♡ “The Punch That Broke Her Heart” ♡ (A Goemon x Eris Fanfic)
✎ One-shot, Comedy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Romance
✎ Lupin III Fanfic, Goemon x OC, Goemon x Self Insert, Cabin Setting, Post-Heist
It started with a quiet breeze cutting through the dark.
The Edelstein Museum of Antiquities towered like a sleeping cathedral in the middle of the Austrian countryside—grand, cold, and saturated in silence. It was the kind of place Eris would normally fall in love with instantly: moonlight gleaming off chandeliers, tall arched windows casting warped reflections over the marble floors, every hallway lined with treasures begging to be taken.
Under different circumstances, she’d be twirling between exhibits in her signature purple, blowing a kiss at the nearest security camera just to make Lupin groan.
No theatrics. No stunts. Stealth only.
She’d groaned at that. Loudly.
“No drama?” she’d asked, slipping on her gloves with practiced ease. “A heist without flair is like a kiss without tongue. Flat. Soulless. Completely criminal in the wrong way.”
Jigen rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath about “too early in the night for that talk.”
Goemon, as always, had said nothing. Just glanced her way with that unreadable expression of his and turned to vanish down the corridor like a ghost.
The crew split into their roles. Lupin upstairs to the museum’s security hub. Jigen watching the exits with a cigarette that somehow never tripped an alarm. Goemon moving through the east wing like a shadow with a blade. Eris took the west.
She didn’t like splitting up, but she said nothing. Not tonight.
The corridors felt longer than they should’ve. Too empty. Too still. The air had a weight to it, like even the paintings were holding their breath.
Eris’s boots tapped lightly over the marble. Her gloved fingers brushed the edge of a display case—ancient rings, golden brooches, a polished sword with a cracked hilt. She didn’t linger. Something about tonight made her want to get in and out quickly, sparkle be damned.
There had been whispers. Rumors of new security. Imported guards—trained, silent, dressed in black. The kind that didn’t yell when they spotted you.
The kind that just moved fast, struck faster, and disappeared.
She tried not to think about it.
But every creak of the floor. Every shift of shadow. Every breath she took felt loud.
A flicker in her peripheral.
Fast. Close. Right behind her.
She froze. Her breath hitched.
Paranoia flared, hot and sharp in her chest. She didn’t think. She couldn’t think.
She spun on instinct, body already shifting into a fighter’s stance.
A clean strike. Reflex-precise. Bone against bone.
The figure staggered back with a grunt, hitting the wall and sliding down.
The sound of impact echoed far too loud through the wing.
Eris was already grabbing her flashlight, heart hammering, lips parted in a silent oh no oh no oh no—
He was sitting against the wall, one hand over his face. His blue kimono was rumpled. His eyes were open now—barely. One already beginning to swell beneath a forming bruise.
The light caught on the cut at the edge of his cheekbone. Faint, but there.
“…You hit me,” he said quietly.
Her lungs forgot how to breathe.
And then—“OH MY GOD—GOEMY BEAR—”
She dropped to her knees beside him, hands shaking, hovering inches above his chest like she was afraid she’d somehow break him worse if she touched him again.
“I didn’t know—I thought you were one of those guards—I panicked—I didn’t see—I would never—Oh my god, baby, your beautiful samurai face!”
Goemon exhaled slowly. “It’s just a bruise.”
“It is not just a bruise!” she cried, gripping his sleeve like a lifeline. “You’re going to have a black eye! A huge, horrible, awful black eye, Goemon! My sweet, perfect sword angel—your face!”
He opened his mouth—probably to offer some calm, rational response—but she kept spiraling.
“I love that face! I kissed that face five times this morning. I made a whole mental plan to kiss it five more times after the job. And now look what I’ve done! I’ve RUINED IT! I’ve ruined your gorgeous, sculpted, samurai face!”
Goemon blinked slowly. “…It’s not ruined.”
“People are going to call you Goemon the One-Eyed Wanderer!” she wailed. “Or—or Goemon the Black-Eyed Babe Slayer!”
He winced. “Please don’t call me that.”
“I will never forgive myself,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Never. Even if you do. I’ll remember this forever.”
