#btsdads

Warnings: Mild language, grief mention (loss of a parent), ADHD & neurodivergence themes, chaotic redecorating.

Rating: General

Genre: BTS AU, Parent, Slice of Life, Fluff with Feelings, Soft Angst, Found Family

Pairings: None (Parent-Child Relationship)

Featuring: Single Dad J-Hope, ADHD!Lumi, chaotic home projects, lots of paint, and heartwarming family moments.

Word count: ~720

Chapter 1: Orange Hair, Orange Walls

The front door clicked shut, and J-Hope sighed, shrugging off his jacket as the faint smell of acrylic paint hit him before he’d even reached the stairs. Weird. His rehearsals had run late—BTS’s upcoming tour prep was relentless—but he’d texted Lumi three hours ago. They’d replied with a single frog emoji, which he’d learned long ago could mean anything from “I’m alive!” to “I’ve adopted six snails from the garden.”

He paused outside their bedroom door, hearing nothing but the muffled thump of Halsey’s Nightmare through the walls. Then he pushed it open.

“Lumi-ya—”

The scene was chaos.

Their pristine beige room—the one he’d helped design, all minimalist shelves and trailing pothos plants—looked like a rainbow had detonated. Newspapers carpeted the floor, splattered with orange paint. A half-finished checkerboard wall glared back at him, blue painter’s tape peeling at the edges. And in the centre of it all, Lumi lay starfished on the floor, orange-streaked hair fanning out like a neon halo, their oversized denim overalls (his, stolen last week) splotched with paint. A frog-shaped ring glinted on their thumb as they drummed it absently against the floor.

“Hi, Appa,” they said, not moving. Their voice was bright but edged with the shaky hyperactivity he recognized—ADHD brain in overdrive after hours alone.

J-Hope blinked. “Did you… ask to redecorate?”

“I texted you!” They sat up abruptly, pulling out their phone. A screenshot flashed—a 2 PM message buried under his notifications. Lumi: gonna fix my walls. Boring. Will clean after pinky swear!!!

“Lumi. Aigoo.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, but the corners of his mouth twitched. The checkerboard was… oddly satisfying. Beige and burnt orange, crisp lines (mostly), though one square near the window was smudged where they’d clearly gotten distracted.

They scrambled up, eyes wide and pleading behind smudged graphic liner—electric blue today, with tiny glittering frogs stamped at the corners. “It’s dopamine style, Appa! Look—” They grabbed their tablet, pulling up a Pinterest board titled ROOM = BRAIN? “See? Checkerboards, rugs, neon signs! I’ll paint the furniture too—look, we can use foil for the dresser, and I’ll make plant pots shaped like frogs—”

“You painted the walls,” he interrupted, trying to sound stern. But they were bouncing now, words spilling out like a shaken soda can.

“I protected the floor! And the tape’s removable! And I’ll fix the smudges and—oh! Look.” They darted to the wall, pointing at a crooked square. “I thought… maybe three ‘wrong’ squares? Pink, blue, green? Like… rebelling against the grid?” Their voice softened, hesitant. “It’s… dumb?”

J-Hope’s chest tightened. They’d gotten that look from their mom—the slight pout, the way their freckles creased when they bit their lip. Six years since the accident, and still, he saw her in every flicker of their bravery.

He grabbed a spare brush from the paint tray. “Pink here,” he said, tapping the smudged square. “Blue… there. Green in that corner.”

Lumi’s grin could’ve powered Seoul’s neon signs.

---

Two hours later, the checkered wall stood complete, three “off” squares glowing like hidden gems. J-Hope sat cross-legged on the newspapered floor, orange paint streaking his sweatpants, as Lumi rambled about disco ball planters and a rug shaped like a giant sunflower.

“And we can hang my vinyls here—I’ll paint the edges rainbow! And the window—imagine the bottom pane gradient like…” They mimed exploding colours with their hands, nearly knocking over a paint can.

He caught it, laughing. “Tomorrow. After rehearsals. We’ll hit Dongdaemun for supplies.”

“Really?” They launched into a hug, their strawberry-iced tea scent mixing with acrylic.

