A/N: I will not be doing a "They Meet Your Parents" scenario, because no one's parents, if they have them, are the same. Or even close to the same. Therefore, dear reader, you get to meet your character of choice's parent(s) instead.

Dolores

You and Dolores were enjoying a quiet afternoon of hanging out when her door burst open, making both of you jump. An older woman with auburn hair and green eyes entered the room, tugging distractedly at her long braid and speaking before the door was even fully open. A little cluster of clouds followed her in.

"Dolores, I need you to help me find Antonio," she said. "I think he went off to play with some of the kids from town, but it's almost time for dinner and he's not—"

She stopped midsentence, noticing that Dolores wasn't alone in her room. Dolores stood up, but she didn't let go of your hand, and you could feel from her grip that she was nervous.

"Mamá," she said. "This is (Y/N)."

It made sense, even if the storm clouds hadn't given away that this was Pepa Madrigal. Dolores didn't look exactly like her mother, but she certainly resembled her. Something about the facial structure and the shape of her eyes.

"Hi," you said.

For a second, you thought you saw the little clouds darken. If they did though, it seemed to be passing surprise, because a moment later, Pepa was squeezing your cheeks, a little rainbow over her head.

"So this is my daughter's little girlfriend?" she exclaimed. "Ay, Dolores, you never told me how pretty she was!"

"Mamá!"

Dolores pulled her mother off of you, looking heartily embarrassed. "Let's go find Antonio," she said quickly. "(Y/N), I'll see you in a bit. This shouldn't take long."

She left with her mother, and you knew she heard you laughing afterwards.

Luisa

You were hanging out with Luisa, and it was great, right up until you tripped over nothing and scraped up your knee pretty badly on the stairs.

"(Y/N)! Are you all right?" Luisa knelt next to you. "No, stupid question, you're bleeding. Here, let me help you."

She helped you to your feet and began leading you downstairs.

"Where are we going?" you asked, trying to hold your skirt above your bleeding knee so that the fabric wouldn't soak up a bunch of blood. Still, you winced with every other step.

"To find my má. She can fix your knee."

Luisa got you to the kitchen, made sure you were comfortable in a chair, and then hurried off. A few minutes later, she reentered with a middle-aged woman who could only be her mother; the resemblance was strong.

"Mamá, this is (Y/N)," Luisa said. "She's the girlfriend I mentioned to you."

"Hey," you said, offering a small wave.

Julieta Madrigal smiled, a warm and gentle expression that immediately took away any of the tension you had over meeting your girlfriend's mother for the first time. "It's nice to meet you," she said. "Luisa's told me wonderful things about you. And also that you just hurt your knee."

"Yeah," you said, showing her the damage. "She said you could help me?"

"Of course," she said. She moved to a cabinet beside the oven and pulled out a basket of buñuelos. "I always keep a few extra things around, just in case."

She handed you one, and you took a bite. You'd heard about her healing gift, but you weren't prepared to experience it. The broken skin of your knee mended almost instantly, and the pain faded to a memory a moment after. All that was left was the blood around the erstwhile scrape. Julieta handed you a damp cloth for that.

"Thanks!" you said, recovering from your astonishment. "That's so cool!"

"I told you my má is awesome," Luisa said proudly.

"Ay, Luisa." Julieta smiled and patted her daughter's cheek, then wiped the sugar from her buñuelos off on a towel. "I'll see you at dinner, mija." She left, and Luisa helped you wipe the last traces of blood from your leg.

Bruno

You knew you were bound to run into Bruno's mother someday, seeing as you visited the Casita so often, but you weren't prepared when you turned the corner on your way to Bruno's room one day and almost walked into her. While she didn't look much like her son at all, you were still 100% sure that this was your boyfriend's mother.

"Sorry!" you said, hastily stepping back.

She gave you a strange look, doubtlessly wondering who in the world you were and why you were in her house. Which in all honesty, was fair.

"Can I help you, señorita?" she asked.

"I'm just here to see Bruno," you said.

"Oh." A dozen different emotions suddenly appeared behind her eyes, each struggling with the next. "Before you do," she said, "you have to understand that my son does not control the future. He cannot change it. You cannot blame him for what he sees. Do you understand?"

"Yes," you said. Weird thing for her to say, unless . . . oh goodness. "Um, I'm not here to ask for a vision," you said.

"You're . . . not?"

The poor woman looked so confused now, and you just wanted to crawl under a rock. Like a godsend, Bruno came out of his room at that moment, probably wondering what was keeping you. His eyes moved between you and his mother, and he processed the gist of the situation remarkably quickly. He moved to stand beside you and took your hand.

