=\\TACTICAL WAIFUS QUEST//=

You thought for a second about the logic of your previous decision. Being alone with Marie in any capacity was unquestionably dangerous to your sanity and ability to retain ownership of your extremities. Not to mention eyes if she wears a shirt with buttons to bed.

But then you thought of something else. Marie's Hannah's assistant gunner, which means the two girls have an almost telepathic bond. But more then that, it means poor Marie runs around hauling a thousand rounds of belted seven-six-two high-ex. And that's on top of her basic fighting load, armor, and not to mention breasts that by her admission don't reallyfit comfortably into the sports bras she wears.

By all rights she should be one never-ending bitchfest. That's a lot of weight to pile onto a girl, and you wouldn't blame her if she grumbled from the back-breaking load. But she didn't. You'd never seen her so much as mumble to herself about the load she carried. She'd never hesitated to bolt to her feet and help out, even when she was plainly exhausted.

That girl was a sweet little cinnamon roll. She wasn't even coming to you with her problems, and dealing with your girls' fragile emotions was your job. She all but bent over backwards to make your life—and her squadmates' lives'—as easy as possible. And here you were, forcing her to share your arms with the rest of them.

"Hannah," you said. She crossed her arms, and for a moment you were reminded that she hauled around an eighteen-pound machine-gun every day and shot it from the shoulder like it was a feather-weight AR. The girl was ripped, and probably about as strong as it was naturally possible for a girl to be. "Um…" the way her muscles flexed under the near-sheer fabric of your shirt momentarily derailed your train of thought.

You scowled and squared your shoulders. Gunner or not, Hannah wasn't the kind of person to go-off half-cocked. "You sure this is a good idea? I mean, I promised the others a cuddle puddle."

"Boss," Hannah shook her head, folded ponytail flopping from side to side like a much-loved stuffed animal that'd lost most of its stuffing over the years. "We pull triggers, that's our job. You—" she poked you in the chest. "—keep us in shape to do that. That's your job, right?"

You nodded. About as reasonable a job description as you could hope for.

"Nobody's gonna think less of you for doing your job," said Hannah. "And… honestly…" she let her hands hang by her side, and for a moment you couldn't help but notice her traps. Hauling a belt-fed around does wonders for a girl's figure. "The whole 'cuddle puddle' thing… kinda weird."

You looked at her sideways, unable to find words to express what you were feeling. "Uh huh."

"Should I send in my ay-gee?" asked Hannah.

You nodded. "Yeah, I think she's earned. it."

Hannah smiled and stood on tip-toes to give you a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, boss." She started to leave, only to pause when the door was only just cracked open. "Oh, and Boss?"

"Hmm?"

"We're all changing out there," said Hannah. "So don't come in or… you'll probably die of bloodloss or something."

"Noted," you said. When Hannah left the room, you busied yourself with getting dressed in something more comfortable than your uniform while trying to figure out exactly how you were going to treat Marie. Hannah had made it known that you should direct a degree of special attention towards Marie's chest, but…

"Major?" Marie's soft voice wavered through the door, followed by a quick knock. "Can I come in?"

You nodded. Then, a moment later, you realized you were being stupid and coughed. "Yeah, come in, Marie."

Marie opened the door just wide enough to slip through before closing it again. She was in her pajamas, baggy black sleep pants that hung low off her hips and a raglan-sleeve T-shirt stretched tight over her ample… ampleness. The fabric was trying valiantly to preserve her modesty, but white wasn't a good color against the deep black of her sports bra.

Wait…

You distinctly remember her wearing something lacier earlier. You couldn't see more than gross details about her current underthings, but they were clearly not the lace from earlier. More a solid black tomb encasing her titties like a casemate bunker of boobies.

You could see from the way her subtle chubbiness squished under her arms and along her back that her bra was squishing and keeping everything as in-control as Marie's boobs could possibly get. There was no way in hell that was comfortable.

"Thanks," she said, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. Her shirt wasn't quite long enough to cover all of her belly, and the sliver of pale skin was warm and impossibly soft to your touch. Riley had abs, you recalled, but Marie was a little too plush for that level of shredded definition. You could feel a hint of her strength, but nothing more.

She flopped over and let her head fall on your lap. Her hair splayed out against your pants and she closed her eyes in contentment. "This is nice," she said. You could feel her breast squish against the outside of your thigh. For a certain definition of squish. There wasn't the sort of give you were expecting.

Well, actually there was. You knew she was wearing her sports-bra, and that accounted for the thoroughly unnatural feeling. You weren't exactly sure why she felt the need to change into that before bed, maybe she just didn't like sleeping in lace?