Ceedee fic, where teammates and the internet want him to be in a relationship, not knowing that he already has someone in his life, but the most shocking thing is that they even have a newborn. Tired of rumors, he decides to pop out with his family, shocking everyone.
pop out
a ceedee lamb fic
summary ~ requested.
includes ~ fluff // wife!reader // husband!ceedee // criticism from the media (per usual)
word count ~ 2.3K
a/n ~ such a cute request! sorry it took me so long!
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For months, the internet had been trying to find Ceedee a girlfriend.
It started as jokes at first. Harmless posts after games, clips of him walking through tunnels in sunglasses and designer jackets, edits of him smiling on the sideline, comments under videos from fans who had entirely too much time on their hands.
Somebody get this man a wife.
CeeDee looks like he needs a soft girl at home.
Why is he always outside looking single?
At first, you thought it was funny.
Mostly because you were usually watching those comments while sitting on the couch in his hoodie, your swollen feet tucked under a blanket, your baby kicking against your ribs while Ceedee moved around the kitchen trying to cook something that was supposed to be dinner.
He would glance over when you laughed at your phone, already suspicious.
“What they saying now?”
You’d read one out loud, barely holding back your smile. “They said you need a wife.”
Ceedee would look over his shoulder at you, eyebrows raised, cutting board in front of him and a dish towel thrown over one shoulder like somebody’s fine uncle at a cookout.
“They late.”
You would hold up your left hand, the small diamond on your finger catching the kitchen light. “Very late.”
That was the part nobody knew.
Not the fans. Not the blogs. Not most of the internet. Not even some of the people around the league.
Ceedee Lamb was not single.
He had not been single for a long time.
He had you.
And more recently, he had a son.
A tiny, warm, sleepy little boy with his father’s eyes, your nose, and the incredible ability to turn one of the most confident players in the NFL into a whispering, emotional mess at three in the morning.
You had agreed to keep everything private for as long as you could. Not hidden, exactly. Ceedee hated that word. He had never made you feel like a secret. He took care of you loudly in the ways that mattered. Your family knew. His family knew. The people closest to you knew. You were in his house, his heart, his plans, his prayers.
But the public?
That was different.
The public wanted ownership. It wanted details before it offered respect. It wanted faces, timelines, names, captions, speculation. Ceedee had seen enough of what happened when athletes gave too much of their private life away. One picture turned into a headline. One headline turned into opinions. One opinion turned into strangers speaking on a woman they did not know.
And once you got pregnant, he became even more protective.
“Baby don’t need all that noise,” he said one night, his palm resting carefully against your stomach while you lay beside him in bed.
You looked over at him. “The baby or me?”
“Both.”
His voice was soft, but there was no room for argument in it.
So you stayed quiet. You enjoyed your pregnancy in peace. You went to appointments with him sneaking in through side doors when he could, his big hand wrapped around yours, his eyes going wide every time he heard the heartbeat like it was the first miracle the world had ever produced. You watched him build the crib himself even though it took twice as long because he refused to admit the instructions were confusing. You watched him fold tiny onesies with a concentration he normally reserved for game film.
Then your son was born.
And for a while, the world outside your little house simply stopped mattering.
Ceedee cried when he held him.
He tried to hide it at first, turning slightly away like you hadn’t already seen the tears in his eyes. But when the nurse placed that tiny bundle against his chest, something in him gave way. His shoulders lowered, his face softened, and he stared down at his son like every loud thing in his life had finally gone quiet.
“Hey, little man,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I’m your daddy.”
You were exhausted, sweaty, emotional, and so in love with both of them that your chest hurt.
From that day forward, Ceedee became even harder to recognize to people who only knew him as number 88.
At home, he was gentle. Careful. Ridiculously clingy with the baby. He learned how to swaddle, how to warm bottles, how to support his head, how to walk slow circles around the living room at night when your son refused to sleep anywhere except against his chest.
Sometimes you would wake up in the early morning and find him sitting in the nursery chair, shirtless, baby asleep against him, one large hand covering nearly the entire little back.
“You were supposed to wake me,” you’d whisper from the doorway.
He would look up, tired but peaceful. “I had him.”
“You have practice.”
“I know.”
“You need sleep.”
“So do you.”
And that would be the end of it because Cee, despite what fans thought, had already decided fatherhood was not something he was going to half-do.
Still, as the season went on, the rumors got louder.
It seemed like every week there was a new post. Some model liked one of his pictures. Some influencer posted from Dallas and suddenly fans had them married. A woman sat near the cowboys family section and the internet zoomed in like the FBI. Teammates started joking too, mostly because they thought his private life was empty.
“You need somebody, man,” one of them said in the locker room after a game, tossing a towel toward his stall. “You too quiet after wins. Go celebrate.”
Ceedee looked down at his phone where you had just sent him a picture of your son sleeping in a little Cowboys onesie.
He smiled to himself.
“Nah,” he said. “I’m good.”
Another teammate laughed. “That’s the problem. You always good. Somebody gotta humble you.”