"Mamá, this is (Y/N)," he said. "She's my girlfriend. The one Pepa hasn't stopped talking about for at least a week."

Realization dawned on Alma, and she smiled. "I should have guessed," she said. "She's certainly as pretty as Pepa said. I'm sorry about the misunderstanding, (Y/N)."

"No worries."

Camilo

It was a lazy afternoon, perfect for hanging out with your boyfriend. You and Camilo were sprawled on your backs on the floor of his bedroom, you with your head on his shoulder, chatting about nothing important, when the door opened and someone came in, saying:

"Camilo, have you seen your brother? Your mother wants—"

Camilo sat up faster than you, and your head clunked to the floor.

"Ow!" you complained.

"Ay, (Y/N), I'm sorry!" Camilo quickly helped you sit up and began examining your head for injuries. "Are you hurt?"

"Not really," you said. "Just bonked."

"I'll make it better, then." He kissed the place where your head had hit the floor, and you smiled.

Someone cleared their throat, and you both froze. Right . . . someone else had walked in. The man stood with his arms folded, but a grin on his face very like the one you often saw on Camilo. His father Félix, unless you missed your guess.

"Is this your girlfriend, Camilo?" he asked. "The (Y/N) you're always talking about?"

"That's me," you said.

"Nice to meet you," Félix said, heading for the door. "I guess I should have knocked."

"Wait, what about Antonio and mamá?" Camilo asked. "You wanted—"

"Dolores can help instead," Félix said. "I'll leave you two alone."

"What?! We weren't—"

The door closed behind him, and Camilo smacked his forehead into his knees, face red.

"Dios mío," he muttered.

"Hey, he's just being a dad," you said, grinning.

"Yeah."

"A pretty cool dad, all things considered."

Camilo sighed. "Yeah, I guess so," he said. "But still."

You took his hands, effectively distracting him. "Hey," you said. "I don't think one kiss was enough to fix my head."

His grin returned in full force. "I'd better keep trying, then."

Mirabel

You had always expected to run into Mirabel's dad one day – but not literally. And certainly not while he was carrying a sack of flour. You both shrieked from the collision, and there was a sudden explosion of white powder as the flour burst open from the force of the impact. You found yourself on the floor a moment later, coated head to toe in flour. You tried to wipe the flour from your eyes, but as your hands were also covered, it didn't do much good. The man on the floor a bit away from you could only be Mirabel's father Agustín; for one thing, Mirabel had told you that he was the only other person in the family to wear glasses. You barely had a chance to recover your wits before an older woman who looked an awful lot like Mirabel poked her head around the corner. Doubtlessly Julieta, Mirabel's mother.

"Ay, Agustín! What a mess!" She approached the site of the disaster, then paused, noticing you on the floor as well.

"Oh. And who's this?"

"This is – I mean, I'm (Y/N)," you said.

"(Y/N)?" Agustín took off his glasses and tried to tap the flour from the lenses without success. "Isn't that the name of—" He stopped, squinting at you, then remembered his glasses and hastily put them back on. "You're Mirabel's girlfriend!" he said.

A snort of laughter from behind you made you turn around. Mirabel stood a few meters away, trying to fight down laughter as she surveyed the scene.

"Looks like you've met my parents, (Y/N)," she said.

"Yeah," you said. "You might even say we ran into each other."

She stepped closer and offered you a hand, grinning. "What say we get you cleaned up, then come back and introduce you properly?"

You took her hand, and she pulled you to your feet. "What say," you said.

Isabela

Isabela wanted to set up a new cactus garden in her room, and though you at first tried to help, Isabela demoted you to a watching-only basis after you pricked your fingers on cactus spines for the zillionth time in a row.

"What do you think?" she asked, holding up a cactus with a bright orange blossom. "Here—" she moved several steps to her left "—or here?"

"There," you said.

There was a sudden knock on her door. Isabela looked at the door, then at the armload of potted cacti she had just conjured into her arms.

"I'll get it," you offered.

"Thanks."

She began arranging the new pots while you moved to the door. You opened it, and a middle-aged woman in an apron began to say, "Isabela, do you think you could—" She stopped. "Oh. Hello."

"Hi," you said. Your eyes moved over the facial structure, the eye colour, the dark hair, albeit streaked with grey . . . "Are you Isabela's mother?"

"Yes, I'm Julieta," she said.

"I'm (Y/N)," you said.

Julieta broke into a smile. "You're the girlfriend she talks about," she said.

By now, Isabela had noticed what was happening and dropped her cacti to come and save your bacon. You stepped back.

"Isa, could I get you to grow me some cumin?" Julieta asked. "I started to make dinner and ran out."

"Of course, mamá."