Ich Liebe Dich

Ich Liebe Dich
By: TheGoddessofDeath

A/N: Written for the kink meme. The requester asked for consensual vonKarmacest sex.

He has watched her grow, seen her subtle and large gains.

She’s quite different from the young girl that used to follow at his heels with her teddy bear her mother had crudely sewn together before she had claimed her own life. He remembers the way she used to sniffle quietly at night under her comforter, of softly that he had to press his ear to her door as he passed. He found her sniveling to be against her cause, and always made a note to beat it out of her.

Still, he had molded her, wanted her to be him, and in the end he succeeded. His daughter was him in a female body. Her crystalline blue eyes would meet his own, steel blue oculars beseeching her with a slight smirk of his lips. “My love, you are perfect.”

And all she could do was smile, blush a little under his approving gaze as she turned away, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Thank you, Papa,” she spoke in her native tongue, each syllable caressed by her tongue in just the right way.

That was almost three years ago.

Now she is quiet, looking out the window and sighing instead of working on her caseload. Manfred does not approve of this foolishness.

“Franziska,” his deep voice booms behind her and she starts slightly, looking over her shoulder shyly. “Good afternoon, Papa.”

He does not need to say anything for her to know he does not approve of her actions, for her to move so she is sitting ramrod straight in front of him and shuffling through her papers. Disgraceful.

“You have been distracted of late, have you not?” Manfred starts, taking a seat in the chair on the other side of her desk, watching her stack the papers in neat little piles. She tends to be around this time of year, the beginning of summer. It’s when Miles came here thirteen or some years ago. It’s when he left. And she will never forgive it; he sees the anger and sadness storming in her eyes.

Yet she says nothing, but looks at each piece of paper on her desk as if it were important. Anything to avoid her father’s scornful gaze.

“There will be consequences if I return and you are still moping about like an abandoned dog.”

And so the girl is left with those words, that threat hanging heavy in the air with the scent of his cologne.

-

She feels as if she has strayed from her god, her deity as she creeps down the hallway that night, pushing open her father’s heavy door. He is sitting up, reading a rather thick book by a dim light. She wills herself to move, without a word, until the mattress creaks beneath her slight weight. It is then he puts the book down, folds up his reading glasses and places them on the bedside table. “It’s late, Franziska.”

“I know, Papa.”

Her voice is barely audible, her eyes focused on his velvet comforter. “I have forgotten my place, Papa,” she starts quietly, never looking to him. “I have come to confess this in the hopes you’ll forgive me for being such a fool.”

Manfred is pleased, although he dare not show it. “A fool, my dear child?”

She knows he wants an explanation, to feed his ego, and she knows that. Still, she speaks, daring her eyes to look up to his. “For missing Miles Edgeworth. Why should I miss him when I have what I desire right here?”

The elder male and his daughter have slept in this very bed together before, more than a parent and child should; their bodies were well acquainted with each other. And so he does not think twice when she crawls over to him, puts a hand on his leg and kiss his lips chastely.

He does not move for a moment, just follows her movement as she lays down in a silent invite, her front bared to him in a sort of submission.

If he truly did not forgive her he would have chased her out of his room, cursed her for shaming him, and slept soundly. But he is pleased with her display of inferiority; with her wanton look even if it will lead to her imperfection. So he accepts, crawling over her and giving her a deep kiss that she never wanted to end despite her chest screaming for her to stop her torture.

It’s not long until their lips part, the male’s lips roving over her pale skin that tastes of lavender lotion and some sweet perfume. Her slip she has chosen to wear to his room had clued him in on her intention. But his daughter is a siren, beckoning even her father to fall under her spell. And that, he finds, he does not mind.

Lips and teeth line her collarbone with gentle lovebites that linger for a moment before letting go, leaving dark red bruises in his wake. Franziska does not object, just laces her fingers through his thick hair as encouragement as he continues.

“Papa,” she says softly, smiling to him as his head lifts from her chest and their lips joined again, tongues finding the other’s with need. It’s deep, sensual and stokes the fires in the pits of their stomachs. Hands are moving fabric out of the way as they continue to arouse the other in ways, the taboo of the act only adding to the fact. The air around them is heavy with the permeating smell of arousal, of the sex that is to transpire in the coming moments, and it makes the teenage girl moan.

She does not expect it when her father grabs her throat with his teeth, sinking them into her flesh as she listens to her scream. He doesn’t break skin but leaves a noticeable mark. His words ring loud and clear, even if they never pass his lips: "You are mine."

