barucai

[Mini Story] Cute little biceps

Published: May 6th 2025, 9:23:01 am

Hi HI ✨

Hello friends, I hope you are doing good today. I have a fmg-35 universe story for you today! I haven't written one in a minute and and preparing to continue writing other stories we still have open in this universe. I hope you like it! I really like the relationship and vibes that Carina and Edgar have, so I might write more about them in the future! Let me know what you think.

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Cute Little Biceps

A Fmg-35 universe story

2.9K words

The backstage area of the Southern Star Bodybuilding Championship buzzed with activity as competitors made their final preparations. The air was thick with the mingled scents of tanning spray, massage oil, and nervous sweat. Edgar Matthews paced in a small circle, his professionally applied competition tan making his sculpted physique gleam under the harsh fluorescent lights as he obsessively checked his phone every few seconds.

"Where are you, Carina?" he muttered, running a hand through his short dark hair before remembering he wasn't supposed to touch it after styling. His debut competition was less than an hour away, and his trainer Brad had just texted that he was stuck in traffic with no hope of making it in time.

The backstage door swung open with excessive force, causing several nearby competitors to glance over. Carina Bennett appeared in the entrance, ducking slightly as she came through.

"Sorry I'm late!" she called out, weaving through the crowded space with careful, deliberate movements. Despite her best efforts, her broad shoulders still bumped into a rack of weights, sending several dumbbells clattering to the floor. With impressive reflexes, she caught one mid-air before it could land on someone's foot.

"Sorry! My bad!" she said sheepishly to the annoyed stagehand who rushed over.

Edgar felt a wave of relief wash over him. "Carina! Thank heaven you made it."

"Of course I made it," she grinned, approaching him with arms outstretched for a hug before stopping herself. "Oops, almost forgot about your tan. Can't mess that up, right?"

Edgar laughed nervously. "Yeah, it took two hours to apply. Brad's not coming. Traffic accident on the freeway."

"Is he okay?" Carina's eyes widened with concern.

"He's fine, just trapped in his car and furious that he can't be here," Edgar explained. "But I need help, and you're the only person I could think to call."

"Well, you've got me now," Carina beamed, her earlier embarrassment forgotten. "What do you need me to do?"

Edgar held up a bottle of posing oil and a tanning mitt. "I need someone to help me with my final coat. I can't reach my back properly, and the oil needs to be even."

"No problem," Carina said, taking the supplies. She was dressed in athleisure wear—a stretchy purple tank top and black leggings that hugged her powerful frame. "Though I have to warn you, I've never done this before."

"It's not complicated," Edgar assured her. "Just make sure the coverage is even. No streaks."

As they found a quieter corner, Edgar couldn't help but notice other women backstage helping their male friends or partners prepare. It had become a common sight at competitions since the FMG-35 virus had swept through the population.

"Don't look so nervous," Carina said, pouring oil onto the mitt. "I promise not to break you... probably."

"Very funny," Edgar replied, turning to present his back to her. "Just remember I've worked really hard for this physique."

"And it shows," Carina said sincerely, beginning to apply the oil in circular motions across his upper back. "Your muscles are super defined. What are these side ones called again?"

"Lats," Edgar supplied. "Latissimus dorsi, technically."

"Right, lats," Carina repeated. "I always forget the names. Even though I apparently have massive ones now, according to my doctor. He said something about 'exceptional dorsal development' during my last check-up."

Edgar chuckled. "That's one way of putting it."

As Carina worked, her fingers made quick, efficient motions despite their size. "Your skin feels like silk over marble," she commented. "Is that weird to say?"

"A little," Edgar admitted with a laugh. "But I'll take it as a compliment."

"It is one," Carina assured him. "I'm just amazed at how different bodies can be. Like, I can literally wrap my fingers all the way around your wrist—" she demonstrated briefly on his forearm, her fingers indeed encircling it completely, "—but you have all these amazing lines and definition that I don't have."

Edgar flexed his arm slightly at the compliment. "Years of targeted training will do that."

