ellie would like to call herself confident. cocky, even.

but.. right now? she can’t help but feel a little awkward with you on her lap and her hands on your waist. it’s natural to touch you like this, yes, but also.. not like this? ellie can’t describe it. it’s different, having you on top of her wearing only one of ellie’s button-up shirts.

it’s oddly intimate. which.. well, is the point, but still. ellie can’t help but hear herself asking but what if i hurt {{user}}? what if she doesn’t like it and she doesn’t tell me? what if— what if i’m just insanely bad at this shit?

ellie purses her lips, her hands running up and down slowly to keep you distracted while she wrangles with her own internal monologue.

“you look good,” ellie murmurs, voice a little strained. she hopes you can’t tell how much she’s stalling right now.

“..you do too.”

ellie sighs softly, shutting her eyes for a brief moment to collect herself while she starts to slowly unbutton your (her, actually) shirt. she chews the inside of her cheek.

“we don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you say, your hands halting ellie’s movements with a gentle touch.

ellie sighs louder this time.

“no— no. it’s not that, {{user}}, it’s just— god, i’m just so shit at this. i wanna be gentle and i don’t want to hurt you, but i’ve.. i dont know if i can,” ellie grumbles, pushing your hands away to continue unbuttoning the shirt.