“What the fuck is this?” I muttered, holding up one of the so-called uniforms like it was about to disintegrate in my hands. It looked like it was made for a doll, not a full-grown human being. Around me, the guys were tearing into their own boxes, and judging by their faces—somewhere between stifled laughter and utter disbelief—I wasn’t alone in my confusion.

“These are our new uniforms,” Zoe said, grinning like she’d just pulled off the prank of the century. She leaned casually against a crate, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “Emily and I worked on them based on the specs you gave us. They’re smart-suits, designed for functionality and...” Her voice dipped slightly, and her gaze flickered towards Danny for a moment, a playful smirk touching her lips. "...style." She let her gaze drift over him, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary, before returning to the group.

Danny, caught off guard, froze, his freckles practically glowing under the hangar lights. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hand coming up to adjust his collar as if it had suddenly become too tight. Zoe watched him, her grin widening slightly, clearly amused.

I looked away quickly, pretending to inspect the ridiculous suit in my hands. God help us. This ship hasn’t even left the dock, and it’s already a mess.

The thing in my hands—calling it a uniform felt generous—was sleek, stretchy, and so form-fitting it looked like it would vacuum-seal to my body. The material shimmered under the hangar lights, and a zipper ran from the neckline all the way to the crotch. It even came with a face mask for emergencies, which was probably the only thing about it that made sense.

"Uh, are these... are these supposed to be compression garments? Because I'm not sure about the, uh, the ventilation properties of this material. We might overheat. Or, you know, chafe." He pushed his glasses up his nose, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

“Uh, girls?” I ventured, waving the tiny, shiny thing at Zoe and Emily. “I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding. We need practical gear, not... this.” My voice cracked a little as I gestured at the suit. “How the hell are we even supposed to put it on? It’s so... tiny.”

Emily sighed dramatically, crossing her arms like I was the dumbest person on the ship. “Luca Rossi,” she said, her tone dripping with exaggerated patience, “you, of all people, should know how important it is to look good while exploring the universe. First impressions matter. Besides, these suits are state of the art.”

I blinked at her, struggling to find the words. “State of the art? Emily, this thing looks like it came out of a sci-fi strip club.”

“Well, if we don't make it to Alpha Centauri, at least we'll look good in these uniforms when they find our remains,” said Ryan as he handled one of the tiny outfits.

Great, here we go. Time to find out just how badly they blew the budget.

“How much did you spend on this ‘state of the art’ gear?” I asked, bracing myself for the answer.

Emily hesitated, her confidence cracking just a little. “Well, we got the smart-suits, gym clothes, shoes, loungewear...”

“How much?” I pressed, my stomach doing somersaults.

“I don’t know, about a buck twenty?” she said, looking everywhere but at me.

“120...?” My voice rose, sharp enough to cut through the hangar’s hum.

“120,000 credits,” she said in a quiet voice, like saying it softly would somehow make it less insane.

The hangar went completely silent except for the collective gasp from the guys. 120,000 credits? On clothes? What the actual fuck?

“And we worked really hard on them,” Zoe added, pouting like she was the victim here. “Don’t you trust our judgment?”

Trust? Oh, I trusted them to blow through a budget faster than a starship through hyperspace. I glanced around. Ryan looked like he wanted to laugh but was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Danny was fiddling with his box like it might give him answers to life’s mysteries. No one said a word. Arguing with Emily and Zoe was like arguing with gravity: pointless and dangerous.

I let out a long sigh, feeling every ounce of defeat settle on my shoulders. “Fine,” I said, throwing up my hands. “Fine. Whatever. The money’s already gone.”

Emily’s face lit up instantly. “You’re welcome,” she said sweetly, stepping forward to plant a quick kiss on my cheek. And just like that, it was hard to stay frustrated. Damn her.

“Exactly," Zoe said, clapping her hands together. "So, moving on! We didn't just get the suits." She grabbed another box, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Let's see what else we've got, shall we? There’s also the gym uniforms, loungewear, shoes, boots, and other stuff,” she added as if that somehow made spending a small fortune on space spandex okay.

“Let’s take a look at those,” Ryan said, stepping up to another box like he was ready to unravel the next layer of chaos.

I leaned back against a crate, rubbing a hand over my face. Fuck me. What did I get myself into? The money was gone, the uniforms were shiny enough to blind someone, and my crew was clearly going to have opinions. But as I watched Zoe and Emily dive into the next box, laughing and chatting like this was all some grand victory, I couldn’t help but smile.

