It was the strangest feeling.
Putting on that suit and feeling waves of pleasure course through him, making him feel bad and achingly good at the same time. Sometimes he shivered a little at the sensation, tickled by it.
People treated him differently when he put it on, he noticed. It was as though they found it hard to maintain eye contact with him. As though they were intimidated by him. And sure, Peter was used to intimidating people as Spider-Man, but he'd never intimidated anyone as himself. As Peter Parker. But now, he'd lock eyes with Jameson at the Daily Bugle and he'd catch his boss glancing away briefly before looking back at him. Jameson, with his booming voice and authoritative demeanor. Afraid of little old him.
His ego had become so inflamed he found himself admiring his reflection a little too often lately. He really liked his new look and felt that the dark hair perfectly represented his newly altered self. Women looked at him differently now as well, like they found him deeply interesting and awe-inspiring. He exuded confidence, smirking madly as he flirted, violating personal spaces and pressing up against every woman he'd secretly thought was hot. He used people, toyed with their feelings, and then tossed them aside once he was done with them. Playing with lives was suddenly so much more practical than protecting them ever was.
It was all so freeing that his old self might have cried at it if it wouldn't have hated seeing him like this. And this disgusted him because of how much he hated the old Peter Parker. Awkward, boyish, painfully wholesome Peter Parker. How could he stand living his life the way he had? Being a dork was bad enough, but he also had to act like he was the pinnacle of virtue. It was utterly nauseating and the memories of his doormat self made him want to bend over a toilet and gag violently.
Because it felt so much better to release the weight he'd been carrying for so long. It felt so much better to be someone he secretly always wished he could be. Someone who didn't over-analyze, didn't judge himself for every little mistake, action, or inaction. Because, honestly, why should he care? Weren't many people brainwashed into thinking Spider-Man was a menace anyway? What did it matter if he confirmed people's suspicions by indulging in a little rough-housing every now and then?
Being as sickeningly sweet as he was before had done nothing for him, had only served to make life even more painful. Deep down there had been expectations, though he'd never have admitted it to anyone then. No matter how many tokens of appreciation he was awarded for his hard work, it never quite felt like it was enough. Especially when considering the devastation on his limbs and psyche.
He felt so alive he wanted to scream his happiness to the world, so they knew the depth of his newly discovered invigoration. Perhaps he could make do with beating the next guy who looked at him funny to a pulp. Whether that was a criminal, Eddie, or a random bystander, he didn't care. He wanted to put his increased vigor to good use.
He just wanted more of this feeling.