Author's Note: There's this challenge floating around in the Glee section of the site that seems really interesting, I figure I'd try it here (: Basically, with iTunes on shuffle, write a fic based on the song (within the song's time restraints, of course).

I cheated a bit: I skipped songs, and I definitely had to pause to finish writing but I hope you'll enjoy these little ficlets all the same.

Can you tell I have a slight bias to a very talented piano man? () It took every ounce of my being not to just use all his songs (;

Oh, and self-discovery time! I love writing scenes. I love little scenes, without any sort of buildup or anything. I may take one of these and write a full story with it…we'll see.

-vee

Disclaimer: I don't own Princess and the Frog, nor do I own any of the (amazing) songs featured here.

On the Turntable

(Where Did My Baby Go? – John Legend)

He spotted her from afar, standing at a table, joking and laughing with a group of appreciative friends. He huffed, jealous, but made his way over to her.

"Excuse me, miss," he said in his most charming voice, taking her by surprise, "May I have this dance?"

She spun around, startled, but smiled.

"You sure your wife won't mind?"

"I honestly doubt that she will," he said, kissing her hand gently. "You see," he started, slowly, "I've been waiting to dance with her for quite some time, now."

"Have you?"

"Oh yes," he answered, leading her onto the dance floor. "But it seems that she would rather entertain her guests than be with her new husband."

She giggled. "That must be terrible," she said, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

"It is terribly lonely," he said. "There's no one to shove another slice of cake in my mouth, as newly weds usually do," he admitted, feigning embarrassment. "And unfortunately, there's no one to make conversation with by the punch bowl."

She giggled, delicately. "I'm sorry about that."

"Well," he sighed, "a beautiful woman such as yourself should be escorted, don't you think?"

"I do believe you're right."

He chuckled softly. "If you aren't doing anything this evening," he whispered, as the song drew to a close, "you can always come home with me."

She raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Only if you are free tonight!" He laughed nervously. "No pressure." He held her hands in his.

"Thanks for the offer," she said, a little quietly. "But I have plans tonight."

"With whom, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

"My new husband," she said, smiling widely. "I got our whole night planned out."

"Oh." He smiled, amused. "What have you got planned?"

She hesitated, but got up on her tiptoes and whispered something in his ear.

"Ashidanza!" He cracked his knuckles, grinning. "Lucky man."

(If I Ain't Got You – Alicia Keys)

"You know," Tiana said, carrying in two paint cans through the main entrance, "I could use a little help. Just sayin'."

"Very well," Naveen replied, tuning his ukulele. "Some music to paint to."

"I sure hope you don't think that's all you're gonna doin' today."

He strummed a few lighthearted chords. "I shall sing for you too!" He smiled, charming. "Any requests?"

Tiana kneeled over, to crack open one of the cans. "Why, yes. I do have a request," she said.

He raised his eyebrows at her expectantly.

"Do you know the song, 'My Husband Better Get His Behind to Work Otherwise He'll Be Sleeping on the Couch Tonight'?"

"Hmm…" he thought aloud. "I do not think I have ever heard that one before." He stopped strumming.

Tiana, back on her feet, snatched the instrument out of his hands. "You could always try and improvise," she suggested, placing the uke on one of the tables, far away from him.

Indignant, Naveen sighed, blowing hair out of his face. "I've never been able to do so well a cappella."

She rolled her eyes. "You really are incredible, you know that?" She held a paintbrush up for him to take.

He gingerly took the brush out from her grasp, and tossed it between his two hands. "I know," he said. "But you would not have me any other way."

(Gives You Hell – All-American Rejects)

It was a miracle, Charlotte thought, a true blue, honest to God miracle that she had managed to avoid him the whole night. She sashayed across the floor, quite confidently, winking at some of the other guests who were attending the Palace's grand opening and—

"Hello, Miss Charlotte!"

—she stopped dead in her tracks.

"Travis," Charlotte moaned, frustrated. "Not now. I promised Prince Rafael over there another dance." She winked across the dance floor at Naveen's younger brother, and waved.

Prince Rafael, however, whose face was completely covered in powdered sugar, was engrossed in trying to fit three whole beignets in his mouth.

Charlotte winced inwardly, only slightly disgusted. Travis didn't notice.

"Uh…Charlotte?"

"What, Travis."

"I wasn't gonna ask you to dance," he said, quietly, a little nervous. "I wanted to introduce you to my date, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth smiled shyly at Charlotte. "Hey there."