She reached up, gently, carefully, brushing his hair back from his forehead with trembling fingers. Her hand hovered near his face like it ached to fix him.
Goemon stared at her, the pain minimal—but the quiet surprise in his eyes said it all.
He hadn’t expected her to break over this.
She wasn’t just guilty. She was devastated.
Ten minutes later, they were regrouping at the rear exit.
Goemon moved stiffly, the swelling now more visible.
Eris hovered at his side like a ghost. Quiet. Mortified. Eyes red. Her hand never left his sleeve.
Lupin raised an eyebrow as they arrived.
Jigen took one look at Goemon’s face and let out a low whistle. “Damn, samurai. You trip on your own sword?”
Eris let out a high, miserable sound in the back of her throat.
“Wait,” Lupin said slowly, turning to Eris, “You punched him?”
“You punched your own boyfriend in the face?”
“It was an accident,” Eris said quickly, voice breaking again. “I thought he was one of those creepy ninja guards—he moved too fast—I panicked—I would never—”
“She nearly cried on me,” Goemon added, flatly. “Three times.”
“I did cry,” she muttered into his sleeve.
Jigen raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the heavy artifact cradled in Lupin’s arms. “Well, at least we got the thing.”
“What even is that?” Eris asked, trying to focus on literally anything else.
Lupin smirked and lifted the veiled object slightly. “Ladies and gentlemen: The Obsidian Madonna. Worth millions. Probably cursed. Definitely stolen.”
Jigen shrugged. “Not bad for a night with no drama.”
Lupin gave him a sideways look. “No drama? The girlfriend just took out her boyfriend like it was a bar brawl in Tokyo.”
Goemon climbed into the back seat first. Eris followed him in.
She sat beside him, pressed close to his side, and curled herself into him like a magnet. Her arms wrapped around his torso, head pressed into his chest, and her sobs started quietly—but didn’t stop.
“Goemy…” she whimpered into the fabric of his kimono. “I hurt you… I hurt you. I’m the worst. I’m evil. I’m not even a girlfriend—I’m a cautionary tale…”
Goemon placed his hand lightly on her back. “It’s alright.”
“No, it’s not!” she cried, lifting her head just enough to look at him. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes red and glossy. “You’re my baby, Goemon. My sword angel. My perfect, beautiful, serious-faced, kiss-worthy samurai—and I punched you.”
Goemon didn’t flinch. “You didn’t mean to.”
“I did it, though!” she wailed, pressing her face into his shoulder again. “It was my fist! My horrible, evil, traitorous fist!”
“I saw movement and I thought it was someone else but it was you, and I should’ve known! I should’ve felt your presence in the air—I should’ve sensed you like a normal, caring girlfriend!”
From the front of the van, Lupin cleared his throat. “Well, uh… the Obsidian Madonna survived. That’s something.”
Jigen adjusted his hat. “And technically Goemon did too. Though he looks like he got dumped and decked in the same hour.”
“Don’t joke about it!” Eris sobbed. “I decked the love of my life!”
“She’s been like this since it happened,” Goemon said plainly.
“I CAN HEAR YOU,” she howled.
The van rattled as they pulled away from the museum grounds, and Eris cried the entire ride back.
Not delicately. Not prettily.
Full-on, body-shaking sobs, the kind that came from deep in her chest and refused to quiet down. She clung to Goemon like a lifeline, whispering through tears how sorry she was, how much she loved him, how she should never be allowed to punch anyone, let alone the man she planned to kiss for the rest of her life.
“You’re gonna bruise,” she whispered into his neck. “And I’ll see it. And I’ll remember. Every day. That I hurt my Goemy Bear. My beautiful blade boy. My handsome, unreadably stoic boyfriend…”
Goemon let her talk. Let her cry. He didn’t push her away. His thumb stroked the back of her glove in slow circles, a quiet gesture meant to ground her.
And when she finally ran out of breath, lips still brushing his collarbone, he said softly, “You’re not evil. You’re just dramatic.”
“I’m tragically violent,” she muttered, snotty and sad.
————————————————————————-
By the time they made it back to the safehouse, Goemon’s black eye had fully settled in.