He locked his phone and slid it into his bag. “I’m plenty humbled.”
They didn’t understand.
How could they?
They didn’t see him at home trying to change a diaper without waking the baby. They didn’t see you half-asleep in bed, curls wrapped up, wearing one of his old shirts, whispering for him to come lie down because he had been standing over the bassinet for ten minutes just watching the baby breathe.
They didn’t see how fast he came home.
That was the part that started bothering him.
Not the jokes. Not really.
It was the way people kept painting him as available when he knew exactly who he belonged to. It was watching strangers flirt openly online, watching fans talk about him needing a woman, watching blogs attach his name to people he had never even met while you sat quietly in the background recovering from childbirth, loving him, raising his son, protecting his peace.
The breaking point came from a podcast clip.
One of his teammates was guesting, laughing about how Ceedee was “too single for his own good.” The room laughed. The host made a comment about women lining up for him. Somebody said he needed to settle down before he got caught up.
He watched the clip once.
Then he watched your face as you pretended it didn’t bother you.
You were sitting on the couch with the baby curled against your chest, one hand rubbing slow circles over his back. Your expression barely changed, but he knew you. He knew when something landed. You didn’t have to cry for him to understand that it stung.
He took the phone from your hand and set it facedown on the coffee table.
“Dee,” you said softly, “it’s not that serious.”
He sat beside you, eyes on the baby first, then on you. “It is to me.”
You sighed, shifting carefully so your son stayed asleep. “They don’t know.”
“They about to.”
Your eyes lifted to his. “What?”
He leaned back against the couch, jaw tight, gaze serious in a way that made your stomach flutter.
“I’m tired of everybody speaking on my life like you not in it.”
Your heart softened immediately. “I’m in it where it matters.”
“I know that.” He reached over, brushing his thumb gently along your cheek. “But I don’t like you having to sit there quiet while people act like I’m out here looking for something I already got.”
You looked down at the baby, his tiny fist curled into the fabric of your shirt.
“We said we wanted privacy.”
“We can still have privacy,” Ceedee said. “But privacy don’t mean I let people play in your face.”
His voice stayed calm, but you could hear the emotion beneath it. Protective. Frustrated. Certain.
You studied him for a long moment. “What are you thinking?”
He glanced toward the baby again, and the tension in his expression softened. “Family tunnel walk.”
Your eyebrows rose.
“Dee.”
“What?”
“With the baby?”
“With my son,” he corrected gently. “And his mama.”
The words slipped into the room and settled there.
His son.
His mama.
Your throat tightened. “That’s a lot.”
“I know.”
“Once people see him, they’re going to talk.”
“They already talk.” He leaned closer. “At least this time they’ll be talking about the truth.”
You wanted to argue, but there was something in his face that stopped you. Ceedee wasn’t asking to show off. He wasn’t trying to make a headline. He was tired of letting the world create versions of his life while the most important part of it stayed invisible.
Still, he softened when he saw the worry in your eyes.
“If you say no, we don’t do it,” he said. “I mean that. I’m not putting you or him out there unless you’re okay.”
That was why you loved him.
Because even when he was protective, he never confused protection with control.
You looked down at your son, sleepy and warm against you, then back at the man who had loved you quietly for years and was finally ready to love you publicly too.
“Okay,” you whispered.
Ceedee’s face changed. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You smiled gently. “Let’s pop out.”
The slow grin that spread across his face was dangerous.
“Pop out?”
“Don’t make me take it back.”
He laughed, leaning in to kiss your forehead first, then the baby’s.
“Too late.”
Game day arrived colder than expected.
You stood in the bedroom wearing a fitted cream sweater dress, long coat, and boots, turning slightly in the mirror while trying not to overthink everything. Your hair was styled soft around your face, makeup warm and pretty, jewelry simple except for the bracelet Dee had given you after the baby was born. Your son was dressed in a tiny custom denim jacket with LAMB stitched on the back.
When Ceedee walked in and saw both of you, he stopped.
He actually stopped.
You looked over. “What?”
He shook his head slowly, eyes moving from you to the baby and back again. “Y’all look too good.”
“You say that like it’s a problem.”
“It is.” He walked closer, already dressed for the tunnel in dark jeans, a designer jacket, chain sitting against his shirt, looking entirely too fine for someone about to stress you out. “Now I gotta share y’all with the world.”
“You started this.”
“I know. I’m starting to regret it.”
You laughed softly while he reached for the baby, cradling him against his chest with the kind of practiced gentleness that still made your heart ache.
“You ready, little man?” he murmured.
Your son made a tiny sound and settled against him.
Ceedee looked up at you. “He ready.”
“I’m glad one of us is.”
He stepped close enough to wrap his free arm around your waist. “You nervous?”
“Yes.”
“You look beautiful.”
“That doesn’t answer the nerves.”
“No.” He kissed your temple. “But it’s true.”
The stadium tunnel was chaos when you arrived.
Cameras, staff, players, security, people moving in every direction. You had been around the team before, but never like this. Never visible. Never walking beside him with your baby in his arms and his hand at your back like he was introducing his whole heart to the world.
