Hi I just really, really wanted to write about an eldritch horror radio host and a listener with a huge vocal kink. I hope you enjoy :p I love Palos and will potentially make more content with him.
Radio Host!Eldritch Deity x Reader
Frequencies of Pleasure
Yeah, you had a guilty pleasure. Didn’t everyone?
Yours just so happened to be a certain late night radio host’s voice. Palos was what he called himself through inhumanly smooth purrs and a sinfully sweet laugh. Palos, your tight-knit town’s local eldritch deity that chained himself willingly to the radio waves and dedicated his nights to soothing insomniacs everywhere.
Every night at nine-on-the-dot, station number 86.1 would fizzle into a smooth hum. And every night, you’d tune in just a little bit earlier to make sure you caught his intro.
“Good evening, dear listener.” Always so soft into the microphone, like an intimate greeting meant only for you. Sometimes he’d change it up, and say, ‘lovely listener’ or ‘beloved attendee’.
No matter the wording, the way he said it curled and licked up your spine deliciously. Sometimes you felt a bit odd using his voice to fill some aching part of you. Blending reality and fantasy some nights when he would address the listener directly and you were a couple of bottles of wine deep. When you’d feel your fingers creep down to the desperate heat between your thighs— wondering if you’d feel the press of claws or if he had something akin to tentacles.
You’d never actually seen him. He chose to stay mostly residing in the darkened radio station at the center of town. The curiosity only fueled your borderline obsession with him.
Maybe that curiosity is what drove you to be bolder one night. Balancing a glass of red wine precariously between two fingers as you dialed up his radio station, a smirk playing over your lips.
Once a week, Palos had a segment where he accepted listener submitted slips. Whether it was a music request, a question directly for him, or a confession sent in anonymously, Palos read it out. Last week when he announced that the submission box was reopened, you jumped up. It took you three days to finally write something that didn’t make your insides want to shrivel up and die of embarrassment.
And even as you shoved the slip into the box outside of the station, you felt an immediate heat rush to your face at the thought of him reading it out.
But your mind was made.
Crackle… Shhhhhh—
“Ah… Good evening, cherished listener. I, Palos, have returned to you for another night of peace and company. Always such a pleasure to be with you.”
You settled back into the plush cushions of your couch, legs tucked beneath you as you nursed a glass of rosé. Your heart lurched the moment his voice poured through the dinky radio that sat atop your coffee table. Teasing your lower lip between your teeth, you leaned forward and turned the volume dial higher.
“If you have not done so already, please dim your lights, get yourself comfortable. I have some submissions to read to you tonight.”
Through the static, you could hear the soft shuffling of papers, along with a faint humming that you already familiarized with him. It sounded like a dozen frequencies stacked into one musical note. Something that often reminded you of his otherworldly existence, as if he himself was intertwined with the radio waves.
As he read through the submissions, you listened intently. Always falling into a sort of pattern where you could pretend he was sitting across from you, that gentle voice pointed directly at you.
Some were song requests that would break through the conversation Palos would have to his invisible audience. Never anything too heavy, no. He already stressed how important it was to keep the music peaceful. Some slower indie music, soft jazz, or even some deep soul music that made the longing twist into something worse.
Others were confessions. Some were used as a trauma dumping ground, listing off their hardest struggles. And Palos would click his tongue softly before replying with insightful and thoughtful advice. Every single time. Nothing anyone could say seemed to perturb him.
It wasn’t until he paused nearly an hour later, the sudden rough drag of him clearing his throat startling you. You didn’t realize that you’d nearly fallen asleep.
“Oh? Well, this is quite different than what I am used to.”
Your blood froze at the rich amusement that lingered in his words, a low purr lifting at the end of his sentence. “Oh no..” You slid the radio closer as you muttered to yourself, silently hoping someone else’s submission was far more interesting than yours.
“‘You’ve become something of a guilty pleasure of mine. I tune in to your station every night, and your voice has managed to find its way into my dreams. I don’t think I’ve heard someone sound so soothing and attractive at the same time.’”
And he laughed.
Oh god, it was such a velvety sound. And it shot straight between your thighs. It wasn’t his usual laugh— semi-amused and muffled by the press of his hand. This one was the kind that caught you off guard, delighted and surprised by such an admission. It curled out of the radio and seemed to caress your skin with its tenderness.
It took him a moment to continue, his breathing puffing softly into the microphone. The sound of it made you want to move closer to receiver, to feel any form of that breath fan across your cheek.
“I hope you are listening tonight then, dear.”
A softer purr, the crackling of the radio as his tone dipped to a frequency lower than what would pass for human. It elicited a shiver out of you, breath catching in your throat as you finally did move closer.
“I did not realize that my voice could become someone’s.. What was it? Guilty pleasure? I wonder what it is that causes you guilt, sweet listener. Pleasure is never meant to be shied away from. It is the basis of existence, after all.”
This night felt different. As he spoke to you, directly to you this time, you felt a warmth seeping through your veins. Your stomach twisted and knotted into something ferocious as your fingers slid over your thighs.
You heard him shift closer to the mic, his breathing somehow falling to match with yours.
“If it should cause you less guilt, my dear.. I would be most.. delighted if you used me and my voice as a source of your pleasure. After all, I am here to keep you company.”
His words made you squirm, thighs pressed together at the breathiness with which ‘pleased’ fell from his lips. You would even dare to believe there was a hint of a smile in his words. A part of you wondered just how connected to the radio Palos was. If he could pick out and figure out who you were just from the fact that you tuned in tonight.
After all, he chose to chain himself to the station. He was a deity, a being of chaos and shadows and everything you longed for and feared at the same time.
“I do hope you’ll continue to listen nightly, love. Perhaps I’ll see you in your dreams soon.”