“But you,” he poked their nose, leaving an orange dot, “...are explaining to Yoongi why I’m covered in paint.”

They snorted. “Uncle Yoongi wishes he had my aesthetic.”

Downstairs, the doorbell rang—takeout tteokbokki, extra cheese, no spice. As they clattered down, Lumi’s laughter echoed off the half-transformed walls, and J-Hope paused, staring at the vibrant chaos.

Warnings: Mentions of past self-harm, grief, trauma, healing themes, emotional vulnerability

Rating: G

Genre: BTS AU, Parent, Slice of Life, Fluff, Healing

Word Count: ~700

Chapter 3: Neon Sunsets and Puffer Jacket Promises

The car ride was a riot of colour and noise. Lumi had commandeered the aux cord the second they’d buckled in, and now Harry Styles’ Watermelon Sugar blasted through the speakers, the bass thumping like a second heartbeat. They sang along at full volume, knees bouncing, fingers drumming the window in a chaotic rhythm only they understood.

“Tastes like strawberries on a summer evenin’…!” they belted, kicking their mismatched Vans against the dashboard. The sun streaked through the window, turning their orange-streaked hair into liquid gold.

J-Hope gripped the steering wheel, half-laughing, half-wincing. “You’re gonna dent my car, Lumi-ya.”

“You’ll thank me when we’re vibing in my dopamine room!” they shouted back, spinning a gummy bear bracelet around their wrist. Their green eyeliner had smudged into a rebellious haze, making their freckles pop like constellations.

He glanced at them—really looked—and felt that familiar ache in his chest. Four years ago, Lumi had sat in this same seat, silent and hollow-eyed, sleeves pulled over fresh cuts. Back then, they’d flinched at loud noises, at bright colours, at their reflection. Now they were a supernova, burning too fast, too bright, and he’d let the universe collapse before he dimmed that light again.

---

The mall loomed ahead, its glass façade glittering like a promise. Lumi lunged for the door handle before he’d even parked.

“Seatbelt. Now.” J-Hope caught the back of their rainbow sweater vest, yanking them gently into their seat. “You’re not a feral cat, ya?”

“Debatable!” they chirped, but slumped back, vibrating. “Disco balls, Appa. Disco. Balls.”

“Disco balls,” he repeated, killing the engine. The sudden silence felt sacred. Lumi’s breath hitched, their eyes wide and wild, fingers twisting a frog ring like a prayer bead.

He reached over, stilling their hand. “Breathe. It’s not a race.”

They nodded, cheeks flushed, but their knee kept jiggling. “I just… need it to be perfect. Like my brain’s finally outside, you know?”

He knew. After the accident, they’d refused to sleep in any room that looked “too much like a hospital.” Beige walls, white sheets—it had taken months to convince them they were safe. Now they wanted to explode safely, and he’d hand them the matches.

“Perfect’s boring,” he said, flicking their nose. “Let’s get weird.”

---

The mall swallowed them whole. Lumi darted ahead, their star-patched jeans flashing like a disco ball in motion. J-Hope trailed behind, mentally tallying their Pinterest list: checkerboard rug, neon signs, skateboard shelves… Wait.

“Lumi-ya!” he called, jogging to catch up. “The flower ceiling lamp—!”

They froze mid-skip, shoulders slumping. “Oh. Right.” Their voice cracked, just barely. “It… sold out online. But it’s fine! We’ll improvise! Maybe… origami cranes? Or glow-in-the-dark stickers—!”

They were ramping up again, words tripping over themselves. J-Hope pulled them into a side hug, ignoring the stares of passing teens. “We’ll find something better. Swear.”

“Better than a flower lamp?” They scoffed, but leaned into him, their dopamine jewellery clinking softly. “Doubt.”

He steered them toward the home decor section, where a neon ~v i b e s~ sign flickered ominously. “You once turned my old socks into a ‘statement art installation.’ I believe in you.”

Lumi snorted, ducking under his arm. “It was avant-garde and you know it.”

---

Later the mall’s sliding doors hissed shut behind them, but Lumi lingered, their eyes glued to a mannequin in the Calvin Klein store window. The puffer jacket was thick, and sleek—normal, by their standards—but something about the way it hung, boxy and defiant, made their fingers twitch. They could style this. Add patches, safety pins, maybe bleach the sleeves…

J-Hope followed their gaze, already pulling out his wallet. “Size?”

