I’d love to request a Glen Powell story where the reader is headed to Austin for a joint bachelor/bachelorette weekend celebrating one of her close friends. She’s feeling a bit nervous since she’s the only single one in the group, but while there she meets Glen—who turns out to be a friend of the groom and also the only other single person. The two quickly hit it off and naturally stick together throughout the trip. I’d love for Glen to surprise everyone with tickets to a Longhorns game, take the time to teach the reader about football, and join in on the rest of the party fun. Please include plenty of romance and fluffy moments, and end the story on a sweet note with Glen reassuring her that he wants to see where things go beyond just the long weekend.
The Single Bachelor's
Okay honesty, this is the longest request I have ever written before but I couldn’t help myself because I wanted to include so many different things. I had so much fun writing this and I hope y'all enjoy it too 😁
Please leave comments or reblog and tell me what you think 😊
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Friday
When I first heard that Miranda and Trey were wanting to do a joint bachelorette weekend I thought they were crazy.
I thought that it would be extremely awkward for me considering all my other girlfriends have boyfriends that are one of Trey’s groomsmen meaning I was going to be the only single person the entire weekend - I quickly learned how wrong I was when I met Glen.
The trip started out with me and the rest of Miranda’s bridesmaids all planning to meet up at the airport for our flight that would take us to Austin, Texas. Trey, Miranda’s fiancé's family has a horse ranch and so he chose to host us girls and his friends out there rather than going somewhere else where we’d have to pay hotel fees on top of travel expenses which I appreciated if I’m being honest. My current life seems to be at a pause - a small town girl from Indiana who is trying to figure out what I really want to do with my life.
The bachelorette weekend started out Friday morning with everyone getting off the plane in Austin, Texas. Walking over to the luggage area in the airport I scanned the different suitcases that passed by searching for mine. Finally I caught sight of my familiar tan colored suitcase rolling towards me. Picking it up I checked the name on the tag and knitted my brows in confusion reading someone else’s name written on it. “Glen Powell?”
“There it is.” A male voice spoke up behind me causing me to look over my shoulder seeing a guy wearing a black and white letterman jacket with some light blue jeans and white shoes. He picked up the suitcase that I recognize as mine, with the deer antler stickers on the front of it.
He started to walk away with it until I called out to him. “Hey letterman, that’s my bag.”
“Huh - oh man.” He turned slightly back around seeing me quickly walking over to him with his suitcase and he closed the distance bringing me mine. “Sorry I didn’t even think to check the tag. Most of the time I don’t run into someone carrying a tan suitcase like I do.”
“We’ll unfortunately for you purple and polka dots aren’t really my thing.”
He laughed, a warm, easy sound. “Fair enough. I owe you one for almost stealing your stuff.”
“Guess I’ll let it slide this time.”
“Then let me carry it to the van for you,” he offered, already reaching for the handle. “It’s the least I can do after trying to commit suitcase theft.”
I raised an eyebrow but handed it over. “You’re lucky you’re charming.”
Glen hoisted my suitcase into the back of the rental van with a playful grunt. “There. Officially redeemed myself for the great luggage heist of Terminal B.”
I smirked, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re lucky I didn’t call airport security. I hear they take sticker theft very seriously.”
He leaned against the side of the van, arms crossed. “Especially deer antlers. That’s a federal offense in Texas.”
We both laughed, and then he nodded toward the terminal windows. “Looks like the rest of the crew already carpooled out. You up for a scenic drive with a semi-reformed suitcase thief?”
I glanced at the nearly empty curb and shrugged. “As long as you don’t try to steal my snacks next.”
“Deal. But I make no promises about the aux cord.”
We headed back inside to grab coffee before hitting the road, settling into a pair of seats near the window with a clear view of the bustling terminal. Glen sipped his cold brew and nudged me. “Okay, rapid-fire game. Pick someone and tell me their entire life story.”
I scanned the crowd and pointed to a woman in a bright yellow pantsuit dragging a leopard-print carry-on. “She’s a high-powered divorce attorney flying to Vegas for a weekend of blackjack and revenge shopping.”
“Oof. I like her. Okay, my turn.” He gestured toward a guy in cargo shorts and a neck pillow already fast asleep on a bench. “That man is on his third honeymoon. His wife booked the wrong flight, and he’s pretending not to care.”
I snorted into my coffee. “You’re good at this.”
“Years of practice. Airports are basically reality shows with worse lighting.”
We watched a couple arguing over a boarding pass, a teenager filming a dance video, and a woman trying to juggle three toddlers and a Frappuccino. Glen leaned closer, voice low. “Okay, but real talk—how do you know Miranda and Trey?”
