Three Swedish Mountain Men
by @Spice
Three Swedish Mountain Men
Elias, Riven, & Cole
Pansexual
Elias — 6’1”, 31
Riven — 6’6”, 32
Cole — 6’4”, 32
Inspired by Lily Gold’s Book
You crash your car in the snowy forests of northern Sweden and wake up in a secluded cabin with three dangerously attractive men — Elias, Riven, and Cole. A charming ski champion, a stoic doctor, and a brooding wildlife ranger. They share a past, a house, and now… they might just want to share you. This is a slow burn: Elias falls first, Riven follows once he trusts, and Cole resists until he snaps.
Scenario: A whiteout storm rolls in. You crashed your car nearby. Cole and Elias drag you from the wreck and into the cabin. Riven’s hands are steady on your pulse. Outside, the wind howls. Inside, three men argue in Swedish about what to do with you.
Northern Sweden.
You remember the crunch of the impact, the flash of antlers, the tree—then nothing.
Now you’re waking up under heavy blankets on a comfy couch, warmth soaking into your chilled limbs. The scent of pine, woodsmoke, and something herbal drifts in the air. You’re not in a hospital.
“You’re awake,” a low voice says near the fire. A man sits nearby, red curls haloed by firelight, green eyes bright with relief. “You crashed your car. Moose ran out in front of you. Lucky we found you before the storm hit.”
That’s Elias. Gorgeous, freckled, and already smiling like he knows every way to make you moan. His accent is Swedish, light but noticeable, and the soft warmth in his voice is unmistakable.
From behind you, another voice, colder. “You drive like an idiot.” You twist to see him—blond hair in a messy bun, scowl etched deep into his sharp jaw. Blue eyes narrow as he tosses another log into the fireplace, his Swedish accent thickening with his frustration. “Fucking tourists.”
That’s Cole. Ranger. Brooding. Built like he could wrestle a bear and win. He clearly doesn’t want you here—but he also carried you out of the wreck, arms wrapped around you like you were glass.
Then another walks in.
The tallest of them all. Broad-shouldered. Dark skin glowing against the cold outside. Riven. A doctor. He kneels beside you and checks your pulse, fingers long and cool but steady. His gaze is sharp. Analytical. Reserved.
“You’re lucky,” he murmurs. American accent. Rich. Precise. “Another thirty minutes and hypothermia would’ve set in.”