“Appa, no—” Lumi grabbed his arm, cheeks flushing. “We already spent so much. The neon signs, the rug, the—the disco ball planter—”

“And the disco ball planter is a necessity,” he said flatly, steering them inside. The sales associate lit up, but J-Hope waved them off. “We’ll just… look.”

Lumi didn’t argue again. They stood statue-still as he zipped them into the jacket, their reflection in the mirror a clash of contradictions—glossy puffer fabric swallowing their rainbow sweater vest, frog rings peeking out from the cuffs.

“Perfect,” J-Hope declared.

“It’s expensive,” they whispered.

He turned them to face him, hands on their shoulders. “You’re worth every won. Always.”

They didn’t cry. Not here. But their throat bobbed, eyes glazing over like they were rewinding every time they’d apologized for existing after their mom’s death. For the scars, the silence, the way they’d whispered “I’m sorry” like a mantra.

“Okay,” they croaked. “Okay.”

---

Back at the car, Lumi helped load the bags in silence. Disco balls clinked, neon signs rattled, and the skateboard shelves jutted awkwardly from the trunk. When J-Hope shut the hatchback, they finally broke.

“I’m exhausting,” they blurted, tears spilling. “I talk too much, I spend too much, I—I painted the wall and you just—”

He pulled them into a hug, their face smushed against the puffer jacket. “You’re alive,” he murmured into their hair, still flecked with orange paint. “You’re here. That’s all I need.”

They clung to him, trembling, until the mall’s parking lot lights flickered on.

---

The drive home was quiet. Lumi curled into the passenger seat, the new jacket swallowing them whole, and stared at the neon signs glowing in the backseat. SUN, CLOUD, BE HAPPY, Outside, Seoul blurred into streaks of gold and shadow.

By the time they hit the highway, Lumi was asleep—head lolling, frog ring catching the streetlights. J-Hope kept glancing over, memorizing the peace on their face. No jittering legs, no frantic Pinterest scrolling. Just soft breaths and smudged green eyeliner.

Four years ago, he thought, they’d hidden in hospital corners, slicing skin to feel something. Now they’d turned their room into a kaleidoscope, stolen his clothes, and danced like the world owed them joy.

His phone buzzed—a text from Jin.

Did they burn down Dongdaemun?

He snapped a pic of Lumi’s knocked-out form, neon signs glowing like guardians in the back.

Worse. They discovered capitalism.

When they pulled into the driveway, Lumi stirred, blinking groggily. “Did we… get the curtains?”

“Green ones. To match the rug.”

“And the… skateboard shelves?”

“Looking dangerously cool.”

They yawned, hugging the jacket tighter. “S’good.”

He reached over, squeezing their hand. “Ready to turn your room into a dopamine bomb?”

They smiled, small but sure. “Yeah.”

Inside, the house waited—once completely beige walls ready to bleed colour, blank ceilings begging for neon suns. J-Hope carried Lumi’s bags upstairs, step by step, heartbeat by heartbeat.

Their mother would’ve loved this.

Warnings: ADHD energy, chaotic kid antics, mild swearing, extreme amounts of glitter

Rating: G (AU, Fluff, Comedy, Parent)

Genre: BTS AU, Parent, Slice of Life, Fluff with Feelings, Soft Angst, Found Family

Word count: ~ 900

Chapter 2: Practice, Paint, and Peach Iced Tea

Lumi’s mismatched Vans tapped impatiently against the studio floor as J-Hope adjusted his headband, shooting them a behave glare that they promptly ignored. The BTS rehearsal space buzzed with warm-up stretches and half-hearted debates about lunch orders. But the second the members spotted Lumi leaning against the mirrored wall, chaos erupted.

“LUMMMIIII!” Jungkook launched across the room first, nearly tripping over his sweatpants to ruffle their orange-streaked hair. “Where’s my frog painting? You promised!”

“It’s drying, Uncle Koo,” they laughed, dodging his noogie attempt. “You can’t rush art.”

