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They talk about it a total of four times.
Once, right after they get engaged.
Literally right after. Once the necessary phone calls have been made, and Levi has Eren sitting in between his legs on the couch, flexing his hand this way and that and admiring the way the white gold catches the faerie lights that are strung all around them like hundreds of stars. It had seemed like such a cheesy idea when Levi had first considered it, but now, as he watches the way the lights play across Eren’s face and the smile that has yet to disappear, he can’t say he regrets it too much.
“What are you doing?” He asks, pressing his nose to the nape of Eren’s neck and watching as he fiddles with his phone one-handed.
“Taking a picture, duh.” There’s a current running through Eren’s voice—like a pulse of electricity through a wire, or the tremor of an earthquake just below the surface. It makes his voice shake and rattle in a way that makes Levi want to pull him closer. To ask Eren to spend his life with Levi, over and over again, just so he can hear the undulations of happiness.
“For your mom?” Levi knows that’s not who the picture is for, but he can’t help but hope.
“I mean, yeah, probably.” Eren reclines further back into Levi’s chest, resting his left wrist on his knee to get the most aesthetic angle of his hand possible. “You’re right, I should definitely send her the picture, too.” Levi rolls his eyes—Eren probably hadn’t even thought of that, even though his mom had been the first person he’d called. “But we’re—” Eren’s happiness vibrates through his entire body, and Levi closes his eyes and lets it sink into his skin. “We’re fucking engaged. And if that’s not Instagram worthy, I don’t know what is.”
Levi rolls his eyes and huffs out a laugh, and wonders how he ever got this social media butterfly in his net.
He watches as Eren finally seems to snap a picture he deems worthy enough to grace the feeds of his followers, messing with sliders and colors and filters with the practiced fingers of someone who does this far too often. Even after all this time, it’s like a different language to Levi, but it’s still amusing, watching Eren do his work. Clicking back and forth between two versions of the same photo, only one is slightly pinker and one is more on the blue side.
“Four years behind us, forever in front of us,” Eren reads as his fingers fly across the keyboard, typing the caption. Levi closes his eyes and presses his forehead to Eren’s shoulder, hiding his smile in the soft, worn fabric of Eren’s sweater. “Can’t wait to be the future—” Eren stops abruptly, and his head thunks back, his ear skimming past Levi’s as the crown of his head connects with Levi’s shoulder.
It’s the kind of moment that makes Levi wonder if there is some sort of telepathy that exists between them, if only because he’s sure Eren is thinking loudly.
He slips his thumb beneath Eren’s sweater and rubs it over his hip bone, humming a question mark.
“I just…” Eren turns his head, and Levi lifts his own, allowing them a slightly uncomfortable means to make eye contact. “What’s our last name going to be?”
Levi blanks.
“Like… Am I going to take Ackerman? Are you going to take Jaeger? Are we going to do the hyphen thing, and if we do do the hyphen thing, who gets to go first?” Eren twists around in Levi’s loose hold so that they’re face to face, phone and unfinished Instagram caption still dangling from his fingertips. His eyebrows are pinched tightly together. “Or are we just keeping our own last names?”
Shit. When Levi had asked Eren to marry him, it had been with the sole thought of, I want to spend my life with this stupid idiot.
He hadn’t really considered… Well. Much of anything else, apparently.
“Uh…” his mouth feels strangely dry, and he presses his lips together and runs his tongue over his hard palate, trying to think of an answer.
(He doesn’t have one.)
“It doesn’t really matter to me,” he responds. Just like marriage had never really mattered to him. Until Eren. And even then, it hadn’t been a serious thought, a serious consideration, until Eren had murmured it into his skin in the pale dawn light.
I want to marry you.
And Levi’s heart had seemed to sing yes in return.
“Really?” Eren’s eyebrows arch in surprise, and then he slumps sideways into Levi’s chest with a, “huh.”
Levi really hopes he didn’t just fuck this up.
“What, uh…” Levi shifts slightly, and Eren moves against him subconsciously to accommodate the movement. “What do you like better?”
Levi’s last name means very little to him. Eren could want them to have a completely new last name and Levi would probably go for it.
