I Wonder What The Reaction Of The Boys From COD Ghosts Would Be If Their Partner Decided To Break Up

I wonder what the reaction of the boys from COD Ghosts would be if their partner decided to break up with them because s/o no longer wants to maintain a relationship with a man who is rarely home and s/o feels abandoned (plus the boys rarely answer messages)

(*My English is not good, I used Google Translate okay 😔✌️✌️*)

✧ 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄: Breaking up with them... ✧ 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌: Call of Duty Ghosts. ✧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: Logan walker, Hesh walker, Keegan russ, Thomas merrick, kick. ✧ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: x GN!reader . ✧ 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: angst, comfort. ✧ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Ansgt, Breaking up, emotional experience. ✧ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: GIRLIE YOU DONT FALL FOR THEM WORDS🚩🚩.

Logan walker:

He doesn’t fight it at first. He listens—really listens, eyes locked on yours even if everything in him wants to look away.

When you finally speak, your voice low but firm, it hits like a quiet storm: “I waited, Logan. I waited a long damn time. But you don’t come back anymore… not really. And I don’t want to feel like a ghost in my own relationship.”

His face stays still, unreadable, just like always—but his hands? They tremble, just slightly. The only sign that you’ve cracked something open inside him.

And for once, he has no comeback. No defense. Just silence—and the sound of something unspoken breaking quietly between you.

“I never meant to make you feel alone.”

His voice barely rises above a whisper.

Logan is a man who compartmentalizes to survive—he’s good at pushing pain down so it doesn’t leak out at the worst times. But he doesn’t know how to fight for something he already failed to protect.

He nods once. Eyes drop. Says nothing.

And when you leave, he just sits there, still in his gear, on the edge of the bed, staring at the door like he might will you back through it.

Later, Logan would write you a message. Not to beg, not to change your mind—just to say:

“You deserved more than my silence. I’m sorry.”

He stares at your last message for hours, eyes tracing each word like they might rearrange into something softer if he just keeps looking.

If you left a letter, he reads it five times—maybe more. Then folds it with precision, storing it in the same place he keeps old mission reports. Because to him, this? This heartbreak was a mission that failed.

He expected this, in some way. A quiet part of him always knew it was coming—like an inevitable storm on the horizon he refused to brace for.

His healing won’t be fast. He’ll keep doing the job, keep moving, keep being Logan.

But the quiet moments will be the worst—when the world finally slows down, and there’s nothing left but his own silence and that low ache in his chest. Brooding. Regret. And the echo of a love he couldn’t hold onto.

Hesh walker:

Hesh tries to reason with you—softly, gently. He wants to fix it, patch things up, hold onto what’s slipping through his fingers. But in the end… he respects you. He always has.

Hesh wears his heart on his sleeve, unfiltered and warm. So when you finally say it—that it’s not working, that you feel forgotten, that the fire’s gone dim—he goes quiet.

The golden retriever in him aches to make it right. But then he really looks at you—eyes tired, heart heavy.

“Damn…” he mutters, voice rough and low. “I thought I was doin’ right by protectin’ the world… didn’t realize I was losin’ mine.”

He doesn’t beg. Doesn’t try to trap you with promises he knows he can’t keep. Instead, he rubs a hand over his face, exhaling a rough breath, as if trying to clear the weight in his chest.

He looks at you, that flicker of respect in his eyes, even through the hurt.

“You always had that brave heart. Gotta respect that.”

His voice is steady, but there’s a quiet ache behind it. It’s not anger. It’s not regret. It’s just... acceptance.

"David... you are a perfect guy... but I guess these circumstances won't get there with you."

He nodded once, looking down, the weight of your words sinking into him.

You couldn’t help it—you leaned in just a little, hesitant, unsure.

Then, with a sigh, he met your gaze, a quiet frustration in his eyes. “Jesus, Y/N…”

Before you could say anything more, he pulled you in with one arm, a little firmer than you expected, wrapping it around your waist. You felt the warmth of his embrace, and then a soft peck at the top of your head—a gesture filled with unspoken emotion.

When you finally left, you turned to give him one last look. His smile was simple, but there was something in it—something that spoke of understanding, of finality.

It would take him weeks to heal, maybe longer. But there was an undeniable strength in his acceptance. Deep down, he knew you deserved better than the world he could give.

Keegan russ:

Doesn’t believe you at first.

"I can't do this anymore, Keegan. You're never home. I’m starting to forget what it feels like to miss you… because I’ve already accepted you’re not coming back."

When you say it, his response is flat, emotion barely rising in his voice: “You’re serious?”

You nod. You explain. Every word feels heavier than the last, and he doesn’t interrupt. He just watches you, like you’re walking away with something he forgot he could lose.

He doesn’t fight you on it—not verbally, at least. But there’s something in the way he stands, the tightness around his jaw.

And then, just when you think it’s over, he drops one final dagger: “Guess it was never gonna work. Should’ve seen that coming.”

It’s not that he doesn’t care—it’s that he cares too damn much. He’s pissed at himself. Pissed for letting it get to this point, for letting you feel like this with him. He knows he could’ve done better. And that’s what cuts the deepest.

If Keegan is with you, it means he adores you—taking you on dates, sharing quiet moments, doing everything to make you feel valued, loved.

He never thought this day would come.

That’s all he says at first, his voice flat, like he can’t quite process it.