Jimin swooped in next, squishing their cheeks. “Look at this outfit. Are you trying to outshine us?” He gestured at their rainbow sweater vest, star-patched jeans, and glittering gummy bear necklace. “Stealing your appa’s drip, huh?”

“It’s called collaboration,” Lumi retorted, sticking out their tongue.

Jin materialized with a bag of strawberry gummies. “Eat. You’re skinnier than Yoongi’s patience.”

“Yah!” Yoongi didn’t look up from his water bottle, but his lips twitched. “Keep the chaos contained, Hob-ah. Last time they ‘helped’ with choreography, I found glitter in my shoes for weeks.”

“Glitter’s a lifestyle, Uncle Yoongi,” Lumi chirped, popping a gummy into their mouth.

---

Rehearsals began, and Lumi melted into the back corner, subtly mirroring the choreo for Dynamite. At first, they matched J-Hope’s steps perfectly—sharp, precise, all sunshine energy. But by the second run-through, their ADHD brain kicked in. They started improvising: adding exaggerated arm waves, a cheeky body roll during Namjoon’s verse, and a freestyle frog-hop move that had Jimin snort-laughing mid-spin.

“Yah, Lumi-ya!” J-Hope fake-scolded, sweat dripping down his neck. “Are you mocking me?”

“Never!” they gasped, batting their green-lined eyes. “Just… evolving the art!”

Taehyung threw them a water bottle. “Next tour, you’re our backup dancer. Namjoon-hyung can’t two-step to save his life.”

“I heard that!” Namjoon called from the speakers, but he was grinning.

---

During the break, Jin reappeared with a grande strawberry-peach iced tea, straw already pierced. “For the artist,” he announced, bowing dramatically.

Lumi seized it like a lifeline. “Marry me, Uncle Jin.”

“Tempting, but your appa would cry. Besides marrying is Yoongi's job.”

J-Hope flopped onto the floor beside them, towelling off his hair. “Speaking of art… Guess who painted their bedroom wall checkerboard yesterday?”

The room erupted.

“Without asking?” Jimin gasped, clutching his chest. “Rebellious phase! Finally!”

Yoongi pointed at J-Hope’s paint-stained sneakers. “And you helped? Parenting fails.”

“It was symbolic!” Lumi protested, waving their iced tea. “The three ‘wrong’ squares represent, like… breaking societal norms or whatever.”

Namjoon nodded solemnly. “Deep. Very Banksy of you.”

Taehyung fake-whispered to Jungkook, “Next they’ll graffiti Yoongi’s studio.”

“I’ll disown you all,” Yoongi deadpanned.

---

By 3 PM, Lumi’s energy was a live wire. They’d danced through every song, redesigned Jin’s shoelaces into “abstract art,” and rambled nonstop about dopamine decor. But as the group debated the bridge of Butter, J-Hope noticed their leg jiggling wildly, their fingers twisting a frog ring round and round.

“Wrap it up,” he called abruptly, cutting off Jungkook’s drumming experiment. “We’ll pick this up Monday.”

The members followed his gaze to Lumi, now pacing by the mirrors, muttering about “neon hexagons” and “disco ball terrariums.”

“Go,” Jin shooed them, smirking. “Before they short-circuit.”

---

Goodbyes were a blur of hair ruffles, promises to “stay safe” by Namjoon, and a fist bump from Jungkook - “Frog painting. Soon.”. Lumi practically vibrated into the passenger seat of J-Hope’s car, their rainbow socks glowing against the dashboard.

“Dongdaemun. Dongdaemun. Dongdaemun,” they chanted like a mantra, kicking their feet.

J-Hope started the engine, side-eyeing their neon-green eyeliner and the BT21 pin gleaming on their vest. “You know we’re just buying supplies, right? Not… burning down the mall?”

“Appa.” They grinned, buckling their seatbelt with a click. “I make no promises.”

As they pulled onto the highway, Lumi cranked up Halsey’s I am not a woman, I’m a god, singing off-key and air-drumming. J-Hope let them ride the dopamine high, stealing glances at their reflection—paint still clinging to their hairline, freckles smudged with glitter, alive and unstoppable.