But he knows that Eren’s last name is kind of a part of him. Is attached to the life he’s made for himself with an XBox and a laptop.
And Levi is kind of attached to Eren, so.
“I never really thought about it,” Eren hums, and, thankfully, doesn’t sound the least bit upset. He taps the side of his phone against Levi’s sternum a few times, and then his fingers are flying again. “Can I tag you?” He glances up, green eyes wide and round and Levi is so stupidly, disgustingly in love with him.
He flaps his hand in acquiescence. Like it makes a difference. The only reason Levi even has anything as superfluous as an Instagram account is because Eren made him one. In fact, it’s more like Eren’s second Instagram account, because the only photos he’s ever posted were posted by Eren through Levi’s phone.
“And posted,” Eren chimes, even though his fingers don’t stop moving. He grins, and then holds his phone up for Levi to read.
The final caption simply says, “Four years behind us, forever in front of us. [engagement ring emoji]” And, right below that, the first comment is Eren himself:
jaegerbomb so what do you guys think: Jaeger-Ackerman or Ackerman-Jaeger? ;P
“Did you really just ask the internet what our last name should be?” Levi asks, disbelief coloring his voice.
“Yep! I—oh, ten likes already!” Eren beams. “And two votes for Jaeger-Ackerman.”
“Yeah, because they aren’t biased at all,” Levi drawls, and Eren laughs against his chest.
“This person suggested Jaegerman.” A beat. “Honestly, I don’t hate it.”
“You’re an idiot,” Levi says into Eren’s hair without any vehemence, and he feels Eren’s phone come to a rest on the couch, revels in the way Eren’s hand falls into a familiar curl at the dip in his waist.
“I love you, too.”
*
Again, while wedding planning.
Something that, very quickly into their engagement, they both realized they loathed.
It takes approximately six arguments, two suggestions of eloping, one near attempt of just getting married at the local courthouse, and one rather scary conversation with Eren’s mother before they decide to do the smart albeit expensive option of just hiring someone to do it all for them. The only thing that leaves Levi and Eren to do is make decisions between presented options and give the final yes.
Which is still far too much effort on Levi’s part, and he still suggests that they just fucking go to city hall and get it over with already. It’s an empty suggestion, though. Carla Jaeger had come to them with the same fierceness in her eyes that Eren gets, the underlying thrum of her confession of wanting to see her only son married sounding vaguely like a threat.
Both him and Eren know that this wedding is less for them than it is for the people who love them, although Levi is starting to suspect that the more Eren talks to the wedding planner, the more excited he’s getting about the whole ordeal.
“So invitations,” Eren starts, tablet in hand as he scrolls through what must be his most recent string of correspondences with their wedding planner. When they’d first met Historia Reiss, Levi hadn’t been confident in the fact that she could handle both him and Eren and their conjoined indifference over what is supposed to be the biggest day of their lives. But apparently having no opinion on things like flowers and napkins and linens isn’t exactly rare in the wedding planning world, and Historia has risen to the challenge. Fuck, she’s even gotten Eren to start caring about some of that shit.
Not that Levi minds, because even when he cuts Eren off with a, “I don’t care,” because he fucking doesn’t, Eren just fondly rolls his eyes. And every time it happens, every time Eren tries to get Levi to make a decision about the wedding and Levi reiterates how little he cares about the event, Eren doesn’t bat an eye. Doesn’t hold it against him. Doesn’t turn it into Levi not caring about Eren, or not wanting to marry him, because it’s not about that shit at all.
And Eren knows that.
And it reminds Levi, every single fucking time, that marrying Eren is one of the best decisions he’s ever made.
The only regret he has it not having made it sooner.
“Okay,” Eren says on a laugh, clearly readjusting his plan of attack. “A, B, or C?”
“B,” Levi responds, still more focused on his own laptop than… What had Eren said this was about? Napkins?
“Oh good.” Relief colors Eren’s voice. “That one is my favorite, too.”
Levi blinks at the email he’d been carefully combing through and gives Eren an impassive stare.
“If you had a favorite, why did you even ask?”
Eren gives a shrug, shyly glancing at Levi out of the corner of his eye. “Because their our invitations. I don’t want you to, like, hate them or anything.”