"Aww, Travis," Charlotte sighed, relieved, "I'm so happy for you!" She gave him a huge smile, and pulled him to the side. "She's a real pretty one," she said, "A real keeper."

"You think so?" he asked

"I know so," she assured him. "Now if you'll excuse me…" She smiled at the two of them before crossing over the dance floor. "Oh Prince Raffy!"

"You know," Travis began, folding his hands over the table. "I never expected that she'd take it that easy."

"Oh?" Elizabeth asked, taking a bite of her salad.

"Yeah," he said, only half believing his words, "She's hurting."

Elizabeth shrugged. "If you say so, sugar."

(Slow Dance – John Legend)

"You know, they wouldn't have called you if you didn't sign up," Tiana said softly, shaking her head.

Naveen adjusted the knob on the radio. "Well," he blew out, facing her, after landing on a jazz station, "at least it's France. They could have sent me to rainy old London." He chuckled dryly.

"Please don't make it a joke."

"I am not joking!" He patted his lap, an invitation for her to sit down. "Do you remember Paris?" he asked her, reminiscing about their honeymoon, and she nodded.

"Motorcycling down the boulevards..." Tiana mused.

"French kissing aux Champs-Elysées..." He pressed his lips to hers. "Always fun."

She gave him a small smile. "Isn't our daughter in the next room?"

"Tucked away and fast asleep, Madame Stick-in-the-Mud. We both checked," he laughed, "or have you already forgotten?"

"Watch your tongue." She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning in to give him another kiss. "Just remember: I took your last name, Mr. Stick-in-the-Mud."

A trumpet peeked in through the speakers, filling up the emptiness in living room.

"Would you like a dance?" He took her hands in his.

"Just one dance?"

He shrugged as she got up, their fingers still entwined.

"Stop moving as though you have frog legs," he said, as they began swaying with each other.

She raised an eyebrow. "Pardon me?"

"Maybe you should try letting me lead," he suggested, dipping her. "Like the way you used to when you thought you could not dance."

He smirked as he pulled her up, back into his embrace, but she shuddered, stifling tears.

"I don't feel like dancing anymore," Tiana whispered. Naveen tightened his grip around her. She pursed her lips together before adding, "Just make sure you get back here in one piece." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "I don't need another photograph of a dead soldier on our mantle." Her eyes wandered to her father's portrait over the fireplace.

"I will be home soon enough," he said into her ear. "Everything will turn out alright."

She let out a heavy hearted sob into his shoulder before looking up at him.

"Naveen," she said quietly, "I'm pregnant."

He hugged her closer, running his fingers through her hair, but didn't say anything.

The trumpet's notes rang through, clear and strong, piercing through the silence.

(Like a Star – Corinne Bailey Rae)

Her eyes were like stars, twinkling against a night sky. She was glittering and beautiful and amazing; it was like holding the entire universe in his hands.

"You're staring again," Tiana said, smiling. "What's on your mind?"

"You are." Naveen smirked, handsomely, dropping delicate kisses across her collarbone.

"Shameless flatterer." She laughed, tickled.

"I thought you loved my shameless flattery!"

"I do," she said, softly. "I do."

He kissed along the length of her neck, trailing his fingers about her waist, her hips, her thighs—

She stopped his fingers from wandering too far. "You got soft hands," Tiana admitted, kissing his palms. "Real soft. Baby soft."

Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed outside.

"But I think I actually feel some… calluses on your fingertips?" Tiana's eyes widened, amused. "What have you done to get calluses on your fingertips?"

"You really think I'm incapable of doing anything, don't you!" Naveen feigned offense.

"You said it," she replied, smiling. "I never said that."

He shrugged, reflecting. "Poetry," he said, finally. "The art of literature is quite trying on the fingertips."

"And how exactly does writing poetry give you calluses?"

"Typing!" he exclaimed. "I used to use my father's old typewriter. That old machine was exceptionally uncooperative."

"Poor baby," she giggled. "That mean, old typewriter sure did a number on your fingers, huh?"

"You laugh," he said, "but you never had to type out a hundred years of Maldonian history on that thing."

"And, I'm certain, neither have you." She thought she had him caught in a lie, and she smirked, knowingly. She gave his hands a squeeze.

Naveen exhaled. "I had a very demanding History tutor."

"Mhm…" she hummed, not believing.

He nodded. "It's true."

"But seriously," she pleaded, "Tell me. How'd you get them?"

He sighed, giving in. "Steel strings, mostly. Figuring out chords on guitars and other similar instruments."

"You should play for me, some time."

"That can be arranged."