A bunch of imagines about the one and only, Roger Meddows Taylor. You can picture Ben!Roger if you prefer; it's all up to you! Enjoy, Queenies!
We need a Queen fandom revival...
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Chicago, 1974
Your hands fumbled around the bar, fishing green bottled beers from a sea of cubed ice, pouring spirit into glasses, wiping down sticky counters. Friday nights were your favorite to work because you could lose yourself in the never-ending stream of drunkards and their drink orders and discombobulated stories told in slurred sentences. Your mind never strayed further than memorizing drinks and making them; you didn't have to worry about your thoughts as deep and dark as the lake found in the surrounds of your city.
You didn't intend on staying with this job for too long, it was simply a temporary gig to get you through school. Psychology would command the rest of your life. It wasn't your true ambition, it didn't light your soul with passion like artistry did. Although not a professional of any sort, you loved doing your friend's hair and makeup, the process of chipping away at someone's insecurities to find the true beauty within. But it was a hobby, and it would never become anything more.
Tonight, a small band was playing, known as Queen. You knew little to nothing about them, only that they originated from England, the motherland of the musical greats of your generation. You were wiping down a counter drenched in Coke when you overheard two small-boned brunettes speaking in bright voices.
"No, I'm being serious, have you seen the drummer?" The brunette with golden hoops and an orange sundress questioned her friend, "He's gorgeous, Amy, he is. He's got this long blond hair, and these muscles, God his muscles are huge!" She made exaggerated gestures around her arms, signifying the drummer's allegedly buff physique. Your eyes became unfocused, your mind beginning to craft an image of the drummer, what he might look like.
The shorter brunette with a low-cut blouse looked at her friend, the bottom of her face hidden by her drink. She just smiled in return, nodding along, until her gaze adverted towards you. You were so startled you almost jumped, quickly returning to wiping down the counter, ashamed that you'd been caught eavesdropping, but your face held a small smirk. The girl with the gold hoops had planted an image in your head that you were curious to confirm reality.
Thirty minutes passed by until you began hearing a commotion brewing towards the back of the floor, people beginning to gather around the stage, leaving your bar empty. Finally, you could slow down and *breathe*. Dani, your favorite co-worker sauntered towards you, escaping the two drunk men on her side of the bar that were attempting to throw game at her. Her pale arms were outstretched, begging for a hug from you. Giggles escaped your lips as you two embraced each other, sweaty and overheating and laughing with relief at the dispersion of the drunk people. She pulled away from you, her blue eyes sparkling and her eyebrows wiggling, hinting she was up to no good.
"So uh, Y/N? Yea, we have to do something, like really bad," she told you, her hands gripping onto yours. You cocked your head to the side, confused at her sentiment.
"What are you talking about, my Dani?" You questioned, an amused smile on your face as you watched her eyes widen even further.
"The band! Oh my gosh, the band! They're so good! We have to get their autographs, or into their beds, I don't care which comes first, but I need it to happen," she gushed, shaking both of your hands in wild excitement. Your jaw dropped as you scoffed at her bold words.