Invitations. Right.
“You mean the invitations that I’m never going to see because they’re sent to our guests and not to us?” He asks dryly. “Unless you need a reminder for our wedding day, because then, by all means.”
“Hmm…” Eren taps the top of his tablet against his chin. “Would I have a plus one in that case?” He grins at Levi, who rolls his eyes in turn and lets the email in front of him reabsorb his attention. One of his new authors is being a pain in the ass about a rewrite, still in the state of mind where they think their way is best because they wrote the shit to begin with.
“Thinking of bringing a hot date to our wedding?”
“Mmm…” Eren’s in movement, then, shuffling across the small distance between them on the bed until his knees are pressed into Levi’s thigh and his arms are wrapping languidly over Levi’s shoulders. “I’m pretty sure I already have one,” he murmurs, nosing at Levi’s throat.
The words on Levi’s laptop screen become ultimately unreadable, and he lets out a small sigh, letting Eren know just how fucking distracting he’s being, when the tablet Eren hadd left on his side of the bed pings! with a message.
“Hold that thought,” Eren insists, reaching blindly behind him, and Levi just shakes his head. “It’s—oh.” Eren sits back on his ankles, his tablet falling to the duvet in his limp grasp.
“What?” Levi can’t help but ask when Eren doesn’t follow up his surprised little noise with any further explanation.
“Historia wants to know what we, uh, want to call ourselves.” He pauses, picking at the bedding with his fingernails. “Like, in the invitations.”
“Levi and Eren?” Levi suggests, because what else would they fucking call themselves?
“I think she, uh, meant, you know—”
“Why are you fidgeting?” Levi furrows his eyebrows. “Fucking spit it out already.”
“Like, You’re cordially invited to the… Jaeger-Ackerman wedding? Ackerman-Jaeger? Jaegerman?” Eren’s mouth skews up. “I… I think that’s what she meant. She mentioned something about our first introduction as a married couple, too, and that’s the one where it’s usually like Mr. and Mrs. whatever, right? So…” Eren bites his bottom lip and looks away, and Levi pulls his glasses off to pinch the bridge of his nose.
I don’t care, Levi thinks. I don’t fucking care. Why does our last name matter so much? It doesn’t fucking matter.
Except.
“Does it matter to you?” Levi asks, rubbing at his eyes before he slips his glasses back on. Eren has slumped sideways into the pillows, and he looks simultaneously contemplative and miserable. He bites his lip.
Levi thinks that maybe it does.
“Look.” Levi shuts his laptop. He’s not concentrating enough to decipher exactly what his punk ass author is trying to say, and he’ll figure it out in the morning, when Eren isn’t around to make eyes at him. “I don’t care.” He sets it aside and turns his attention fully to Eren. “And I’m not saying that to be a dick, and you know that. I legitimately don’t care. I didn’t ask you to marry me because I cared about things like which flowers should be in the centerpieces, or what color the table cloths should be, or what font looks the best on the invitations. I didn’t ask so we could go drop hundreds of dollars to change our names once it’s all said and done. This—” Levi holds up his left hand, putting the thin, white gold band on his ring finger on display, the one Eren had insisted he had to get for Levi after Levi had slipped a very similar (but not identical) ring on Eren’s own hand. “—is enough of a display for me. Because when I asked you to marry me, it’s because I want to marry you and spend my life with you. Got it?”
Eren blinks at him, and his eyes look a little glassy, and Levi let’s out a groan of frustration as he rolls his eyes.
“What was that about not being able to write your own vows?” Eren asks, voice rounded with love, and Levi lets out an ooph as Eren’s body collides with his own, curling over and around it. “God, I love you so much.”
Levi closes his eyes and settles his hand in Eren’s hair, breathing deeply.
“I want to spend my life with you, too,” Eren hums into Levi’s neck, and it makes his heart beat harder. Makes his chest feel a little tighter.
“I’d fucking hope so.”
Their invitations read,
You are cordially invited to the marriage of Eren Jaeger and Levi Ackerman.
They don’t talk about their introduction to the world as husbands, but there’s a silent agreement that a shared name doesn’t make that distinction—they do.
