I'm in Love with a Stripper (a One Direction Fanfiction)

After the tragic loss of her parents, Leila Karim abandons her life in Bradford and sets her sights on London. Working as a stripper at Victory Strip Club under the stage name Bambi, ex-best friend and pop superstar Zayn Malik is the last person Leila expected to be sitting in the audience watching her undress. Will Leila find herself falling for Zayn all over again or will cheeky Harry Styles win her heart instead?


1. Bambi

I'm In Love With a Stripper:



My name is Leila Karim, and for a girl of nineteen, I don’t lead the most conventional life. Nor do I have the most conventional career. While other girls of my age are paid to fold and refold clothing, my job involves not wearing any. I’ve worked as a part-time stripper at the rundown strip club Victory located in the heart of London for the past two years since I lost my parents. I said my goodbyes to Bradford and my old life, but my goals are still very much alive. I plan to go to school and make a name for myself as a lawyer as I’ve always planned on doing. I’ve lost myself, but not completely. I am Leila by day, and Bambi by night. Although I must admit, being Bambi is so much more fun.




I could hear Kitty’s set winding to a close. Kitty had been dancing to Marilyn Manson’s ‘Sweet Dreams’. I personally preferred the original. Being the youngest stripper on the payroll, I consistently had to develop original routines, but most of all I had to look the part and be more for the lack of a better word, adventurous.


I examined myself cautiously in the mirror that had been strategically placed by the stage entrance for last minute touch ups. Kitty had chided me into going down a more risky path today than my usual private school girl get up. Today I was clad in a black lace bustier and matching underwear, accompanied by black thigh high tights held up by silk garters. My feet were tucked snugly into six inch black stilettos adorned with a small red bow on each, the bright red lipstick I had slathered on my lips complimenting my tanned skin and startling black hair. As a final touch, I incorporated a red Venetian style mask attached to a stick that I would hold up in front my face during the beginning of the performance. Mystery and sensuality were my specialties, and I was certain that this outfit would meet those requirements.


“You’re on in one minute Bambi.” Tommy, the flamboyantly gay manager of Victory whispered, breaking my train of thought.


“Right.” I answered nervously. Even though I had done this countless times before, pre-performance jitters never failed to appear.


The stage was in darkness. My eyes quickly adjusted and I made my way over to the stage prop that had been arranged for my set, a Victorian style red sofa. Perching upon it delicately, I held the mask up in front of my face just as the song ‘How Long’ by Out Hud began. The synthesizers blared through the speakers dirtily, and within moments I was no longer Leila, the shy reserved girl with fantastic grades from Bradford, but a stripper with a filthy attitude by the name of Bambi. The lights suddenly illuminated the entire stage.


How long has it been since then?


I spread my legs boldly. Standing from the sofa, I smoothly walked over to my pole with my mask still in hand. I ran my hand down the length of it as I slid down. The stage was surrounded by men, observing me hungrily although their faces were obscured by the bright lights. Bending over, I took my mask away from my face and ran it over a boy’s crotch. He had curly hair, bright green eyes and a devious smirk playing on his lips. He had to have been eighteen at the least; otherwise I was rubbing the crotch of a minor.


Without breaking eye-contact he tucked a wad of bills into my panties and whispered “Nice.” huskily. I left the mask with him.


I returned to my pole, lifting myself onto it and spinning gracefully. I once again made eye-contact with the handsome boy with curly hair. I decided he would be my object of focus. I usually chose one for each performance. I allowed my eyes to bore into his as I began to unclasp my bustier from the front. Letting it slide of, I felt the cool air hit my bare chest as I slid down the pole with my back, crouching in front of him. The boy’s eyes took me in appreciatively and then returned to my face. He reached out, running his hand over my thigh.


“Touching is extra, love.” I said with a wink and a smile.


“That can be arranged.” He replied, his eyes sparkling and his voice thick with lust.


I threw half away.

Lay Low.

You're gonna be okay.


I prepared for my final move. Securing my grip, I threw my legs upwards, wrapping them around the pole. Slowly I began to slide down the length of it upside down. I could see the boy with curly hair holding the mask up in front of his face, jovially showing it off to the other boys he sat with. The one on his right clapped his back in approval but the one on his left sat still, starring at me in shock. The light cascaded over his face and suddenly it all made sense; the boy with the curly hair, the one beside him clad in stripes, and finally the one with dark hair falling over his forehead and eyes that I would recognize anywhere.


Zayn.” I whispered in horror.


Lay Low.

Lay Low.


And the lights went out.




“There’s a guy here to see you Bambi,” Tommy said hesitantly, looking over his shoulder into the hallway. Turning back he whispered “He’s bloody fit, might I add.” Raising his eyebrows suggestively.


“I don’t want to see him,” I said, reapplying my red lipstick with indifference knowing very well who it was waiting outside my door. “Tell him to go, please.” I was done with that part of my life. I was done with him years ago, had packed him away in a shoebox and he had been there since.