The swelling was prominent now, an ugly bruise darkening beneath the surface of his pale skin. Jigen winced when he saw it under the brighter light. Lupin raised his brows, muttered “Damn,” and wandered off to put the Obsidian Madonna somewhere no one would ever find it.
Eris, however, hadn’t let go of Goemon once.
She helped him sit on the couch, fluffing every pillow she could find. She wrapped him in two blankets, adjusted the curtains so the light wouldn’t hit his eye, and kissed his forehead three times in a row like it was part of some ancient healing ritual.
“Don’t move,” she whispered, hands pressed to his cheeks like she was worried he’d disintegrate. “My baby. My poor, injured baby. I’ll make it right. I’ll fix everything. I’ll be back. Don’t move. Not an inch.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” Goemon said.
————————————————————————-
She returned with her sewing kit, a mess of purple fabric and glitter thread tangled in her arms.
Jigen, now sitting at the kitchen table with a beer, looked up and blinked. “You sewing a flag?”
Eris didn’t even look at him. “It’s his apology eyepatch.”
“You’re making him wear one?”
“It’s not about function,” she snapped. “It’s about remorse.”
She marched over to Goemon and very, very gently tied it over his bruised eye. The eyepatch was purple velvet with a small glittering heart stitched on the side. Across the top, in silver thread, it read: SORRY.
Goemon didn’t say anything.
He just sat there, eye patch in place, a quiet sigh slipping from his chest.
Eris burst into fresh tears and kissed the tip of his nose.
————————————————————————-
She brewed him a cup of jasmine lemon tea, balanced the sweetness with a touch of honey, added a sprig of mint for garnish, and brought it out on a silver tray.
“It’s your forgiveness tea,” she said softly, kneeling in front of him. “I steeped it while whispering apologies into the steam.”
Goemon took the cup with one hand. Sipped.
She stared at him like he’d just proposed marriage. “You’re just saying that.”
“I love you so much it physically hurts.”
Jigen made a dramatic gagging sound from the kitchen. “God, it’s like watching a soap opera.”
“I punched the love of my life in the face,” Eris snapped, eyes shining. “Let me earn my redemption.”
“You act like you broke his ribs,” Lupin muttered, emerging from the hall with a bowl of cereal. “It’s a shiner. He’ll live.”
“I’ve ruined his face, Lupin,” she said, clutching her chest. “You don’t come back from that. That’s emotional manslaughter.”
Goemon calmly sipped his tea.
The kitchen smelled amazing.
Jigen eventually wandered in, sniffed the air, and raised a brow. “You baking for him now?”
“She’s baking for her sins,” Lupin said, leaning against the doorway, amused.
Eris emerged with a tray of freshly baked cookies. Dark chocolate, sea salt, slightly crisp around the edges. Warm and perfect.
She placed them down like they were sacred offerings.
“Try one,” she whispered to Goemon.
Eris covered her mouth. “You mean it?”
She kissed him on the cheek, then the forehead, then the top of his head—like she was blessing him in reverse.
“I’ll make more,” she promised. “I’ll make cookies for your soul.”
Lupin snorted. “She’s gonna start exorcising your trauma next.”
————————————————————————-
She sat on the floor cross-legged with purple yarn, furiously knitting something between sobs.
“She okay?” Jigen asked, glancing toward Goemon, who was still sipping tea, now with a cookie in one hand.
“She’s fine,” Goemon said.
“Sure doesn’t look like it.”
By the time she finished, she held up a small, misshapen purple sweater with sleeves that weren’t quite the same length and a neckline that looked more like a turtleneck for a toddler.
“I know it’s not perfect,” she whispered, eyes red, “but it’s soft. And it’s from the heart. And I cried on it three times.”
She handed it to Goemon like she was handing him a relic.
He took it carefully, folding it over his lap.
“You’re not just saying that to spare my feelings?”
Eris dropped into his lap and hugged him tight, arms around his middle, face pressed against his neck.
“You’re too good to me,” she mumbled. “You should’ve dumped me and walked off into the mist like a dramatic loner, but instead you’re sitting here letting me make you emotionally charged snacks.”
Lupin walked by with a new bowl of cereal and muttered, “If anyone ever made me emotionally charged snacks, I’d propose.”
