football imagines!

noni madueke

THE NIGHT FELT especially cold and lonely in London. Y/N had wrapped herself in a thick sweater, snuggled on her couch with a blanket thrown over her legs. The familiar hum of a late-night TV show played in the background, but her attention kept drifting. It had been three days since Noni Madueke had flown to Germany for a crucial away game, and though Y/N was used to the rhythm of his football career, the empty space next to her felt much heavier tonight.

She glanced at her phone sitting on the coffee table. Midnight was nearing, and her thoughts automatically shifted to Noni. The game had ended a few hours ago, and from what she'd seen, Chelsea had come away with a win. She had caught snippets of the match on TV, watching Noni weave between defenders with that familiar grace and speed that always took her breath away.

As much as she loved seeing him thrive on the field, a part of her longed to have him back. She missed the small moments—his teasing jokes, the way he absentmindedly rested his hand on her leg when they watched TV, or how he complained about training sessions like he wasn't one of the hardest-working players on the team.

Just as she was about to get lost in her thoughts, her phone lit up, the familiar Noni ❤️ appearing across the screen. A FaceTime call. Her heart fluttered, and she quickly swiped to answer, adjusting herself as the screen loaded.

"Hey, stranger," she greeted, a teasing smile forming on her lips.

The screen shook with motion as Noni's voice came through, louder than usual. "Yo! Finally, you picked up!" But his voice was nearly drowned out by a chaotic mix of yelling, laughter, and the unmistakable sounds of FIFA commentary playing loudly in the background.

Y/N raised her eyebrows, holding back a laugh. The camera wobbled before stabilizing, revealing Noni's face as he leaned against a couch. His braids were still damp from the post-match shower, his eyes glinting with energy, but his room was far from peaceful. She caught a glimpse of his teammates—Ben Chilwell, Raheem Sterling, and a couple others—huddled around the TV, all caught up in an intense FIFA match.

"Are you playing or just watching the madness?" she asked, laughing as Ben screamed something about a penalty.

"Yeah, nah, I gave up my controller after I smoked them earlier," Noni said, a smug grin on his face. "These guys think they can beat me, but I'm the FIFA king."

"Right," Y/N replied with a smirk. "I've seen you lose enough times to know that's not true."

He laughed, the sound rich and full, but before he could respond, someone in the background—probably Raheem—yelled out, "Oi, Madueke! Tell her I'm the real champ, yeah?"

Noni shot him a look and covered the bottom of his phone as if shielding the mic. "Ignore him. He's salty I scored five goals on him."

Y/N grinned. "Sure, sure. I'll take your word for it."

Even though it was impossible to hear herself think with the sheer volume of his hotel room, there was something comforting about seeing Noni so relaxed, so alive in the midst of the team's banter. Still, Y/N couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. It wasn't the same as having him there with her. She missed the quiet moments, the ones where it was just the two of them, no background noise, no distractions.

"So, how was the match?" she asked, leaning back against her pillows, trying to focus on him through the chaos.

Noni smiled, his expression softening. "Long, but we won, so you know the boys are buzzing right now."

"I saw. You were great," she said sincerely, her tone more serious now. "I'm proud of you."

His eyes met hers through the screen, and for a moment, the noise seemed to fade. "Thanks, babe. Means a lot coming from you."