Y/N—"
She kissed him.
Soft. Gentle. So careful, like he was something precious. Din made a sound—something broken and desperate—and kissed her back.
His hands found her waist. Hers tangled in his hair. The kiss deepened, messy and wanting, and it wasn't enough, it would never be enough, he needed more, needed her, needed— "Patu," a sleepy voice mumbled.
They broke apart.
Grogu was standing in the doorway of his bunk, rubbing his eyes, looking affronted. "Go back to sleep," Din managed, breathless.
Grogu made a judgmental sound.
"It's bedtime," Y/N said, and her voice was shaky, her cheeks flushed, and Din had done that— Grogu waddled over and demanded uppies.
Y/N laughed softly, scooping him up, Din watched her press a kiss to the child's head, watched Grogu snuggle into her chest, and felt the familiar ache.
Except now it was different, now she knew.
Now she'd looked at him—really looked—and hadn't run.
"I'll take him," Din said quietly.
She looked up. "Are you sure?"
"Come on, kid." He reached for Grogu. "Time to sleep."
The child whined but let himself be transferred, Din tucked him in, still helmetless, and Grogu reached up to pat his face sleepily.
"Da-da," the child mumbled, Din's heart cracked.
He heard Y/N's soft intake of breath, when he turned, she was watching him with that same look—the one she'd always given him when he was being too intense, too soft, too much.
"What?" he asked.
She shook her head slowly. "I think I love you," she said. "Is that crazy?"
Din stared. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "That's too fast. We barely—"
"Y/N."
She stopped.
He crossed the distance between them in two steps, framing her face with his hands, his forehead pressed to hers.
"I've loved you since the first time you called me sweetheart," he said roughly.
Her laugh was wet. "That was so long ago." "I know."
"You've been pining for months?" "Years," he corrected. "It feels like years."
"Stars," she whispered, and then she was kissing him again, and he was kissing her back, and Grogu was making disgusted noises in the background, and nothing had ever felt so right.
The mechanic and the Mandalorian.
Unlikely.
Impossible.
Everything.
"Can I keep the helmet off?" he murmured against her lips.
She laughed. "I'd like that."
"Good." "Also—" She tugged him closer by the collar of his shirt. "I think Grogu's asleep now." Din glanced at the bunk.
The child was out cold, blanket pulled up to his chin.
"Finally," Din said, and kissed her again. The kiss deepened.
Din's hands slid from her face down her shoulders, her arms, her waist—gripping like she might disappear if he let go. Y/N's fingers were in his hair, tugging, pulling him closer, and he made a sound against her mouth that was almost animal.
"Bed," she breathed. "Din—bed—"
"No."
He backed her against the wall instead.
The metal clanged beneath her shoulders, and she gasped, and he swallowed it with his mouth, hungry and desperate. His hips pressed forward, pinning her there, and she could feel everything—the hard length of him through his trousers, the heat of his bare chest against her palms, the raw, shaking need in every line of his body. "Stars," she whispered.
"I've waited so long," he said against her throat, voice wrecked. "You don't understand. I've ached for you." "Show me."
Din's hands found the hem of her shirt and yanked it over her head.
Her breasts spilled free, and he groaned—deep and guttural—like the sight of her was almost too much. His mouth descended immediately, hot and wet, kissing down her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her chest. "Din—"
"Tell me what you want," he murmured, tongue dragging over her nipple. "Tell me, Mesh'la dala." (pretty woman)
"I want—" She gasped as his teeth grazed her. "I want you."
His laugh was low and dark. "You have me. You've always had me."
His hands worked at her trousers, shoving them down her hips. She kicked them off blindly, and his mouth was on hers again, tongue sliding against tongue, messy and wet and perfect.
Din pulled back just long enough to free himself from his own trousers.
Her eyes dropped.
His length was thick and hard, flushed at the tip, and she felt her mouth go dry.
"I—"
"Look at me," he ordered softly.
She did.
His hand found her thigh, lifting it, wrapping it around his hip.
"Tell me you want this," he said, and his voice was shaking. "Tell me you want me."
"I want you," she breathed. "I've always wanted you, you impossible man—"
He kissed her again, cutting her off, and then he was pressing into her.
Slow at first.
Then harder.
Y/N cried out against his mouth as he filled her, stretching her, claiming her. His forehead dropped to hers, breath ragged, and for a moment he just held there, buried to the hilt inside her.
"Kriff," he gritted out. "You feel—you feel incredible."
"Move," she begged. "Please."
He did.
The first thrust was deep, punishing, driving her up against the wall. The second was harder. The third had her nails digging into his shoulders, her breath coming in desperate little gasps.
"Look at you," Din groaned, watching her face. "So beautiful. Taking me so well."
"Din—"
"Say my name again."
She did, and he thrust harder in response, his hips slamming into hers with a rhythm that was anything but gentle.
"Fuck," she gasped.
"That's it." His mouth found her throat, biting, sucking, marking her. "That's my girl. Taking everything I give you."
His hand slid between them, fingers finding her clit.
She bucked instantly, a broken sound escaping her.
"You're close," he observed, voice dark with satisfaction. "I can feel you fluttering around me."
"Don't stop—"
"Wouldn't dream of it."
His thumb circled faster, pressure perfect, and his thrusts grew more erratic—harder, deeper, driving into her like he wanted to fuse their bodies together.
"You're mine," he said against her ear, voice low and possessive. "Say it."
"I'm yours—"
"All mine."
"Yes—"
He kissed her sloppily, teeth catching her lip, and she felt her orgasm crest, her walls clenching around him.
"That's it," he encouraged, breathless. "Come for me. Let me feel it."
She shattered.
Din watched her fall apart, watched her head fall back, watched her mouth open on a silent cry—and he kept going, thrusting through her climax, chasing his own.
"Kriff, cyar'ika," he groaned, slamming into her. "I'm gonna—"
"Inside," she gasped. "I want you inside."
His control snapped.
With a guttural sound, he buried himself to the hilt, spilling into her in thick, hot pulses. His forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged, hips still twitching with the aftershocks.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then Din laughed—soft and disbelieving. "Stars," he murmured. "I love you."
She smiled, cupping his face. "I love you too." He kissed her again, slow this time, savoring.
Eventually, he pulled out reluctantly, and she whimpered at the loss. He caught her when her legs buckled, lifting her into his arms like she weighed nothing.
"Bed," he said firmly. "Now." "Still bossy."
"Always."
He carried her to the small cot in the corner of her workshop, laying her down gently before climbing in beside her. She curled into his chest immediately, and he wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
"I mean it, you know," she mumbled sleepily. "I've loved you for a while." "I know," he said softly. "I could tell."
"How?" He smiled against her hair. "You looked at me the same way I looked at you. Like I was something precious."
She laughed quietly. "You are." "You're precious," he corrected. "You and the kid. You're everything."
Grogu's tiny snore echoed from the bunk. Din and Y/N both stifled laughter.
"Well," she whispered. "Maybe we should try to sleep."
"Probably."
She paused. "We're going to have to explain the wall marks tomorrow." Din groaned. "Don't remind me."
She laughed, kissing his chest. "Worth it." "So worth it."