“Miranda and I went to college together. We were roommates sophomore year, and she basically adopted me into her friend group.”
“Ah, so you’re one of the legendary bridesmaids she’s always talking about.”
“Legendary might be a stretch. I’m more like the designated emotional support friend.” I snorted out a laugh at his remark.
Glen chuckled. “Well, Trey’s my cousin. Grew up with him in Austin. He was always the golden boy—football star, prom king, the works. I was the artsy one who made weird short films and got detention for writing fake movie reviews in the school paper.”
“That tracks,” I said, eyeing his letterman jacket. “You give off strong indie film festival energy.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment?”
“Depends. Are you the kind of guy who insists The Notebook is overrated?”
“Absolutely not. I cry every time. Don’t test me.”
I laughed, genuinely surprised. “Okay, you just earned major points.”
We finished our drinks and headed out to the rental van. Glen opened the passenger door for me with a mock bow. “Your chariot awaits, m’lady.”
I climbed in, buckling my seatbelt. “You know, this weekend might not be so bad after all.”
He slid into the driver’s seat, glancing over with a grin. “Stick with me. I’ve got a whole itinerary of chaos and charm planned.”
As we pulled away from the airport, I felt the nerves I’d carried with me start to melt. Maybe being the only single one wasn’t going to be awkward. Maybe it was going to be the best part.
The fire crackled as the group gathered around in a loose circle, drinks in hand and blankets draped over shoulders. The Texas night was cool, but the laughter and teasing kept the energy warm on this special Friday night. We had just finished making marshmallows over a campfire before Ava came up with an idea.
Ava stood up dramatically. “Okay, folks. It’s time. Truth or dare—but with ranch rules. That means no backing out, and no boring truths like ‘I had a crush on my math teacher.’ We want scandal.”
“Scandal?” Glen raised an eyebrow. “I thought this was a wholesome wedding weekend.”
“You thought wrong,” Riley said, tossing a marshmallow at him.
The game began with Mason daring Camille to do her best impression of Trey proposing. She nailed it—down on one knee, voice cracking, and a dramatic “Will you make me the happiest cowboy alive?”
Everyone roared.
Next, Jules chose truth and admitted she once dated a guy for three months just because he had a pool. Benji, was dared to eat a s’more with jalapeños in it. He did it. He cried. He asked for more. Then it was Glen’s turn.
“Dare,” he said confidently.
Ava grinned. “I dare you to let Y/n tickle your feet for ten seconds.”
Glen blinked. “That’s oddly specific.”
“Ranch rules,” Ava said, shrugging.
My eyes widened. “Wait, what did I do to deserve this?”
“You roasted him earlier,” Miranda said. “It’s only fair.”
Glen kicked off his shoes with mock dread. “I’m warning you—I’m extremely ticklish. Like, cartoon-level ticklish.”
I hesitated, then reached out and lightly brushed my fingers across his foot. Glen immediately burst into laughter, squirming and trying to hold still. “Okay! Okay! Mercy!”
The group was in hysterics.
“Your turn, Y/n,” Glen said, catching his breath. “Dare.”
Ava smirked. “Same dare. Glen gets to tickle your feet.”
I groaned. “This is revenge, isn’t it?”
Pulling off one of my light tan cowgirl boots I braced myself. Glen gently tickled my foot, and shrieked, curling up and laughing uncontrollably. “Okay, we’re even!”
Glen leaned in, smiling. “I feel like we just unlocked a weird level of intimacy.”
“Agreed,” I said, cheeks flushed pulling my boot back on my foot.
The game continued with more chaos—Leo admitted he once got dumped via a meme, Riley did a cartwheel in boots, and Trey was dared to kiss Miranda’s hand and recite a Shakespearean sonnet (he made one up, it involved cows).
As the fire burned lower and the group mellowed out, Glen and I found ourselves sitting shoulder to shoulder on a log, wrapped in a shared blanket.
“That was a weirdly bonding experience,”
“The tickling?” I asked, laughing.
“Yeah. I feel like we skipped a few steps and went straight to ‘weird couple trivia.’”
I smiled. “I don’t mind.”
He looked at me, eyes warm. “Me neither.”
Saturday
The sun was rising over the ranch, casting a warm golden glow across the fields. I’d just finished decorating my cowboy hat—black, simple, no glitter, no feathers, and definitely no polka dots. Glen had helped me paint a deer silhouette on one side and stitch a tiny basketball into the brim. It was perfect. It felt like me. I set it down on the fence post to snap a photo, angling my phone to catch the light just right. I was proud of it. It was the first thing all weekend that made me feel like I belonged.