"Meanwhile I got these guns from doing nothing but existing and catching a virus," Carina said, patting her bicep with her free hand. "Life's weird that way."

From across the room, another woman called out, "Two-minute warning for backstage photos, competitors!"

"Shoot, we need to hurry," Edgar said. "Can you do my chest and shoulders too?"

"On it," Carina replied, moving around to face him and applying more oil to the mitt. As she worked the oil into his chest with circular motions, she squinted at him critically. "You know, I think you missed a spot shaving. There's like three hairs right... there." She pointed to a spot just below his collarbone.

Edgar groaned. "Seriously? Brad's gonna kill me. He was obsessive about body hair removal."

"Don't worry, nobody will notice except obsessive people like me," Carina reassured him. "Besides, you've got other assets to distract the judges." She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Like these delts. That's what they're called, right? Delts?"

"Deltoids, yeah," Edgar confirmed, relaxing slightly. "What would I do without your amateur commentary?"

"Probably be a lot less entertained," Carina replied with a grin. "Arms up, I need to get your sides."

As Edgar raised his arms, Carina worked efficiently, making sure the oil was evenly distributed. "So what poses do you need to do? Do you know them all?"

"I've been practicing for months," Edgar said, "but honestly, without Brad here to give me cues, I'm worried I'll forget the sequence."

"Well, that's easily solved," Carina declared, pulling out her phone. "Let me YouTube some posing routines real quick. What category are you in again?"

"Men's Physique, lightweight division," Edgar supplied.

Carina tapped on her phone, then propped it up on a nearby shelf. "Here, this guy has a good tutorial. Let's watch it while I finish oiling you up."

The video showed a professional bodybuilder demonstrating the standard poses for Men's Physique. Carina continued working as they both watched, applying oil to Edgar's legs.

"OK, so it looks like you start with a front pose, hands on hips," Carina narrated, watching the video. "Then a quarter turn to the right... then back pose with arms crossed... then another quarter turn..."

"That's right," Edgar confirmed, feeling somewhat reassured. "The trick is in the subtle flexing while maintaining a relaxed appearance. It's supposed to look natural."

"Nothing natural about any of this," Carina laughed, gesturing around the backstage area full of spray-tanned, oiled-up bodybuilders. "But I get what you mean. Let's try it. Front pose first."

Edgar assumed the position, placing his hands on his hips and subtly flexing his chest and abs.

"Hmm," Carina studied him, comparing his stance to the video. "I think you need to flare your lats more. The guy in the video has this kind of... width thing going on."

"Like this?" Edgar adjusted, trying to create the illusion of a wider torso.

"Better," Carina nodded. "But you look tense. The video guy looks relaxed somehow, even though he's obviously flexing everything."

"That's the art of it," Edgar sighed. "Looking relaxed while secretly engaging every muscle fiber you possess."

"Let me try," Carina said suddenly. "Maybe if I can figure it out, I can explain it better."

Before Edgar could protest, Carina handed him the oil mitt and assumed a bodybuilding pose, hands on her hips. Despite her casual approach, her physique immediately commanded attention. Her shoulders broadened, her arms displayed clear definition even in a relaxed state, and her thighs pressed against her leggings with each subtle shift of position.

"Like this?" she asked innocently.

Edgar blinked. "Uh, yeah, actually. That's pretty much perfect. How did you do that without any practice?"

Carina shrugged, the motion rippling across her shoulders. "No idea. Just copied the video and thought 'look relaxed but big.' Is that right?"

"Scarily right," Edgar admitted. "Maybe you missed your calling."

"Nah," Carina laughed. "I'm happy being tech support and occasional oil applicator. Speaking of which, we should finish up. The judges aren't going to care about my accidental posing talents."

She took the mitt back and resumed her work, moving on to Edgar's arms. "Flex for me so I can get the oil in all the crevices," she instructed.

Edgar complied, raising his arm and flexing his bicep. Carina worked the oil into the contours of his muscle, then frowned slightly.

"What?" Edgar asked, immediately self-conscious.

