Matilda's Imagines

Not Alone Anymore

The Matildas were family. At least, that's what they all said — and for most of them, it was true. But for Y/n, the 16-year-old "baby" of the team, it didn't always feel that way.

Sure, they teased her like big sisters did. Kyra was the annoying one who poked her sides and stole her snacks. Caitlin would braid her hair during team meetings like she was ten. Macca offered piggybacks after tough training sessions, and Alana — Lani — kept a hawk's eye on her hydration and energy levels like she was her personal nurse.

And then there was Mini — Katrina Gorry — who stepped into a role Y/n never realized she needed. Calm. Caring. But firm when it counted. Mini didn't let her get away with brushing things off. Not when it mattered.

But some things, Y/n wasn't ready to talk about. Not even with them.

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It started small. A flinch when Macca reached for her shoulder too fast. A missed FaceTime with Lani on a weekend she was supposed to be home. A bruise on her ribs she claimed was from tripping over boots in the locker room.

But the three of them — Lani, Macca, and Caitlin — weren't stupid.

They noticed the way Y/n started shrinking away when anyone got too loud. How she stopped changing in the open, opting for bathroom stalls and long sleeves even in the heat. And how she never wanted to go home on breaks.

The final crack came during a light scrimmage at camp. Macca called out for a pass a bit too forcefully, and Y/n froze. Not just startled — terrified. Her body went stiff, and her eyes went glassy, like she wasn't even on the pitch anymore.

"Hey—hey," Caitlin had jogged over, gently touching her arm. "You alright, baby girl?"

Y/n blinked hard, shook her head, and muttered something about being tired. Then she walked off the field without a word.

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Later that night, the three of them cornered her in the team lounge — gentle, but insistent.

"Y/n," Lani started, sitting beside her on the couch while Macca leaned on the backrest and Caitlin knelt in front of her. "We need to talk."

Y/n crossed her arms, staring at the TV even though it was off. "I'm fine."

"Mate," Macca said softly, "you're not. And you don't have to pretend."

Y/n clenched her jaw. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try us," Caitlin said. "We've got time."

Silence hung in the air like a thick fog. Y/n's walls were up, but even walls crack under pressure. Her shoulders trembled. Her breathing hitched.

And then, quietly — barely above a whisper — she spoke.

"They get mad when I come back with bruises. Say I'm making them look bad. But when I don't come back with them, they find other reasons."

Lani's heart shattered. "Y/n... who?"

Y/n hesitated. "My parents."

She didn't look up. Couldn't.

"It's been like that for years. I only got into the academy because I kept it hidden. I'm just waiting until I'm 18."

"No," Macca said, firm and steady. "You don't wait. We don't wait."

"We're not letting you go back there," Caitlin added, gently placing her hand over Y/n's.

"But I don't want to be a burden," she choked. "You guys have your lives, your careers, your—"

"Stop." It was Lani, with tears in her eyes now. "You are not a burden. You're our baby sister. You think we'd let anyone hurt you and just stand by?"

"Not a chance," Macca added. "We've got your back. All the way."

"We'll talk to Mini," Caitlin said. "She'll know what steps to take. Legal. Safe. Real help."

Y/n's walls crumbled like dust, and for the first time in a long time, she let herself be held. Lani pulled her into her arms, Macca wrapping herself around both of them, Caitlin rubbing her back gently.

They didn't let go. Not for a long time.

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Later that week, with Mini's help, they contacted the right people. Safe housing. Legal protection. Therapy support.

But most importantly — Y/n didn't have to do it alone anymore.

She had big sisters who'd walk through fire for her.

And a team that loved her like family — because that's exactly what they were.

Family.

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