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About
S. Nasonov is an independent romance author with a firm belief that everyone needs to relax.
She writes stories that allow men to relinquish their power, and simp unabashedly about women who are definitely overthinking the situation.
Her personal goal is to have you laughing on the first page and crying by the last.
She lives in a world where straight people don't exist and neither does normal. It's a neurodivergent realm, where nice guys finish first but sometimes don't finish at all.
When not writing she can be found chronically ill at large (so probably in bed, doomscrolling.)
If you have something to say about her book, she encourages the good, bad, and ugly. (She's just very bad at initiating conversations.)

Freddy was going to die.
Again, technically.
Freddy was going to die for the second (and hopefully final) time.
It was his own fault, really. He just didn’t feel right being a blood-sucking monster of the night, he had spent long enough trying not to be a complete piece of shit human (to very little success).
That was his punishment: he had been a bad, bad boy for twenty-two years, and now, after failing to hunt for the entirety of his vampire-hood, he was going to starve.
Unless a mouth-watering therapist could give him the discipline he’s been missing?
Amelia was going to save him.
She was a respected clinical psychologist with a thriving practice specializing in the troubles of supernatural creatures. The couch her clients sat on had to be in perfect condition, because something had to be. Her mind was unreliable, the deep churning chaos suppressed only by strict personal rules.
Don’t work past insurable hours.
Don’t answer the door for a handsome stranger.
Don’t fall in love with a vampire.