"Nothing," Carina said quickly. "You look great."

"But?" Edgar pressed, hearing the unspoken qualifier in her tone.

"It's just... in the video, when they do this pose—" she pointed to a specific moment in the tutorial, "—their bicep pops more. Can you make it... you know, jump out more?"

Edgar tried, flexing harder and adjusting the angle of his arm. "Like this?"

Carina tilted her head, observing. "Almost. Hold on." She set down the mitt and positioned herself behind him, extending her arm alongside his to demonstrate. "The guy does it like this, see? He points his hand inward more, which makes the peak higher."

As she demonstrated, her own bicep flexed reflexively, the muscle bellying up into an impressive peak that dwarfed Edgar's carefully cultivated one. She didn't seem to notice as she continued, "See how he twists his wrist this way? Your muscle barely moves when you do it, but in the video, it makes a big difference."

Edgar nodded, trying not to feel intimidated by the casual display of muscle beside him. "Let me try again."

He adjusted the position, following her guidance, and was rewarded with a better contraction.

"That's it!" Carina exclaimed. "Much better. Now you look like you actually have muscles."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Edgar said dryly.

"Oh! I didn't mean—" Carina caught herself, realizing how her comment had sounded. "You know what I meant. You look amazing, Edgar. Seriously. I just want to help you show it off the best way possible."

"I know," Edgar relented with a small smile. "And I appreciate it. I'm just nervous."

"Understandable," Carina said, resuming her oiling duties. "But unnecessary. You've put in the work. Now it's just about showing it off."

She finished his arms and stepped back to assess her handiwork. "I think we're done with the oil. Let's run through the poses one more time before they call you up."

Edgar nodded, centering himself with a deep breath. "Okay, front pose first."

He assumed the position, and Carina guided him through minor adjustments based on the video.

"Perfect," she said after they'd gone through the full sequence. "Now for the back pose, remember to really squeeze your shoulder blades together. The video guy makes it look like he could crack a walnut between them."

Edgar turned, demonstrating the back pose with his arms crossed loosely in front of him.

"More squeeze," Carina instructed. "Like you're trying to hold a pencil back there."

Edgar adjusted, tightening his muscles further.

"That's better," Carina approved. "Although..." She moved behind him again. "Let me show you what I mean."

She assumed the same pose, her back muscles instantly springing to life with definition that required no conscious effort on her part. "See how my back does this thing naturally? You want to try to create that same effect."

Edgar glanced over his shoulder, noticing how her trapezius muscles formed a solid ridge while her lats flared outward, creating an impressive V-shape that his own carefully cultivated physique couldn't quite match.

"Show-off," he muttered good-naturedly.

Carina laughed. "Hey, I'm just trying to help! Not my fault the virus decided to turn me into a walking anatomy chart."

A male stagehand approached them, clipboard in hand. "Matthews? You're up in five minutes. Please proceed to the staging area."

"Thanks," Edgar replied, a fresh wave of nerves washing over him. He turned to Carina. "This is it. How do I look? Honestly?"

Carina took a step back, assessing him with a critical eye. The oil highlighted every cut and definition in his physique, creating the polished look that judges favored. His posing shorts sat perfectly on his narrow waist, emphasizing the V-taper of his torso.

"You look incredible," she said sincerely. "Seriously, Edgar, all your hard work shows. Every early morning at the gym, every chicken breast and broccoli meal, every rep and set. It's all there in your physique."

She gave his shoulder an encouraging squeeze, her hand easily covering the entire deltoid. "Go show them what dedication looks like."

Edgar nodded, squaring his shoulders with newfound confidence. "Thanks, Carina. For everything. Seriously."

"That's what friends are for," she replied with a warm smile. "Now go flex those tiny muscles and make Brad proud!"

"They're not tiny!" Edgar protested with a laugh.

"Compared to mine they are," Carina teased, flexing one arm playfully. "But yours are definitely prettier."

"I'll take it," Edgar chuckled, heading toward the staging area. "Wish me luck!"