“Maybe if you stopped flirting with laser traps,” Jigen replied.
He just sat there, one arm loosely around the woman curled against him, her hair spilling over his chest as she sniffled and whispered soft apologies into the side of his neck.
“I love you,” she said quietly.
He tilted his head, leaned in, and pressed a soft kiss to her temple.
She burst into tears again.
And kissed him six more times just to be sure.
————————————————————————-
Later that night, the safehouse was quiet.
Lupin and Jigen had long since retreated to their rooms, the only remaining sounds the occasional creak of the old floorboards and the soft ticking of the antique wall clock near the kitchen.
Goemon remained on the couch, now settled into the blanket nest Eris had built for him earlier. He still wore the ridiculous apology eyepatch—soft velvet, a stitched heart, silver thread spelling out SORRY. He hadn’t taken it off.
Because she’d cried harder when he tried.
Eris was curled against him, her body pressed close, arms wound tightly around his waist as if she was afraid he’d vanish while she slept. Her head rested against his chest, long strands of her pale hair scattered over his kimono.
Every few minutes, her breath hitched.
Even in sleep, she was crying.
Soft little hiccups. Quiet sniffling. Her brows furrowed in pain, lips trembling as if her body still remembered what her mind wouldn’t let go of.
His hand moved slowly over her back in a steady rhythm—up, down. Up, down. Fingertips gliding along her spine in gentle circles. Comforting. Reassuring.
She whimpered something into his chest, barely audible. It might’ve been his name. Or another apology. Or both.
Goemon leaned down, kissed the top of her head, and rested his chin there.
“I love you,” she mumbled in her sleep, broken and soft.
And for the first time in days, Goemon stood in front of the mirror and quietly untied the purple apology eyepatch.
It slid off without resistance.
The skin beneath it was healed—no more bruising, no swelling, no pain. Just his own calm reflection staring back at him.
Footsteps thundered down the hall.
“Goemy!!” Eris burst into the room, holding a tray with tea and a plate stacked high with homemade cookies shaped like tiny katanas. A ribbon of purple satin was tied around her ponytail, fluttering as she skidded to a stop.
She caught sight of his face—and froze.
Her hands dropped the tray onto the bathroom counter with a clatter.
“…Your face,” she breathed. “Your beautiful, flawless, perfectly symmetrical face.”
Goemon caught her, stumbling half a step back as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, then his other cheek, then his jaw.
“You’re healed!” she cried. “I missed this face! I love this face! I would DIE for this face!”
He rested his hands on her waist, steadying her.
“I told you it was just a bruise.”
“DON’T MINIMIZE YOUR SUFFERING, SWORD DADDY,” she gasped.
He visibly flinched. “Please… don’t call me that.”
“But you’re my sword daddy.”
She laughed, wiping a happy tear from under her eye. “Okay, okay. Just my sword angel, then.”
“That’s… marginally better.”
That evening, she took him out to dinner—a quiet, cozy restaurant with candles flickering on the tables and soft piano music playing in the background.
Eris wore a sleek, dark purple dress. Goemon wore his usual blue kimono—freshly pressed, tied neatly, his hair pulled back with care.
They ordered everything. She insisted on feeding him dessert. He let her.
When the waiter brought the check, she snatched it before he could touch it.
“My treat,” she whispered. “For punching the man I love in the face and making it everyone’s problem for a week.”
Later, beneath a warm streetlamp on the walk home, he kissed her slowly. No teasing. No tension. Just his arms around her waist and her fingers curled into his sleeve.
She sighed into his mouth like she’d been waiting a lifetime.
————————————————————————-
Back at the safehouse, Jigen glanced out the window as the two returned—hands clasped, Eris grinning up at Goemon like he’d hung the stars in the sky.
“They’re still holding hands,” Jigen muttered, “even after dinner. I think she’d carry him around in a baby sling if she could.”
Lupin looked up from where he was laying upside down on the couch, one leg draped over the armrest.
“…You think Fujiko’ll ever treat me like that?”
Jigen didn’t even hesitate.
Lupin sighed and stared at the ceiling. “Yeah. That tracks.”