Tommy tsked “I’m afraid I can’t do that sweetheart.”


“What d’you mean you can’t?” I turned around in my seat, clenching my teeth together ferociously; a powder brush was now clutched tightly in my left hand.


Tommy ripped his sleeve upwards; a gold watch that looked all too much like a Rolex adorned his wrist. “What can I say? I’m a whore for pretty things.” He chuckled lightly.


I stared at him incredulously before turning back to the mirror, inspecting myself one last time, a notable grimace plastered on my face.


“Send him in then.” I spat, causing Tommy to jump. Standing up I secured my robe around me, ready to face the boy from my past, the boy who I never thought I’d see again, who I never wanted to see again.


Shortly after Tommy exited, the door opened quietly, and in came Zayn Malik as casually as he would have three years before. He had grown taller and his face had hardened, losing the softness of his youth. He had become the lady killer I always knew he’d become.


Keeping a safe distance, Zayn simply observed me, checking to see that it truly was his childhood friend who had been gyrating her hips on stage. As he did this, I took the chance to look at him further. Zayn was clad in a red plaid shirt and black leather jacket, his grey jeans tucked haphazardly into unlaced black boots. His hair fell across his forehead instead of being styled upwards as I had seen countless times in the tabloids. I never went searching for him, but sometimes I’d flip a page only to be met with those eyes that I used to know so well, the eyes that curiously examined me now.


“It really is you.” Zayn concluded, walking towards me. His voice as velvety and charming as it had been, only deeper.


I stepped back away from him, causing him to cease his approach. “How can I help you?” My voice was as icy as I’d intended it to be.


“What are you doing here, Leila?” Zayn asked quietly, ignoring my protest and walking right up to me, his face inches away from mine, his warm eyes searching my deep brown ones.


“I work here.” I said matter-of-factly, resisting his efforts to break my cold exterior. How easy it would be to wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze him tightly as I used to. This was harder, more confusing.


“Well that’s news to me!” He exclaimed heatedly.


News to you?” My voice began to raise, emotions I had been keeping hidden for years coming to the surface. “We haven’t spoken in three years and you expect to be kept up to date with my life?” I was yelling now.


“No, what’s news to me is how a straight A student with all the opportunity in the world ended up working as,” Zayn struggled with the last word, ending up whispering it “a stripper?”


“You’re not offending me by calling me a stripper, Zayn” I sneered “that is my occupation. Just like a doctor, lawyer, or pop star except in my line of work I happen to get naked.”


I got the reaction I wanted out of him, his eyebrows raising momentarily at the mention of me without my clothes on. A faint blush raised on his cheeks as he thought back to my performance. Ha. Of course he enjoyed it. I looked so different compared to the last time he had seen me, at home in Bradford. I took my chance to rub it in.


“Have they hooked you on drugs?” Zayn suddenly took my face into his hand, turning it from left to right. “Your pupils look a bit dilated.”


I slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me.” My eyes began to water. This was all to overwhelming for me. I was leading a peaceful life and minding my own business. What had I done to deserve this? Why had they walked into my club of all the places in London?


I paused momentarily before continuing, “I don’t know what you want from me, but all I know is I can’t give it to you.” My voice was thick with emotion. He had to leave now.


Zayn’s face contorted. “I realized that I fucked up proper by leaving without saying goodbye.” He said vehemently, taking my hand and putting it to his chest.


I ripped my hand away. The room was beginning to spin. “You need to leave.” I began to push him towards the door, my high heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Suddenly I could move him no more. He had me by the shoulders and my arms pinned to the side but I refused to look at him. My robe had flown open but he only looked at my face.


“Look at me Leila.” He said sternly.


I didn’t.


“Look at me!” He repeated, loudly this time.


I forced my eyes in his direction.


“What?” I asked, my statement drenched in venom.


“I still care about you. I never stopped.” He said gently, a pained expression on his face.


“You gave up your right to care about me when you stopped speaking to me, Zayn.” I said quietly.


“I made a mistake.” Zayn protested.


Escaping from his grip, I bound over to the door, thrusting it open.


“So did I when I told you I loved you.” I shot back, my voice shaking as tears now freely spilled down my face.


Zayn looked at me, shocked that I had finally spoken about what had happened aloud. Clenching his jaw, he closed his eyes momentarily, and then opening them he made his way for the door.


“Zayn.” I called after him.


“Yeah?” He turned back, a look of hope appearing on his angelic face.


Don’t you dare come back.” I warned him, slamming the door shut. A sob escaped my lips. I had twenty minutes until my next set and I intended to cry for all of them.


A/N: Thank you for reading and please review!

Check out the accompanying tumblr for I'm in Love with a Stripper to check out music, outfits, sneak peeks, and fanart! iminlovewithastripperfanfiction.tumblr.com


Leila's song - How Long - Out Hud

Sweet Dreams - Marilyn Manson

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