Jul 17
I feel like John Cena still sometimes instinctively cut promos to a rhythm even into the later parts of his career, but like, I'd need a music nerd to actually go check that.
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I feel like John Cena still sometimes instinctively cut promos to a rhythm even into the later parts of his career, but like, I'd need a music nerd to actually go check that.
15 years ago today :)
I recoded my dog-sona for him from Rottweiler to Border Collie.
And his ears didn’t end up standing up.
I used to think The Rock and John Cena were the same person.
MITB 2011 :)
Centon cowboy themed summer festival smut fanfic
Part of my Summer Splash: Couples Edition Mix fanfic on AO3. Crossposted on here to those who rather reads it here. <3
Pairing: John Cena x Randy Orton (Centon)
Rating: M (drinking and smut)
Top Cena/Bottom Orton <3
Minors DNI!!!! It was requested by guest user.
Disclaimer: This is only a work of fiction. I do not own anything!
The stadium was filled with people in their cowboy attire as the sun hung high over the sprawling fairgrounds just outside Dallas, Texas, turning the summer air thick and golden with the scent of hay, barbecue smoke, and cold beer.
It was the annual Texas Country Thunder Festival: a wild celebration of boots, brews, and country music that drew thousands under the wide-open sky. John Cena and his boyfriend, Randy Orton, had slipped away from the WWE schedule for a rare weekend off, trading ring gear for full cowboy swagger.
John wore a crisp white button-up shirt stretched tight across his massive chest, the sleeves rolled up to show off his tattooed forearms. His jeans were dark denim, hugging his powerful thighs, tucked into polished brown cowboy boots with silver spurs that jingled softly when he walked.
A black Stetson hat sat low on his head, shading his bright blue eyes and that signature cocky grin. Randy, ever the edgier counterpart, had gone for a black shirt with pearl snaps undone just enough to reveal the hard lines of his chest and abs. His jeans were worn and faded, clinging to his long legs, finished with scuffed black boots and a dark cowboy hat tipped forward over his intense gaze. A silver belt buckle gleamed at his waist, catching the light every time he moved.
They walked hand-in-hand through the crowd: two WWE legends blending into the sea of denim and flannel. Heads turned, but in cowboy country, the vibe was more appreciative than intrusive. John squeezed Randy’s hand, pulling him closer as a live band on the main stage launched into a rowdy cover of “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.”
“Feels good to just be us for once,” John said, his voice low and warm against Randy’s ear. “No scripts, no cameras. Just you, me, and all this beer.”
Randy smirked, bumping his shoulder against John’s. “Don’t get too soft on me, Cena. I still plan on kicking your ass at something today.”
They wandered past food trucks, mechanical bull rides, and line-dancing stages, grabbing cold longnecks and sharing bites of brisket. The afternoon heat built, loosening their steps and their laughs. By the time they reached the central beer garden, both men were flushed and relaxed, their cowboy hats tilted back as they enjoyed the music.
That’s when a booming voice cut through the crowd from a raised platform in the middle of the garden. A burly organiser with a microphone stood beside a long wooden table lined with shot glasses and pitchers.
“Alright, y’all! We got ourselves a special challenge for the brave souls out here! The Texas Thunder Drinking Showdown! Two-minute relay: teams of two, fastest to finish the most pitchers wins bragging rights, a trophy, and free beer for the rest of the night! Who’s got the guts?”
John’s eyes lit up with that competitive fire. He glanced at Randy, who was already grinning like a predator. Before they could even volunteer, the organiser spotted them.
“Holy hell, is that John Cena and Randy Orton? Get up here, boys! Dallas wants to see the WWE superstars represent!”
The crowd erupted in cheers. John laughed, waving as he tugged Randy up onto the platform. They were introduced to their opponents: two local ranch hands built like linebackers, but the real battle was clearly between the two lovers.
