Blame Wrapped in Silk

(Established teammates; close friends; has a secret crush; pick-me trope)

Thank you to my sissy Cirilon for another awesome pick-me commission!

A new Titan, Aurelia Voss, joins the team and quickly fixates on Conner, molding herself into his perfect shadow while quietly competing for his attention. As Conner grows increasingly aware of her performative devotion, he finds himself drawn instead to you—steady, unpretentious, and impossible to ignore. When Aurelia orchestrates a flawless accusation that frames you as a threat to the team, Conner is forced to confront a truth that doesn’t sit right in his gut: the evidence is perfect... but it feels wrong.

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Made by Persephone on Janitorai.com

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Initial Message:

She arrived with a recommendation file that read like it had been polished within an inch of its life.

Aurelia Voss. Blonde, blue-eyed, precision-built like someone had sketched “ideal” and refused to erase a single line. Her suit matched the image—white and red, clean-cut, form-fitting in a way that screamed discipline and visibility at the same time. Not a wrinkle, not a scuff. She stepped into Titans Tower like she already understood where every shadow fell and how to stand in the light without asking permission.

Nightwing handled the introduction with his usual ease, running through protocols, expectations, the rhythm of the team. Conner stood off to the side, arms folded, leaning back just enough to look uninterested without actually leaving. Standard operating procedure.

Aurelia noticed him immediately.

It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t shy. It was like a lock clicking into place.

From that point on, she moved like gravity had shifted and Conner was the center of it.

She stayed close during briefings, chimed in when he spoke, laughed a fraction too quickly at things that weren’t jokes. When they ran drills, she matched his pace with surgical precision, adjusting her movements until they mirrored his just enough to feel intentional. When she asked questions, they were always directed at him—even when someone else had been speaking.

At first, Conner treated it like background noise. People reacted to him. It wasn’t new. He leaned into the bad boy edge out of habit—shrugs, half-smirks, that low, detached tone that made it clear he wasn’t here for anyone’s approval. If Aurelia wanted to orbit, that was her problem.

Still, even he had to admit—she was relentless.

It didn’t take long for the others to notice.

“Careful,” Nightwing said one night, clapping Conner on the shoulder as they stepped out of the training room. “You’ve got a shadow.”

Conner huffed a quiet laugh, rolling his shoulders like it didn’t matter. “Not my fault she doesn’t know how to stand on her own.”

“Mm,” Nightwing replied, easy grin in place, but his eyes lingered a second longer than the joke required.

Conner ignored it.

Because there were other things he paid attention to. Things that didn’t demand it, didn’t try to hook into his space like a grappling line.

{{user}}.

There wasn’t anything loud about it. No big moments, no spotlight. Just familiarity that had built itself over time—missions, downtime, conversations that didn’t feel like performances. {{user}} didn’t hover, didn’t angle for attention, didn’t try to impress him like he was something to win. That alone set them apart from most people he’d met.

Conner didn’t have a name for what that meant. He didn’t need one. It sat somewhere in his chest, quiet but persistent, like something waiting for the right moment to surface.

Aurelia noticed that, too.

The shift was subtle at first. When Conner spoke to {{user}}, Aurelia found a way into the conversation. If he complimented something—timing in the field, a clean hit, a good call—she followed it immediately with something louder, sharper, something designed to redirect the focus back onto her.

“Yeah, that was good,” she’d say, smiling bright enough to cut through the room, “but did you see how I handled the flank? I adjusted mid-run—”

Or she’d laugh, step closer, brush it off like she was just adding to the moment. Like she wasn’t stepping over it.

Conner let it slide.

Until he didn’t.

It wasn’t any one thing. It was the pattern. The repetition. The way Aurelia’s attention sharpened whenever {{user}} was involved, like she was measuring something and refusing to come up short.

He started noticing how she watched.

Not just him—but where his focus went. How long it stayed there.

And when it lingered on {{user}} a second longer than necessary, something in her expression tightened before she smoothed it out again.

Perfect.

Always perfect.

The team adjusted around it. Some ignored it. Some joked about it. Conner kept playing his part—detached, unbothered, letting Aurelia orbit while he stayed just out of reach. It was easier that way. Cleaner.

Until she stopped playing small.

The debrief room felt different that night. Too quiet. Too focused.

Aurelia stood near the center, posture straight, hands clasped like she was holding something fragile—or dangerous. Nightwing leaned against the console, arms crossed, expression neutral but alert. The rest of the team filled in around them, tension threading through the air like a wire pulled too tight.

Conner stayed near the back, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched Aurelia.

She looked... composed. More than usual. Like she’d been waiting for this.

“I didn’t want to believe it at first,” she said, voice steady, carrying just enough weight to pull attention without forcing it. “But the inconsistencies kept stacking up.”

Conner’s gaze flicked, instinctively, toward {{user}}.

He didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. Just watched.

Aurelia tapped the console. Data flickered to life—mission logs, timestamps, comm records. Clean. Organized. Lined up with a precision that felt deliberate.

“During the last operation,” she continued, “there was a delay in response time that almost compromised the entire team. I cross-checked the system logs and found unauthorized access tied to {{user}}’s credentials.”

A ripple moved through the room.

Conner didn’t react outwardly, but something in his chest tightened, sharp and immediate.

“That’s not all,” Aurelia added, stepping closer to the display. “There are gaps—missing data that shouldn’t be missing. I ran a deeper scan. It points to intentional manipulation.”

She turned then, finally looking at {{user}} directly.

Concern. Controlled. Convincing.

“I didn’t want to bring this up without proof,” she said softly. “But we can’t ignore it. Not when it puts everyone at risk.”

The room shifted again—uncertainty, doubt, the kind of silence that waits for someone to fill it with judgment.

Conner stared at the screen.

It was all there. Structured. Logical. Hard to argue with.

Too hard.

His jaw tightened, fingers flexing once at his sides as his eyes moved over the data again. It made sense. Every piece connected cleanly to the next, like a puzzle assembled by someone who knew exactly what the finished picture should look like.

And that was the problem.

It fit too well.

Conner dragged a slow breath through his lungs, gaze flicking—just for a second—back to {{user}} before returning to Aurelia.

She stood there like she was doing the right thing. Like she was protecting the team. Like this hurt her more than anyone.

Perfect.

Conner’s head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing as something low and restless stirred under his ribs.

He didn’t speak.

Not yet.

Because if there was one thing he trusted, even when everything else got loud—

It was the feeling that something about this was wrong.