#she fetches better in water than on dry land lmao

[asweetprologue]

I know that feel my dude. How about a Geraskier prompt Geralt getting stuck in ice or mud or what have you and Jask has to get him out. Hilarity ensues. <3 i write as im dodging my calc work....

this is so fun! I’m gonna put the response below the cut because I actually can’t, as it turns out, write a drabble that’s less than 1k. we all have our fatal flaws

Geralt was in a hole. 

It didn’t matter why. It had involved a very stealthy drowner, and patch of wet ground, and perhaps some overconfidence on Geralt’s part. Witcher’s didn’t slip. They didn’t trip, or fumble, or fall down. If they did, they died. Simple as that. 

The drowner hadn’t killed him, but in Geralt’s mind it had still won the fight. Though dead, it was up there, and Geralt was down here. The hole he was in was filled up to his lower thighs in water and muck, and the walls were too loose to climb. Anytime he tried to get a handhold, the dirt slid through his fingers like molasses and plopped into the water below. He’d been here for hours, now, most of the night. He was going to die in a hole in Velen, of all placed, up to his neck in cold mud when he finally sat down in the shallow pool. 

At least he wouldn’t die of thirst. His fucking bones felt damp. 

Geralt wished he hadn’t left his bags with Jaskier at the inn. They would have weighed him down, but at least he’d have a damn rope. 

Fuck. Jaskier. He hoped the bard wouldn’t come looking for him. How long before he realized something had happened? Geralt had said he’d be back by nightfall, but sometimes jobs took longer than he thought. Jaskier might not grow suspicious until morning, or even several days. All the better, really, Geralt thought. The chance of Jaskier finding him was slim anyways, and by the time he got here Geralt might already be dead. 

The night passed slowly. Meditation could only do so much to block out his cold, wet surroundings. Finally he realized that it was starting to get lighter out, the first rays of the sun dappling the grayish leaves overhead with faint orange light. 

Two hours later he heard footsteps in the forest, and a moment later, he heard a bitten off curse that was achingly familiar. 

Geralt stumbled to his feet in the pool of water, squinting up at the five foot hole that marked the exit of the pit. “Jaskier?” he called. 

The footsteps stilled, and then broke into a more rapid pace. A moment later, Jaskier’s foppish brown hair and shockingly bright doublet came into focus. He frowned down at Geralt, as if it had been Geralt’s idea to get stuck in a hole. “Geralt,” he said, “this may seem a silly question, but what are you doing down there?” He looked fine, clearly not beset upon by any marsh monsters, much to Geralt’s relief. The entire situation, which had seemed so dire that night, suddenly seemed trivial. And then he remembered how he’d gotten into the hole. 

Feeling his ears tingle with a blush, he said, “I was hunting drowners.”

Jaskier was looking around, his hands doing something Geralt couldn’t see. Rooting through their bags, maybe. Hopefully for a rope. “Well, yes, I was aware of that. When you didn’t come back to the inn I asked the alderman if he’d seen you, and he said no, so I visited the healer, just in case you’d done that thing you do where you collapse on someone’s doorstep and they don’t know or care to fetch me, which you know I don’t care for, but she hadn’t seen you either. So I thought to myself, well, Jaskier, you’ve just got to go and see about it yourself, don’t you? I’ll have you know I’ve been walking around here since near daybreak, and my boots are ruined.” He made a triumphant sound, and Geralt blinked as a rope was flung down, nearly hitting him in the face. Jaskier popped  back into view, pouting at him. “This is a horrible place, you know.”

“Free of drowners though,” Geralt replied. He took the rope in hand, preparing to make the slippery climb back up to relatively dry land. 

“I should hope so,” Jaskier agreed. “None of that answers the question, though, of why exactly you are in a hole.”

Geralt grunted. “The ground is treacherous.” He was not going to admit that he got pushed into a sinkhole by a drowner. Jaskier would probably put it in a song, and then where would the reputation of witchers be?

Jaskier stared at him. There was a beat of silence, and then, “Geralt. Did you fall?”

Geralt glared at the rope warped around his hand and put his full weight on it, knowing that Jaskier was holding the other end. All he had to do was use it to anchor himself as he scaled the muddy wall, and he would be able to cuff Jaskier on the head for his gleefully disbelieving tone. All he had to do was get to the top.

Unfortunately, Jaskier chose that moment to break out into rancorous laughter, and instead of bracing himself for Geralt’s weight, he was jerked forward. Towards the open pit. His laugh cut off on a yelp.

Geralt managed to catch him, but only just. They fell back into the water together, a tangle of limbs and rope and mud. Jaskier’s doublet was instantly soaked, turning the burgundy material an unbecoming brown. Jaskier spluttered out of the water, pushing grit out of his eyes as he spit. Geralt’s hands roamed over his body, checking for injuries. The bard was nearly straddling him, sitting with one of Geralt’s thighs thrust between his own. The witcher let out a breath of relief when he found no sign of hurt, and then his eyes met Jaskier’s. 

Jaskier made a face, full of chagrin. “What was that about treacherous ground?”

Geralt couldn’t help it - he laughed, loud in the still of the morning air. Jaskier stared at him for a moment before he broke out into his own chuckles. It kept building between them until they were nearly rolling with it, Geralt huffing out laughter into Jaskier’s throat as the bard cackled in his ear. It was a nice sound, after hours of sitting in the dark thinking he was going to be left to die at the bottom of this godsforsaken hole. They might still, but at least Jaskier was here. Nothing seemed quite so serious when he was around. 

Jaskier pulled back, still grinning as he looked Geralt in the face. “I can’t believe you fell,” he said again, delight still coloring his tone. Geralt couldn’t find it in himself to be mad about it when Jaskier was grinning at him like that. There was still mud all over him, slicking down his carefully styled hair and covering one of his cheeks like a strange troubadour mask. Geralt raised a hand and wiped some of it away, the negative of his fingers showing in brown streaks across Jaskier’s cheekbone. He liked the look of it, he decided. 

“Keep talking like that and I’ll leave you down here for the drowners,” he said, trying for gruff and knowing that he just barely missed annoyed, landing dangerously close to fond. He stood, pulling Jaskier to his feet as well. “At least you brought the rope down with you.”

Jaskeir smiled broadly at him, and Geralt rolled his eyes even as he smiled back. “Never let it be said that I don’t have my uses,” Jaskier replied. 

“Can’t think of any at the moment,” Geralt said, and was rewarded by Jaskier shoving him down into the muddy water at their feet. It was his second time falling that day, but this time, for some reason, he found he didn’t mind.

~

thank you for the prompt my lovely! it was fun to write. sorry it ended up way closer to tender than funny - it seems I have only one setting lmao