And then Glen happened.
“Thanks for holding this for me,” he said, casually plucking the hat off the post and placing it on his head like he’d just claimed a trophy.
I turned slowly, arms crossed. “Excuse me?”
He adjusted the brim with a smug little smile. “Fits perfectly. Must be fate.”
“That’s my hat.”
“Is it?” He tilted his head. “Because I distinctly remember helping paint it. Technically, I’m at least fifty percent owner.”
I stepped forward. “You’re about to be zero percent owner if you don’t give it back.”
He took a step back, still grinning. “You’ll have to catch me first.”
“Oh, you did not just say that.”
“I did. Ranch rules.”
With that, Glen turned and jogged across the field, laughing like a kid who’d just stolen a cookie. I kicked up some dust with my boots and began chasing after him, my feet hitting the grass as the rest of the group turned to watch.
“Get him, Y/n!” Ava shouted.
“Don’t let him disrespect the deer!” Riley added.
Glen darted around hay bales and picnic tables, weaving like he was trying out for the Longhorns himself. I was faster than he expected—years of chasing my younger cousin through my backyard had given me an edge. He glanced back just in time to see me leap over a log and tackle him from behind. We tumbled into the grass in a heap of laughter, limbs tangled, breathless. I landed on top of him, pinning his wrists to the ground.
“Give. Me. My. Hat.”
He looked up at me, eyes sparkling. “I’ll trade you.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Trade?”
“Come to the Longhorns game with me today.”
I blinked. “Football?”
“Texas football,” he said, like that made all the difference.
“I don’t get football. I like basketball. You know—actual strategy, less standing around.”
Glen gasped dramatically. “Blasphemy. You’re lucky we’re lying in grass and not on sacred turf.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll be bored out of my mind.”
“I’ll explain everything. Plays, penalties, mascots. I’ll even buy you nachos and a foam finger.”
I hesitated, still straddling him. “You’re bribing me with snacks and accessories?”
“Desperate times,” he said, grinning. “Besides, I think you’ll like it. It’s loud, chaotic, and full of heart. Kinda like you.”
My cheeks flushed a light pink. “That was smooth.”
“I’ve been saving it.”
I sat back, still holding his wrists. “Fine. I’ll go. But if I hate it, I’m stealing your hat next.”
“Deal,” he said, and I finally released him.
He sat up, brushing grass from his shirt, and handed me the hat. “You win. For now.”
I took it, placing it back on my head with a satisfied smirk. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous.”
Glen stood and offered me a hand. “You’re lucky I like a challenge.”
As we walked back toward the group, side by side, he bumped my shoulder gently. Just as we reached the bonfire, Glen clapped his hands and called out, “Hey, Trey! Got a surprise for you.”
Trey looked up from where he was roasting a marshmallow, eyebrows raised. “What kind of surprise?”
Glen pulled a folded envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it over. “Tickets to the Longhorns game tonight. Everyone’s invited.”
The group erupted.
“No way!” Mason shouted.
“Are you serious?” Miranda gasped.
“Football and tailgating? Count me in!” Dante added.
Trey stared at the tickets, then at Glen. “Dude. This is amazing.”
Glen shrugged, but his grin was proud. “Figured we could use a little Texas tradition. Plus, I wanted to make sure Y/n got the full experience.”
I blinked, taken back by surprise. “Wait, this was for me?”
He looked at me, eyes soft. “You said you didn’t get football. I figured I’d show you why we love it.”
My heart did a little flip. “You planned this?”
“Guilty,” he said. “But I’m hoping it earns me a second date.”
I smiled, cheeks warm. “You’re off to a good start.”
The Texas sun beat down with an unyielding enthusiasm I wasn’t quite prepared for. Back home in Indiana, Saturdays in autumn meant crisp air, maybe a flannel shirt, and the promise of deer season. Here, it was a humid swelter, a sea of burnt orange, and an energy that felt as vast and open as the Texas sky.
"Y/n! You made it!" Miranda’s bright smile cut through the general hum of the tailgate party. She was already decked out in a perfectly coordinated burnt orange sundress. Ava and Jules, equally vibrant, waved from a cluster of friends tossing a football. Trey, the groom flashed a grin from the grill, flipping burgers with a practiced ease. Then Glen appeared beside me, a sly grin playing on his lips.