This is going to be a shitshow. A fun one, maybe, but still a shitshow.

The first thing out of the box was the loungewear: sleek, white, and soft-looking, with personalized color accents for each crew member. But the kicker? It was sheer. Suspiciously sheer. As in, you’d better not be shy about what you’ve got underneath. My mind instantly went into overdrive, imagining Emily lounging on one of the couches in her red-accented set, legs curled up, maybe leaning just a little too far forward... or Zoe, her green highlights catching the light as she stretched out in the observation lounge, totally unconcerned about how see-through the fabric might be. Shit, focus, Luca.

Then there were the gym uniforms—moisture-wicking, breathable, and made in the ship’s colors. The shorts were... short. Not tight, but the kind that rode up when you moved, showing just a bit too much leg, maybe even a peek of bum if you weren’t careful.

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“Hey, these are actually nice,” Danny said, holding up his workout gear, completely oblivious to the fact that Zoe was practically undressing him with her eyes. She flashed him a smile so bright and hungry it could’ve melted a lesser man. I swore I saw her fingers twitch, like she was resisting the urge to reach out and adjust his collar or something. God help us all.

I forced myself to snap out of it, rubbing a hand over my face as if that would clear the images. “Alright, alright. You win this time,” I said, trying to play it cool. “Everyone grab your box—or boxes, rather—and let’s get suited up.”

As the crew started gathering their new gear, I couldn’t help but glance back at the loungewear, my imagination firing on all cylinders again. This is going to be fun. Sure, it was completely impractical, and I was still mentally calculating how many credits we’d blown on this stuff, but seeing everyone in those outfits? Yeah, I wasn’t complaining. I just hoped I’d survive it without embarrassing myself.

***

I grabbed my own boxes, the weight surprisingly hefty. Time to see if these things were as bad as they looked.

Carrying the three boxes up to my cabin, I couldn’t help but grin like an idiot. Sure, the clothes were skimpy—okay, really skimpy—but I couldn’t deny it: the girls had outdone themselves. The color schemes, the ship’s livery stamped on everything, even the socks... They’d thought of everything. My original plan had been simple: matching coveralls for basic protection and cohesion, nothing fancy. But Emily and Zoe had gone full runway fashion show and given everyone a damn wardrobe.

By the time I reached my quarters, I was out of breath. I dropped the boxes onto my desk and opened the first one, letting out a low whistle at the neatly folded uniforms. They were soft—almost luxurious—and I ran my hand over the material, half-impressed, half-annoyed. Then I spotted the undergarments. Boxer briefs. Of course. I preferred boxers—loose, free, and, you know, breathable. But looking at the tight, form-fitting outfits they’d picked, I knew boxers weren’t going to cut it.

“Fine,” I muttered to myself. “Let’s get this over with.”

I stripped down, folding my jeans, hoodie, and boxers with the kind of precision Dad would’ve been proud of. The boxer briefs went on first, and I had to admit—they were snug but comfortable. Then came the main event. The bodysuit.

Slipping one leg in, I immediately started doubting my life choices. The material hugged my calf like it was trying to choke it. “How the hell is this supposed to fit?” I muttered, hopping on one foot as I worked the suit over my thigh. The other leg wasn’t any easier, and by the time I got the thing up to my waist, I was bouncing around the cabin like a madman.

“Shit,” I hissed, trying to yank it higher without tearing it. Finally, with a deep breath and a lot of effort, I shoved my arms in and zipped the thing up. The fabric clung to me like a second skin, squeezing every muscle and curve. And yeah, there was definitely a wedgie situation going on.

“Fucking hell,” I groaned, adjusting awkwardly.

I walked over to the mirror, bracing myself for the worst. But when I saw my reflection, I froze. Wide-eyed, I stared at the guy in the mirror—lean, athletic, and... damn.

“Damn,” I whistled, tilting my head to get a better look. “I look good.”

The suit wasn’t terrible. It had pockets, which was a win in my book, as well as belt loops to hang a utility belt, and the built-in tech panel on the sleeve was pretty cool. Curious, I tapped the panel and scrolled through the options. It showed my vitals—heart rate, temperature, all that fun stuff—but the color customization caught my eye.

