Elvis One Shots/Imagines

And I Love You So - Elvis

A/N: Request by @itzzz_miag apparently I have a habit of letting the story run away with itself so even though it's a little different, I hope you still like it!!

"It's just bahooey," Elvis said as he settled into the couch beside you. He lifted your legs to his lap, mindlessly running his hand along your shin as he sipped his Pepsi. He'd just thrown a paper onto the coffee table where everyone could see. Everyone included yourself, Elvis, Jerry Schilling and Steve Binder. It was late into the evening. Hell, you weren't even sure if it was evening anymore or if was the next day. 

You cringed when you saw the paper. Steve leaned over, setting his drink on the coffee table and picked up the paper. He let out a low whistle and shook his head, "damn, they didn't hold back."

He flicked it around so you could see it, though you were familiar with the picture. It was of you and Elvis on the beach just a few weeks ago. He was topless with a small pair of blue shorts, looking radiant in the Hawaii sun. Beside you, you wore a blue bikini. You would never wear one on your own, but Elvis had bought it for you so you could match. Same reason he liked your hair dark. Thought it was cute.

In the picture Elvis was already knee deep in the water and you were jogging to go after him. That particular shot showed off everything that was jiggling that shouldn't have been, at least not by modern standards. You were too much this and not enough that. To some, you were too damn thin, others you were bordering an aquatic animal. It didn't matter who published the picture because each article had the same central thesis, you were far too unattractive for a Mister Elvis Presley. That photograph was only the grainy, miserable truth of the matter.

You took a hearty swallow of your drink. This evening you were nursing a whiskey while Jerry and Steve drank to their heart's content, and Elvis remained sober as the night turned into early, early morning. You'd discovered after living here that alcohol and late hours equated to philosophical discussions at odd times of the day. Today was no exception, especially with that horrific photo as evidence. 

"What even is beautiful?" Jerry asked, head leaning against the pillow of the chair. His body was sprawled across it like a child, one leg over the arm of the chair and foot dangling precociously near Steve's head in his own chair.

"Symmetry," Steve answered almost immediately.

Elvis rolled his eyes, "says who?"

"Science."

"Real credible source," Jerry said with a laugh.

Steve straightened, waving his hands wildly as he spoke. "I'm not wrong here. It's scientifically proven that we are attracted to what is perfect and even. A symmetrical face and body is. Humans like patterns after all and symmetry's just a nice, large pattern. Two exact halves."

"But no human could ever be 100% symmetrical? Same as no human, barring Jesus, can be without sin. Doesn't that doom us to never be beautiful? If that's the standard," you countered.

"Beautiful is the closest thing to it, not the exact thing. Think of the celebrities, the Marilyn Monroe's. She had a mighty even face. Men like that sort of thing. But Lucille Ball, she's all crooked. The only ones who like her are crooked themselves!"

"I wouldn't agree with that," Elvis said, sipping his Pepsi. "Imperfection's charming."

"But what of Elvis?" Everyone turned and stared at you when you said it, so you elaborated. "He's got a crooked smile, scar on one side and not the other. Hell one eye is bigger than the other. He's not symmetrical but he's handsome as all hell. America's in love with him."

"Elvis doesn't count-"

"Why's that? Because he's a man?" You put your drink down with a force that surprised even you. "Cause I tell you sure as hell that women don't look for symmetry. That's why almost everyone agrees Elvis is handsome but they're up in arms about whether or not Lucille Ball is. And we both know it ain't because she's 'crooked.' Men don't like her cause she's funnier than the lot of you."

"Y/N-"

"Stop that! Don't Y/N me like I'm some child who doesn't understand the world around her. I think I understand it clearer than you," you couldn't help the tears that came to your eyes. It was out of anger but it made you feel weak and belittled, and you hated it for that. You continued though you voice shook. "You ain't ever been criticized just for your appearance. You ain't ever been told you're too much of just yourself. And it ain't cause y'all are attractive, it's cause you're men and the world takes you seriously just cause you got a penis. Well I don't have a penis and I apparently ain't good looking enough for the media so I'm played a fool for them goddamn papers. Don't tell me beautiful is symmetry when beauty just seems dependent on the nice, quiet type of girl willing to suck your cock and not one whose got a thought in her head."

You went to storm away then paused in the door, "do you even know Marilyn Monroe's personality? She was smart as hell but no one talks about that cause it ain't good to have someone better than you."

"You're being hysterical," Jerry said, straightening in his seat with a glare.

"You're right. Hysterical. Like all us women folk. But last time I checked, it was men who slaughtered other men and women. It was men who created a new church to fuck someone else. It was men who incited wars over their goddamn ego. But you're right, women wanting to be appreciated for their minds rather than the curve of their body is just fucking hysterical."

You left, storming upstairs and away from Jerry and Steve. Elvis followed quickly after you. You were afraid he was going to be angry with you for yelling at his friends. Elvis was more traditional than you might always want, but you knew he respected all of what you had just said. And yet, you worried that yelling at his friends was enough to piss him off.

You kicked your shoes off and made for the closet, immediately slipping into a pair of pajamas. Elvis stood around the doorway when you exited.

"I'm sorry for yelling at your friends but I ain't sorry for what I said," you said after a pause. Elvis nodded and pulled you into his arms.

You hated yourself for being weak, but you melted under his touch. You let yourself cry into his shoulder. All that feminism stuff was true, and you still stood by it. But you'd be wrong to say part of what was bothering you wasn't the fact that the media tore you apart for existing. You wanted to be beautiful just like any woman.

Elvis kissed the top of your head and brought you to the bed so you could lay down on top of him. You cried softly, holding him until you hiccuped and couldn't form a coherent word. He rubbed your back and kissed you, not forcing a thing out of you.

When you woke up the next day, Elvis was gone. He'd left a note reminding you of his interview with Variety. It was to be filmed at noon. You glanced at the clock and quickly went downstairs to catch the tail end of the broadcast.

"- just cruel and unnecessary. My wife is the most beautiful woman in the world, not just for her looks but her mind. Y'all are just mean," Elvis said, shaking his head. Your heart tightened in your chest when you realized the conversation had been about you. But Elvis stayed firm and looked directly at the reporters who ran to ask questions.

"Mr Presley, you're aware of the controversy surrounding your wife?" A reporter said.

"Say, if a woman married an unconventionally attractive man would y'all mind? I reckon you wouldn't. I thank she's beautiful and that's all that matters. Y/N, don't you listen to these bastard. I love you so, they don't matter none. Thank you and goodnight." Elvis ended the interview quickly, standing up and exiting the room. You fell back onto the couch with a happy little sigh.