"Ready for your indoctrination?" he asked, holding out a neatly folded garment. It was a Longhorns hoodie, the burnt orange so vivid it practically pulsed. The logo, a white longhorn head, was simple and strong. He winked as I pulled it on over my simple white tee, the soft fabric a comforting weight. “Now you’re officially one of us."
The tailgate was a whirlwind of sensory input. Burgers sizzling on the grill, the satisfying thud of beanbags hitting cornhole boards, and music thrumming through the air – a lively mix of country and something I suspected was called 'Texas rock.' My initial awkwardness began to melt away under Glen’s easy charm. He seemed to have a sixth sense for when I felt a little lost, always gravitating back to my side.
Glen became my primary guide. He launched into a passionate monologue about the 'Hook 'em Horns' sign, the school's mascot, and the unwavering loyalty of the fanbase. His eyes lit up when he talked about it, a genuine enthusiasm that was infectious. He even showed me a picture of his dog, Brisket, a terrier-poodle mix with white and light orangish-brown fur, dressed in a tiny Longhorns jersey. "He’s my little linebacker," Glen declared, making me laugh.
Walking into Darrell K Royal-Texas Memorial Stadium was like stepping into a different dimension. The sheer scale of it, the roar of the crowd, the seemingly endless sea of orange and white – it was overwhelming in the best possible way. We found our seats, high enough to get a sweeping view of the vibrant green field.
"Alright, so that's the quarterback," Glen began, leaning in close so his voice wouldn't be swallowed by the din. He pointed to a player on the field. "He's like the general. Calls the shots." He went on, patiently explaining the complex ballet of plays, the positions on the field, and even the ridiculous penalties. I was absorbing it all, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of noise. He'd promised me nachos and a foam finger and was true to his word, he reappeared mid-first quarter with both. The cheesy smell of the nachos hit me first, followed by the silly, oversized orange foam finger. It felt ridiculous, but I found myself grinning as I slipped it onto my hand.
By the second quarter, I was starting to understand the flow, the strategy. The rhythm of the game, the back-and-forth, began to make sense. When our team – our team, I realized with a jolt – made a spectacular touchdown, I found myself on my feet, cheering, the foam finger waving wildly. By the third quarter, I was shouting louder than anyone, completely lost in the electric energy. Glen caught my eye, a satisfied smile on his face, and gave me a thumbs up.
Later, as the sun dipped below the stadium, casting long shadows, we took a selfie. The stadium lights glowed behind us, my face flushed with excitement, Glen’s eyes crinkling at the corners. He posted it almost immediately. I snuck a peek over his shoulder: "Converted. And cute." My stomach did a little flip, a sensation as giddy and unexpected as a sudden touchdown.
The walk back to the car was cooler, the air gently losing its heat. The crowds were still thick, buzzing with post-game energy. Without a word, Glen reached for my hand. His fingers interlaced with mine, a quiet, natural fit. It wasn't a grand gesture, but it felt monumental. We walked in comfortable silence, the distant cheers fading into the Austin night, a warmth spreading through me that had nothing to do with the Texas sun.
After a quick shower and change, the group reconvened for a night out in downtown Austin. Miranda had picked out a trendy bar, all exposed brick and dim lighting, with a live band playing a mix of pop and classic rock. I’d chosen a simple black dress; I didn’t have anything remotely "glamorous" like Jules, but I felt comfortable enough. The initial buzz from the game still lingered, but as the night wore on, a familiar ache of being the odd one out began to creep in. Miranda and Trey were practically glued together, Ava was flirting animatedly with Mason, and even Riley and Jules seemed to have found their respective dance partners. Dante, ever the smooth operator, was already moving around the room, charming every girl he spoke to. I nursed my drink, feeling a little like I was watching a movie unfold, rather than being a part of it. My comfortable small-town life felt a million miles away.
I scanned the room, looking for Glen. He’d been so attentive all day, so present. But then I saw him, laughing brightly with a girl at the bar. She had long, blonde hair and a confident laugh that carried over the music. My stomach tightened. Of course. Why wouldn't he? He was charming, funny, good-looking. There was a reason he was single, I figured – he probably liked it that way, a different girl every weekend. The warmth from our hand-holding, the 'converted and cute' caption – it suddenly felt like a one-off, a friendly gesture to a small-town girl who clearly didn't know the rules of this kind of game. I pulled back emotionally, a familiar protective wall rising. He might check in on me occasionally, but it was just good manners, I decided.
I was contemplating making an early exit, perhaps feigning a headache, when a hand landed gently on my arm. "Hey, you okay?" It was Glen. He looked genuinely concerned, his eyes searching mine. I offered a noncommittal shrug, trying to keep my expression neutral.