I picked silver-gray, watching as the white bodysuit shifted subtly, filling in with a sleek graphic design. The thin V-shaped graphic stretched from my shoulders to my crotch. Right to the crotch.

“Oh god,” I muttered, staring at the bold design. “This is going to be awkward.”

I tried to look at the positives. The suit felt comfortable, and it made me look like a proper space captain. But walking around with a crotch-high V and everyone else in matching outfits? Yeah, this was going to take some getting used to. With a resigned sigh, I turned toward the door. Time to face the crew. Let the awkwardness begin.

Shaking my head, I decided to just get it over with. The sooner I faced the crew, the sooner this whole uniform thing would be behind us.

***

The door to my quarters slid shut behind me with a soft hiss, and I stepped out into the corridor, the new uniform hugging every inch of me like it was custom-molded to my body. The matching boots added a little extra spring to my step, and I was already half-wondering how the rest of the crew would react when I saw Emily stepping out of her cabin.

“Holy shit!” we said in unison, both of us freezing mid-step.

My brain short-circuited. Her uniform—white with red accents—was like something out of my most vivid daydreams. The narrow V design that started right between her legs and ended below her breasts in an upturned crescent drew attention exactly where it was supposed to, leaving nothing to discussion. Her blonde ponytail framed her face perfectly, softening the intensity of those green eyes that now had me feeling about five degrees too warm.

“You... uh, you look... so hot,” I stammered, my voice cracking like a goddamn teenager. And I meant it. The suit clung to her in ways that made my brain do somersaults. Her chest, her hips, every curve—it was like the universe had decided to showcase everything in high-definition, and I wasn’t ready.

Emily blushed, her cheeks turning a shade of pink that somehow made her look even more irresistible. She crossed her arms over her chest, but honestly? That just made it worse. “Thanks,” she said shyly, looking anywhere but at me. “You look...” She trailed off, clearly struggling to find words.

I grinned, leaning into the moment. "Like my uniform?" I asked smugly, shifting my weight and subtly flexing my bicep, just enough to make the fabric of the uniform tighten a little. Not like I was trying to show off or anything. Okay, maybe a little. If I couldn’t stop myself from drooling over her, I might as well distract her with some humor.

Emily laughed, the sound bright and warm. She stepped forward and gave me a playful punch on the abs, her knuckles brushing against the unforgivingly tight material. “You ass,” she said, shaking her head but smiling. "The uniform definitely... suits you." She winked, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. "Maybe a little too much."

Damn, she's not pulling any punches, is she? And is it just me, or did her fingers linger for a second there? Focus, Luca. Don't make this weird. Or do... No. Focus!

“Come on,” I said, offering her my arm. “Let’s go see how the others look in their new threads.”

As she hooked her arm through mine, she glanced up at me, her teasing smirk firmly back in place. “Did you like the undies we chose?”

I swallowed hard, my mind instantly flashing to the snug boxer briefs. “They’re... different,” I said, trying not to sound like a total idiot. “But I guess I can get used to them. What about you two? What did you pick for yourselves?”

Emily winked at me, a playful glint in her eye. “Just wait and see.”

Her arm pressed against mine, and I felt the heat of her body through the thin material of our uniforms. It was innocent enough—a casual touch—but my imagination was already in overdrive. What did she mean by “wait and see”? Was her underwear even more revealing? Would I even survive seeing the whole crew in these outfits? My thoughts spiraled, one image blending into the next: Emily lounging on the observation deck in sheer loungewear, Zoe in those gym shorts doing stretches, even Ryan and Danny in their workout gear, because apparently, my brain was equal-opportunity horny.

That was it. Game over. The warmth of her body against mine, even through the thin fabric of their suits, was too much. The tightness in my boxer briefs turned into a full-on situation, and I fought the urge to adjust myself right there in the hallway. Shit, shit, shit. Focus on something else. Stars. The ship. Engine specs. Anything but how her chest feels so close—

“Easy there, Captain,” Emily teased, her voice light but sharp enough to make me want to crawl into the nearest airlock.

My face went nuclear. “Sorry, I—”

“It’s alright,” she said, cutting me off with a gentle squeeze of my bicep. Her touch lingered just long enough to send a fresh wave of heat through me. “I can’t say I blame you.”

Her words hung in the air, the playful edge of her tone doing absolutely nothing to help my situation. I cleared my throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure. Focus, Luca. You’re the Captain. Act like it.