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“So that Bruxa— three heads, huh? Spits venom, I think, you’re probably gonna get back extra grouchy.” Jaskier presses his lips together, cheeks puffing up to keep from bursting out laughing as Geralt grits his teeth.
“And they have three dicks, don’t they? Or maybe that was an incubus? Never can be too sure with dick-related matters, honestly. Surely you’ve fucked one? No? Shame, maybe I should—” Amber eyes turn to him, annoyance bordering on fury raging in them, “Yeah, maybe I should find one since you’re so busy making your potions— don’t you think, Roach? I’d adore to be fucking railed—”
“Bard!” It’s more of a roar, songbirds fluttering out of trees as his witcher glares at him. Jaskier stumbles to his feet, taking off into a sprint with a dumbass grin on his face as Geralt’s footsteps follow. “I’m going to rip your dick clean off, Jaskier!”
Jaskier laughs, melodic and mischievous, and runs deeper into the woods.