Matilda's Imagines

When the Whistle Blew

It happened in the 67th minute.

One second, Y/n was chasing down a loose ball with everything she had — the ADHD fire in her limbs propelling her faster than most thought possible. The next, a rough shoulder from the opposing defender sent her tumbling — awkwardly, hard, fast.

The air left her lungs before she even hit the ground.

The whistle blew.

Time slowed.

And then the pain hit.

Not sharp — not broken-bone kind of pain — but deep, winding, heavy. The kind that started in her ribs and pulsed through her head and chest. The kind that made it hard to breathe. The kind that triggered something far worse than physical injury.

Terror.

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Kyra got to her first.

"Hey, hey, Gremlin, you okay?" she said, dropping to her knees beside her. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were already panicked. Y/n was curled in on herself, arms around her middle, breath shallow.

She couldn't speak. Couldn't even blink.

Then Caitlin was there. Then Macca. Then Lani.

And finally — Mini.

Mini didn't ask questions. She knelt down, touched Y/n's shoulder, and said the three words that never failed.

"You're safe now."

That was all it took.

Y/n's breath hitched, but she nodded.

A team medic approached, but Mini waved them back gently, staying between them and Y/n like a lioness guarding a cub. "Give her a second," she said.

Caitlin rubbed Y/n's back in slow, practiced circles. Kyra squeezed her hand. Lani crouched by her feet, humming low under her breath — the same hum she used during warm-ups, when Y/n was too jittery to focus. Macca, silent for once, knelt at her other side and brushed the grass out of her curls.

No one rushed her. No one pushed.

They just stayed.

Because they knew. Y/n's body wasn't just reacting to pain. It was reacting to fear. To memory.

And that kind of healing took more than ice and tape.

𓆉

Back in the locker room, the physio wrapped Y/n's ribs in soft compression bandages. Bruised — but not broken. She was lucky.

Y/n didn't feel lucky.

She felt... small.

Like a kid again. Like the girl who used to fall and cry and get punished for it.

But now, when the physio asked if she was okay, Mini answered for her, firm but kind. "She's fine. And she's resting. End of story."

When Y/n tried to insist she was fine and could walk to the bus alone, Macca scooped her up like a sack of potatoes and declared, "Princess privileges unlocked."

Kyra put her jacket over Y/n's shoulders.

Lani handed her a juice box.

And Caitlin whispered, "You were so brave today, bub," before pressing a kiss to her temple.

Y/n didn't say much. Her throat still felt tight. But her heart — her heart was starting to feel full again.

𓆉

That night, back at the hotel, the girls didn't leave her side.

Kyra and Macca insisted on a movie night. Caitlin brought her favorite socks. Lani had hot chocolate (with tiny marshmallows — "or nothing at all," as Y/n always said). And Mini?

Mini just sat beside her on the couch and wrapped an arm around her, letting Y/n rest her head on her shoulder.

"You scared us, you know," Mini murmured, brushing hair from her eyes.

"I scared me too," Y/n whispered.

Mini kissed her hair. "That's okay. You're allowed to be scared. But you don't have to go through it alone anymore."

Y/n closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of peppermint tea and warm jumpers and something else she still wasn't used to.

Safety.

𓆉

When she woke up the next morning, sore but calm, there was a new message written on the whiteboard Macca kept outside their hotel room door:

MATILDAS RULE #12: If You Fall, We Catch You.

And under it, in Kyra's messy handwriting:

(And then Macca carries you around like a baby kangaroo.)

Y/n laughed out loud for the first time in 24 hours.

She still hurt.

But she was healing.

𓆉