*
The third time, they’re at their own wedding.
Their own fucking wedding, and they aren’t even the ones broaching the subject this time.
Levi is sure there is some kind of etiquette at a wedding about mingling and paying attention to guests, something like that, but the only person in the room he has eyes for is Eren.
His husband.
Shit, Eren is his fucking husband now.
His husband, who is a much better host than Levi himself, and is currently twirling Mikasa around on the dance floor. By the stiffness in her arms, anyone would think she wasn’t enjoying herself, despite how much Eren is laughing. But Levi can tell by her smile that she is.
Eren looks over and catches his eye, grinning so wide it makes Levi’s own cheeks ache. He mouthes, I love you, and Levi smiles at him.
It’s no surprise that, when the dance ends, Eren extracts himself from other friends and relatives alike clambering for a dance with the more willing groom and winds back to their table, all but falling into the chair beside Levi.
It’s only been vacant for seven minutes.
“Hi,” Eren beams, moving as close as he can possibly get, uninhibited in the way he snakes his arms around Levi and presses his nose to Levi’s cheek. He’s so fucking happy, it leaks out of him like sunshine, warming Levi’s own skin. His heart is warm enough, but he would be lying if he said Eren’s own happiness didn’t make his smiles come a little easier, didn’t put the voice and the looks that he saves for the privacy of their own home on display for everyone they know.
And Levi can’t even find the cynicism inside himself to care.
He greets Eren with a kiss, and around the room, people cheer and ring small bells and clap. Eren laughs against his mouth, hiding his face in Levi’s neck, almost like he’s embarrassed.
“Do they have to keep doing that?” He asks Levi, and yep. He’s definitely embarrassed.
“Probably,” Levi responds, pushing some of the hair from Eren’s forehead and beckoning those eyes back to his own. The smile he gets with them is so achingly sweet that Levi wishes they could just leave already, just be together. But seeing as this is their own wedding, they probably can’t split before the cake has even been cut.
“What?” Eren asks, eyes sparkling, and Levi smiles at him.
“I really fucking love you.”
Eren’s smile stays soft, and he reaches up and presses his fingertips to the corner of Levi’s mouth.
“And I really fucking love you.” His thumb presses against Levi’s bottom lip. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile this much around so many people.”
That’s probably because he hasn’t.
Suddenly a bell starts ringing shrilly, and Levi can hear Hanji yelling, “Kiss! Kiss!” and about a hundred more bells joining in with their insistence. Levi rolls his eyes, and Eren kisses him.
“The bells were your idea,” Levi reminds him, once the cheering and clapping and ringing has stopped, and Eren laughs. They’re so close to each other now, Eren is practically in his lap.
Levi finds himself not wholly opposed to the idea, something that takes him slightly by surprise at the same time that it doesn’t—his whole body is thrumming with the need to be as close to Eren as possible. He’s even halfway decided to make it happen when one of their guests bustles up to their table in her peach-colored dress and interrupts with a, “Oh, Levi, I’ve never seen you look so happy.”
They look over in sync, and Levi vaguely recognizes the woman speaking to him. They… Work together? Yes. They definitely work together in some capacity. He vaguely remembers during the whole who-should-we-invite debacle, Eren had just insisted they invite his entire company, since Levi wasn’t all to keen on the idea of inviting his extended family and someone had to fill those chairs.
Levi had wanted it to be more of Eren’s friends and family, since he had them in spades, but Eren had been adamant.
“I do my best,” Eren replies, entering the conversation with practiced ease. “Wendy, right?”
Of course he knows her fucking name. Levi tries to give Eren a look that is positively disdainful, but for once, his face won’t cooperate, and he’s sure the look he gives is more endeared than anything.
“Yes. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Eren. I’ve heard so much.”
Eren shoots Levi a raised eyebrow, and Levi mouths, Gossip mill.
Ah, Eren’s eyes seem to say.
