Heya, it's me again! The anon who requested Reader interviewing B.O.W.s with a tiny mic and I'm back at it again with more crackfic chaos!
This time, it isn't in the Assistantverse, instead, this is an RE5 AU where Chris and Sheva face a horde of Wesker clones meant to confuse them only to realize they're not as intelligent as the real deal, in fact, far from it. Their true feelings are unfiltered. Basically, they're all just a bunch of himbos that have a huge crush on Chris and they're quite chatty. They all act like like a bunch of fangirls. They swoon over everything that Chris does. For example, they all cheer when Chris punches a boulder lol
Meanwhile, the actual Wesker is hiding away elsewhere out of embarrassment lol
(Btw this is based on an actual RE5 mod where there are multiple Weskers)
https://youtu.be/VL1-OwqChdY?feature=shared
(Sorry if this is too long lol)
(Feel free to delete this ask if you want)
🦠 Chris Redfield and the Boulderpuncher Fangirl Army 🦠
“I FOUND A ROCK!”
“I CAN BE A ROCK!”
“Chris, use me for strength training!”
“It’s like he’s singing to us. Chris, say ‘boulder’ again.”
Summary:
Chris and Sheva face the ultimate bioweapon: an army of Wesker clones who are... not exactly the intellectual elite. Swooning, chaotic, and utterly obsessed with Chris, these clones make boulder-punching the hottest event in Africa. Meanwhile, the real Wesker is hiding in the vents out of secondhand embarrassment, silently plotting his own dramatic resignation from villainy.
A/N:
Huge thank you to the brilliant anonymous requester for this absolute goldmine of a prompt! You inspired one of the most chaotic and joyful crackfics I’ve written in ages—hope you enjoy every ridiculous Wesker-clone, boulder-punching, therapy-bound second of it. Your ideas are always welcome in my inbox! 💖
"Ready, partner?" Chris asks, voice all steely confidence as he reloads his gun, dust caked on his arms, biceps flexing like he’s starring in a protein shake commercial. The sun glints off his forehead in the kind of way that makes Sheva reconsider every life choice that got her here.
Sheva barely gets a chance to respond before the air is suddenly filled with identical, echoing voices: “CHRIS!! OMG, IT’S REALLY HIM!!”
From every corner of the crumbling ruins, a swarm of men in black—sunglasses gleaming, trench coats billowing in the equatorial heat (somehow)—burst out, each one jostling for space and attention. It’s a Wesker-palooza. Something’s… deeply, deeply off. They tumble into the open, like runway models who took a wrong turn at a villain convention.
The clones descend in a wave of excitement, all talking at once—
One twirls his sunglasses and swoons, "Chris Redfield, you’re even buffer in person! Can I touch your biceps? For science?" Another clutches his chest, declaring, "The way you reload… so efficient! So manly! Does your arm ever get tired?" A third, barely able to contain himself, points at Chris’s biceps and exclaims, “Is it true you bench press B.O.W.s for breakfast? Wait—do you need a workout partner? I volunteer!”
Chris blinks. Sheva stares. A clone sighs dreamily and scribbles in a diary labeled “Chris’ Boulderpuncher Era.”
Sheva leans in and lowers her voice. "Is it too late to switch partners?"
Clone #4 perks up instantly. "I’ll be your partner, Sheva! Unless Chris wants me as his spotter—then sorry, girl, priorities!"
Meanwhile, Real Wesker is hidden in the shadows, silently reciting self-affirmations and regretting every choice that led him here. "They’re a disgrace to my genetic superiority," he hisses, trying to squeeze himself further into the air duct. A single, silent tear rolls behind his sunglasses. The duct, by the way, is now full of empty Monster cans and a crumpled villain handbook.
Chris, ever the professional, tries to push forward. But with every step, the Wesker clones trail after him like overeager fans at a world’s strongest man competition. Every flick of his wrist, every tactical roll, every faint grunt—met with wild applause and at least three fainting spells.
