So much depends on the tone of voice, the body language, and the situation. Do <em>not</em> take the risk of assuming that a word is OK, just because you have heard people using it.
A great illustration of the situational aspect occurs in a famous 1902 novel, <em>The Virginian,</em> by Owen Wister, set in Wyoming in the 1870s.
Wister just uses dashes, but since it is 2020 I will use the actual word, "bitch." The narrator has been listening to a conversation.
<em>“I suppose you have me beat,” said Steve, grinning at him affectionately. “You're such a son-of-a-bitch when you get down to work. Well, so long! I got to fix my horse's hoofs.”</em>
<em>I had expected that the man would be struck down. He had used to the Virginian a term of heaviest insult, I thought. ...I marvelled.... Evidently he had meant no harm by it, and evidently no offence had been taken. Used thus, this language was plainly complimentary. </em>
Later in the same chapter, the Virginian is playing poker with a bad guy named Trampas who "does not like losing to strangers."
<em>Trampas spoke. “Your bet, you son-of-a-bitch.”</em>
<em>The Virginian's pistol came out, and his hand lay on the table, holding it unaimed. And with a voice as gentle as ever, the voice that sounded almost like a caress, but drawling a very little more than usual, so that there was almost a space between each word, he issued his orders to the man Trampas: “When you call me that, </em><em>smile</em><em>.” </em>
<em>....Something had been added to my knowledge also. Once again I had heard applied to the Virginian that epithet which Steve so freely used. The same words, identical to the letter. But this time they had produced a pistol. “When you call me that, </em><em>smile</em><em>!” So I perceived a new example of the old truth, that the letter means nothing until the spirit gives it life.</em>