“So will we be calling you Mr. Jaeger at the office now, Levi?” Wendy asks, her voice teasing and light, and Levi tenses. “Or are you going to switch to Ackerman, Eren?” Neither of them answer, and the silence stretches, making the poor… Receptionist! She’s a receptionist! It makes her fidget, becoming suddenly uncomfortable. “Ackerman-Jaeger?” She guesses, eyes shooting between the two grooms as if she’s committed some sort of horrible faux-pas, and Levi can’t help but wonder if this is the first gay wedding she’s been to.
“We’re, ah…” Eren shifts, his voice slightly off-kilter. “We’re keeping our own last names.”
“Ah.” Wendy nods. “Right. Of course. Silly me.” Her laugh is fake, and forced, and it’s a relief to all of them when she excuses herself back to her table. Neither of them says a thing for the few moments following her departure, Eren’s eyes focused on something far away and Levi’s eyes studying him. There’s a furrow between his brows that hasn’t been there all day, and Levi wants desperately to get rid of it.
Levi hadn’t cared, but maybe that had made him obstinate and oblivious. Maybe Eren always had, and Levi had trusted that, if Eren wanted something, he’d make it happen.
Even after four years, he keeps fucking throwing Levi for a loop.
Well, two can play at that game.
“Come on,” he breaks the silence, moving to stand up. Eren’s eyes lock on him in surprise. “Dance with me.”
“Really?” Eren’s voice nearly cracks with his excitement. Levi can understand his reaction—aside from their first, mandatory dance, Levi has avoided the floor, preferring to watch Eren turn all of his friends and loved ones about the room instead.
Levi holds out his hand, and Eren takes it. There’s a few more bell rings, and Eren responds with a kiss to Levi’s cheek, (“That doesn’t count!” one of their more obnoxious guests yells), and the crowd seems to part for them as they take the floor.
Who knows. Levi might even let Eren shove cake into his face.
*
And then Levi ends the need for the conversation, two weeks later, when their marriage license arrives in the mail and he presents it to Eren along with two forms.
“Our marriage license!” Eren exclaims happily, pausing whatever game he had been in the middle of recording. Shit, Levi hadn’t even thought to check.
“Are you streaming?” Levi asks, glancing at the little camera above Eren’s work station, but Eren shakes his head before Levi can discern if it’s off or not.
“No, just recording my next challenge video.” Eren is holding the marriage certificate like it’s the most precious thing in the world, but the moment passes when his eyes land on the much more boring, blank documents that Levi had also provided. “What are these?”
“SS-5 forms,” Levi responds, folding his hands over the back of Eren’s chair. “For new Social Security cards reflecting our new names.”
“New names?” Eren gives him a rather amusing confused look, and Levi just calmly holds his gaze, waiting for the pieces to slide into place, for the inevitable click—and there it is. Eren’s eyes widen, and he let’s out a breathy, “Oh.”
“I made an appointment with both the Social Security Office and the DMV for tomorrow, so we can get all of the documentation out of the way,” Levi explains, leaning over Eren to splay the documents out on the desk. “So now… We just have to pick a name.” He tips his head to he side to look Eren in the eye. Eren, who is staring at him with disbelief shining in his eyes, and a shocked smile on his face.
And Levi feels something that’s been loose in his chest since the wedding settle into place.
Stupid certified marriage license taking two weeks.
Levi pulls the pen from behind his ear and presents it to Eren, eyebrows raised slightly, as if to say, It’s up to you. As if to say, I want this, too, but I’m happy with whatever you choose.
Eren takes the pen into his slightly shaking hand, and then carefully scans over the document before him. He doesn’t fill a single segment out until he finds what he’s looking for, and then, in letters that are very carefully and neatly done, he writes.
ACKERMAN-JAEGER
“Ackerman-Jaeger, huh?” Levi asks, pressing his temple to Eren’s, and Eren gives a small nod.
“I like how it sounds better.” His voice is quiet, like he’s not quite believing what he’s doing, and Levi wants to kick himself in the face for denying his husband such a simple joy. “Don’t you?”
Levi hadn’t thought about it, but he does now. Eren Ackerman-Jaeger. It makes something in his chest twist, pleasant and painful at the same time, and he smiles.
Levi Ackerman-Jaeger.
He’ll have to get a new nameplate at work.
He’s looking forward to it.
“I do.”