And she never wanted to belong to another man, how foolish she had been to think that was what she had wanted, that another man could ever complete her so fully as her father did.

The purple slip she wore is finding its way off slowly, her nipples puckering when the slightly cool air hit them. Still, they were not left alone long, and Franziska gasped when she felt her father's warm mouth enclose around sensitive flesh. Manfred tasted his creation, noted his sweet she tasted, how soft her skin was underneath his lips.

The cries of "Papa" were silent, barely gasps amongst moans as he moved downward, kissing her thighs and inhaling her scent. It was unique to her, a hint of her lotion mixed with some divine oil she had no doubt bought on a downtown excursion. Still, he could pick up her natural scent she had tried to mask, the musk of her glistening arousal as he studied her. Never so much attention had he given one woman, not even to his past two wives.

And when he dares to taste her, her whole body seizes up, back arching so far off the bed he wanted to push her back down. "Composure," is all he mutters, a soft correction as she shivers beneath his tongue. She whimpers, bites her lower lip as her father runs his tongue along her sensitive flesh. Oh, if this is what perfection tasted like then Manfred now knows everything was worth it.

The teenager endures the delicious torture her father delivers, shaking with the force of an oncoming orgasm before long. Manfred feels her muscles clenching and unclenching, hears her breath coming in sharp gasps, his honorary shining through time and again.

Still he leaves her at the edge, teetering on climax before pulling away and licking his lips.

He does not have to utter a word before his daughter rolls to her knees, interlocking her fingers behind her father's neck before kissing him again. She tastes herself on his tongue, and grins when they pull apart. Manfred is intrigued, so he lets his daughter push him gently to the bed as she strattles his hips, works on pulling the wifebeater over his head. She cannot resist his skin, kissing his chest with slow, loving kisses.

There is no disapproval as he watches, the arousal pressing on her taunt stomach any indication he is pleased as she moves toward it, her hot breath tickling his aroused flesh. “You’re a tease,” he growls, grabbing his cock in his hand and offering it to his daughter. Franziska admires it, not that she hasn’t seen it before and takes it into her mouth. At first it’s a slow and lazy task, but as she becomes reacquainted with her father’s taste, her speed increases.

And in a similar fashion to her treatment, she pulls away when she feels his muscles clench in his thighs and she smirks. “No fair.” It’s all she can manage before he pulls at her hips, get her to come to him again. “All is fair in love, mein liebling."


It does not take much guidance for Franziska to perch herself where Manfred wants her to be, and he lets his head fall back slightly as her tight body surrounds him.

She is warm, wet and yielding as she moves a bit on top of her father, letting him feel her before she pulls off. “I did not expect you to be so dormant today, Papa.”

And he would answer her if she wasn’t now on her hands and knees in front of him, rump in the air to tempt her father. He never needs to be asked twice, moving behind his young daughter and grabbing her hips to enter her from behind. Now this is what she wants to feel: her father claiming her. And he does, oh he does as she feels him fill her to the hilt, hitting her cervix and biting the back of her neck.

Papa knows how to please her, how to perfect her and she knows just what to do to encourage him: soft sighs and moans, arching her head back so far it almost touches her spine, her legs spreading farther apart as he drives into her. They both know what they desire; both know what they strive for.

And it comes like a gunshot, Manfred’s teeth sinking into the nape of his daughter’s neck to ride out his orgasm with only a low growl, stilling his hips and gripping Franziska’s so hard he knows they will bruise later. But neither of them cares, and all the teenage girl can focus on is the warmth spreading through her abdomen, her cry of pleasure already fallen hoarse.

When Franziska feels her father pull out of her she rolls to her side, exhausted and the soreness in certain spots starting to set in as the endorphins of pleasure flee into the night air.

She is silent as she listens to her father leave the bed, water running from his bathroom. By now she does not care about decency, does not know if her Papa wants her to leave his bed tonight (he’s always changing his mind, you see) and lets her heavy eyes fall.

By the time Manfred reappears to take his resting place by his daughter’s side, he finds her dead to the world. And in a rare moment that he dare show no one, he smiles softly down at his light-haired daughter, kisses her forehead just above her eye and whispers in her ear,

"Franziska, Ich liebe dich."

In the coming days, Franziska will swear up and down she heard those words, but Papa will always deny it.