Fandom Imagines

Secret Hair Dye (Pete Wentz)

~I know in reality he has a son, but for the imagine I changed it to a daughter. Okay? Good? Yeah? Good. -B❤️~

You entered your house after a long day of work, planning on taking a long, hot bath and propping your feet up. Then you remembered that you were a mother, so you did not get those kinds of luxuries anymore. Unless, of course, your loving husband, Pete, was willing to entertain your four-year-old for the evening.

You set your things down on the kitchen counter when you noticed something odd: the house was silent. No squeals or giggles, pitter patter of feet, or way-too-loud cartoons playing. Just silence.

"Peter?" You called.

No response.

"Peter?" You called up the stairs.

You heard the door to your daughters room open and your husband reply, "Yes, babe?"

"What are you two doing up there? It's awful quiet," you called.

"We were just finishing up something, we'll be right down!" He replied.

That's odd, you thought.

Shrugging, you went to the kitchen and prepared the oven to bake a frozen pizza for dinner. So much for a healthy and nutritious meal.

The oven beeped and you put the pizza in when your two favorite people entered the kitchen.

"Hi, mommy!" Your four-year-old daughter, Harlow, greeted you, snickering.

"What's so funny, baby-" you began but turned to see your daughter in black tights, a flaming red tutu, her tiny, black Rolling Stones tee shirt, and a black beanie that hid her hair. You almost had to do a double-take when you noticed her on-point eyeliner lining her hazel-brown eyes.

"Well don't you look like a little punk princess," you said, stunned, "Did Daddy give you a makeover?"

"Yep, but you can't see my hair," she said proudly.

Your eyes shot to your husband, "Why not?" You said.

"RUN!" He shouted, picking up your daughter and running off with her.

You took off your oven mitts and chased after them. He ran with her outside. You chased them around the pool, around trees, around the dog house, between the pool chairs, on the porch, and back inside where you finally lunged and wrapped your arms around your husband's middle, pulling them to a stop.

"Gotcha!" You shouted, out of breath.

Your daughter giggled mischievously as you carefully peeled the beanie off her head.

You gasped, her once dark brown, fluffy curls were now flat ironed and dyed red. Not just part of it, and not a soft red. All of her hair was now a mirror of Gerard Way's red style.

"YOU DYED OUR DAUGHTERS HAIR?!" You exclaimed.

"She wanted her hair colored so I did! Before you kill me, it's a special dye made for kids so it should wash completely out within two weeks," he said.

"Two weeks?! Peter we have my family coming this weekend, and Easter this Sunday, and next week is her ballet recital!" You ranted.

"But it looks good on her, babe! And it makes her happy," he said, and your daughter nodded with a toothy grin.

"Well there's nothing we can do now. Just make sure she wears colors that go with her hair, we can't have you clashing on us," you said with an eventual smile. Thankfully her ballet outfit was black too.

"Good thing Daddy bought all those black jeans and black and red shirts for you today, huh?" Pete said, turning to his daughter.

"Mmmhm! Promise you'll do my eyeliner every day too, Daddy?" She pleaded.

You shot him a stern look, "We'll talk about that after Mommy leaves for work tomorrow."

He kissed her cheek and told her to run upstairs and play. She did just that, her long, bright red hair flowing behind her.

"I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I?" Pete asked once she was out of sight.

"Nope," you shook your head, giving him a stern look.

"Hey, at least now we won't lose her in Walmart," be joked. You slapped his chest.

"Ouch! Okay, okay, I deserved that," he chuckled as the two of you returned to the  kitchen.