Matilda's Imagines

War

No one knew when it started.

Maybe it was the time Steph Catley found a very realistic (but very fake) spider in her cleats before training and screamed so loud the physios thought someone had dislocated something.

Maybe it was when Mackenzie Arnold opened her locker to an exploding glitter bomb and emerged looking like a disco ball with a grudge.

Or when eerie whispering sounds started playing under Hayley's bed at 2 a.m., causing her to nearly karate-chop Sam Kerr in the hallway out of sheer panic.

But whoever said the quiet ones were harmless hadn't met Y/n.

Sixteen years old. ADHD brain on overdrive. Foster kid turned Matildas mascot. Cared for like a little sister by half the team — and treated like royalty by the rest.

But she had one flaw.

She was an absolute menace.

𓆉

Kyra, Lani, Caitlin, and Macca had practically adopted her within a week of her arrival — not that Y/n gave them a choice.

Kyra teased her relentlessly, Macca gave her piggybacks on demand, Lani was the lookout for all her schemes, and Caitlin taught her how to braid hair and smuggle snacks into team meetings. Mini, though, was the anchor — steady, maternal, and the only one Y/n wouldn't prank.

Well. So far.

"Y/n," Mini had warned after the great cockroach-in-the-shower incident, "if I find so much as one cricket in my boots, you're running laps until your legs fall off."

Y/n just smiled sweetly. "Yes, Mini."

That night, Mini found her boots filled with marshmallows instead.

"That's not a bug," Y/n argued when Mini stared her down the next morning.

"Start running."

𓆉

Eventually, the team had enough.

After one especially glorious prank — an "exploding" soccer ball during warm-up that poofed baby powder everywhere, causing chaos and one coughing fit — the players met in secret.

"She's gotta be stopped," Caitlin said, brushing white powder off her shorts.

"Or at least humbled," added Kyra, trying not to laugh.

Lani smirked. "Operation Payback?"

"Absolutely," said Macca.

Mini sipped her coffee and raised an eyebrow. "Make sure she doesn't cry."

"I'm pretty sure Y/n would be proud," said Caitlin.

"Then make her scream," Mini replied.

𓆉

The revenge came in stages.

Stage 1: Confusion

Y/n woke up to find all her prank supplies — her stash of fake bugs, slime, weird sound devices — gone. Vanished.

Stage 2: Psychological Warfare

Her room slowly began to shift. Her posters upside down. Her socks subtly replaced with ones a size too big. Her alarm clock mysteriously moved two minutes ahead. The snacks she'd hidden under her bed? Replaced with carrot sticks.

Stage 3: Chaos

During warm-ups, her "new" soccer ball exploded — with a surprise of her own: neon-pink dye. On her cleats. On her socks. On her.

She stood there, mid-kick, looking like a flamingo who just got mugged.

"What the heck—?" she gasped.

The team burst out laughing.

"You got me a pink bomb?" she shrieked, spinning around.

"You prank the queen," Macca said solemnly, "you get dethroned."

Kyra tossed an arm around her. "Consider it love — and justice."

Mini walked by slowly, sipping her coffee again. "Could've been worse. I suggested glitter in your hair gel."

Y/n stood in the center of the field, covered in pink, hands on her hips.

Then, slowly, she smiled.

"You know what this means, right?" she said.

"What?" asked Caitlin.

Y/n narrowed her eyes. "War."

𓆉

That night, the sound of a fart machine echoed from Mini's room during a video call with the coaching staff.

No one could prove anything.

But Y/n slept with a smirk on her face.

And a pink soccer ball tucked under her arm like a trophy.

𓆉