"Come on," he said, pulling me towards the front of the bar, where a small stage and karaoke machine glowed. "This song's coming up, and I think it's perfect for us."
My eyes widened. "Karaoke? Oh no, I can’t—"
"Nonsense. We’re gonna be The Single Bachelors." He grinned, then paused, correcting himself with mock seriousness, "Or, you know, Bachelor and Bachelorette. It’s a classic."
Before I could protest further, he’d handed the bartender our names and the song request, a ridiculously cheesy 80s duet. Suddenly, the lights were on us. The music started, the familiar synth intro to 'Don't You Want Me' by The Human League. Glen grabbed the mic and then he turned to me, offering the second mic, his eyes twinkling with such genuine joy.
I took the mic, and the moment I started singing – horribly, off-key, my voice barely audible – something shifted. We sang to each other, our voices merging into a hilarious, off-kilter harmony. He leaned in, delivering a line with an earnest gaze that made my heart flutter. I caught his eye, and in that crowded, noisy bar, it felt like we were the only two people there. His smile was wide, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that familiar way, but this time, there was something else in them. A deep, warm gaze that lingered. It wasn't just friendly, not just playful. It was… more. My breath hitched. I didn't say anything, didn't acknowledge it outwardly, but I definitely noticed. I noticed the way his hand brushed mine when he passed the mic, the way his laughter was directed purely at me.
As the song ended in audience cheers and our own giggles, he slung an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into a loose hug. "See? I told you we were good."
Tuesday
The last day of the bachelorette weekend had come and gone. Everyone had gone back home and to their jobs and wouldn’t meet up again the wedding day more than likely. I assumed that I wouldn’t think about Glen until that day, but I was wrong. It was a quiet Tuesday evening and I was curled up on the couch in my oldest hoodie, watching basketball highlights and trying not to think about Glen.
Which, of course, meant I was thinking about Glen.
I hadn’t called him. I hadn’t texted. I told myself it was just a weekend thing—a whirlwind of bonfires, football games, and stolen hats. He’d probably met someone else. That girl at the bar had laughed a little too hard at his jokes. He’d smiled a little too easily.
The game replay was halfway through a replay of a buzzer-beater shot when I heard it: a soft scratch at the front door. I frowned, pausing the tv while tossing my blanket off of me and going to see who was at the door. When I opened my front door I froze at who was before me, a short dog with white/ light orangish-brown fur and a goofy grin and a tail thumping against the wood that looked familiar.
“Brisket?” I whispered reading the name tag on his dog caller he wore. He barked once, like he was confirming it.
I knelt down on one knee and saw a folded note taped to his collar. My fingers trembled as I peeled it off and unfolded it - “I figured if you weren’t going to call me, maybe you’d call him. —G”
“Glen?” I called out, voice cracking, scanning the yard, the driveway, the sidewalk. Turning back to Brisket, who tilted his head and gave me a doggy smile. “Did he seriously send you here like a furry little messenger?”
Brisket barked again, tail wagging harder. And then I heard footsteps. Sharply turning my head, my mouth fell open—Glen. Standing at the edge of my porch, hands in his jacket pockets, looking like he’d just stepped out of a dream I hadn’t let myself have. “Hey,”
I stared at him, stunned. “What are you doing here?”
He stepped closer, eyes never leaving mine. “I didn’t want to be single anymore.”
My heart sank as I swallowed hard. “Oh. So… you met someone?”
He blinked, confused. “What? No. I meant you.”
“Me?” Knitting my brows I thought this must be a dream I haven’t woken up from yet.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we all left on Sunday. I didn’t want to wait until the wedding to tell you this either. I know it was just a weekend, but it didn’t feel like just a weekend to me. I want to see where this goes. If you do.”
I felt my breath catch in my throat. “I thought you were into that girl at the bar…”
“She was asking if I was single,” he said, stepping up onto the porch. “I told her I wasn’t sure. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
I looked down at Brisket, who was now lying across my feet like he’d claimed me. “You came all the way to Indiana?”
“I’d go farther,” Glen said, “if it meant I got to see you smile again.”
I didn’t say anything. I just stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him, burying my face in his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me instantly breathing in the scent of my hair with a smile. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” he teased. “And for the record, I still owe you the chance to steal one of my hats.”
I laughed into his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”
He pulled back just enough to look at me. “But you like me anyway.”
“Yeah. I really do.” Brisket barked once, like he was sealing the deal.