“Ready to get schooled, Orton?” John teased, leaning in so only Randy could hear. His hand brushed Randy’s lower back, fingers pressing just above the waistband of those tight jeans. “Loser submits tonight. No tap-outs, no mercy.”
Randy’s eyes darkened with heat. He stepped closer, voice a husky drawl. “You’re on, big man. But when I win, you’re the one getting on your knees in that hat.”
They took their spots at the table. Three massive pitchers of ice-cold beer waited in front of each pair. The rules were simple: drink as much as possible in two minutes, relay-style, no spilling allowed. The crowd pressed in, phones up, country music thumping.
The whistle blew.
John started first, grabbing the pitcher with one big hand and tilting it back. Beer flowed down his throat in heavy gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Foam trickled from the corner of his mouth as he slammed the empty pitcher down with a triumphant shout. “Beat that, cowboy!”
Randy snatched his own pitcher, eyes locked on John the whole time. He drank deep, throat working, but he was slower, deliberately teasing. Between gulps, he pulled the pitcher away just long enough to lick foam from his lips and smirk. “Keep dreaming, Cena. I’m just getting warmed up.”
The crowd roared as they swapped. John’s second pitcher disappeared even faster, his powerful frame barely affected. Randy’s pace slowed on his second, the alcohol hitting him visibly. His cheeks flushed deeper, movements looser. He set the half-finished pitcher down with a sloppy grin, eyes glassy and challenging.
“Third one, baby,” John said, voice low and taunting as he grabbed the final pitcher. He chugged it steadily, finishing with a loud exhale and slamming it down hard. “Done! Cena style!”
Randy tried to rally for the last pitcher, but the beer was catching up fast. He got halfway through before coughing, laughing, and waving it off. The whistle blew. John had clearly finished first and drained more overall.
The organiser raised John’s arm high. “We got a winner! John Cena takes the Texas Thunder crown!”
Cheers exploded. John grinned widely under his Stetson, pulling Randy into a sweaty, beery hug that turned into a quick, heated kiss, much to the delight of the whistling crowd. Randy swayed slightly in his arms, the alcohol making his usual sharp edges soften into something pliant and warm.
“Looks like you owe me, Orton,” John murmured against his ear, one hand sliding down to grip Randy’s ass possessively through his jeans. “Time to collect.”
They slipped away from the celebration amid backslaps and free beers, John guiding a noticeably buzzed Randy through the fairgrounds toward the private VIP cabins at the edge of the property. The sun was dipping lower, painting everything in warm oranges and pinks. John’s arm stayed firm around Randy’s waist, steadying him.
Inside the rustic cabin: wood-panelled, king-sized bed, dim lamp light, John locked the door. Randy leaned against the wall, hat still on, shirt half-unbuttoned, looking every bit the intoxicated, sexy cowboy.
“On your knees, Randy,” John said, voice dropping into that commanding tone he rarely used outside the ring. “You lost. Now you submit.”
Randy’s eyes flashed with defiance even through the haze of beer, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He sank slowly to his knees on the wooden floor, boots creaking, looking up at John with heavy-lidded hunger. “This is what you wanted, champ? Your drunk boyfriend on his knees?”
John stepped closer, towering over him. He tilted Randy’s chin up with two fingers, thumb brushing those full lips. “Yeah. All of it. Hat stays on.” He unbuckled his own belt slowly, the jingle of the buckle loud in the quiet room. “You’re gonna take what I give you. Nice and slow. Show me how sorry you are for underperforming out there.”
Randy’s hands moved to John’s jeans, popping the button and dragging the zipper down. The alcohol made his movements eager but imprecise, exactly how John liked it in moments like this. He freed John’s thick cock, already hard and heavy, and leaned in without hesitation. Warm, wet heat enveloped him as Randy took him deep, humming around the length. John groaned, fingers threading through Randy’s hair under the cowboy hat, guiding but not forcing.