The first person to react was one of his teammates.
He was mid-conversation when his eyes landed on Ceedee, then on you, then on the baby.
His mouth fell open.
“Hold on.”
Ceedee’s face stayed calm, but you could see the amusement in his eyes.
The teammate walked closer, pointing at the baby. “Bro. Is that—”
“My son,” Ceedee said.
The tunnel seemed to pause around you.
“Your son?” another teammate repeated from nearby.
He adjusted the baby carefully against his chest, pride written across his whole face. “Yeah.”
Someone shouted from behind them, “Dee got a baby?”
Then it was over.
The whole group erupted.
Players crowded around in disbelief, some laughing, some yelling, some genuinely offended that he had managed to hide an entire family. One of them looked at you with wide eyes and said, “You real?”
You laughed despite your nerves. “Very.”
Another pointed at Ceedee. “This man had a whole wife and baby at home while we were calling him single?”
Ceedee shrugged. “Y’all loud.”
“You secretive!”
“Private,” Ceedee corrected.
Then he looked at you, and the teasing around him faded from his face. He reached for your hand and brought it to his lips briefly, right there in front of everybody.
“My family,” he said simply.
The cameras caught that.
Of course they did.
The internet had the clip before kickoff.
By the second quarter, your phone was unusable.
You didn’t check it until you were settled in the family suite, baby asleep in your arms now while Ceedee’s family laughed over the chaos unfolding online. The first post you saw was a slow-motion tunnel clip: Ceedee walking in with your son in one arm, your hand in his other, looking calm as ever while half his teammates lost their minds behind him.
The caption read:
CEEDEE LAMB JUST WALKED IN WITH A WHOLE FAMILY????
The comments were worse.
The internet been trying to find him a girlfriend and this man had a BABY.
That baby jacket with LAMB on the back. I’m sick.
He been going home to peace and a newborn this whole time.
She’s gorgeous. He hid her for a reason.
You scrolled for a few minutes, overwhelmed but not unhappy. Most of it was shock. Some of it was sweet. Some of it made you roll your eyes. But beneath the noise, something in you felt relieved.
No more rumors.
No more pretending.
No more watching strangers invent women for a man who came home to you.
After the game, Ceedee found you before doing anything else.
Still in uniform, eye black smudged slightly, adrenaline bright in his eyes. The second he stepped into the family area and saw you holding the baby, his whole expression changed.
Softened.
Came home.
“How my boy?” he asked, walking straight to you.
“Sleepy,” you said. “A little overwhelmed. Same as his mama.”
He bent to kiss the baby’s forehead, then yours. “You okay?”
You looked up at him, the noise of celebration moving around you, cameras still somewhere outside, the internet still exploding.
“I’m okay.”
His eyes searched yours. “For real?”
“For real.”
Only then did his shoulders relax.
A teammate passed by and shouted, “Family man!”
Ceedee didn’t even look away from you. “Been that.”
Your chest warmed.
Later that night, after the game, after the posts, after the family calls, after the baby finally went down, you found yourself in bed beside Ceedee while he scrolled through his phone with one hand and held yours with the other.
“They’re still going,” he said.
“You surprised?”
“Nah.”
You leaned against his shoulder. “You regret it?”
He locked his phone and set it aside.
“No.”
His answer was immediate.
He turned toward you, face softer in the bedroom light. “I don’t regret showing the world I’m loved.”
Your throat tightened.
“And I definitely don’t regret showing them who I come home to.”
You looked down, emotion rising faster than you expected. “You’re going to make me cry.”
“You been emotional since the baby.”
“You have also been emotional since the baby.”
He laughed quietly. “Fair.”
For a moment, you both listened to the monitor beside the bed, your son’s tiny breathing filling the silence.
Ceedee reached over and touched your ring finger gently.
“They can know now,” he said. “But they don’t get everything.”
You nodded.
That was the balance.
The world got a glimpse. A tunnel walk. A headline. A photo of a baby jacket. A man proud enough to walk into a stadium with his family and silence every rumor without saying a word.
But it did not get the late-night feedings.
It did not get the way Ceedee sang off-key lullabies because he claimed the baby liked them.
It did not get the quiet kisses in the kitchen, the tired laughter, the soft arguments over who needed sleep more.
It did not get the full story.
That belonged to you.
He pulled you closer, his hand settling warm against your waist.
“You know they’re probably calling you my mystery woman.”
You smiled against his chest. “I’m not mysterious.”
“Nah.” His voice lowered, affectionate and certain. “You’re mine.”
The baby made a tiny sound through the monitor, and both of you went still.
When he settled again, you and Ceedee looked at each other and laughed softly.
There it was.
Your real life.
Not the rumors.
Not the internet.
Not the league.
Just the two of you in the quiet, listening to the little boy who had changed everything.
Ceedee kissed your forehead and held you close.
“Already had everything they thought I needed,” he murmured.
You closed your eyes, smiling into the warmth of him.
And he was right.
The world had spent months trying to find him love.
The whole time, love had been waiting at home.
--
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