You press him, asking if he has anything to add. He shrugs once, his gaze distant. “Not gonna chain you to someone who doesn’t show up.”

Later that night, when he's alone, he stares at the photo you took of him—your arm around his arm.

He tucks it into his gear, carefully, as if it’s a part of him that he can’t let go of. Even if you’re no longer in his life, that photo stays with him. And for years, it will.

“Hope you find someone who answers his phone more than once a month.”

He mutters it to himself, his voice rough, barely a whisper, like he’s trying to convince himself that it doesn’t hurt.

Yeah, Keegan would heal fast. Probably within a week. He’d push it all aside, bury it deep. He was good at that—at moving on, at leaving the weight of emotions behind.

But if something—anything—reminded him of you? He’d zone out for a moment, eyes distant, mind replaying that time, those moments, like they were never really gone. And just for a second, the weight of it all would hit him again.

Thomas merrick:

When you bring it up to Merrick, you expect resistance—maybe a speech full of excuses, or a list of reasons why he did what he did.

But instead, he just looks at you with tired, almost kind eyes, like he’s already been through it all before.

“I thought I was protecting you. By keeping you out of this life.”

You shake your head, your voice firm but soft: “That’s not the kind of protection I wanted. I didn’t want a soldier—I wanted you. Home. Present.”

Merrick doesn’t argue. He doesn’t try to explain or justify. He simply nods once, the weight of your words settling between you.

“I guess I failed you either way.” His voice is quiet, resigned—like he knew this moment was coming, but never knew how to avoid it.

He nods, his hand outstretched—offering it without hesitation. You take it, feeling the weight of the moment as he speaks, his voice steady but softer than usual.

“If that’s what your heart's tellin’ you, I ain't gonna fight it.”

You look at him, but he doesn’t let you linger on the uncertainty, adding with a quiet conviction, “But don’t you dare think I didn’t love you just 'cause I was gone'.”

That one hits deep, the raw honesty of it stinging more than you expected.

“You ever need anything... you know where I am.”

After you leave, he sits alone, whiskey glass in hand, the dim light casting shadows across his face. He stays upright, calm, like he’s been through this a thousand times—but the glass stays full for hours, untouched. A quiet reminder that some things aren’t as easy to swallow.

He’ll keep commanding, keep his job done straight—no distractions, no slip-ups. His focus sharp as ever.

But like Keegan, if something—anything—reminds him of you, he’ll just let out a quiet sigh, push the thought away, and move on. There’s no time to dwell.

What an old man, he thinks to himself, to experience these teenager feelings. He’s been through too much to let it pull him down.

But there’s one thing he holds onto, and it gives him some peace: He’s proud of the man he became. Proud that he was the one who stood up, who admitted his mistakes, and told you he was wrong. It wasn’t easy, but it was the right thing to do.

Kick:

He jokes at first, trying to brush it off with humor, his usual defense mechanism. But something shifts inside him as the words leave your mouth.

When you say, “I don’t feel like we’re in a relationship anymore,” he raises a brow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Babe, don’t say that. You're just mad ‘cause I forgot to reply to your message last week.”

But when you don’t laugh—when your eyes are watery but firm, holding a quiet strength that cuts through him—he sobers fast.

He leans in, voice low, almost hesitant, like he’s hoping it’s all just a misunderstanding. “You’re not serious. Right?”

When you don’t back down, when you meet his gaze with nothing but truth, he mutters under his breath, “Damn… you are.” And just like that, he knows it’s real.

He paces, his boots hitting the floor with heavy steps. He rubs his hands over his face, trying to steady himself, to think of something—anything—that could fix this. He tries to make you laugh, throwing out half-hearted jokes in an effort to ease the tension.

But when he realizes nothing he says is going to change the way you feel—when the weight of it all finally hits—he stops.

“So, what? I don’t get to be in your corner anymore? Just like that?” His voice cracks slightly, a mix of frustration and disbelief.

He watches you, waiting for any sign that this is just a bad dream, but when he finally sees that you truly mean it, his heart sinks.

After a long silence, you break it, your voice sharp but tired: “Kick, say something. You’re just keep looking.”

He exhales, the heaviness in his chest settling. “You ain’t wrong. Can’t lie and say I’ve been much of a boyfriend. Ain’t had the time to be.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze softening as he looks at you, quieter now. “Never wanted you to feel second place, darlin’. That’s on me.”

There’s nothing left to say. No excuses. Just the truth. And it’s a bitter one.

As you leave, the final hug between you both feels heavier than anything that came before. The silence stretches, but even then, he can’t stop himself from saying something, his voice softer than usual—almost like a whisper of regret.

“You deserve someone who can make a home, not just stories.”

He’s accepted it now. At first, he thought you just didn’t understand the weight of his job—the danger, the uncertainty. But now, sitting in the quiet aftermath, he realizes the truth: No partner would willingly live with someone who disappears for over a month at a time.

After you’re gone, he falls into his own kind of silence. Alone. Depressed. It’s the kind of loneliness he’s used to, but now, it feels emptier.

He never talks or gushes about you like what he used to do before.

He deletes your contact from his phone. It’s the logical step, the clean break, or so he tells himself.

But your photos? They stay. He can’t bring himself to delete them all, not yet. He looks at them sometimes, the ones where you’re laughing, the ones where you’re close, just before everything changed.

And in the silence, he lets the memories linger.