“That’s it… fuck, your mouth feels good when you’re like this,” John praised, hips rocking gently. Randy’s eyes watered slightly from the stretch and the beer, but he didn’t pull back. He worked him with sloppy enthusiasm, tongue swirling, one hand cupping John’s balls while the other braced on a powerful thigh.
After several long minutes of Randy’s devoted worship, John pulled him up by the arms and spun him toward the bed. “Strip. Keep the boots and hat.”
Randy obeyed, shedding his shirt and jeans with clumsy grace, revealing his toned, inked body. His cock was hard and leaking, the effects of the drinking making him shamelessly vocal. John pushed him face down onto the mattress, yanking those long legs apart. He grabbed a bottle of lube from his bag: always prepared and slicked himself generously.
“You’re mine tonight, Randy,” John growled, pressing in slow and deep in one long thrust. Randy moaned loudly into the pillow, back arching, ass pushing back to take every inch. John set a steady, punishing rhythm, deep strokes that rocked the bed and made Randy’s hat slip forward over his eyes.
“John…fuck…harder,” Randy gasped, voice wrecked from beer and pleasure. His hands fisted the sheets as John obliged, one hand gripping Randy’s hip, the other reaching around to stroke him in time with each thrust.
The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping skin, Randy’s broken moans, and John’s low grunts of dominance. He leaned down, biting at Randy’s shoulder, whispering filthy praise between thrusts: “Lost the contest… now you’re taking my cock like a good little cowboy. Gonna fill you up, make you feel it tomorrow when we’re back in the ring.”
Randy came first with a shuddering cry, spilling over John’s fist and the sheets. John followed soon after, burying himself deep and groaning Randy’s name as he pulsed inside him. They collapsed together in a sweaty, satisfied tangle, John’s cowboy hat falling beside Randy’s on the bed.
John kissed the back of Randy’s neck softly, arms wrapping around him. “Good boy. Next time, maybe you’ll win… or maybe I’ll just have to punish you again.”
Randy chuckled breathlessly, still hazy from drink and orgasm. “Asshole… love you anyway.”
They stayed like that for a long while, the distant sounds of the festival drifting through the cabin windows: two champions, tangled up in boots, beer, and each other under the Texas summer night.
"I will get you next time," Orton murmured under his breath as he fell asleep.
365 DC Comics Heroes & Villains Paper Cut-Outs
Peacemaker
The antihero known as Peacemaker is a skilled soldier who became so obsessed with the concepts of peace and pacifism that he became delusional. His self-enforced commitment to peace led him to turn to the use of force to advance its cause. The root of Smith’s neurosis was his discovery that his father had been a nazi soldier during the Second World War and a guard at a concentration camp. The guilt over his father’s misdeeds was too much for Smith, he felt haunted by it and dedicated himself to his philosophy of peace by any means necessary as an effort to sublimate this overwhelming shame.
He founded the Pax Institute, a foundation whose aim is to topple violent and tyrannical regimes. To fulfill this end, Smith trained himself to near physical perfection, became an accomplished combatant and developed an array of specialized weaponry. He became ‘The Peacemaker’ and the scourge of dictators and warlords the world over.
Smith’s actions ultimately resulted in his being arrested and he was soon thereafter recruited in the secretive governmental agency known as Checkmate. Under directives from Amanda Waller, Smith operated a covert kill-squad hunting down and eliminating terrorist cells. Smith’s team is also used to topple foreign regimes unfavorable to American interests. This leads to a confrontation with the villainous Eclipso where Smith is apparently killed.
Later, having somehow returned to life, Smith encounters Jaimie Reyes shortly after the young man had inherited the powers of the Blue Beetle. He decided to help Reyes learn to use his new powers and the two had a number of adventures together. Some time thereafter, Smith is again recruited by Amanda Waller to act her personal agent within the Suicide Squad.
Actor John Cena portrays Peacemaker in the DC Cinematic Universe; while actors Takehito Koyasu and Seán Patrick Judge have voiced the character in animated projects. The Peacemaker first appeared in the pages of The Fightin’ Five #40 (1966).