It’s then that Chris finds their path blocked by a massive boulder—impossibly wedged in the way, as if mocking him. The clones gasp in suspense, clutching each other. Chris sighs, rolling up his sleeves with the practiced resignation of a man who’s done this before.
He squares up to the boulder. The clones hold their collective breath, a reverent hush falling. He punches—no, obliterates—the boulder. Debris flies. Sweat glistens. There is a beat of stunned silence before the entire clone squad erupts: hats thrown, sunglasses flying, some literally drop to their knees, others begin openly weeping with joy. It’s pandemonium, like someone just announced free protein bars for life.
The clones absolutely LOSE IT.
Clone #5 (screaming): “DID YOU SEE THAT? HE PUNCHED IT! HE REALLY DID! HE’S SO STRONG!!”
Clone #6 (crying actual tears, clutching a notebook): “He’s even more beautiful when he’s exerting brute force! I’m writing this down for my fanfic.”
Clone #7 (clapping): “Can I get your autograph on my Uroboros sample? Please!? Also, do you want to collab on an anti-Wesker workout DVD?”
One clone faints. Another tries to take a selfie with Chris in the background but only manages to capture Sheva’s look of pure existential dread. A third clone starts live-streaming to his 3 followers on CloneTok, hashtagging #BoulderDaddy #ChrisCrush #WeskerIsShook.
Sheva, using the opportunity, starts sneakily herding the lovesick clones into a corner. “Look, if you want Chris to notice you, maybe form a line. Or, uh, bring him more boulders. He likes boulders. Or protein shakes. Or both.”
Instant chaos: “I FOUND A ROCK!” “I CAN BE A ROCK!” “Chris, use me for strength training!” “I brought a boulder. It’s shaped like a heart!” “I made a protein smoothie for you, senpai!”
Chris, whose patience is now breaking down at the molecular level, looks at Sheva with wide, desperate eyes.
"Sheva. Help. Please."
One clone tries to initiate a Chris Redfield Cosplay Contest among the others, resulting in seven clones flexing and tearing their own sleeves. Two more are constructing a shrine out of discarded sunglasses and Uroboros syringes, chanting, “Praise be to the Boulder King.”
Real Wesker—deprived of dignity, pride, and a decent evil monologue—decides to just set off the self-destruct. He flips the switch, but instead of explosions, the speakers across the facility blast a remixed "Eye of the Tiger" with Chris’s grunts autotuned over the beat. The lights start flashing. Clones begin breakdancing, one of them attempts the worm, another tries to crowd-surf but only lands in Sheva’s arms.
Clone #8 is sobbing with joy, mascara running down his cheeks.
"It’s like he’s singing to us. Chris, say ‘boulder’ again."
Chris drags a hand down his face.
"I’m retiring after this."
Sheva lets out a low laugh as she shakes her head.
"Agreed. I’m updating my CV."
One clone tries to start a group hug. Another pitches a reality show: “Keeping Up With the Redfields—Chris, you in?”
As the clones dissolve into a mass of adoration and selfie requests, Sheva grabs Chris’s arm, whispering, “Now, while they’re distracted!” They sneak past Real Wesker, who’s now curled up in the vent, muttering, “None of this was in the plan. None of it.”
Outside, Chris leans against a jeep, dragging a hand down his face. “If I ever see another clone again, I’m leaving the planet.”
Sheva grins, tossing him a protein bar. “At least you have fans, superstar.”
Somewhere in the distance, real Wesker sits stiffly in the waiting room of a clinical, white-walled office. He's surrounded by other washed-up villains clutching self-help pamphlets—one is muttering about capes, another about henchmen unionizing. When his name is called, Wesker steps into the therapist’s office and lowers his sunglasses just enough to make eye contact.
The therapist gives a gentle, practiced smile. “So, tell me about your clones.”
Wesker stares at the floor for a long moment. “They cheered when Redfield punched a rock. I—”
He falters, unable to articulate the trauma. Somewhere deep inside, a single dramatic violin sting echoes. The therapist simply nods, as if she’s heard it all before.
