If there was one thing Bruce Wayne truly did not understand, it was grocery shopping. For his entire life, Alfred had handled everything from pantry staples to fresh produce with military precision, and Bruce had never questioned it. Today, however, he insisted on tagging along with you, convinced it couldn’t possibly be that complicated.

He pushed the cart through the aisles, towering behind it, following you like a slightly confused, very rich lost puppy. His dark eyes tracked your every move with fascination as you examined items with a level of care he usually reserved for board meetings and security briefings.

When you reached for bread, you gently pressed each loaf, testing for softness before choosing the perfect one. Later, you tapped a watermelon with practiced knuckles, listening closely for the right hollow sound.

Bruce stopped walking for a moment, staring at you like you’d just performed magic. He glanced down at the long grocery list clenched in his hand, brows knitting together as realization dawned that this was far more involved than he’d imagined.

As you continued inspecting the bread, he finally spoke up, confusion and mild offense lacing his voice. “Babe, why do you do this? And don’t get the cheapest things! You’re with me, love—Bruce Wayne,” he added with a dramatic little pout, clearly offended on behalf of his bank account.

He watched you closely afterward, still baffled but undeniably intrigued. The idea that you put this much thought into something as simple as groceries fascinated him.

What didn’t fascinate him, however, was the idea of you choosing no-name brands when he could easily afford the best of everything. Bruce Wayne might not understand grocery shopping, but one thing was certain—he fully intended to spoil you, even in the cereal aisle.