"You don't need luck," Carina called after him. "But I'll be cheering for you anyway!"

As Edgar joined the line of competitors waiting to go on stage, he felt a strange sense of calm settle over him. Yes, the world had changed dramatically since the FMG-35 virus. Yes, physical proportions and capabilities had been redefined in ways no one could have predicted.

But some things remained constant—friendship, dedication, the satisfaction of working toward a goal. And with Carina in his corner—clumsy, enthusiastic, accidentally intimidating Carina—he felt ready to face whatever came next.

From the staging area, Edgar glanced back to see his friend giving him an enthusiastic thumbs-up, her massive frame somehow managing to look encouraging rather than intimidating now. He returned the gesture, then turned to face the stage, ready to show the judges what he had built, one grueling workout at a time.

When the announcer called his name, Edgar stepped into the spotlight with his head held high, confident at last in the body he had created—a testament not to size, but to perseverance, discipline, and the power of friendship to put everything in perspective.

---

"Third place in the Men's Physique, Lightweight Division goes to... Edgar Matthews!"

The announcement rang through the venue as Edgar stepped forward to accept his trophy, a mix of disbelief and elation washing over his face. His routine had gone perfectly—each pose executed with precision, each transition smooth and controlled. For his first competition, a third-place finish was more than he had dared to hope for.

As he exited the stage, trophy in hand, he spotted Carina in the audience, standing head and shoulders above those around her, clapping wildly. She looked ridiculous, jumping up and down with excitement, bumping into people on either side of her and apologizing profusely without ever stopping her celebration.

"That's my friend!" she was shouting to anyone who would listen. "First competition ever! That's my friend!"

Edgar couldn't help but laugh. For all her physical power, Carina's greatest strength had always been her unbridled enthusiasm for her friends' successes.

As he navigated through the backstage area, accepting congratulations from other competitors and staff, Edgar reflected on the strange journey that had brought him here. When the FMG-35 virus had first emerged three years ago, the bodybuilding world had been turned upside down. Categories had been redefined, standards reconsidered, the very notion of physical achievement reimagined.

But in the end, perhaps nothing that truly mattered had changed at all. Hard work still showed. Dedication still paid off. And friends like Carina—who could crush his trophy like tinfoil in her bare hands but instead treated it like the most precious object in the world—were still what made the journey worthwhile.

Later, as they sat in a diner celebrating his win (Edgar with his carefully measured post-competition meal, Carina with a mountain of food that the waitress had initially assumed was for both of them), he raised his protein shake in a toast.

"To unexpected partnerships," he said. "I couldn't have done it without you today."

Carina clinked her giant chocolate milkshake against his shake. "Sure you could have," she replied with a grin. "But it wouldn't have been nearly as entertaining."

As she reached across the table to steal one of his sweet potato fries, her forearm momentarily resting on the table between them, Edgar noticed how it was nearly as thick as his calf despite being completely relaxed.

"What?" Carina asked, catching his glance.

"Nothing," Edgar replied with a smile. "Just thinking that Brad's going to be devastated when I tell him I'm hiring you as my permanent competition coach."

"Oh no," Carina laughed, nearly chocking on her stolen fry. "Absolutely not. One day of telling you your biceps are tiny is enough for me."

"They're not tiny!" Edgar protested for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

"They're adorable," Carina insisted with a teasing grin. "Like little walnuts."

Edgar rolled his eyes but couldn't help laughing. "You're impossible."

"That's why you love me," Carina replied, demolishing another handful of fries. "Now eat your protein before it gets cold, Mr. Third Place. You've got second place to aim for next time, and I expect at least one more inch on those cute little arm muscles of yours."

As they continued their meal, trading good-natured jabs and making plans for his next competition, Edgar felt a deep sense of gratitude. In a world transformed by the FMG-35 virus, he had found his place—not by comparing himself to a new standard of physical power he could never attain, but by embracing his own journey and surrounding himself with people who valued him for exactly who he was.

And if that included being mercilessly teased by a woman who could probably bench press his car, well... he wouldn't have it any other way.