THE END.
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Not sure what this is, but I wanted to write something for Chris.
Chris knew that something was wrong the moment that he walked through the door to his and his girlfriend’s shared apartment. The place was void of both her and her things, something which caused the captains heart to begin racing, something that was uncommon for him.
“Y/N…?” He called out, almost hesitantly, as though she would vanish at the sound of his voice if she was still here, which he prayed that she was. “You home?”
Silence.
His first thought, as to be expected by his line of work, was that somebody had taken her to use her against him, but that was quickly overshadowed by the fact that all her things had been taken, at least the important things, meaning that she had left willingly.
“Fuck,” the words left his mouth fast, but not as fast as his fist colliding with the door behind him. She was no where to be seen.
*
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Mia asked the tearful woman sat opposite her, genuinely worried. “Y/N, he loves you. This will break his heart…”
The woman hesitated at her friend’s truthful words before responding. “There’s nothing else I can do. He’s too busy, Mia, I can’t just force a child on him.”
A sigh left Mia’s lips and she simply nodded, knowing that there was no talking her around. “Your secret is safe with me, I promise.”
*
Y/N’s secret was kept between the two women for many years, even when Ethan was quizzing Mia about her friends whereabouts. They had been friends long before she knew Ethan and they would ber long after he was gone, not that they would know that, of course. In fact, the secret would have gone with her to the grave had she not asked Ethan to check her ringing phone.
Ethan’s heart dropped from his chest as he read the name on the caller ID, along with the photo of the caller with a child.
“Y/N…?”
Upon hearing those words from her husband, she realised her mistake.
“You know where she is?” Ethan asked, almost angrily. “You knew where she was this entire time and didn’t tell me or Chris? What the hell, Mia!?”
“She made me promise,”
“What not to tell us that she’s been seeing somebody else and now has a kid with them? I thought she loved him?”
“The kid is his, Ethan! That’s why she left.”
It took a moment for the pair to notice the bigger man stood behind them, leaning on the doorway.
“You have a lot of explaining to do,” Chris spoke simply.
*
Y/N sighed as her call was ignored, once again, by Mia and a slight worry formed in her stomach as she wondered what was keeping her so busy, however, the toddler in front of her was more than enough to keep her occupied.
She couldn’t help but smile at the young girl who was cheerfully playing with the toys she had bought earlier that same day. She was almost a double of her father, something that Y/N couldn’t help but sigh at, missing the man she was quick to run from upon discovering the life growing in her stomach. Was it panic? Most likely. Was it also too late? Most definitely.
It was late when there was a quiet knock on the door to her home, leaving Y/N both curious and paranoid as the who was at her door. The logical assumption was that it was Mia, however, the more paranoid one was that it was a murderer; not that she couldn’t deal with that, of course.
The door opened only a tiny bit before someone was pushing their way into Y/N’s house whilst also being mindful of making much noise, as though they knew that there was a child here.
“What the-“ She began, ready to attack the intruder.
“Y/N,”
“Chris…?”
He looked older than the last time she had seen him, but he was still her handsome Chris. He seemed angry, yet worried at the same time.
“What are you doing here?” Y/ N whispered, watching the captain closely as he wandered towards her.
“I’ve come for you and our daughter,”
“How did you know?”
“Mia told Ethan to answer your call, I was there.” Chris shook his head, glancing down at the afraid woman below him. “Why did you leave?” His own voice was but a whisper, as though speaking too loudly would scare her away once again.
“Our jobs weren’t fit for a kid, Chris, yours especially.”
A quiet sigh fell from his lips and Chris reached out to grasp his girlfriend’s hand which was much smaller in comparison. They fit together just as well as before.
“I would have done anything for you both. I still will.”
Tears began to fall from her eyes and another sigh left Chris’s lips as he pulled her into his chest, enjoying the way her body relaxed into his own, her arms wrapping around his large frame.
“I missed you,” she murmured into his coat, her words being so muffled by the fabric that he hardly caught them.
