30 of 30 shows

Real-time medical drama set inside St. Citrus General, the only Level-1 trauma orchard in the produce belt.

Five years after they bruised their way through high school, the fruits of East Highland are twenty-three and worse for it.

A debt-ridden grape is recruited to a remote orchard for a series of deadly children's games. Winners get a fortune. Losers get juiced.

A strawberry mother, a strawberry baby, an apple husband. Three episodes. Vanity, doubt, hospital. Seven minutes that don't apologise.

Two green apple boys, one of them sick, across a hospital bed, a school hallway, and a bathroom mirror. Three minutes that decide everything that comes after.

A high-school strawberry swallows a cursed pit and becomes the host of Sukunito, the King of Curses. Now he must consume the rest before he's allowed to die.

Ruby is a strawberry from down the road. She works the till at Tesco, gets ready in a TikTok-postered bedroom, catches her boyfriend at Nando's, and ends a Friday night arguing with him at the McDonald's drive-thru. The realest show in the FCU.

A pear and a tomato meet at a party. A mother, a daughter, a goodbye at the door. A hospital ward in black and white. A surgeon, a nurse, a baby. Five linked melodramatic vignettes.

Regency-era London, where eight citrus siblings of the Tangerton dynasty must marry off in order. This season belongs to Benedict Bergamot.

A peach is summoned to a fantasy orchard. Each death rewinds him to the start of the harvest. He keeps the memory. Nobody else does.

Five emotional life-stage vignettes, each a single fruit's single moment — childhood bullying, a first date, a tearful wedding, a pregnancy reveal, an adult workday gone wrong. Boyhood, in fruit, in five minutes.

A weak banana levels up his peel into S-rank armor through dungeon crawls.

A blueberry queen, her red consort, and a chef with a knife. Six dimly-lit episodes inside a candlelit court that knows every footstep. The FCU's first proper costume drama.

Teenage sleuth Pip Fitzberry can't stop investigating. The town wishes she would.

The show that started the fruit cinematic universe. Eight anthropomorphic fruits enter a tropical villa, couple up, and survive recouplings, bombshells, and Casa Amor.

A short-form anthology of Filipino-language fruit tragedies. Each episode is a self-contained vignette — heartbreak, betrayal, illness, departure — told in under two minutes.

Eleven fruits at single moments — at school, alone in the kitchen, on the street, at the gym, in front of the mirror. Each episode is one fruit and the silence around them.

Six citrus matriarchs in Newport navigate husbands, juice empires, and grudges that have ripened since 2019. Strawberina is the cast newcomer.

Five glam fruit women and their five husbands spend a week at a tropical luxury villa. Confrontations escalate by the pool, alibis fall apart on balconies, and someone breaks a cake.

A strawberry, a banana, an eggplant. Three German-language episodes about the difference between trusting someone, being someone, and ending up at a bar at 2 a.m.

An anthology of absurd, wildly tonally inconsistent fruit comedies. No two episodes share a setting, a genre, or a moral. Every one of them ends weirder than it starts.

A strawberry couple is preparing for the wedding of the season. The groom is having an affair with a chocolate bar. The bride is catching on.

Eleven adult fruit comedies set in workplaces, dining rooms, dentist chairs, and pulpits. Every fruit has a job. Every job has a story.

Four standalone shorts about what happens when the produce section clocks out. Each episode is one word: a confession, a craving, an initiation, a reckoning.

Six aggressively un-PG comedy sketches at the absolute outer edge of fruit drama. Period jokes, poop characters, kissing on a couch, an onion-and-strawberry combo no one asked for.

A high-school chemistry lemon, diagnosed terminal, partners with a reformed lime to cook the purest citric meth in the Southwest.

Two halves of the same fruit testify to a murder. Their accounts diverge after the third sentence.

A retired corn comedienne reluctantly mentors a Gen-Z blueberry writer. They fight, they collaborate, they grow.

An eccentric kiwi runs a roadside exotic-fruit park in rural Oklahoma. Then his rival disappears.

A divorced cookie joins the LAPD fruit division as the oldest rookie in academy history.